Page 17 of All the Forbidden Things
Her head jerks back as though she’s been struck.
“I don’t mean that to sound harsh, but I’m an adult. People split up, and marriages end every day. Every hour even.”
She covers my hand with hers. “But I would’ve at least have liked to know.”
“And I would’ve called you, but she literally left me the day before she had the accident.” I don’t add that I also lost a day to Grey Goose and self-loathing.
Mum’s quiet for a moment, I watch as she sips her milk, wrapping both her hands around her mug as if she’s trying to warm them. The shock of recent events and revelations obviously hitting her.
I sip at my own drink and watch as my mum processes what I’ve just told her. I know she’ll have questions, so I sit back and wait for her to start asking them.
Her lip curls and she almost snarls. “So it washimshe was with? The junky? In the car?”
“Yep.”
“It said on the news the driver was dead.”
“It’s been on the news?”
“Yeah, not till late tonight, though.”
I’m surprised there were no reporters outside the house or the hospital, at least none that I noticed.
“And what now? Are you just going to take her back because she’s been in this accident? I know she’s Layla’s mum, Max, but you know my thoughts on the girl. She’s never accepted you for you, she’s always tried to change you and turn you into someone you’re not.”
I let out a long slow breath and rake my hands through my hair. “Mum, I’ve no idea what I’m gonna do and right now, I’m far too tired to even think about it. I’m exhausted.”
“I’m sorry.” She tilts her head to the side and gives me her understanding-Mum smile, the one that would make me forgive her anything and forever feel guilty for some of the shit I’ve put her through over the years. “Go to bed. Leave Layla to me tonight and just get your head down.”
I stand and then move to kiss the top of her head. “Thanks, Mum. I’m gonna do exactly that. Whitney has surgery tomorrow, so I should probably go back to the hospital at some stage.”
“Why? She left. She’s no longer your concern.”
“She’s still my wife, still Layla’s Mum.”
She takes hold of my hand and looks up at me. “This conversation’s not over. What’s happened is a terrible thing, but she made a choice, one that’s cost her dearly, and it’s not your fault.”
“Mum—”
“Did she take Layla with her when she left?”
I shake my head.
“No, of course she bloody didn’t. She went swanning off with her man-child, and look where it got her. She doesn’t deserve you, Layla, or any kind of sympathy, and she won’t be getting any—not from me anyway.”
“Mum—”
She puts up her hand to hush me. “Go, clean your teeth before you get into bed.”
I turn towards the door. “I’m not seven,” I remind her.
“You’ll always be my little boy. I love you. Good night.”
“Night, Mum, love you too.”
I wake to the buzzof my phone vibrating somewhere nearby, the sound of voices downstairs, and a deliciously rich smell of something cooking. I can’t recall getting into bed last night. I remember my conversation with Mum and climbing the stairs, but that’s where all recollection of how I ended up here ends. I scratch at my beard and realise I’m on top of the quilt, still wearing yesterday’s clothes.
My stomach rumbles—loudly, and I reach for my phone. I have several missed calls and messages. It’s also after three in the afternoon. I’ve slept for around twelve hours. My stomach lurches at the thought of Whitney being in the hospital all this time without any visitors, but then I remember the conversation I had with her parents last night. I’d given them the name of the hospital, and they were getting the next available flight out of LAX, so chances were, they’d gone straight there.
