False Hope by Lynne Lee

Author:Lynne Lee [Lee, Lynne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2021-01-20T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Mum was asleep, the sister told me, when I returned with the pills and her clothes, the latter of which I’d packed assuming my instinct would be sound – that it would more likely be a three- or four-day stay, minimum.

I gave her Mum’s pill packs, then went over to her bedside. The ward was quiet now, the lights dimmed, the nurses padding around silently, and as I walked I could feel the weight of my new knowledge like a ball and chain dragging my feet.

Mum’s colour was better now, her hair dry and brushed, and I was pleased beyond measure that her eyes were closed. Because right then, I couldn’t even bear to look at her, let alone, as I had seen on my way past the other beds, place a comforting, loving hand over her own. So I didn’t linger. Just put the case by her bed and left for home.

Then, on a whim, or perhaps an instinctive compulsion, I dived into the big Sainsbury’s on my way. I had a powerful need to separate myself from the clouds gathering around me. To simply bolt. Try and outrun the emotional storm. To get back to my own family, my own life, my own routines. To reassure myself that what was going on – had been going on, and for what appeared to have been for years – was something apart from me. Wholly separate. Ditto my mother’s astonishing complicity, another product of my dead sister’s legacy, the tentacles of which were still reaching out beyond her grave. In that moment, I wished one thing above anything – anything. That I could wave a magic wand and wipe the Faulkner family hard drive. Overwrite the past with a completely different story – one where my dad hadn’t left us, where we hadn’t imploded, where the Kennedys were erased at a stroke. I wanted to scream, just as I had during that final grim encounter with Norma, that I didn’t ask for, didn’t want, didn’t deserve any of this. That none of this mess was of my making.

I went straight to the bakery, bought a gingerbread man for Daniel, an iced bun for Dillon, a cinnamon swirl for Isabel and an éclair for myself. Sugar and spice, all things nice, to take away the bitter taste. Then, deciding to abandon the bolognaise I’d got out of the freezer that morning, I swept along the pizza aisle, choosing the biggest I could find.

And all the while the holdall in my car hummed with menace.

By the time I arrived home the sky had cleared, revealing an almost full moon, and where patches of the earlier sleet had now settled, it bathed the ground in a pale, blue-ish light. It almost looked like snow – the air even smelt of it – and though even if it did come I knew it wouldn’t last (this was Brighton; snow and sleet rarely stuck), the unexpected brightness, after a day that had been so dank and dark, immediately lifted my spirits.

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