Down London Road (On Dublin Street, #2)(8)

I let myself quietly into the dark flat and slipped my heels off, tiptoeing down the hall to Cole’s room first. I cracked open his door and from the light spilling in under his curtains I could make out his head buried nearly all the way under his duvet. The worry I always felt for him eased a little now that I could see with my own eyes that he was safe and sound, but that worry never, ever completely disappeared – partly because parents never, ever stop worrying about their kids and partly because of the woman who slept in the room across the hall from him.

I slipped into my mum’s bedroom, only to find her sprawled across her bed, the sheets twisted around her legs, her nightdress rucked up so I could see the pink cotton underneath. I was just thankful she was wearing underwear. Despite everything, I couldn’t let her freeze, so I covered her quickly with her duvet and then clocked the empty bottle by her bed. I quietly reached for it and left the room to take it into our small kitchen. I placed it with the others, and noted it was time to take the box of bottles down to the recycle bin.

I stared at them a moment, feeling exhausted, and that exhaustion turned to resentment for the bottle and all the troubles it had caused us. As soon as it had become clear that Mum no longer had an interest in anything, including authority over her own home, I took over from her. These days I paid the rent on our three-bedroom flat on time every month. I’d saved a lot, I worked a lot of hours, and best of all, my mum couldn’t get anywhere near my money. That never used to be the case, though. There was a time when money was a worry, when feeding and clothing Cole was a deep worry. I’d promised myself we would never go back to that. So even though there was money in the bank, I knew it was money that would stretch only so far.

I’d tried to erase much of our former life. When I was growing up, my uncle Mick – a painter and decorator – used to take me with him on the jobs he did for friends and family. I worked with him right up until he moved to America. Uncle Mick had taught me everything he knew and I’d loved every minute of it. There was something soothing about transforming a space, something therapeutic in it. So every now and then I’d go bargain hunting and I’d redecorate the flat – just as I had done when we’d moved into the new one. Only a few months ago I’d wallpapered the main wall in the living room in this bold chocolate paper with grand teal flowers on it. I’d painted the other three walls cream and I’d bought teal and chocolate scatter cushions for our old cream leather sofa. Although in the end it wouldn’t be us benefiting financially from the change, the first thing I’d done when we moved in was strip the hardwood flooring, restoring the floor to its former glory. That had been the biggest expense, but it had been worth it to feel proud of our home, no matter how temporary. Despite the lack of expense on the rest of the decor, the flat looked modern and clean and well cared-for. It was a home Cole wouldn’t be ashamed of bringing friends back to … if it weren’t for our mum.

Most days I coped with the hand that Cole and I had been dealt. Today I felt emotional. I felt further than ever from the peace and security I strove to find. Perhaps it was the weariness causing my blood to heat.

Deciding it was time to catch some sleep, I strolled quietly down to the end of the hall, ignored the drunken snoring from my mum’s room, and slipped silently behind my door, closing the world out. I had the smallest room in the flat. Inside it was a single bed, a wardrobe – most of my clothes, including my eBay pile, shared space with Cole’s in the wardrobes in his bedroom – and a couple of overflowing bookshelves. My collection ranged from paranormal romances to nonfiction history books. I would read anything. Absolutely anything. I loved being transported somewhere else, even back in time.

I stripped out of the Dolce & Gabbana and put it into my dry-cleaning bag. Only time would tell if I got to keep it or not. The flat was freezing, so I hurried into my warm pyjamas and dived under the covers.

After such a long day, I thought I’d fall asleep instantly. But I didn’t.

I found myself staring up at the ceiling, playing Cam’s words over and over inside my head. I’d thought I was used to people thinking I was worthless, but his attitude for some reason stuck in my side like a knife. And yet there was no one else to blame but myself.

I chose this path.

I turned on my side, pulling the duvet up to my chin. I didn’t think I was unhappy.

I didn’t know if I was happy, though.

I supposed it didn’t matter as long as the end result was that Cole was happy. Our mum was pretty rubbish at being a mum – and fourteen years ago I’d promised myself to watch out for my baby brother. As long as he grew up with self-worth and I had the means to get him whatever he needed to start out right in life, that was all that mattered.





3


Staring at the electricity bill in frustration, I decided I’d have to look at it again when I wasn’t so tired. I’d had a few hours of sleep before I had to get up for Cole in the morning, which I always did because I liked to see him off to school. And then I’d come home and spent the day cleaning the flat, rousing Mum long enough to help her get washed and dressed, and then I’d left her watching some daft talk show while I went off to do the food shopping.

I squinted at the electricity bill. I doubted I’d be able to figure it out; I could never understand how the tariffs worked. However they were calculated, they put me out of pocket. ‘Assholey scumsuckers,’ I hissed, throwing the bill on the coffee table and ignoring the startled look from Cole, who was still wearing his school uniform. Ever since he got old enough to start emulating me, I’d watched my language around him. I hated slipping up.