That Girl From Nowhere by Dorothy Koomson Read Free Book Online Page B

know that,’ she said.
    ‘What about not putting any butterflies on one of our boxes?’
    She just stared at me like I was talking a different language until Lily-Rose said, ‘Can I see the butterflies?’
    Mummy frowned at me and gave me this
Now look what you’ve done
look, and said, ‘There is nothing to see.’ And that was the end of that. She got up from the floor in the living room where we were doing the cleaning and went off to start dinner. If I had a talent like that I’d be talking about it all the time, not pretending I didn’t know what my own daughter was talking about. What’s the betting if I go back up to the loft tonight those pictures will have disappeared?
    What do you think? Was I being insensitive? Maybe she had a miscarriage and the butterfly box would have been for the baby she’d lost. Oh, I feel awful now. Maybe that’s it. Why she feels so distant sometimes. It would make sense. I know I’d feel worried about everything if I went through that. Add that to how Gran treats her sometimes and I’m not surprised she doesn’t share much with me. Sorry, I’m being insensitive to you now.
    I’m not sure if you want to talk about what happened, but how are you and Meredith after everything? I’m guessing because I haven’t heard anything to the contrary that nothing’s changed? I’ve been keeping an eye online on what you’ve been up to. Congratulations on your award. I’m really proud of you.
    I miss you. Remember how it used to be me and you against Ivor? That man always took himself far too seriously even when he was, like, twelve. At least you knew how to have a laugh. I wish … I miss you. I know I said that already but it needs repeating. As many times as I can until you reply. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
     
    Love,
    Abi
    xxxxx
     
    P.S. Mrs L says hello. Again!

8
     
Smitty
     
    Mum is in her pink silk dressing gown, sitting on the sofa, staring into space when I return to the flat. The TV is off and the room is now bright from the rising sun.
    I was heading for the shop and my workshop, but for some reason my feet had turned towards home instead when I left the café, Beached Heads. I thought it was because I was bunking off work, but actually, I must have known on some level that this would be a bad day for Mum. It’s been almost three weeks without a serious setback, so today she is obviously due one.
    Usually a healthy-ish pink, Mum’s face is pale, each line more pronounced than usual. Her blue eyes are glassy and unfocused. Grief. Grief has made her fragile, delicate and friable; sorrow has carved itself deep into every part of her.
    ‘Oh, Mum,’ I whisper. Along with my bag I place my half-drunk coffee on the TV shelf in the living room, then go to her. She doesn’t move. I put my arms around her and gently tug her towards me. We’re not the huggy type, Mum and I, but she needs this.
    ‘I’m not meant to be without him,’ she says.
    It’s been too short a time for her not to feel like this, and too long a time we’ve already spent without him.
    ‘I think feeling like that is normal,’ I say. Anything else I say will sound trite and rubbish and as if I’m telling her how she should grieve. My mother’s grief is a world away from mine. He was my dad, he was her whole world. Even before he became ill Mum didn’t seem to function very well without him. If he was away for whatever reason she would find it difficult to concentrate, she’d be up and down several times a night, would stare into space as if counting down the minutes until he returned.
    I found it hard every day, knowing I wouldn’t see him again, wouldn’t be with him again – Mum must have found it impossible. Despite everything, I couldn’t have left her in Leeds on her own. She would have fallen apart.
    ‘Clemency, I’m so glad I have you. Please don’t leave me. You must promise me you won’t do that to me. You won’t leave me.’
    When Mum says things like this, however