Page 135 of Vying Girls
I look down, flicking away the black specks on my fingers from agitating the sofa. ‘Just stuff coming up that’s got me remembering. Can you at least tell me what happened to him? The truth. You told me he went to prison.’
Mum looks away. ‘Thought that would make you feel better as a little’en.’
‘But that’s not what happened?’
She draws in a long breath and lets it out as a sigh. ‘No, Tilda, that’s not what happened.’
I know what’s coming but it’s still a punch in a gut when she says, ‘Bastard hanged himself. The kid found him. Poor bitch.That’sthe kind of thing you don’t get over.’
I nod, knowing that more than her.
‘Do you blame me? For him leaving, for him dying?’
Mum’s quiet for a long time, the TV becoming more and more blurred as tears fill my eyes.
‘He was a kid-perving bastard,’ she says eventually, the words sounding like glass in her mouth. ‘No fault but his own.’
‘So why do you hate me so much?’ I choke out.
She clucks her tongue, brows knitting to a frown. ‘Who said I fucking hate ya?’
‘Don’t have to say it, Mum. I mean, I know I was an annoying kid. Bit weird, but I kept out your way, didn’t I? Things weren’t so bad when I was really little, but after it all… I know you blamed me. I know everyone fucking blames me.’
Mum sighs a few times, eyes never deviating from the telly. ‘I might not have gone about things right but I’m not thick enough to blame you. I was hurting, is all.’ She peers around the tiny living room with dispassionate eyes. ‘Thought I’d found a way out. Thought I was finally done.’
‘Bet I was hurting more. And say what you want, you did blame me. And so does Nic and I’m just fucking sick of it. Sick of everyone hating me.’ Mum glances at me in confusion, the expression angering me. ‘He ruined everything, but you made it worse. You literally have no idea.’
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, anchoring myself with the ache. I know half of this is because I’m due on my period, the other half undoubtedly Nic’s brushoff. It’s like a raw wound. It’s playing in a reel, every shitty thought I’ve had about myself, the way my brain was reshaped by trauma. The person I probably would have been if none of it had happened. It just feels so fucking unfair.
‘Made it worse?’ Mum snaps. ‘Joking, aren’t you? We lost everything. I had to start again. Know how difficult that was? No, you were too busy bleating on about that fucking girl. Freak like her dad, that one. That was what you cared about, Tilds, not the things he did to you.’
‘So you admit he did do those things? Wasn’t just me making things up?’
Mum scoffs. ‘Wish it fucking was.’
‘If you hadn’t seen those photos, would you have believed me?’
Her silence is answer enough.
‘You wouldn’t have left him, would you? You loved the money more than me.’
‘I did the right thing,’ she says firmly. ‘As far as that fucking got me.’
‘What’s going on here, then?’
Our heads swing to the door at the taunting male voice. Callum stands in the doorway, his cold eyes standing out with his newly cropped hair. My heart thumps, transported back to that cursed Christmas, still hearing their row ringing in my ears, the bright lights of the hospital. I remember feeling madder at Mum than Callum, and dealing with the guilt of that. She was the one choosing these men.
‘Reckon she’s tired,’ Mum says, looking at me. She heaves herself to her feet, mug in hand. ‘Gonna make up a brew.’
‘I’ll leave in a bit. Just missed a train.’
I look down at my feet once Mum’s left the room. My chest feels hollow, like it’s been scooped out. Despite the prickly awareness of Callum, my brain is foggy, thoughts disjointed and faraway.
Callum sighs as he lowers himself onto the armchair. ‘Been upsetting your mum?’
‘Does it look like she’s the one crying?’
He sucks his teeth. ‘No need to be rude.’
