Under Lying by Janelle Harris

Author:Janelle Harris [Harris, Janelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-31T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

NOW

I didn’t think anything could smell worse than the larder cupboard but the bedroom succeeds. This time I know the smell is definitely damp and I wonder if it’s coming from the floor, the walls or both. I flick on the light and stare at the couple of mattresses on the floor. The bedroom is small. Each mattress is pushed against the opposing wall to create a narrow pathway between them. I have to turn sideways and shuffle in the door so I don’t stand on either bedding. Not that it would matter much if I did, they’re both already disgustingly grubby. I try to put Amelia down, but she wraps her arms tighter around my neck and tucks her legs around my waist so her feet meet behind me.

‘C’mon on now,’ I say, ‘be a good girl and get to bed.’

‘I am a good girl,’ Amelia says, lifting her head from my shoulder to look at me.

‘I know you are, sweetheart,’ I smile as a wave of guilt washes over me. ‘You’re the best girl. You’re my best girl.’

I close my eyes and tighten my grip on her little body. And for a fleeting moment I think about barging through the front door of this horrible flat with my daughter in my arms and never looking back.

‘Mammy, you’re squashing me,’ she complains.

My eyes shoot open and I relax my grip.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I say, my voice breaking as I try to feign composure.

Just a few more days, I tell myself. A few more days.

‘Why are you doing big huffs and puffs?’ Amelia giggles. ‘Like this . . .’ She tucks her chin into her chest and takes a deep breath, holds it for a second and puffs it back out. Her warm, minty breath dances across the air and caresses my face.

‘Like that?’ I say, my heart aching.

‘You’re silly, Mammy,’ Amelia laughs and kisses my nose.

She laughs again and kisses one cheek, then the other, and finally she kisses my forehead.

‘I love you, sweetheart.’

‘I love you too,’ she smiles. ‘Story time now.’

I nod.

She untangles her legs from around my waist and her arms relax around my neck. She slides out of my arms before I’m ready to let her go and scurries on to one of the mattresses.

‘Is this your bed?’ I ask.

Amelia tucks her feet under her and simultaneously shakes her head. ‘My bed is a princess bed,’ she explains, eyeing me with uncertainty.

I think of the plastic frame Paul made me buy when we moved Amelia from a cot into a bed last year. It’s neon pink and the headboard is shaped like a crown. It doesn’t match anything in her bedroom, but Paul insisted our daughter needed a bed fit for royalty. I was hoping we could get rid of it when we moved into the cottage, but Amelia loves the gaudy thing.

‘That’s Deacon’s bed,’ she says and points to the mattress across from her. ‘I’m having a sleepover at Deacon’s house.’

‘A sleepover?’ I say, the words jarring.

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