The Day She Came Back(50)

‘Of course it is. Your nan just died.’

‘Yes, and I have some other stuff going on.’ She paused; did she want to tell him about Sarah? In truth, she knew she would welcome someone to talk to about it in the absence of Daksha.

‘What other stuff?’ He slurped noisily.

‘It’s about my mum.’

‘It’s okay,’ he cut in. ‘You don’t have to tell me. I know she died too; everyone knows it. I’m guessing it was the drug thing you mentioned? We used to talk about it a bit in school, how it must have been rough for you, having to live with your nan.’

Victoria pulled her head back on her shoulders. ‘It wasn’t rough for me living me with my gran.’ She was aware of her slightly defensive tone and felt conflicted. ‘She was wonderful. Until after she died. Now, I’m not so sure . . .’

‘Well, that’s good then.’ He looked a little perplexed and took another slug of his juice.

‘The thing is, my mum . . .’ She swallowed, aware of how utterly incredible this was going to sound. It still sounded incredible to her, and she had been living with it inside her head for a little while now. ‘My mum isn’t actually dead. She came to my gran’s funeral, turned up out of the blue.’

Flynn placed his glass on the table and blinked.

‘So you lied about having no mum?’ He sat back in the chair. ‘That’s fucking messed up!’

‘No! God, not at all. I was lied to. My gran told me my mum had died, but in fact she hadn’t.’

She watched his eyes roam the space above her head, digesting the facts.

‘Are you kidding me right now?’

‘No. I’m not kidding you. I kind of wish I was.’

He was quiet for a beat or two, his brow furrowed. ‘Why would anyone do that?’

The laugh that left her mouth was sharp and incredulous and she lay her hands on the tabletop. ‘I don’t know, Flynn! I am still trying to piece it all together, but I can tell you it is the worst thing imaginable. I have mourned her all my life, comforted by my gran during the saddest of days, and all the time . . .’ She traced a pattern around the rim of her glass with her fingertip.

‘So you hadn’t seen your mum until the funeral? Not once?’

‘No.’

‘Was she living close by?’

‘No. Oslo.’

‘Oslo,’ he repeated. ‘Did she not want to see you in all that time?’

‘I don’t know. She says she did, but I don’t know . . .’ She wished she had better answers.

‘Did your nan tell you when she died. I mean, did you think about her on the anniversary? Go to church? Light a candle, all that shit?’

She knew he was thinking of his own family, sitting and mourning the passing of Michael junior, and was no doubt, like her, trying to think of this happening when, all the time, her gran would know it was a farce, as Sarah was very much alive.

‘Not really, no. There was no specific day mentioned. We used to talk about her, though. Not a lot or in any detail, but it wasn’t taboo. I was told she died when I was a baby of a drug overdose.’

‘Shit!’ he surmised. ‘That’s seriously, seriously messed up.’

‘Yep.’ So you said. ‘And part of that was true. She was a drug user and was in rehab when she had me, but the overdose bit – that was apparently not; at least, if it is true, it wasn’t fatal. Obviously.’

‘That’s a lot for you to take in.’

‘As I said’ – she took a sip of her juice – ‘I have some other stuff going on.’

Flynn bit at the skin around his thumbnail, clearly thinking. ‘So what happens now you know she isn’t dead? Are you going to see her again? Is she going to come and live here?’

‘No, she won’t be coming to live here and I’m not sure about seeing her again. She wants us to get to know each other, but . . .’

‘But what?’

She ran her hand over her face. ‘They lied to me, Flynn, all of them. All the people I trusted and who were looking after me, they all lied, and not just once, and it wasn’t a small white lie – it was a big lie! The biggest! And they did it for my whole life, and my gran and grandpa died without giving me a chance to hear it from them or ask them about it or . . .’ She shook her head at the unpalatable truth; her list of gripes was long. ‘And I can’t seem to get past that. Do you think you could get past something like that?’

‘Hmm . . . I think at first I’d be too angry to feel anything but furious. Maybe that’s where you are now?’

‘Maybe,’ she conceded.

‘But then, looking on the positive side, you’ve got your mum back! And that’s got to be pretty cool.’

She nodded. ‘The hardest thing is just that . . .’

‘What?’ he asked softly.

‘I was able to cope with not having my mum around because I knew, or thought I knew, that she would never have chosen to leave me. I kind of felt sorry for her because she had no choice, because she died. But that’s bullshit. She did choose to leave me, and I feel more abandoned and alone than I ever thought possible. Even though she is still here.’

‘It will all get easier.’ The platitude irritated her.