She stared at me for a long, agonising minute with eyes that were sallow, sunken slits.
‘Or lemonade?’
‘Go on, then.’ She gave a dismissive shrug as though she couldn’t care less either way. It was hard not to smile in surprise, having seen Joan perform that exact gesture dozens of times.
I got up and went inside to fetch two glasses, and then a far better idea hit me. A few minutes later I found Leanne, slumped in my spare chair, arms still wrapped tightly across her gaunt body.
‘It’s this way,’ I ventured, suddenly aware that I hadn’t figured out this part of the plan.
‘What?’ Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
‘Come on. It’s much comfier inside.’ I adopted the smile that I’d perfected over decades of trying to appease my mother, holding up both drinks like a stranger luring a child with a bag of sweets.
With an impatient huff she heaved herself out of the chair with the effort of a woman three times her age. I couldn’t quite believe she actually followed me into the house and up the stairs, but I supposed she was simply too weary to argue. I ducked into the bathroom ahead of her, turning off the taps and checking that there were enough bubbles, and that the candles were still lit.
‘Towels are there. It’s a spare robe so don’t worry about giving it back. Chocolate, radio and I’ll leave your drink here. Take as long as you need. I’ll be in the garden in case Joan wonders where you are. Oh, and there’s plenty of hot water if you want to top it up.’
Leanne shook her head, conflicting thoughts wrestling behind bloodshot eyes.
Rather than arguing, I simply nudged her inside, slipped out and shut the door behind me.
Forty minutes later she reappeared – still in her grubby work clothes, but her wet hair was smoothed back behind her ears and her skin was almost rosy.
‘I left the glass on the side in the kitchen.’ She hovered for a moment, and before I could think of how to break the tension, she collapsed into a chair, face disintegrating into brutal, bone-jarring sobs.
Completely out of my depth, the fact that she’d accepted the bath gave me enough courage to scoot my chair closer until I could place my hand on her shoulder. After about a minute of bawling, Joan appeared at her kitchen door. I smiled, mouthing, ‘It’s okay,’ and she nodded, her eyebrows sharp angles of worry, before disappearing inside again.
‘I’ll make us some tea,’ I said, once Leanne had quietened enough to hear me, reappearing with mugs and tissues to find her sitting quietly, staring at the trees beyond the fence.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No.’ I handed her a mug, then sat down. ‘Don’t apologise. Not for crying, or for being knackered, or having a broken shower. Or for needing some help. I don’t know the details, and I don’t need to, but I do know that these near-impossible circumstances you’ve ended up in are not your fault.’
Leanne laughed – a brittle, caustic bark of self-contempt. ‘Not true.’
I watched a pair of wood pigeons hopping along the back fence as I thought about that.
‘Wow. You must be the luckiest woman alive if you’ve never had anyone take advantage. If everything has always gone your way and you’ve never had to face stuff randomly going wrong or someone else’s bad decision making your life worse.’
I just about caught the tiniest flicker of a smile.
‘While I’ve not had much luck on my side, I’ve not exactly helped matters by making one stupid decision after another.’
‘Was leaving your boyfriend and coming here stupid?’
Leanne took a slow sip of tea. The summer air was starting to cool as the sun sank below the far edge of the forest, and she huddled further down in her seat. ‘It would have killed me, in the end, if I’d stayed. Either the violence or the drugs. So, no. Even though I’ve spent plenty of time wondering what the hell I’m doing here, and hated myself for what it’s doing to my little girl, I had to leave.’
At the mention of drugs, a tendril of anxiety slithered down the back of my neck.
‘But I brought that monster into our home in the first place. I stayed with him as long as I did. So it was still my fault.’
I took a slow breath, before deciding that I had nothing to lose in reciprocating Leanne’s honesty. ‘I’m starting to realise that my mum was emotionally abusive. She controlled my entire life, up until I moved here. I lost my twenties doing what she wanted, being who she wanted me to be. I could blame her for it, accuse her of sabotaging any chance I had at happiness, but I was an adult, responsible for my own choices. Any power she had over me was because I gave it to her.’