Like Mother, Like Daughter by Elle Croft

Author:Elle Croft [Croft, Elle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781409187240
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2020-01-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 37

IMOGEN

It had taken, Imogen guessed, about forty-five minutes for her to get dressed. She’d had to stop for frequent breaks to sit – or even lie – down for minutes at a time, while her head swirled and her vision narrowed to a tiny point of light. Her muscles ached like they did the day after a volleyball tournament, screaming with every movement.

But despite her uncooperative body, Imogen knew that she was getting stronger, and she revelled in the small victories. Like being able to stand, and talk, and string an entire thought together without passing out or slipping into that strange middle ground between waking and nightmares, the place filled with snippets of reality, too fast and slippery for her to catch them.

Slowly, cautiously, holding onto the walls for support, she shuffled down the hallway and walked through an archway into what she presumed was some kind of living room. It wasn’t much bigger – or more appealing – than the room she’d been confined to. The floor was covered in sticky green linoleum, and the furniture looked as though it had been picked up off the side of the road on hard rubbish day. There was an olive-green armchair, with dark stains dotting the arms and seat. The sofa beside it, which Brad was sitting on, looked like it came from a grandma’s house, the delicate floral pattern faded, the fabric torn here and there to reveal cheap spongy stuffing.

‘Hey, little one, you’re walking! Here, let me help you.’

He crossed the room in two strides and was at her side, gently guiding her by the elbow towards the armchair. Imogen leaned into him, grateful for his strength, his solidity. She landed heavily on the lumpy armchair with a sigh of relief.

‘Are you feeling any better?’ Brad asked.

She nodded, licked her dry lips.

‘I think so.’

‘And were the clothes OK? Sorry, I did my best, I didn’t know what size you were, so I just had to guess.’

After her bath, Imogen had wrapped herself in the towel that had been hanging from the rail on the opposite wall and had sat on the edge of the bathtub staring at the pile of filthy, sweaty clothes she’d been wearing for … well, too long. She could smell them from where she sat, the stench making her stomach turn. She hadn’t wanted to put them back on, but she didn’t have the energy to walk to the bedroom to see whether there was anything there she could wear. She’d wracked her brain, but she couldn’t remember whether she’d brought clothes with her when she left home. Her memory of that night was still a little fuzzy.

There had been a small knock on the bathroom door.

‘Amy?’

‘Yes?’ she’d called out, falsely bright. It was so strange being called by someone else’s name, only it wasn’t anyone else’s. It was hers.

‘I don’t know if you want … I have some clothes here …’

Brad had sounded shy, apologetic, but at that moment, if she’d had the energy to move, she’d have leapt up, wrenched the door open and hugged him.

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