Like Susan…

I flick through my workbook. There are a few appointments, including the return to Mrs J. It’s nothing I can’t cancel. I dutifully respond: ‘I’ll be there in twenty.’

Twenty minutes later, I park up outside our family home. Should I knock? Should I go straight in? I err on the side of instinct, opting for a combination of the two. The smell of grilled bacon greets me the second I open the door.

‘Morning,’ she says, not quite as effusively as normal.

There’s a stickiness in the air. Bacon or no, I’m definitely not in the clear. My observation of her mood is proven with the cheek I am offered to kiss. No warm embraces this morning. No jokes and banter. Just a cheek. I give her a peck, as is expected; her skin is soft and plump. It makes me want to say sorry and have her wrap me up in a cuddle like I’m a kid again. Instead, I reach for the cup of tea that sits next to her own steaming china cup.

‘How are you today?’ she asks.

‘I’m alright, yeah.’ I resist telling her about my hangover or my chat with Kat. ‘How are you?’ We’ve never fallen out. Cross words occasionally, but not even those since we lost David. Because there’s an unspoken law – you never know what might happen. I need her.

‘Smells like you went out last night?’ she says, sniffing in my direction before handing me a massive bacon roll and the ketchup fresh from the fridge. She gives me one of those looks like only your mother can. Accusatory with added knowing. I follow her into the lounge. ‘Watch the crumbs,’ she instructs me, and there’s something reassuring in the normality of her request.

‘Yeah, I…’ I pause, wondering if I should tell her about Susan. About her house and what we found. Any other time, I would have shared stuff like this. I’ve always told her everything, yet this week seems to be unravelling all of that. I don’t know if I’m ready to tell her anything, yet I probably need to now more than ever. ‘I had a couple in the Tree, saw Paul for a bit.’ Mum nods but doesn’t look at me. ‘Not a big session though,’ I add, like a teenager hiding details of a night down the park with a bottle of Bacardi and twenty fags. ‘Did you go out?’ I ask, not sure I really want the answer. I take a bite of bacon sandwich; it tastes like home.

‘Yes. For a bit. I popped round to see Derek after you left.’

Having not got as far as establishing names, I can only assume Derek is who I think he is. I bite back the need to check. ‘He made me a cup of tea, listened whilst I let off steam, then I got the bus back.’

I nod, wondering what she said to him, what he said in return. Wondering what he thinks of me and feeling annoyed I even care. I shove the last of my bacon sandwich into my mouth as an excuse not to talk, wiping away the ketchup caught on my top lip. Salty bacon mixed with the sweet tomato fends off my thick head. Mum’s long-service carriage clock, an award from her years at Marks & Spencer, ticks over our silence. I focus my attention on its spinning pendulum. Clockwise then anti. It’s like the one at Susan’s.