Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I know. I suppose I just feel like you need someone on your side, you know, without Dad here.”
“Oh, sweet girl.” I bring her in for a hug. “That isn’t your job.”
“You’re my mum. Sure it is.”
“When did you get so grown up, huh.” It feels almost surreal holding her like this, her face on my shoulder, our height only an inch apart. I could swear it was yesterday I cradled her tiny pink and wrinkled body against my chest and knew, for the first time, love could be strong enough to die for.
“Mum, this is really emotional, and I totally love you, but your leg is making me gag.”
There she is. Normality resumes. “Give over, Lucy. You’re acting like it’s gangrenous for God’s sake.” It genuinely isn’t that bad, I silently reassure myself, continuing my journey toward the stairs. “Get on with prepping dinner, and do both packets of steak. Your dad’s coming tonight!” I feel a twinge as I call back over my shoulder, the word ‘dad’ plucking a sad string in my chest.
That pinch stays with me in the shower, which remains awkward and difficult despite having no cast. Although, it feels good to let hot water run over my ankle. Back in the bedroom, I sit on the edge of my bed for a while, wrapped in a towel, taking the weight off my leg until I dry.
There’s a photo of me and Will on the bedside table that I haven’t been able to face taking down yet. I try not to fixate on it, but the frame ends up in my hands anyway, same as every day. My lips turn up automatically at the sight of him, of us, at the memory behind the snapshot. He looks happy there, in my mother’s kitchen, his arms around my waist, his chin on top of my head. His smile is wide, a full grin, as if caught mid-laughter as the flash went off. My focus moves from that brilliant smile to his eyes, and I search them for signs. Were you screaming, Will? Behind that smile, was my husband in pain?
I didn’t hear him.
Didn’t see it.
I’d believed so strongly I could be enough.
“D’you need any help, Mum?” Lucy’s voice startles me as she calls up the stairs.
I clear my throat, coughing away the bubble of emotion that’s appeared and, for the first time since I put it up eight years ago, I slip the photo frame face down in the table drawer. “I’m good, thanks! Just getting dressed!”
After quickly moisturising the pasty and wrinkled skin that’s been sweating away under a cast for weeks, I dress in stretchy trousers and a light jumper before asking Lucy to help me navigate the stairs. Hopefully, the unsteadiness won’t last too much longer.
“The boot might help,” Lucy suggests. “Do you want me to help you put it on?” She’s referring to the orthopaedic boot given to me by the fracture clinic.
“No. I think it’s too swollen. They said the exercises will help most.” I cringe at the thought, knowing they’re going to hurt the most, too. “I’ll try a couple while the beef is slow cooking.” So, that’s how I spend my afternoon. Between taking work calls and sending emails, I point my toes and move my ankle in a circle. I peel potatoes over a carrier bag while sitting down on the couch, and I look forward to seeing my husband. Ex-husband. Soon-to-be ex-husband. Hell, I don’t know what I’m supposed to call him now. Friend?
Will. I wait for Will.
It’s the strangest thing when Will arrives just after five. He knocks on the door of the house he still owns, the house we’ve raised our children in, the house we’ve collected so many memories inside. Ben answers, asks him why he did it, and Will manages to skirt around the issue by talking about something else. But it happened. He knocked. And it hits me that he’s separate from us now.
“Something smells good,” is the first thing he says upon entering the living room.
I almost go to kiss him. Still, after all these weeks, the urge is there. An instinct almost. A habit as natural as breathing. I stop myself, fiddle with the tea towel in my hands instead. “It’s braising steak, which we’ve got Lucy to thank for tonight.”
“Yeah?” His eyes gape in surprise, before narrowing again as he bows his head and whispers, “Should I be worried?”
“Have some faith,” I say, chuckling as I swat his arm with the tea towel. “She’s worked really hard on it.”
Will’s grin melts into more of a proud smile. “I’m glad she’s helping out. She’s a good girl.”
“She is,” I agree. In the eyes of the law, our daughter is an adult but, in reality, she’s still so young. Still our baby. And she’s grown up a lot over the last few weeks, took care of me in ways I’m supposed to take care of her.