My Mother's Silence (ARC) by Lauren Westwood

Author:Lauren Westwood [Westwood, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781838880453
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

23

The rain has let up as I walk home. I can’t quite chase the enigmatic Nick Hamilton from my mind. On the one hand, he’s a bit of a cold fish. Condescending, unfriendly, trying to score points, not volunteering anything about himself. I did, however, appreciate him showing me the paintings. I don’t know much about art and what is and isn’t ‘good’. But I know what I like. Nick’s art was powerful and beautiful.

Either way, it’s irrelevant. I’m not going to let myself be attracted to him. We’re both here temporarily. He owes me nothing, and I’ve paid back my debt with… mince pies.

The lights are off when I pass The Stables and Bill’s car is gone. Maybe Emily threw a strop, refused to go to ‘Nan’s house’ so they went to the village instead. In truth, I can hardly blame her. I think of what Nick said about Mum: how quickly she went from normal to ‘losing the plot’. Bill’s got his family to deal with – I’ve got nothing. It’s down to me now to look after her. While Emily is here, I’ll stick to my agreement with Bill and not raise the subject of Ginny. But if I am going to be staying, I need to do something about my room. After seeing Nick’s art, I almost feel inspired to try writing my songs again, and I’ll need a place to work. But most of all, keeping the room as a tomb of memories can’t be good for Mum’s mental state – or mine. I need to make a start.

Today. Now.

When I get back to the cottage, Mum and Lorna are in the kitchen, and a new rack of mince pies is cooling on the worktop. I say hi to Lorna and we chat for a few minutes. I’m grateful that she’s been such a support to Mum over the years, and vice versa – Lorna being a widow too. Mum doesn’t join in the conversation, and there’s no sign that she’s told Lorna about what happened last night. I go to the cupboard under the sink, grab a roll of bin bags, and make my exit.

I go upstairs to my room and shut the door. I look around at the familiar things – the posters, the two beds, the view out of the window – and feel an overwhelming sense of sadness. So many memories – most of them good ones. But I have to stick to my guns. I know that what I’m doing is for the best.

The first thing I do is take down the posters. I remove Noel Gallagher and the concert calendars that are now years out of date. I consider taking down Bob Dylan and Joan Baez, but eventually, when all the other walls are bare, I decide they can stay for now. The knotty pine looks very dated, the room would look so much brighter if it was painted white. Another job to add to my list. I roll up the posters so they can go in the attic if Mum doesn’t want them binned.

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