‘Well, I won’t be in here forever,’ Leanne said, looking a little disconcerted.
‘I know that. I really want you back home, just not before you’re ready. Your eyes are still horrible and yellow.’
‘And we need to get the cottage ready,’ I added, before Joan insulted her mother any further. ‘You need a working shower at the very least, and if you don’t mind I’ll speak to the landlord about the mould, see what he can do. All those spores can’t be good for your health.’
‘Well, that is one bonus of being in here.’ Leanne pulled a wry face. ‘A decent shower. You have my full permission to sort whatever you can. Goodness knows I’m not going to have the energy for it. I’ve paid a bit of the overdue rent, so that might help.’
‘Oh?’
‘Pia insisted on paying for the weeks since she fired me. She also got that cow who refused to pay for my supposedly shoddy cleaning to backdate me, as well. Another bonus of Hotel NHS is that apart from the odd treat from the snack trolley, I’m not spending a penny. Not even on ciggies since they’re banned from now on. I’ve no idea what the hell we’re going to do if I’m not back on my feet soon, but I’ll worry about that another day. I’ve dealt with worse.’
‘You’re amazing.’ I gave her hand a squeeze.
Leanne laughed, but I could sense the tears hovering close by. ‘Yeah, look at me. Wonder Woman eat your heart out.’
‘Ugh, a few more days!’ Joan said, once we were driving home.
‘I know, it’s really hard. But you understand why the doctors think it’s best to keep her in a bit longer.’
‘No, you don’t understand! I want her to say in longer.’ Joan shook her head in exasperation. ‘A few days might not be long enough for Sam to find Nana and Grandad!’
‘It will probably take quite a bit longer than that. And you know that we might not be able to find them at all. Or what will happen when we do.’
Nana and Grandad? That was new.
‘Yes, yes, I know they might hate Mum or be horrible or whatever. I know all of that but I don’t think they will; I think they’ve spent years and years missing her and praying that she’ll come home one day. I just feel it.’
I waited a moment before answering, thinking about the ‘research’ Joan had conducted in the library while I was coaching. This consisted mainly of reading books where solving the mystery and reaching the happy ending was the only outcome. ‘Well, let’s hope we can find them soon.’
Joan twisted towards the window, sinking into her hoodie. ‘I don’t have to hope because I know that we will,’ she muttered.
Once I’d left Joan reading while Nesbit curled up at the foot of the sofa bed, I poured myself a glass of wine and pulled out my phone, clicking to open the internet. The Buttonhole website was advertising a new quilting course. There were pictures on the Facebook page showing a recent Knit and Natter Night, and Mum was in at least half of them, face glowing and wearing a patterned tea-dress that I knew she’d have sewn herself. To my shock, her name had been tagged. Mum had never taken any interest in social media, but clicking on the link, it took me to her profile. She had set it to private, so all I could see was a profile picture and basic information – but it was enough to send my head spinning. Mum, sitting in a pub garden in the sunshine, lifting up a huge gin and tonic and smiling as though she hadn’t a care in the world.
I knew that profile pictures lied.
I knew that even if she was as happy as this snapshot implied, that was okay.
It was better than okay – I wanted her to be happy. In a way, it proved that instead of being completely selfish, my decision had been the right one for her as well as me, because she’d certainly never looked this happy before.
It made me think that maybe we would be able to start again.
But at the same time, Joan’s words about her grandparents reverberated inside my head.
Why wasn’t my mum missing me, grieving her only child?
Had her behaviour the past few years been my fault? Had I been the one holding her back?
‘Stop gaslighting yourself!’ Steph barked, when I called her in a snotty, snuffling mess a few minutes later. ‘One word: tooth-gate.’
She spent another half hour laying out the case for why this whole train of thought was preposterous.
‘Of course it’s a shock to see her getting on with things when for so many years she acted like her whole life depended upon you. Even if she hadn’t created this suffocating, all-consuming relationship, it would be weird to be confronted with that picture when you’ve not had any contact in so long.’