The Girl Who Lied(43)

Looking round the empty café, I quickly go over to the door and flick the lock. I will only be gone a minute, it won’t matter. I doubt whether I’ll have any more customers now, it’s nearly four o’clock.

Taking a carton of milk from the fridge, I nip out of the café and up the staircase. The door to the flat is open and Mum is standing at the kitchen sink. A small plume of smoke curls up into the air.

‘Mum, what are you doing?’

Mum jumps. She steps in the doorway, preventing me from coming in.

‘Nothing,’ she says. ‘What’s that you have there? Milk? Oh, thanks.’ She reaches out and takes the carton from my hand.

‘What are you burning?’ I peer over her shoulder. The blackened remains of some sort of card or paper lies in the sink. The flame gives one last puff and extinguishes.

Mum turns and runs the tap. ‘Oh, that. Nothing,’ she says. ‘I couldn’t get the gas to light, so I used an old piece of card.’ She swishes the water around with her hand and then drags the charred remains up the stainless-steel side with the palm of her hand. Taking a piece of kitchen roll she wipes them off into the bin.

I look over at the hob. One of the burners is alight. ‘Are you sure that’s all it was?’

‘Erin! Please,’ says Mum with an unusual impatience. ‘I’m tired and need a lie down and you should be in the café.’

‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ I say, slightly bruised from her reaction. ‘I’ll get back. Make sure you get some rest, won’t you?’

An hour later, having closed the café up for the day, with a certain amount of trepidation I go back up to the flat. I’m still a bit confused about Mum’s reaction earlier, but I’ve decided to put it down to the stress of Dad being in hospital. It’s only natural, now I come to think about it. Mum is, in fact, doing a great job keeping it all together.

I needn’t have worried. Mum is in a much better mood than when I left her earlier. The rest has obviously done her some good. I make a light tea for us both and while Mum takes a shower, I settle down in front of the TV.

I flick through the channels, but nothing really holds my attention. The weight of trying to juggle my new-found responsibilities here in Ireland with those of work back in England, and not to mention Ed, are bearing down on me. Will he really sack me? If he does, how will that impact on our relationship? That’s if you can call it a proper relationship at the moment. We’ve hardly seen each other and I have to admit, the physical side of things is pretty non-existent. Last time he was over, I turned him down for sex, citing it was my time of the month. It had been a lie, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to have sex with him. I’m not quite sure what made me do that. I like to think it’s stress, although I suspect it might have something to do with a certain Irish mechanic.

Speaking of which, what is going on there? I know I like him. Like him a lot. But is this impairing my usual rational judgement? Is there even a point in liking him as more than just a friend if I’m skipping off back to London soon? The latter thought doesn’t fill me with any cheer.

‘Oh, this is so confusing,’ I groan to myself, pushing a cushion to my face. ‘I can’t think straight any more!’

‘You all right?’ Mum is standing in the doorway, refreshed and relaxed from her shower. She tightens the belt on her dressing gown. ‘Anything you want to talk about?’

I smile fondly up at her, not wishing to share my dilemma. ‘I’m fine, thanks. A bit tired, that’s all.’

Mum looks sceptical. ‘You sure? You can talk to me. Don’t want you bottling things up and then, you know…’ She waves her hand airily.

‘Scoot off?’ I offer. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not about to hot-foot it off to London in the still of the night. It’s all under control.’

Mum nods her head. ‘It’s nice having you back, if only for a while. I’ve missed you, Erin.’ She turns away and heads for the kitchen.

I jump to my feet.

‘Mum.’ I follow her into the kitchen and put my arms around her. I hug her tightly. ‘I’ve missed you too.’

As Mum returns the embrace, I’m aware of the shift in dynamics between us. Now, as a grown woman myself, I feel responsible for Mum, it’s almost as if our roles have been reversed. I know people speak of this as their parents age and the child becomes the carer, but this isn’t so much a physical need, but more of an emotional need. I won’t let her down, not this time.

‘Look at us daft pair,’ says Mum, as she pulls away from the embrace to wipe a few stray tears from her face.