She was standing in the kitchen at quarter past six in the morning, screaming. Lucy, only fifteen, had been walking in her sleep again, caught in the grip of a nightmare so fierce it had pulled her out of bed and down the stairs. I held her until she stopped shaking, telling her she was safe, that it was just a dream. She looked at me with those hollow eyes and asked what happened.
I told her she was fine. But neither of us believed it. Her mother was dead. Her father was in prison for it.
And Lucy had seen everything. That morning, I called home to check on my own son. He was ten, staying with my daughter and my ex while I was locked up. He was struggling, kicking against everyone, and I could hear the weight of it in his voice.
Kit, the man who was looking after him, tried to reassure me. He said my boy was in good hands and that the best thing I could do was focus on getting through this and getting out. He was right. But worrying about my lad never stopped.
Down in the common room, Carla noticed I hadn’t eaten. She said I needed to look after myself, that neglecting yourself was a slippery slope. I told her I wasn’t hungry, that it was hard to eat when you were wondering what someone might put in your food. One of the other girls had warned me that if I showed my face in the canteen, it would be the last meal I ever ate.
Carla didn’t blink. She guessed exactly who it was, some blonde with a Rangers tattoo and an attitude problem. She said she’d mark her card for me, and that I had friends in here now. Us mothers had to stick together.
The truth was, I’d never spoken to anyone in that place before Carla. She was the only one who made me feel like I had half a chance. Later, Tim and I tried to talk to Lucy about what happened the night her mother died. She told us her mum had started on a drink, waiting for her dad to come back before turning on him.
She said her mum used to hit him, throw things, and he never retaliated. Not once. Until that day, when he had no choice. Lucy insisted her mum had come at him with a knife, and if he hadn’t hit her, she would have killed him.
She said it over and over: it wasn’t his fault. He did nothing wrong. Tim tried to change the subject, offered her a milkshake. Lucy snapped.
She called the whole conversation pointless and stormed off, telling us we’d never understand what it was like. I wanted to go after her, but Tim said to leave her. She was fifteen, old enough to be out on her own. Then Tim turned on me.
He said that if what Lucy said was true, it was awful, but at least I didn’t have to live with the guilt. I asked him what he meant. He said that if I hadn’t kicked Richie out, and if he hadn’t persuaded Richie to go back home, his wife would still be alive. He was trying to pin it on me, to unload his guilt onto my shoulders.
I told him I was going to work. He said, yeah, you better not. There was nothing left to say. Outside, there was trouble.
A woman I’d never seen before confronted me, asking if I lived around here, saying she hadn’t seen me before. Her friend joined in, demanding answers. When I didn’t respond, she told me to act like a piece of furniture. I told her not to ever speak to me like that again.
She grabbed me, tried to hit me. When I tried to split them up, I ended up with scratches on my arm. The woman claimed I was out of control, that I scratched her on purpose and would have done worse to her friend if she hadn’t stepped in. Tim saw it all and told her to leave, that I’d just lost my mother in the most tragic circumstances.
The woman backed off, but warned me to stay out of her way. She said I’d had a free year and wouldn’t get another. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was what my life was going to be like from now on. Everyone knowing my business, everyone having an opinion.
At the restaurant, Tim’s business partner Brian was trying to set up a local traders group. He wanted to form some kind of association, a nimble, muscular body to help everyone through the tough economic times. I sat through the meeting, serving free starters, schmoozing the local business owners. It worked.
They were impressed with the food, impressed with the service, and agreed to hold all their future meetings at the restaurant. Brian was thrilled. He said I’d done well, that the service was spot on. I told him it was easy when they were eating out of my hand.
Afterwards, Brian pulled me aside. He made an offer to buy into the restaurant, cash on the nail, fifteen thousand less than the asking price. He wanted a handshake and a done deal, no middlemen, no surveys. I told him I’d have to think about it.
But I already knew I was going to do it. I could make a real go of this place. Tim and I talked about the confrontation with the woman outside. I told him I thought Lucy was being genuine about what she saw.
Tim said he didn’t trust the other woman as far as he could throw her. I said I wouldn’t worry about it for now. But inside, I was wound tight. When I got home, Lucy had rushed upstairs after hearing part of our conversation.
She was furious that Tim had mentioned her mother to someone else, even vaguely. She said I had no right, that she didn’t want people talking about her. Then she said something that cut deep. She said she didn’t know why her dad ever came back, that he’d told her he was going to get away from her mum, and none of it had to happen.
Then she said it was only a matter of time before she was on her own again. I asked her why she’d say that. She said I couldn’t wait to get rid of her after what happened today. I told her that wasn’t true, that she was family.
She looked at me with pure hurt and said, “I’m not her family. She definitely doesn’t want me here. ” Then she ran off. Tim said she didn’t mean it.
I told him what she said was the least of my worries. But I couldn’t stop thinking about his lie to the woman outside, how he’d said Lucy’s mother died in tragic circumstances without mentioning the truth. I told him she’d be even more upset when she found out what really happened. I had no idea what that meant.
And I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
