Page 4 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
She stands there, in the entryway, staring at me like she’s never seen me before and I suppose in a way she hasn’t. She hasn’t seen this version of me before. Last time she saw me sober was at the dinner table when she’d help me with my spelling homework.
Unspoken words fly in the air surrounding us—and you might think it’s weird, her still being here but it’s not. She showed up every time when our parents didn’t. Sports Day’s, parent evenings, school meetings, assemblies, performances, matches…didn’t matter what it was or what time it was, she was there, cheering for us louder and bigger than anyone else in the crowds.
Our mum in ways our actual mum wasn’t.
And that isn’t a job that anyone can just walk away from.
Changed each and everyone of our nappies without breathing a word of it to any shitty newspaper, as well.
And that’s when she lunges at me.
Wraps me up in the biggest, most suffocating hug I’ve ever received from her.
“Arthur,” she sniffs into my head, pulls back, holds my hands for another look at me. “Look at you.”
I smile despite myself because she’s always managed to make me smile.
“You’re a man,” she mutters to herself. “How are you?”
I rock back on my heels, run a hand through my freshly trimmed hair. “I’m good, yeah—feeling better.”
She starts tearing up, she shakes her head, presses her thumbs under her eyes. “Well,” she breathes out. “Everyone is here—are you ready?”
No.
Never been ready for this, have I?
Not even two years, five months and twenty-two days have prepared me for this moment. I reckon an entire decade away couldn’t have prepared me—nothing could.
I’ve never had to do this before. I’m walking in blind, a complete stab in the dark with what I’ll say.
“I think so,” I tell her.
Delphine nods, hand on my back and leads me into the reception room.
My throat closes up at the sight of everyone.
Mum, Dad, Sebastian, Ev.
I could've done this last night when I arrived back in London but I didn’t. I pissed about too much, thought too hard about what I was going to say, that in the end, it got too late. They’ve opened the front door to me too many times at ridiculous times in the morning. I couldn’t do it to them again so I booked myself into a hotel—a suite at The Dorchester because not much else was available at gone midnight on New Year’s Eve—so not only did I piss away over four grand, I didn’t even get a good nights sleep because there’s only one bedroom in London I’ve slept comfortably in.
Mum notices me first.
The first thing I notice? How clear I can see the years of pain in her eyes. Clear as the water I drink. And for a moment, it’s just me and her in this room. She glues me to my spot with the look on her face because it’s one I’ll never forget. I’ll neverunderstand what I put her through, not sure I ever really want to know.
“Arthur,” she lifts a shaky hand to her mouth. “Oh, Arthur.”
“Mum,” I swallow, nod over at her with my hand in my pocket.
I don’t think we’ve ever really spoken much, to be honest. Not like how normal sons would with their mothers because when I was high, she was sober and when I was sober, she was high. And neither one of us were ever sober for long. Although, the fucking hurt in her eyes is enough to knock me dead, the fact I can see it so clearly tells me more than any words ever will.
She’s clean, too.
Mum gets up, walks over to me, stands there for a second, looks me over the same way Delphine did. She doesn’t know this version of me, either.
“Are you well now?” She whispers, as if we’re the only two people standing here.
I nod. “I’m better.”
