THE PERFECT CHRISTMAS

CHARLOTTE STEVENSON

Copyright © 2026 Charlotte Stevenson

The right of Charlotte Stevenson to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published in 2026 by Bloodhound Books.

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

www.bloodhoundbooks.com

Print ISBN: 978-1-918834-11-6

CONTENTS

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1. Lorelai

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

17. Lorelai

18. Lorelai

19. Lorelai

20. Lorelai

21. Lorelai

22. Lorelai

23. Lorelai

24. Lorelai

25. Lorelai

26. Lorelai

27. Lorelai

28. Lorelai

29. Lorelai

30. Lorelai

31. Lorelai

32. Lorelai

33. Lorelai

34. Lorelai

35. Lorelai

36. Lorelai

37. Lorelai

38. Lorelai

39. Lorelai

40. Lorelai

41. Lorelai

42. Lorelai

43. Lorelai

44. Lorelai

45. Lorelai

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

48. One Year After

49. One Year After

Also by Charlotte Stevenson

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Acknowledgements

A note from the publisher

For Leoni

1

LORELAI

PRESENT DAY

The thought arrives like an unwelcome guest. What if this Christmas isn’t perfect? But I banish it immediately, smothering it with routine and order. Today is the day before Christmas Eve, and my carefully curated cooking schedule must be adhered to if I want everything to be flawless for the big day. And I do. Everything must be perfect. Nothing else will do.

The pieces for the gingerbread house are in the oven. They need exactly another seven minutes, and I will stay by the cooker and watch their progress. They must be firm but not too dark at the edges and will have to be made again if there is even the tiniest flaw. Ideally, the gingerbread house would have been baked and assembled a week or longer ago, but I marked decorating it on my planner as the ideal day before Christmas Eve activity. It doesn’t matter that making it today means I will have to stay up until 3am steaming Christmas puddings. The sacrifice is worth it.

Oscar is ten now, so he can do a little more with decorating the gingerbread house this year. His bits can always be retouched once he goes to bed. The flaked almonds, mini chocolate fingers, and assorted sweets are separated neatly into sealed Tupperware bowls. Royal icing will be made when the house is baked to ensure it stays smooth and silky. An image of the gingerbread house comes to life in my mind – a flawless, symmetrical construction, with intricate yet charming details adorning the roof and the walls. A perfect table centrepiece for a perfect Christmas.

Oscar and Conrad are at the supermarket. Oscar returned from a playdate at his friend’s house yesterday, raving about a bowl that looked like the head of a nutcracker, filled with different types of nuts.

“Arlo’s mum and dad sat with us and helped us crack them open. It was so much fun.”

We do not have a special Christmas bowl filled with nuts. And I can’t have that. So, Conrad has driven Oscar to find a bowl he’ll love even more than the one Arlo’s family has, and to buy the biggest selection of nuts he can find. A wholesome, father-son pre-Christmas activity. We will recreate the nutcracking session here, and it will beat the memory Oscar has of cracking nuts with Arlo’s family.

The eight-feet-tall Christmas tree in our front window is nothing short of spectacular. The classic pyramid shape and lush, deep-green needles, with a delicious scent. We have a gold-and-red theme this year. In the wrong hands, those colours could look tacky, but I have created a vision. The tree, along with the other four smaller trees we have peppered throughout the house, creates a magical winter wonderland.

A strange noise startles me out of my musings. A slow, eerie creaking sound that I can’t quite place. How odd. I immediately turn to the oven, relieved to find that everything is as it should be. Just two more minutes now. I mustn’t allow myself to get distracted. Checking the drive, there is no sign of Oscar or Conrad. I must be imagining things. Our house is detached with an acre of gardens, so we never hear any noise from the neighbours.

And then I hear another sound. A rhythmic thumping resonates beneath my feet. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was the sound of footsteps. But I’m alone. Or at least I think I am…

My breath catches in my throat, and I press my oven gloves to my chest. They are a deep bottle green and adorned with pictures of mistletoe and holly. I almost don’t want to use them they are so beautiful. But what kind of person uses plain old oven gloves at Christmastime?

I’m almost certain the noises are coming from inside the house. An eerie chill prickles up my spine, but a glance at the oven timer confirms I really mustn’t step away at this critical point. All my good work could be undone by going to investigate. With baking, a minute matters. It’s the difference between perfection and horribly average.

The sound, which I’m convinced now is footsteps, starts up again. Placing my oven gloves down carefully, I take a knife from the block. The biggest one. I will stand here and wait. This is a very wealthy neighbourhood, and burglars know that houses like ours will be teeming with expensive gifts at this time of year. If anyone thinks they are going to come and take Oscar’s Christmas presents, they had better think again. I will fight.

I peer down the dark corridor between the kitchen and our second living room and see that the basement door is ajar. My heart almost stops, as a hundred thoughts fly through my mind at once.

Someone is in the house. Run. Call the police.

Yet I do nothing but stand by my oven, holding the knife, my entire body trembling violently. A loud bang rings out through the silence, and I have to hold on to the kitchen counter to keep myself upright. The basement door moves gently back and forth, swaying ominously. I listen, but the house is still once more. Only the sound of my own blood thrumming in my ears. I exhale loudly, feeling light-headed. What am I going to do?

We never hear any noises from the basement, and that’s because it’s completely soundproofed. Once, it was used as a music studio, but fatherhood got in the way of band practice many years ago. Now we don’t use it for anything. It’s a dumping ground, and I can’t remember the last time I set foot in there. It must have been years. Even Conrad hardly goes down there anymore.

The oven timer begins to beep, piercing the atmosphere, and I lurch towards it and slam my palm against the oven to cease the screeching, my hand shaking so intensely I almost miss. I turn to the window trying to centre myself, but I’m paralysed with horror at the sight before me.

My hand flies to my mouth and I start to scream.

2

The looming, dark figure stands only inches from the glass, facing me head-on. Long, lank hair covering its features. I collapse to the floor, plastering my back against the kitchen cupboards, barely breathing and clutching the knife to my chest. A glance at the front door confirms it’s locked. I know it’s locked. But I scramble across the floor and check it anyway.

Reluctantly, I allow my eyes to return to the window, and I exhale a weighty sigh of relief when I see the figure is gone. Suddenly, a dark shadow flashes past the stained glass of the front door, and I yelp and crawl backwards, almost cutting myself with the knife in the process.

Deep inside I know what I should be doing. Instead of cowering on the floor holding a knife, I should be calling the police and reporting the intruder. Yet all I can think is how unwelcome this is. It’s the day before Christmas Eve, and there is so much to do. Whatever is happening here could ruin all our special plans for the evening. Why is this happening to me? Why now? If Oscar were here, he would be traumatised.

Oh God, Oscar!

I risk a glance out of the front window and my panic subsides a little as I see there is no sign of Conrad’s car. Cautiously, I get to my feet and listen carefully. Nothing. Not a sound. As I make my way to the kitchen window, a sudden flashback of the dark figure springs to the forefront of my mind. But I push it away and force myself to look around the back garden, beyond grateful to see that everything looks just as it should. Lowering the knife to my side, I walk slowly to the front door, open it and stare out at the quiet street. I’m amazed at my bravery, or perhaps it’s more like stupidity, but it’s as if something deep inside me knows that whoever I was face to face with mere moments ago has now gone.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply. Then, shutting the door gently, I walk over to the knife block and place the knife carefully back where it belongs. My head is pulsing, and my body feels like it belongs to someone else.

The open basement door taunts me. There are times in everyone’s life when how things will go from that point onwards depends on what you do in that specific second. I am not in the headspace for one of these moments right now. It’s the last thing I need.

And so I walk, on shaking legs, to the basement door and inspect it. Turning the handle, I see that it still works, and the door frame is undamaged. I can’t see any reason why it would have been open. So I push it closed and step back, grateful when it stays put. Immediately, I feel better. The door is closed, almost as though nothing has happened. And that’s how I’m going to keep things. If I tell Conrad there was a trespasser in our garden, peering at me through the window, he will overreact. He will probably call the police. Tonight will not be spent building a beautiful gingerbread house and nutcracking whilst Christmas music fills our winter wonderland home.

Pressure is building inside my head. Common sense trying to break through. It would be stupid of me to keep this from Conrad. If the situation were reversed, I would want to know. Conrad is a wonderful man and an excellent father. It wouldn’t be right to lie to him.

I do one last sweep of the ground-floor windows, and a final look out of the front door. There is nobody there. All is well. Perhaps the stress of Christmas is getting to me, and that was nothing more than a figment of my imagination. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen things that aren’t real, but I shake that thought away immediately. That was a long time ago.

As I return to the kitchen, pieces of a plan begin to fall into place in my mind. When Conrad comes home, I will quietly and calmly tell him that the basement door was ajar and that I wonder if it’s loose or something. I’ll simply mention it in passing and see how he reacts. And I already know how he’ll react. He’ll check it, fix it if need be, and our happy family life will continue. All will be well and Christmas festivities will resume.

There is no need to mention the figure at the window or the footsteps I think I heard. Most likely it was just a neighbour or someone in the wrong garden. I briefly consider venturing down to check the exterior door of the basement but decide against it. The door will remain closed, and I will stay right here.

A horrible thought lurches, unbidden, to the forefront of my mind – what if the intruder has made their way into a neighbour’s house? Imagine if I’ve been standing here all this time and someone on our street is being attacked or their house broken into. I close my eyes and breathe deeply. I can’t think about that right now. It’s Christmastime. Conrad and Oscar are on their way home and my first batch of gingerbread is currently burning in the oven. I’ll have to remake them, and my schedule is already tight. I need to move on and focus on what’s important. My family. I’m sure nothing untoward has happened to anyone, and if on the off-chance it has, I will just have to plead ignorance. Nobody knows I saw anything, and I can’t blow all our Christmas plans out of the water on an off-chance.

My family comes first.

Nothing is more important than our perfect Christmas.

3

The second batch of gingerbread is going into the oven when I hear Conrad’s car pull up in the driveway. Amazingly, the first batch didn’t burn too terribly, and I’ve already found a gorgeous gingerbread truffle recipe I can make, so it won’t go to waste. I’ll wrap the truffles up in mini cellophane bags with Christmas ribbons and pass them out to our guests as they leave tomorrow.

We’re having some neighbours over for Christmas Eve drinks and nibbles tomorrow at 4pm. It’s become a tradition. Hosting guests on Christmas Eve is lovely, but I just wish our visitors weren’t Conrad’s golfing buddies and their insufferable wives. Although the truffles will make a perfect addition, it’s another task to add to the already long list, and likely another hour of sleep will be lost tonight. But making Christmas magic is all about sacrifice, and I’m more than happy to go the extra mile.

Warmth spreads through me as I hear Oscar and Conrad chattering away excitedly outside. They have such a wonderful, close relationship. Oscar is what some people might call a ‘sensitive boy’. He’s not interested in sports, either playing or watching on TV. Conrad, a huge football fan, and player when he was younger, hasn’t once complained or tried to push Oscar towards joining sports teams. Instead, he patiently builds Lego with him and effortlessly feigns interest in his Pokémon card collection. Oscar couldn’t ask for a better father.

As I hear them approach the door, I rush over and fling it open wide, a blast of cold air flooding in as they bundle inside. Conrad’s arms are laden with shopping bags, and Oscar is beaming and clutching a huge bowl. It’s not exactly what I was hoping they would choose, but I don’t let this show on my face. The pure joy emanating from Oscar is so precious, and I couldn’t possibly say anything that would disrupt that. The bowl is the bottom half of a Santa Claus, from the belt to the boots. He thrusts it out towards me, and I’m surprised at just how heavy it is. I inspect it, making a ‘wow’ face at Oscar, who looks delighted with himself, and decide it’s actually rather cute. A fun and quirky addition to our Christmas décor. It can live on the table in the second living room, though. Definitely not in the main room where we will be receiving guests.

I place it on the kitchen counter and bend down to Oscar’s height. “Did you get the nuts too?”

Conrad holds up the bags. “Yep. Those and about a million other things.” He laughs good-naturedly, and I smile, trying to hide my apprehension. I could really do without a ‘million other things’. We’ve finished all the Christmas shopping except for the fresh bread and salad, which we will need to buy first thing tomorrow when we pick up the turkey. The fridge and cupboards are well stocked, and there really isn’t much room.

Conrad must sense what I am thinking. “Don’t worry, I didn’t buy food or anything. Just some last-minute presents for people at work. Bottles of wine, chocolates, that sort of thing.”

I relax and take a moment to really look at Conrad as he sorts through the shopping bags, pulling out packets of nuts and placing them on the kitchen counter. There is not a single iota of doubt in my mind. I have made the right decision. His and Oscar’s happiness mean the world to me, and I won’t have them upset by what is probably nothing.

I pull off Oscar’s coat. “Dinner will be in forty-five minutes. The gingerbread will be out of the oven in a couple of minutes, and I have a lasagna all ready to go in. Then we can fill this fantastic bowl of yours and spend the evening nut-cracking and gingerbread house-making. How does that sound?”

Oscar’s eyes sparkle. “Perfect! I’m going up to my room.”

My heart swells as he runs off. That’s the only word I ever want, ever need to hear from him. Perfect. Just how things should be.

Conrad is already making his way towards the stairs with his bags. “I’ll just wrap these and take a shower. Won’t take me long to drop them off tomorrow.”

I prickle but maintain a calm exterior. Tomorrow is planned out with minute-to-minute precision. I’ll need to find a suitable time for us to do that.

The oven timer goes off, and as I pull the perfectly baked gingerbread out, I get a horrible flashback to the last time the timer went off. The dark figure at the window peering into my soul.

I gasp, and without knowing I was going to do it, shout out, “Conrad!”

He’s halfway up the stairs already. “Yeah?”

I take a deep breath. This has to sound normal and casual. “I think there’s something wrong with the basement door. It came open by itself earlier, and I think the lock is loose or something. Would you take a look when you get a chance?”

Conrad’s footsteps halt. Blood pounds in my ears, and the seconds feel like minutes until he answers. “That’s weird. Sure. I’ll do it after the shower.”

He resumes walking up the stairs, and I let out a strangled breath. I must’ve managed to sound casual because he didn’t sound at all worried.

A crashing sound emanates from the kitchen, like a glass smashing. I rush to the sink, but I can’t see anything broken. My blood runs cold as I cast my eyes upwards to the window. There, sitting on the outside window ledge, is the mangled remains of one of the ceramic reindeers from our front porch. Its head has been broken off, and two jagged, gaping holes sit where its eyes once were. The world slows as it fixes me with its eerie black stare.

Without thinking, I run outside and grab it, refusing to look at its mauled face. The body is nowhere to be seen. I look around frantically, but I am alone. Only me and my clouds of ragged breaths. I shove the reindeer head into the nearest bush and march back indoors.

I will not allow menace into our home this festive season.

My attention will remain firmly on the people I love.

Everything else can go to hell.

4

I busy myself in the kitchen while Conrad takes a shower. My hands shake as I scrub at the already clean counter. Keeping my mind in order is paramount, and I have to focus my thoughts. I stiffen as I hear Conrad’s feet thumping down the stairs.

“Right, I’ll take a look at the basement door. What did you say happened?”

Opening a punnet of cherry tomatoes, I walk over to the sink to wash them, glancing over my shoulder to acknowledge Conrad. I left making the salad for precisely this moment. I’m in the middle of a task, preparing the family dinner, so it would seem completely normal for me not to accompany Conrad to the basement. I don’t want to look directly at him, and I definitely don’t want him to look directly at me. He will see it in my face. The fear. The overwhelming anxiety.

“Oh.” The word comes out like a squeak, and I chastise myself internally before clearing my throat. “I came downstairs, and it was open. I closed it, but it seems loose or something. Maybe it…” My words drift off. I’m talking too much, and I sound weird. I peer over my shoulder again, my jaw clenched. The tomatoes are perfectly clean, yet I keep running them under the tap, the noise of the water hitting the stainless steel of the sink going some way to drown out the worst-case scenarios colliding inside my head.

Conrad opens and closes the door, turning the handle a few times and nodding to himself. He opens the door again and runs his hands down the door frame. “Well, everything looks fine to me. You didn’t open it or go down to the basement or anything?”

“I can’t even remember the last time I went down there.” Despite trying to inject normalcy into my words, I still sound horribly wooden and affected, so I force myself to stop there. I have never been an overly talkative person, not by a long shot. So, I turn off the tap, wipe my hands on the tea towel, and take a few steps towards him, tipping my head in concerned interest.

Conrad looks up, then rubs his chin. “Let me go and take a look down there.” My eyes go wide, suddenly wishing I had run down to check myself. “I won’t delay dinner, I promise. How long have I got?” I try to hide my relief. Conrad put my concerned reaction down to the fact I like everything to keep to time, especially dinner. And he’s not wrong.

“Ten minutes and it will be on the table. I just need to finish the salad.” I force a hopefully normalish-looking smile onto my face as Conrad disappears down the stairs. My hands shake as I chop the tomatoes with the very same knife I was wielding not even an hour ago. I quickly assemble the rest of the salad and tiptoe closer to the basement door. My heart jumps as I hear a loud bang, and I almost let a yelp escape from my lips. I desperately need to get a hold of my nerves. And then I hear Conrad walking purposefully through the basement and up the steps. I should go back to the kitchen and busy myself with something, but I am frozen to the spot, terrified of what he is about to say. What will he have found down there?

Conrad strides over to the sink and washes his hands before turning to me. He looks concerned, and I don’t like it.

Unable to stay silent any longer, I ask, “What… what was that bang?”

Conrad leans against the counter. “I was just checking the outer door.”

“And?” I know I sound panicked and desperate, but isn’t that okay? I could simply be worried about the security of our house. Anyone would be.

Conrad shrugs his shoulders. “It’s fine. It was locked – I opened it, checked it, and locked it again.”

I stare, trying to keep my breathing under control. “Oh, that’s good.”

Conrad runs his fingers along the wooden door frame. “It was probably just the wind or something. I can get a little bolt for this door if you like. Stop it blowing open again.”

Tears spring to my eyes at his words. This was exactly what I wanted to hear, so why am I crying?

Conrad envelops me in a hug. “Hey, are you okay? Are you worried someone’s been in the house or something?”

I am making such a mess of this. Yes, I’m worried, in fact I’m almost certain someone has been in the house, but I don’t want him to know that. Why am I behaving like this? It’s so stupid and the exact opposite of what I’m trying to portray but I can’t seem to get a hold of myself.

Conrad continues. “I’m sure it’s nothing. This is an old house. It’s not airtight like some of those new builds. I’ll get a bolt for the door and have a proper look around just now. Sound okay?”

I pull back and dab at my eyes with my apron. “I’m just being silly. You know how I get around Christmas.”

Conrad takes my hand and squeezes it. “I know. And if I can do anything at all please just say. I’m here to listen. Here to help.” He looks at me expectantly and I turn away. Once, I was happy to talk about the tragic events of Christmas many years ago, but not anymore. Every year he still tries to get me to open up but I don’t want to. I just want to make Christmas as special as I can for us and forget the past.

Conrad must sense my reticence. “Look, let’s have dinner, then while you and Oscar are doing your gingerbread masterpiece, I’ll take a good look around. Then we can forget all about it.”

I nod. “That sounds good. You know I just want everything to be nice for Oscar.”

Conrad gives me a warm, caring smile. “And it will be. I’ll go and tell him to wash his hands and come down. Do you need any help with the food or the table?”

“No, the table is set. I’ll bring over the lasagna and the salad.”

“You can probably leave the salad in the kitchen, nobody’s going to eat it, you know.”

I chuckle, relieved by Conrad’s attempts to lighten the mood. “Everyone is going to have salad.”

Conrad rolls his eyes and heads upstairs, shouting for Oscar to wash up as he goes.

I return to the kitchen feeling wrung out. But that went fine, right? I mean, it could definitely have been worse. I absolutely got way too upset about a door being loose, and the tears were a particular low point, but that’s not entirely off-brand for me at Christmas. Conrad didn’t seem to think I was acting particularly unusually.

As I go to take the lasagna out of the oven something at the window catches my eye. It’s dark out there now, so I can mostly just see the reflection of our kitchen and the twinkling lights of our remaining outdoor decorations. I walk towards the window, staring at my reflection, squinting. There is a patch of mist as though someone has breathed on the glass. I turn off the kitchen light quickly, terrified of what I might see. But there is no one there. I flick the light back on and watch as the condensation slowly dissipates and see that someone has drawn an X into the fog. I lunge forward with my elbow and rub at the glass. A completely fruitless exercise as the patch of condensation is on the outside. But such is my desperation to wipe it away, I do it anyway. Panic consumes me. This must have only happened seconds ago. Someone is here, outside our window, hiding, waiting.

I open the window and an icy blast of air hits me in the face. I can’t see a single soul. Instead, I hear the very distinct but faint sound of mocking laughter, almost a cackling. The sound chills me to the bone, and I slam the window closed, relieved to see that the condensation has cleared and the X is now barely visible. Nothing more than a smudge. I breathe deeply and try to centre myself. Someone is trying to mess with me. First, the reindeer and now this. I try to reason with myself, perhaps it’s only some neighbourhood kids playing cruel pranks. If I ignore it, hopefully they’ll get bored and move on.

As I hear the sound of Conrad and Oscar running down the stairs, I turn away from the window and fix my face into a welcoming smile. Whatever this is, whoever this is, I will not let them invade my mind or my family home at Christmas.

They can provoke me and poke me all they want, but I will not let them touch my family.

And woe betide anyone who tries.

5

Dinner goes by without a hitch and is enjoyed by all. The conversation was dominated, as usual, by Oscar. With my mind still racing and trying to piece everything together, I’m more than happy to sit back and listen to his stories about his school friends and how he hopes he gets everything he’s asked for on Christmas Day. Santa has indeed bought him everything he asked for, and many more things besides. He is a good boy and deserves the very best.

Now, I stand in the kitchen, the dishwasher whirring and everything cleaned away, assembling the gingerbread house. I refuse to look out of the window the entire time. If someone has decided to play mean tricks on me, I’m not even going to dignify it with a response. They can go and pick on someone else. I press the final piece into place and stand back. It looks amazing, and in twenty minutes, it will be strong enough for me and Oscar to start decorating it.

Conrad and Oscar sit at the dining table with the packets of nuts and the Santa’s-legs bowl. It is pure chaos. Bags are strewn everywhere, and nutshells are littered across the table. I smile. Usually, I like everything clean and tidy, but never at the expense of Oscar having fun.

I walk over to them. “Can I have a go?” I hold out my hands and Conrad passes me the nutcracker. “I’ve never used one of these. Do you just squeeze it?”

Oscar pipes up. “You won’t be able to. I can barely do it and I’m much stronger than you. Let Dad do one for you.” Oscar grabs the nutcracker out of my hand and holds it out to Conrad, who raises his eyebrows. He does this often. Defers to me and waits for permission. It’s kind of him, but he doesn’t have to do it all the time. It makes me feel like he thinks I’m controlling. And I’m not. Okay, I’m a little bit particular about certain things but I’m definitely not controlling.

I grin and nod at Conrad. “Well, if the mighty Oscar finds it hard, then I’ve got no chance.” Oscar nods seriously and I have to stifle a giggle. “Anyway, there are loads already cracked open. I can just have one of those.”

Oscar wrinkles his nose. “Have them all. They’re gross. I just like opening them.”

I laugh and a warmth spreads through me. Nobody outside of these four walls matters to me even a millionth of what these two people do. The events of today will remain my secret.

And if I need to, I will make it go away.

By any means necessary.

* * *

It is just after midnight. Officially Christmas Eve, and I click the kettle on to boil. Oscar has been in bed for hours, hopefully snoozing away peacefully. He’s not one of those children who can’t sleep with excitement, his little body always gives up the fight about eight o’clock. Even now he’s older, and no matter what is going on around him, he often asks to go to bed. Tomorrow will be a busy day, and I hope he sleeps soundly and well.

Our hour decorating the gingerbread house was pure bliss. Oscar put his decorations on so beautifully, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth as he placed them on with such concentration. I only had to move one of the sugar-coated chocolates – that’s a record. Conrad turned in just after 11pm, and I batted away his protestations that he would stay up to help with the food, or that I should go to bed too, and we could both get up early in the morning. And that’s because I don’t see any of this as a chore. I love this time alone, time to be truly myself.

I know why making sure Christmas goes without a glitch is so important to me. As does Conrad, and although he often tries to bring it up, he is never overly pushy. He mostly just supports and offers to help, and steps back when he can see I’d rather be left to it. As a child, many of my Christmases were plagued with disorder and disappointment. Oscar will never have to put up with any of the things I did. I will make sure of it.

There are two large pots on the stove. Each with a Christmas pudding inside, steaming away. They will be finished at 3am and then I will get a perfectly acceptable four hours of sleep. That’s more than enough to keep me going, and I can catch up after Christmas if need be.

The kettle boils and I pour water into a cup containing one of my special festive teabags. The delightful scent of cinnamon and cloves fills my nostrils and soothes my soul. Heavenly. For the next three hours, I will sit, sipping tea and reading Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Honestly, I can’t think of a more perfect way to spend the small hours.

As I pick up my tea, I hear a tiny, almost inaudible tap that sounded like it came from the front window. I freeze and listen again. But apart from the soft tinkling of the puddings bubbling away, there is not a sound to be heard. My heart pounds in my chest, but I try to shake it off. Most likely, it’s nothing, just me being on high alert because of everything that happened earlier. It was probably just a bird or a leaf hitting the window. It’s late, and whoever thought it would be funny to intrude in our garden, and try to spook me at the kitchen window, will be in bed by now. A teenage prankster who’ll have given up or tried their luck at another house. This is my nervousness, nothing more.

But then the sound appears again. Not a single tap this time, but three distinct rapping sounds, and I am certain that they came from the front window. Unlike the small windows in the kitchen, our large front window is covered by a roller blind. I stare at it and then towards the door. The window is locked, and the door is locked. We are safe, and nobody can harm us. I need to stick to the plan. Stay in the living room and curl up with my book and cup of tea. But the tapping comes again. Three once more, and even louder this time. I listen for any stirring upstairs. I will not have anything wake Oscar and frighten him. And so I walk slowly towards the blind, feeling light-headed and my skin awash with goosebumps.

Reaching for the cord of the roller blind, I drop it at first, my hand shaking uncontrollably. But then I grasp it harder and pull it with conviction. The blind jumps up an inch, startling me. I can’t help but imagine a face on the other side, that same dark menacing presence that shook me earlier, and the thought makes a bolt of terror rush through me. Briefly, I consider peering underneath it, but I can’t bring myself to. Hopefully, the sudden movement of the blind will have been enough to scare off whoever is out there. I wait, sure that the tapping will start again. But this time, there is nothing. I give myself a talking to.

Are you going to open this blind or not? Get on with it.

And so I pull at the cord wildly, clenching my eyes tight so they are almost closed, and waiting for the appearance of an axe-wielding maniac outside the window. But there is nobody there. Just the blackness, and the swaying of the weeping cherry blossom that has long since lost its leaves. That must have been what it was. Just the branches of the tree grazing the window. I curse my active imagination and make to close the blind, but then something catches my eye – a flicker of movement at the bottom of the drive. It is hard to see through the poorly lit night. But I swear that I can see a person. I stare, squinting and trying to focus in, and as my eyes adjust to the gloom, the scene before me begins to take shape. A thin, dark form emerges. Familiar, dark hair covers its face, and they are dressed all in black, hood pulled up like the grim reaper. But from the shape of the body, I’m almost certain it’s a woman. Terror holds me like a vice, and I can do nothing but gape, weighed down by a horrific sense of impending doom.

The figure slowly lifts one arm. I am transfixed, and don’t think I could look away even if I wanted to, as she points a long, pale finger directly at me, before, in one swift and terrifying movement, drawing the same finger across her throat.

I clamp my hand to my mouth to stop myself from screaming, and look frantically over my shoulder to check I haven’t disturbed Conrad or Oscar, before turning back to the window. But the figure has disappeared. There is nothing but gateposts at the end of the drive. Frantically, I scan the garden and the street. Where did she go? Yanking down the blind and blocking out the night, I run to the front door, checking all the locks with fumbling hands. Every lock is bolted but I feel anything but safe. Danger is hurtling towards us, and I have no way to stop it. Suddenly, my legs can no longer hold me, and I sink to the floor, holding my head in my hands. This cannot be happening. Surely, I will wake up on the sofa any moment in a cold sweat to find I have fallen asleep reading. This is just my brain playing tricks on me – it has to be.

The world feels like it is closing in, and I reach out a hand to touch the wall, gently caressing it with my fingers. Something to ground me in reality and stop me from descending into a world where the pain of the past haunts me. I put all my efforts into breathing deeply and purposefully, and slowly everything starts to settle down. The tension ebbs and my breathing steadies. Feeling somewhat less on the brink of losing control, I look around the room, homing in on our beautiful tree, until eventually I feel able to stand.

Slowly and carefully, I get to my feet. My head is pounding, but otherwise I feel surprisingly okay. Retrieving my tea, I sit down on the sofa, tucking my feet underneath me and rest A Christmas Carol on my lap.

I have to read it. I can’t let what just happened outside into my house and my mind. If I don’t read it and stick to my plan, everything else will surely fall apart too.

And so I open the first page, and start the process of immersing myself in a fictional world, where I can banish my own Christmas ghosts to the back of my mind, and they can’t harm me or anyone else I love.

6

“Did you get any sleep?”

I bat Conrad’s question away playfully. “Of course I did. I stayed up pretty late, but it’s not my fault you didn’t hear me, you could sleep through a tornado.”

Conrad nods. “That’s true. It smells amazing in here.”

Okay, I’m not outright lying, I did, in fact, get some sleep. Around forty-five minutes at about 5am. Granted, I woke on the sofa with a shocking crick in my neck and a gnawing panic in my gut, but I feel fine. Sort of. It’s taken a little more concealer under my eyes than usual to have me looking fresh, or even human, and I’m already halfway through my second peppermint mocha, but who’s counting? Yesterday is in the past, and today is Christmas Eve. A day filled with excitement and preparation for the big day. A time to spend with those dear to you and to fill your home with festive joy. Which is exactly what I’m planning to do. The events of yesterday can stay in the past, where they belong.

I haven’t seen Oscar yet this morning, and he’ll need to get up soon if he isn’t already.

“Is Oscar awake?”

“Yeah, he kicked me out of the bathroom. I’m sure he’ll be down in a minute. Shall I sort breakfast?” Conrad walks to the fridge and peers inside. I silently will him not to touch anything. The fridge is fit to burst, and things are already balanced precariously.

“There are cranberry muffins and croissants already on the table.”

Conrad rubs his stomach. “I am going to be so fat by the end of Christmas. Honestly, thank you so much for all of this. I hope you know you don’t have to. You’re a much better cook than me, but I’m more than happy to put in a shift. Feels like I’m taking advantage.”

My cheeks flush and I raise my mug. “Want one of these? Peppermint mocha.”

“I’ll just grab a tea, thanks. But seriously, can I do… anything?”

I try to stop myself from stiffening and paste on a smile. Asking once is kind and caring. Asking twice, yet still caring, is mostly just annoying.

“You do plenty, and you know I enjoy all the Christmas preparations.”

A look akin to pity crosses Conrad’s face and it hits me like a kick to the stomach. “I know, but don’t you think⁠—”

I’m grateful when Conrad’s sentence is cut off by Oscar bounding down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Chriiiistmaaaaas!” He thunders around, waving his hands in the air before crashing into me. I’m glad I didn’t get to hear what Conrad was about to say next. How can it be a bad thing if I want to put so much effort into Christmas planning? I’m not demanding of anybody else. What is the issue?

I look down at Oscar, purposely avoiding Conrad’s stare. But I can feel his eyes on me, questioning and concerned.

I stroke Oscar’s hair. “Well, not quite Christmas yet. Christmas Eve.”

Oscar closes his eyes and bellows again, “Chriiiistmaaaaas Eeeeve!”

I laugh. “That’s better. Now, there’s croissants and muffins on the table, let’s eat them while they’re still warm, shall we?” I nod pointedly at Conrad, and we make our way to the table. Hopefully, that will be the end of that.

As a way of relenting and showing that I can accept some help, I don’t argue when Conrad offers to tidy up after breakfast. Instead, I stand by the door writing a list of things we need at the shop today. It’s a completely unnecessary task as I already have a list on my phone, one that’s been there for weeks, and I’ve been ticking off purchases as they’re made. I pretend not to observe as he crashes around, putting things in the dishwasher without rinsing them, and in a completely ridiculous order. I don’t care what people say, there is a right and wrong way to load a dishwasher.

* * *

The roads are a nightmare. I try to remind myself that we are not in traffic, we are simply a contributing factor to the traffic. Everybody has places to go and things to do today. Our errands are no more important than anyone else’s. And I get all of that, yet remain pissed off and want everyone to get out of the way. But we are still on schedule.

The boot is loaded with Conrad’s presents for his colleagues. We agreed these would be dropped off first. Doorstep only, and no invitations to come in for a cup of tea or a mince pie to be accepted. Job two will be a trip to the supermarket to pick up fresh bread, fruit, and salad vegetables. Then finally, we will go to the butchers to pick up the turkey, before going home to prepare canapés for today’s guests. I have the second fridge in the utility room set up for brining the turkey while we entertain later. Then I will bring it up to room temperature and cook it to perfection. There will be no dry, tasteless food at our Christmas dinner table.

The present drop-off is quicker and more efficient than I could ever have hoped for, and, as we enter the supermarket, I take out my phone with my shopping list on and mentally map out the most efficient route around the shelves. I can’t help but roll my eyes at the dozens of people with overflowing trollies – nothing but poor preparation. Why would you leave buying wine, or crackers, or chocolate until Christmas Eve? They keep for weeks, months, even.

I have already negotiated that Conrad and Oscar should break off from me while I do the food shop, and I will message them once I’m at the till and they can join me. They can go and look at the toys and video games or something. The last thing I need is Oscar adding random crap to the trolley.

“Remember, young man, you can’t be adding anything else to your Christmas list. We sent it to Santa weeks ago.”

Oscar squirms uncomfortably. “I won’t.”

Oscar has never said outright that he no longer believes in Santa. But I’m aware he probably doesn’t. Soon enough, the Santa years will have passed completely, and I’m definitely prepared for that. But Christmas is magic at any age, and I’m not sad about him understanding that all his wonderful gifts come from his family rather than Santa. It’s the natural order of things and won’t make our family Christmases any less special. Conrad puts his hand on Oscar’s shoulder, and they walk away.

Annoyingly loud Christmas music rings out through the store, and there are people everywhere. It is utter chaos. Total sensory overload. I put my head down and push my trolley towards the salad section, determined to make this as quick and painless as possible. I already have most of the ingredients for my Christmas slaw and my winter rainbow salad and find the remaining items with ease.

As I make my way towards the bakery, an unusual feeling comes over me. An unsettling sense that somebody is watching me. Goosebumps prickle up my arms, and I have to stop briefly and catch my breath. Taking a quick look around, I can’t spot anyone I recognise, and nobody is even looking in my direction. Nobody I can see anyway. Everyone is stuffing their own trolleys, corralling errant children, and looking generally harassed.

Pushing my discomfort away, I carry on down the aisle, park my trolley to the side of the bakery, and walk over to the baguettes. I detest it when people thoughtlessly abandon their trolley in front of where other people are trying to shop. It should be an unwritten rule. Basic etiquette. My canapés call for two large, white baguettes, and I want to make sure I find the freshest they have. And you can’t tell just by looking. The feel, the smell, even the sound are all important considerations when making the perfect choice. Happy, and with two excellent baguettes tucked under my arm, I’m startled by a commotion erupting behind me, and a red-faced, sweaty man shouts out,

“Hey, watch what you’re doing!”

My stomach lurches as I see he’s standing right by my carefully parked trolley, his giant hand on the handle. I march over and glare questioningly at him. There’s grime under his fingernails consisting of goodness knows what. He’d better not have touched any of the food inside the trolley or I will be replacing everything. He is panting and looking off down the aisle. I follow his gaze, but I can’t work out what he’s looking at. Wrapping my fingers around the handle of the trolley, avoiding the part he touched, and with the bread still tucked under my arm, I decide to lead with kindness. I’d quite like to tell him to piss off and keep his filthy hands off my trolley, but that doesn’t feel very festive.

“Is everything okay? This is my trolley.”

The man puffs out a breath and wipes his brow with the sleeve of his stain-littered cardigan. “Yeah, just some junkie nutjob, knocking into everyone and poking around in your trolley.”

I gasp. His words are unpleasant at best. Drug addiction is not something to be flippant about, especially not at this time of year, and I consider telling him so. But time is ticking on, and I don’t want to get into anything with him and end up in here any longer than I have to be. I’ll simply swap out the items in the trolley for fresh ones and make my way to the tills.

“Okay, thank you.”

He turns down his mouth at the corners and nods, clearly pleased with himself. “Yeah, I frightened her off. I’m going to tell security now, make sure she doesn’t bother anyone else. Merry Christmas.”

He doesn’t look at me again and strides away before I can return the season’s greetings. I glance furiously around me, all the while his words ringing in my ears.

Her.

7

The queue at the till is monstrously long. I’ve less than a quarter of what everyone else has, but there is no choice but to wait. Every queue is enormous.

I text Conrad.

At the tills, will take another 10 mins at least to get through x.

Conrad responds immediately with a thumbs-up emoji. In the interests of speed, I decided against swapping out the items in the trolley. The bread is uncontaminated, and all the fruit and vegetables can be cleaned. I always wash everything anyway, you never know who has touched it, not to mention the chemicals and dirt. And I want out of here now. I keep trying to convince myself that whatever happened was just as the man ineloquently described. A perhaps dishevelled and vulnerable woman who happened to be near my trolley, causing a commotion. Just unfortunate timing and best not to give it another thought.

When I finally reach the conveyor belt and start unloading my items, I notice something at the bottom of the trolley. A folded piece of paper. My heart jolts, but I quickly unload the rest of the shopping and put down the ‘next customer’ sign, so as not to hold up the people behind me, before reaching for the paper. On closer inspection, I see that this is my paper, from one of my notebooks. Fear and confusion swirl inside me. I haven’t used this notebook in ages, and my pockets were empty before I came out. I checked. I always check. But the paper is undeniably mine. Every lined page has a little flower detail in the top right-hand corner. My mind is racing. I am not a person who doesn’t notice things. If Conrad or Oscar had dropped a piece of paper into the trolley before I started shopping, I would have seen it. Wouldn’t I? Although it’s very busy and disordered in here. Perhaps I missed it? There’s a first time for everything. But deep inside I know I didn’t, and before I unfold and read the note, I have already put the sequence of events that led to its arrival in order in my mind. Firstly, I had the feeling that someone was watching or following me. Then I broke away from my trolley to choose bread. That person put this note in my trolley and was scared away by the rude man I spoke to.

I want to scrunch the note into a ball, put it in my pocket and throw it in the nearest bin, especially if I’m still being watched. I’ll show them they can’t scare me, and that I couldn’t care less what message they want to send me. But I know I will read it. There’s no point pretending otherwise.

Something is coming for me. I can feel it deep in my bones. Something menacing that threatens to derail everything precious to me. Someone has been in my house. The same person I saw at the window and at the bottom of the driveway. A menacing presence that wishes me harm. But I have no idea why. Heavy dread tries to pull me down. How will I be able to defend myself and protect my family if I don’t know what I’m up against?

The customer in front is almost finished, so I pull the note open and read it quickly before folding it back up and shoving it deep into the pocket of my coat. I attempt to continue acting like everyone else here. I’m just another last-minute Christmas shopper. But the words I just read play on repeat inside my head.

Enjoy Christmas with them. It will be your LAST.

All the voices and shopping noises in the store seem to merge, and a horrible whining, thrumming sound fills my ears. I can’t cope with this right now. What have I done to deserve this harassment and torment? I suddenly feel horribly claustrophobic. Everyone is standing closer to me than they were a second ago, and I’ve no room to breathe. It’s too loud, and I have a fierce urge to ram my trolley into the person in front and escape outside to gulp in some fresh air.

I look longingly at the window, wishing I could be out there, away from the oppressive pressure in here. And then all the blood in my veins turns to ice. There, at the window, barely visible through the condensation, is the woman. The woman who is haunting me for no good reason I can think of. She is wrapped up in a long, black, woollen coat that falls to the ground. Her hair still hangs limply over her face, obscuring her features, and she stands still as a statue, her face only inches from the window.

As though calling from far away, I hear the cashier’s voice, and I suspect it is not the first time she has tried to get my attention.

“You all right, love?”

I know I should answer. I’m holding up the line of disgruntled Christmas Eve shoppers, not to mention it would be impolite not to. But fear has me clutched tightly in its grasp and I can’t pull my eyes away from my eerie observer at the window. I watch, stomach churning, as the woman begins to retreat. Simply stepping back with no concern for what might be behind her, disappearing inch by inch.

I almost jump out of my skin when I feel a tap on my shoulder, and an older woman with a kind, round face and pink cheeks looks up at me, guilt written all over her soft features.

“Sorry to frighten you, you seem a million miles away. It’s your turn.” The woman points to the till, and I push my trolley forward, apologising profusely to everyone in the queue and then to the cashier. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms that the woman at the window has now completely disappeared. But where to, and for how long?

I have no time to think as I pack my shopping in completely the wrong order. I don’t care if the bread gets squashed, I need to get away from here now, before she comes back. I need to be at home. Home, where I can lock all the doors and hold my family close. Keep them away from this unwelcome and as yet unquantified ghostly threat to our happiness.

I let out a piercing scream as I feel a sharp tug on the back of my coat. Looking around, and on the verge of hysteria, I see it is only Oscar, his expression a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. Everyone is watching me now, and it genuinely feels like the walls are starting to close in around me. Conrad appears, but it does little to soothe my runaway emotions. I am glowing with shame, the world is swaying, and my feet don’t feel steady on the floor anymore.

I attempt a casual laugh, but it sounds maniacal. “Sorry, Oscar, you gave me a wee fright there. Just concentrating.” Conrad leans over my shoulder and presses his card to the machine to pay. Rescuing me. How I hate to be a person who requires rescuing, a person disgracing themselves in public. The woman behind the till looks exasperated, and I apologise again. My voice is strained, and I know I appear frenetic. I’m not helping my case one bit by attempting to explain myself, I’m only cementing their suspicions of my insanity.

“Sorry, just got myself a little hot and bothered there. Crazy in here, isn’t it?”

The cashier shrugs before turning her attention to the next customer. “To be expected on Christmas Eve.”

The trolley is gently pulled away from me, and Conrad’s strong hand appears on my shoulder. I look up at him with watery eyes, and I’m met by a look of serious concern. No. That’s not the look I want to see on his face. Worse still, Oscar looks so uncomfortable, and actually, quite sad. Guilt hits me in the chest. He can’t be feeling like that. Not today. I have worked and planned for months to make sure that everything is absolutely perfect for him.

Nobody is allowed to ruin Christmas for him.

But Christmas is being ruined, and it is all my fault.

8

As we walk through the car park, I search everywhere for the woman who is infecting my life. Conrad won’t stop staring at me. I have to control my panic and start behaving like a normal person rather than a nervous wreck, but I can’t seem to. The clawing anxiety and fear have taken over.

Conrad cautiously takes hold of my arm. “What’s wrong? I know it’s mental in there, but you don’t look well.”

I think I can get away with a partial truth. “Nothing important, just there was someone causing a disturbance by the bakery. They went through my trolley and pushed into a few people. Security sorted it, though, it’s nothing to worry about.”

Conrad’s eyes go wide. “Are you okay?”

My nerves start to settle, and Oscar’s expression changes to one of intrigue. Definitely an improvement from a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, all fine. I was just looking around. You know, making sure they’re not outside or anything.”

Oscar’s eyes light up and he looks around the car park. The things that excite and ignite the imagination of little boys never cease to amaze me. “Maybe the police will come and arrest him.”

I bat Oscar’s suggestion away. “Oh no, it was nothing like that.”

Conrad’s jaw is clenched, and his shoulders are stiff. “Well, if you see him, you tell me, okay? He’s obviously upset you and that’s not on.” The strong protective aura radiating from Conrad warms my heart, and I allow myself to bask in the feeling of safety it brings me. The assumption they both made that the person causing a commotion must have been a man remains uncorrected.

We reach the car, and Conrad opens the passenger door for me as Oscar jumps into the back seat and straps himself in.

“I’ll load these bags in the boot, then take the trolley back and have a little look around.”

I want to protest, but he closes the door before I can get a word out.

Oscar strains against his belt and leans forward. “So was it like a robber, or what?”

I manage a laugh. “No, of course not. Just the usual supermarket craziness at Christmas. It’s like a war zone in there. As soon as we pick up the turkey, we’ll head home. People are arriving at four and I need to do some cooking. You can help me if you like.”

“Can I crack eggs?” Oscar loves cracking eggs, but he is terrible at it, and anyway, no egg-cracking is required.

“No, we don’t need eggs. But you can do some chopping. I’ll let you use one of the proper knives if you’re really careful.”

Oscar grins. “Cool. Yeah, I’ll help.” Calm descends upon me once more at the thought of getting back to my Christmas preparations. “Is Alfie coming over later?” Alfie is the son of one of the two families that are coming over for food and drinks. He’s not at Oscar’s school and is a couple of years older, but the boys get on well.

“He is.”

“Yesss.” Oscar pumps his fist, and it is such a relief to see the smile I hold so dear return to his face. Scanning the car park, I see no sign of Conrad. I really hope he’s not taking his search for the non-present male offender too seriously. Eventually, I spy him making his way back to the car. He climbs in and fastens his seatbelt, roughly and without a word. It might just be my heightened emotions, but it definitely seems like he is avoiding looking at me.

Not sure whether it would be better to leave it alone, I whisper, “You okay?”

Conrad runs his hands through his hair. “Um, yeah. Nothing to worry about. Just…”

His words disappear into the air, and Oscar fills the space. “Did you find the bad guy, Dad?”

Conrad puts on his best dad voice, but his face remains stony, his eyes staring out of the front window. “Nope. No bad guys out there. All safe.”

Oscar nods in approval, then digs into his coat pocket, pulls out some Pokémon cards and starts shuffling through them.

I try again. “What is it?”

Conrad turns to me, a bewildered look in his eyes, before his face softens and he shakes his head. “Nothing, really. Just thought I saw something. But… anyway, just the old imagination playing tricks on me at Christmas.”

My mouth feels bone-dry. I need to know what he saw. “Tell me.”

“Honestly, it’s nothing. Just leave it. Let’s go and collect that turkey, shall we?” He puts the car into gear and pulls out of the space into the queue of traffic to exit the car park. He attempts a smile, but its falseness is more than evident.

It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk, and I know I shouldn’t push him, but my anxiety won’t let it lie. “Conrad?”

When he turns towards me, the look on his face makes me shrink back. He is stern and deadly serious – two things I rarely see from him. “Lorelai, leave it.”

Clamping my lips closed, I turn to face the front. Conrad never speaks to me with such severity, particularly when Oscar is around. He is not a man who is instructional or demanding. His demeanour is almost always calm and reasonable. A part of me wants to fight back, call him out for using that tone when it absolutely wasn’t warranted. But another bigger part, a part filled with trepidation and fear for the future of our little family, knows that I should stay quiet and heed his words. Conrad turns up the radio, signalling the end of the conversation.

The sound of The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl fills the car. This song might regularly grace the top ten lists of favourite Christmas songs, but I hate it. It is deeply unfestive, and far too aggressive. If the moment weren’t filled with tension, I might casually flick through the radio stations for something else, but instead, I sit in silence. Oscar continues flipping through his cards, oblivious to the oppressive atmosphere in the front of the car. The hostility is awful, and I’m trying to come up with something to clear the air when, thankfully, Conrad sighs and does it for me.

“Let’s just forget about it and enjoy Christmas, shall we? We don’t want anything to spoil our lovely evening.”

I agree immediately. “Yes, you’re right. Let’s.” I consider adding an apology, but it feels better to just leave it there and move on. I plunge my hand deep into my coat pocket and wrap my hand around the note I found in the trolley, scrunching it up as tightly as I can. Strangling it and taking away any hold it has over me.

Enjoy Christmas with them. It will be your LAST.

Nobody will take Christmas away from our family. Not this Christmas, nor any in the future.

I would die first.

9

The collecting of the turkey goes without a hitch. Oscar and I stay in the car, and Conrad runs out to retrieve it from the butchers. I have the same horrible, creeping sensation that there are eyes on me, but there is nobody to be seen. I am an expert at putting things behind me. I’m not sure what it says about me, but I can let things, even terrible or difficult things, go with relative ease. I suppose I’ve had to master this skill over the years with everything life has thrown at me. But what’s the alternative? Fretting constantly or wallowing in the unfairness? You either change something or you let it go. I have no idea what is going on or what will happen next, but I will focus on what I can control and leave the rest to play out as it will. The only power I have here is how I respond. And I will always respond in the best way for my family.

* * *

The turkey is brining, and Conrad and Oscar are curled up on the sofa watching a movie. Oscar has chosen The Nightmare Before Christmas, and I am quite happy to be missing it. I have no idea why he likes it so much, it’s so dark and ghoulish and not at all Christmassy. Perfect for Halloween, but not Christmas.

Having the kitchen to myself when I’m preparing food is an unwritten Christmas rule in the house. I wasn’t always a great cook. It wasn’t that many years ago that Conrad would do most of it, and I would help out here and there. In fact, some of my favourite recipes are his. But once I discovered my love and flair for preparing food, the kitchen became my territory. He still offers his services, and I know he feels guilty that I do almost all of the work, but that’s just the kind of man he is. Caring, and thoughtful, and always willing to take the load from someone else if he can.

I think back to when we used to cook together all the time and feel a little pang of sadness at the memory. Perhaps I should try to let him in a little more. But these days, other people in the kitchen only make me stressed and uncomfortable, and I am grateful that he sees that, rather than challenging me about it. But I will keep my promise and allow Oscar to do some chopping. I’ll set him up on the kitchen table, away from where I’m preparing everything else and allow him to chop the red peppers, white cabbage, and spring onions for the Christmas slaw. There are twenty minutes set aside in the schedule for us to do that together, which will coincide with their movie finishing. Everything is perfectly on track.

I move around the kitchen seamlessly. Removing items from the fridge and replacing them precisely, putting beautifully curated canapés in and out of the oven, and displaying them on pristine Christmas-themed plates. It’s like a dance, as though I am creating art. The simple joy it brings me is indescribable. I could lose myself in it for hours.

There are four bottles of Crémant de Bourgogne in the fridge chilling, and I do a final check of the crystal glasses for any smudges. A glass or two of bubbly for everyone is more than enough this evening. Christmas Eve is not a time for getting drunk, and I won’t be facilitating anyone who wants to. Why would anyone want to have a hangover on Christmas Day, the most wonderful day of the year? I will pour one for myself to hold, and except for a small sip at toast time, no alcohol will pass my lips this evening. Drinking alcohol is not something I enjoy at all, and I’ve never understood why people take such a keen interest in whether somebody else is drinking or not. “Oh go on, just have one.” Why do they care? If someone doesn’t want to drink, it doesn’t stop them, does it? And alcohol loosens my mind in a way I don’t enjoy. It allows unwelcome, tucked-away thoughts to flow too freely. I can’t comprehend why relinquishing control over your own faculties is something people seek out. So four bottles it is.

* * *

I marvel at Oscar’s innocent face as he chops the cabbage. To be honest, he’s doing a pretty decent job. Sometimes I feel sad he’s getting older, especially when I think back to when his face was pudgier, and he’d sit on my lap and snuggle in tight to my body. But we will shift as he grows. Find different special things to do together and make new memories.

Oscar remains focused on the task in hand. On closer inspection, a few pieces of that cabbage need to be sliced a little thinner, but overall, I’m rather impressed. He’s completely massacred the spring onions, but I’d pre-empted this and bought extra. I’ll redo them later without him seeing, and he’ll never know.

We sit in quiet harmony as I methodically peel carrots into paper-thin strips. “Are you looking forward to Santa coming?” Oscar’s eyes sparkle, but then he fidgets a little. I scold myself silently for asking about Santa again. It made him so uncomfortable last time, I have to remember to keep my Christmas questions more generic in future. “Are you excited for tomorrow? Bet you can’t wait to open your presents?”

But his discomfort soon turns to enthusiasm again. “I’m excited for my presents! And you’re going to love what we got you.”

Smiling, I press my hand to my chest. “Really?”

Oscar’s eyes go wide. “Really.”

I beam at him, and he returns to chopping. What wonderful Christmas spirit. He’s just as happy to give as to receive, and I could not be prouder of him. Hopefully I have managed to hide that I already know what my present is. Conrad and Oscar have bought me an elegant, simple silver chain with a letter L pendant, and Oscar is absolutely right, I do truly love it. It’s exactly the kind of thing I would choose for myself. I came across it, beautifully wrapped, and stashed in a carrier bag under Oscar’s bed. Okay, ‘came across’ is probably a lie. I went looking for it, but I had honourable intentions, so I don’t feel too guilty. It’s difficult for people to control their initial reactions, and I wanted to make sure that even if they’d bought me something I didn’t like, I would still give them the response they wanted. A gleeful look of surprise and gratitude. And Oscar will never know I had a sneaky peek now it’s wrapped up again and back where it was to within a millimetre.

Oscar’s knife clattering onto the table startles me. “Done!”

I pretend to give his work a serious inspection, peering and furrowing my brow, whilst tapping my chin with my fingertip. “Well, I’d give that a ten out of ten. Fantastic work.”

Oscar jumps up. “Can I go on the PlayStation for a bit?”

That’s music to my ears. Screens, although not ideal for his young eyes for hours on end, do have their uses, and keeping him out from under my feet for the crucial final hour before guests arrive is definitely one of them.

“Of course you can. I’ll call up when you need to change. I’ve ironed a shirt and put it on your bed. Do not sit on it!”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “If I sit on it, does that mean I can stay in my T-shirt?”

“It does not. Now go and play.”

Oscar takes a few steps before turning around. “And maybe tomorrow I’ll have even more games to play, right?” He wiggles his eyebrows comically, and I can’t help but laugh.

“We’ll have to see, won’t we?”

Oscar clambers off up the stairs. He has asked for two new games for his PlayStation for Christmas, but what he doesn’t know is that he’s not only getting those games, but also the brand-new, upgraded version of the games console. It was quite a job convincing Conrad.

“He’s only ten, Lorelai, and the one he’s got works just fine.”

But in the end, he relented. Oscar isn’t expecting it at all. He’ll be totally blown away and the envy of all his friends. One thing I firmly believe is that the best children should always get the best presents at Christmas. I remember the many Christmases when that never happened for me, and I felt like I wasn’t good enough or hadn’t tried hard enough. I know we’re in the fortunate position to be able to spend money on gifts, and that not everyone is. But children don’t understand that. They take it to heart. I don’t ever want Oscar to feel disappointed or like he doesn’t measure up.

He deserves everything he wants and more.

10

It’s ten past four and nobody has arrived. Why can’t people ever be on time? I take a few moments to practise my box breathing. Inhale for four seconds, hold for four seconds, breathe out for four seconds, hold for four seconds. Glancing around the room, I have to admit, everything looks amazing. The canapés have turned out perfectly and smell delicious. Although irritated by the tardiness of our guests, there isn’t anyone I’m desperate to see this evening. I don’t really like or have anything in common with them to be honest. It’s not that I actively dislike them, they’re just not friends of mine.

Every weekend, Conrad plays golf with two friends, David and Neil, who live on our street. They both have boys around the same age as Oscar, and David’s son, Alfie, is a very well-behaved boy whom Oscar likes and looks up to. Conrad’s friend’s wives are fast friends, but I’m not close with either of them. I only know them by association. To an outsider, it might seem like I’m a bit of an outcast in the gathering of the three families, but I don’t care. The arrangement suits me just fine.

Conrad has often suggested we invite a family over with someone I’m closer to. But intimate friendships are just not my thing. I’m always polite and welcoming when guests come over, and I enjoy the process much more than the people. I make small talk beautifully, ask thoughtful questions, and pretend to listen intently to their stories. By any measure, I am not the third wheel at our Christmas gatherings. I am the hostess, the bringer of joy and happiness. I am the most important person in the room.

Finally, at 4.20pm there is a knock at the door. Conrad opens it and all our guests barrel in at once. Alfie squeezes through and high-fives Oscar, and he beams back.

“Why don’t you boys go through to the other room for a bit while I get the adults some drinks. I’ll call you when the food’s ready.” Alfie and Oscar run off, chattering excitedly just as Neil’s wife, Carly, comes tottering over holding out her arms. Life would be a lot nicer if hugs were something you could politely decline without looking weird. But sadly, social norms say that’s not the case. So I allow myself to be enveloped and tepidly pat Carly on the back, hoping she doesn’t hold on to me any longer than is necessary. The aroma emanating from her is overpowering. A heady combination of too much perfume and wine breath. It’s not even five o’clock and the woman is already half-pissed.

Carly puts her hands on my shoulders and holds me at arm’s length, her eyes glassy and unfocused. It’s definitely a step up from a hug, but I’d much rather she didn’t feel the need to touch me at all. Can’t we just talk from a nice respectful distance? But, despite how I feel inside, I do what I always do, remain courteous and cordial, and welcome Carly with a warm smile.

“Merry Christmas, thank you so much for coming.”

Carly gasps and looks around the room. “Well, look at this place, and look at you, Lorelai. You look stunning, gorgeous.”

Maintaining a beatific smile while trying to hold my breath is not easy. The alcohol fumes are already beginning to turn my stomach. I reckon if people could see what alcohol did to them, they wouldn’t touch a drop ever again.

Suddenly remembering I haven’t yet returned Carly’s compliment, I quickly come up with something. “You look beautiful, too. I love your hair.”

Carly pulls her hand away and pats her voluminous, over-hair-sprayed auburn locks. She looks a bit like a lion, but it is holding an impressive height, so as far as a compliment goes, it’s not an outright lie.

Eager to get away, I say the one thing I know nobody will ignore. “Let me get everyone a glass of fizz.”

Conrad breaks away from his conversation with Neil and David and walks over. “I’ll get drinks, love.”

“Let’s get them together. You pop the bottle, and I’ll fill the glasses.”

Conrad gives me a thumbs-up, and we retreat to the comparably quiet kitchen. Conrad opens the bottle and brings it over to the tray with six champagne flutes all set out. He leans in conspiratorially. “I see Carly got you in one of her hugs.”

I laugh playfully and shrug. “She’s just getting in the Christmas spirit.”

Conrad nods but then fixes me with a serious gaze. “Thank you for tonight. Everything looks wonderful. I know these aren’t really your people, and how much effort you’ve put in. Seriously, thank you. And if they get a bit too much, if you need to take a moment, obviously do. I can hold down the fort.”

I just about manage to stop my face from falling. I have an uncanny ability, a sort of reverse superpower, to turn any compliment into an insult. I can make a thank you sound like a slight, turn a simple act of kindness into something much more sinister. Of course, I know Conrad is trying to tell me I’ve done an amazing job. He’s taking the time to thank me for my efforts, and at the same time, he’s being understanding and graceful about the fact that I prefer quieter gatherings to uproarious celebrations. But all my stupid, critical brain can hear is, “Make sure you’re not a spoilsport, and if you’re going to be, then make sure you go upstairs.” I know it’s me and not him. It’s just the way my mind likes to torment me. Still, as ridiculous and unfair as it may be, I’m annoyed with him. Perhaps I should down a couple of glasses and become a roaring buffoon like Carly. Would he be happy then? But there’s not a chance of that. Not only is the Crémant de Bourgogne meant to be sipped, not glugged, but I would never lower myself to such uncouth behaviour.

I am the lady of the house, and I pride myself on acting as such.

11

I glide seamlessly around the room with canapés on trays. Each one is perfectly sized to be eaten in one bite, and I love watching as everyone pops them in their mouths. The way their eyes light up as the delicious flavour sensations hit their tongue, the little noises of appreciation and wonderful comments are just as I’d hoped for. “These are amazing.” “You should be a chef.” Every compliment is received with humility and grace. But inside I’m beaming with pride. Reactions like this make all the hard work worthwhile. I feel special, even for just a small moment in time, and as long as I don’t show it, and remain humble, what’s the harm in that?

I’ve been keeping a close eye on the number of glasses poured. Neil, David, and Conrad are still on their second glass, but Carly, and David’s wife, Christine, are on their fourth. Walking over to the women with a tray of mini salmon and courgette quiches, I catch the tail-end of Christine’s sentence, and my nerves escalate with every word spoken.

“…I know, she was just lying there in the car park. Obviously, I would have helped, but there was an ambulance there already, and—” Christine stops abruptly when she sees me. Both women lean over and take two quiches each, and I try not to gape as Carly devours them both within ten seconds and takes another.

“Oh, I need the recipe for these.”

Keeping my face neutral, I nod. “Of course, I’ll write it down for you.” And I will, even if it is a total waste of my time. I can’t imagine Carly ever making anything that didn’t come fully formed out of a packet.

Christine jumps in. “So, what have you been up to, Lorelai? Feels like such a long time since we’ve seen you.” And then she angles her head in an annoying, caring fashion. “How are you?”

What was that for? Why the sympathetic head tilt? I haven’t done or said anything to earn one of those tonight. I’m perfectly fine.

Pushing down my irritation, and in the interest of maintaining a jovial festive atmosphere, I answer pleasantly, “I’m great, thank you,” before swiftly moving on to what I actually want to say. “What were you talking about there? I heard you mention an ambulance. I hope everything is okay?”

Carly takes another quiche. Nobody else has had one yet, and the plate is half empty now, but I’ll have to put away my need for a fair distribution of canapés to hear this story. “Oh, you don’t want to hear about that, tell us⁠—”

Remembering another thing I can’t stand about these women, I cut her off and assert myself. They are so patronising, especially after a few glasses of wine. Yes, I know I’m not their friend, and as such, not privy to their mindless gossip. But they always talk to me like I’m stupid or that I need to be protected from something. I don’t know who they think they are. Usually, I’d be very happy to forego listening to their inane drivel, but this I want to hear. This I need to hear.

“No, I’d actually like to hear about it.”

Christine waves her hand, a small amount of Crémant spilling onto her wrist as she does so. “I was just telling Carly that a poor woman collapsed in Friar Street car park. Right outside my shop. I mean, I would have gone over to help. I’m a trained first aider, you know, but there was an ambulance.” Christine stops there as if that is the full story, when clearly, it’s nowhere near. But I have to be cautious here. These women already think I’m a little odd and standoffish, and coming out with the list of questions I currently have in my head about this incident will not help that. So I perform my own sympathetic head tilt and choose my words carefully.

“How terrible, and on Christmas Eve too. Did you see who it was?”

Christine takes a big glug of her fizz and stifles a burp before answering. “No, she was covered in one of those big silver blankets. She was moving, though, and the paramedics didn’t seem too worried. Plus, I had a shop full of customers, and it’s rude to stare, isn’t it?”

Christine looks to Carly for agreement. “Oh yeah, I hate that. People rubbernecking and getting out their phones.”

Fearing the conversation is about to go off-course, and with some important questions still unanswered, I decide to push one more time. I’m also very sure that Carly and Christine are exactly the type of people to stare at an accident and then dine out on the story for days to come, but of course, I would never say that out loud.

“How did you know it was a woman?”

Christine scrunches up her face, but her forehead doesn’t move. Botox, that’s new. “I suppose I don’t really. But they were slim and had long dark hair. I really hope whoever it was is okay.” I’m surprised to see a look of genuine concern in Christine’s eyes, a caring side that I’ve never seen before, and it makes me warm to her a little. But then she shrugs and wiggles her glass at me. “Sorry, love, do you mind if I get myself a top-up?”

I mind that very much, but all the blood seems to have drained out of my face and pooled in my feet, leaving me unable to move. There are so many more questions. What time did this happen? Because if it was at the same time I saw the woman in the supermarket window, it can’t be her. Why was the woman lying on the ground? Had she been attacked? But turning this into an interrogation would look bad, and inside, I know none of the answers matter. I know it was her. I can feel it in my bones. My Christmas visitor. My tormentor.

I stand, holding the canapés like a statue. Inside, I am willing myself to put the plate down, go and get a bottle, and top up Christine’s empty glass. But the message from my brain is getting lost somewhere along the way. My picture-perfect existence is starting to fray at the edges, unravelling in my hands, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Soon, it will all come crashing down around me, and I’ll be standing surrounded by the pieces of my shattered life.

Like a gift from God, Conrad suddenly breezes over, a bottle in hand. “Can I top anyone up?” And just like that, the focus is completely taken off me. Carly and Christine turn to Conrad, holding out their glasses like starving orphans, and I take the moment to slip away. A friendly smile adorns my face as I walk across the room. To all the world I look like I’m full of festive cheer, rather than someone whose guts are boiling with hideous dread.

Lowering the plate onto the kitchen counter, I carry out a quick scan of the room to ensure nobody is watching me and slip away to the downstairs toilet. I stare at my haunted face in the mirror, holding on to the sink for support. Most days, I do a decent job of holding my emotions inside. They don’t see what I see. The broken person living below the façade.

Something terrible is about to befall our family.

I don’t know what or even why.

I just know it’s coming.

12

I busy myself by serving home-made mini pizzas and hamburger sliders to the children in the other room, and it’s going down well so far. No complaints and mostly empty plates. Laughter and merriment are in full force in the main room, and it’s quite nice to take a moment in here for a breather. I’d stay in here longer if it didn’t look odd.

Oscar is already becoming quieter, and his eyes are starting to look heavy. I’m awful at asking people to leave, and Christine, Carly, et al. are not the sort of visitors who sense the tone or who would react appropriately to subtle comments like, “Gosh, it’s getting late” or “Oscar will need to go to bed soon”. But I had pre-empted this, and I’ve already agreed with Conrad that he will shepherd everybody home come eight o’clock, which is now only fifteen minutes away.

I absolutely can’t wait for it just to be us again. Calm, quiet, and peaceful. I’ve been subtly tidying up all evening whilst making sure I haven’t spent too much time in the kitchen. The last thing I want is a big clean-up operation taking up our precious family time. As soon as everyone leaves, I’ll get the hot chocolate with marshmallows going, and we’ll sit down in our Christmas pyjamas and watch The Snowman together. Next will be the hanging of stockings by the fireplace, and finally, bedtime. Waking up on Christmas morning is too special, so staying up past midnight is out of the question. Instead, I’ll rise early and start the eight-hour process needed for a flawless Christmas dinner, making sure to leave time for breakfast, Christmas present opening, and family games while everything is in the oven. My body zings with anticipation and excitement. I can’t wait.

As if by magic, Conrad’s voice rings out from the other room. “Right, last orders. We close at eight, so can I get anyone a last drink? Irish liqueur perhaps?”

This feels like a good time to return to the main living room and rejoin the party. Everyone is ruddy-faced and smiling, including Conrad, who waves, beckoning me over. Pulling me towards him, he wraps an arm around my shoulder. It’s a nice gesture, and I try to loosen my body and appear less rigid. I always appear perpetually stiff, and although I’m comfortable that way, I’m aware it makes me look standoffish. My body never relaxes without me forcing it to. Conrad’s a little tipsy, but not overly so, and even if he were, I would never comment. It’s not my place.

All eyes fall on me as Conrad raises his glass. “You know, I don’t know what I’d do without you, Lorelai. I’m sure all of you already know this, but I’ve done absolutely nothing to contribute to all this wonderful food you’ve had this evening.”

My cheeks flush as everyone agrees with Conrad, and David and Neil give him some playful jibes about being lazy. Conrad’s only intentions here are to be kind and to make me feel included. He is showing his gratitude and making sure I get credit for my hard work. But still, I’m surprised he doesn’t realise this would make me feel embarrassed. I’d much rather he kept his thanks private.

Carly, now swaying, pats Conrad gently on the arm. “But you work so hard.”

I stiffen. Conrad immediately senses the change in my demeanour and responds immediately. “That’s not important though. Lorelai is the backbone of our family. Every day she goes out of her way for us. And I will always be grateful.” Conrad’s words, although lovely, do not shut Carly up.

“Oh I know, and with everything you’ve been through, Lorelai. You do such a wonderful job.”

I imagine reaching out and grabbing Carly by the throat. Squeezing until her eyes bulge and she begs for mercy. Why did she have to do that? What was she hoping to achieve? Conrad strokes my shoulder gently, and Carly finally stops when I don’t respond. After a brief awkward silence, Neil steps in, raising his glass and encouraging everyone to follow suit.

“To family.”

Everyone joins in. “To family.”

I pull myself away from Conrad and leave the group without ceremony. “I’ll just check in on the boys.”

Conrad nods and fixes me with a stare that says, I’ve got your back, before saying loudly, “Give them a five-minute warning.”

I nod, smile, and leave the room before I do or say something I might regret.

13

Shadows dance on the ceiling. I can’t tell if they’re real or a product of my tired, befuddled mind. Sleep is eluding me. Every time I close my eyes, I somehow find them wide open and staring at the ceiling again seconds later.

Thankfully, the house emptied out shortly after eight o’clock and the rest of the evening was lovely and exactly as planned. Shortly after Oscar went to bed, Conrad and I filled the stockings and placed Oscar’s presents under the tree. I both love and hate putting the presents out. The tension of being caught is almost unbearable but looking at everything piled up once we’re done is just the most wonderful moment. And Oscar slept soundly throughout. I should be lying here filled to the brim with the joys of Christmas, but instead, I am consumed by a sickening, gnawing apprehension. My brain won’t allow me a minute’s peace, constantly taking me through everything that has happened, trying in vain to put the pieces together, and refusing to accept that I simply can’t make it make sense.

A woman broke into our basement. A woman who appeared at our window, and lingered menacingly at the bottom of the driveway, before leaving me a threatening note in my supermarket trolley. I’ve been pushing all of these things to the back of my mind, trying to focus on creating a magical Christmas for us, but here, in the dark, there is nothing to distract me. Her mere presence could be dismissed as nothing personal. But the note? No, this is personal. And the fact that the notepaper came from my notebook confirms that she has been inside our house. And not just the basement. Will she come back? Will she follow through with her threat? I squeeze my eyes tight and pray that she won’t.

I realise now what a mistake I’ve made in holding all this inside. It’s no wonder I can’t sleep. I should’ve just told Conrad straight away, but too much has happened for me to start telling the truth now. And tomorrow is Christmas Day. I’m going to have to continue what I started and manage this on my own.

I can get past everything that’s happened so far. At least I think I can. As long as it all ends here. All I want is for her to leave us alone. I don’t care about the hows or whys as long as we are left in peace. But I know these thoughts are pointless. Wishful thinking at best, blind ignorance most likely. Something has been set in motion, something terrible, and I know I am powerless to stop it. Why is this woman punishing me? Who is she and what does she want?

Initially, I had feared, but also secretly hoped, that the woman was simply a figment of my imagination. I avoid, where possible, thinking back to the times when I was struggling, and I would be devastated if my mind had started to betray me once more. But at least it would mean that Conrad and Oscar would be safe. I could hold it inside and work through it on my own. But there are too many things that point to this being a reality. The man in the supermarket saw something, and could what Christine described really be a coincidence? Christine said the woman was taken away in an ambulance, and horrifyingly, I find myself hoping that the woman died. Dreadful and selfish, yes. But it would solve the problem. It could all be put to bed and we could move on.

I’m desperate to check the time on my phone but I refuse to let myself. If it is past midnight, if it is already Christmas Day, I’ll be devastated. This horrible churning of my mind cannot be the first thing I knowingly experience on Christmas morning. And so I lie, unmoving and resolute, letting the time pass and my mind roil with unthinkable consequences. Sleep eventually claims me, and I slide into the periphery of a dream. A dream where Conrad, Oscar and I are being taunted by a looming, hate-filled presence.

A dream I can only pray doesn’t become our reality.

14

I stand at the stove, Christmas apron on, scrambling eggs. The bagels are already sliced and ready to go in the toaster, and dill has been chopped to sprinkle over mine and Conrad’s eggs. Oscar won’t entertain ‘any of that green stuff’, and so reluctantly, ketchup is on the table ready for him to ruin the perfectly cooked eggs.

Oscar didn’t wake until seven thirty, an absolute miracle by previous Christmas morning standards, and I couldn’t have been more grateful for extra time in bed. While getting washed and dressed this morning, I gave myself a very stern talking to in the bathroom mirror, and my priorities are now firmly back in order. I will not waste any more brain space on that woman. I have done nothing wrong, and everything that has happened to me is completely unfair and unwarranted. The woman is now hopefully safe and sound in a hospital somewhere and will not enter our lives again. It’s probably just like the crude man in the supermarket said – the woman is probably a poor troubled soul who needs help. She could have entered any house, tormented anyone and unfortunately, it was us. Weird things like this happen all the time. She’s probably delusional or it’s a case of mistaken identity. Every time my mind tries to tell me I’m doing nothing more than putting my head in the sand, I push the thoughts away. Does anything that has happened make sense? No. Will I spend any more time caring about it? Absolutely not. I didn’t even get to see the woman’s face. I could walk past her in the street and not know. It will all go away. It has to.

As per family tradition, only the small gifts in the stockings have been opened so far. The unwrapping of Oscar’s bigger presents from under the tree and the exchange of family gifts will happen after breakfast. Oscar is currently poking around under the tree, but for a child, he’s pretty good at being patient.

I put the final touches to the breakfast plates and call for Conrad. “Can you help me carry these over?”

Oscar sits down at the table and dumps a pile of Pokémon cards on one side of his plate and a Rubik’s Cube on the other. Usually, toys aren’t allowed at the dining table, but it’s Christmas. Anything goes as long as he’s happy.

“Have you solved that yet?” Conrad asks.

Oscar piles ketchup onto his eggs and swirls them around so they turn a very unpleasant salmon pink colour. “I got one side.” He holds it up and shows us one side with all blue tiles. “I’ll have it sorted by dinner time I reckon.”

I smile. “I bet you will.” When I was his age, I loved Rubik’s Cubes, and I reckon I could still solve one pretty quickly. It’s all about technique and having a system. I’ll teach him later.

Oscar shovels his food in. “Come on, we’ve got presents to open. I want to know what’s in that big box. I didn’t ask for anything that big.”

Conrad and I exchange a knowing smile. I can’t wait to see Oscar’s face.

Oscar picks up his cards and starts flicking through them, his bottom lip sticking out and making him look younger than his ten years. “You two eat so slowly!”

Finally, plates empty, we all sit cross-legged on the floor.

Conrad nods at Oscar. “Go on then.” Oscar springs up and retrieves the presents under the tree, almost knocking the whole thing over in his haste, and puts them in a pile in front of him, before running over to the cabinet, opening the door and pulling out two more presents.

He hands one to Conrad and the other to me, hugging us each in turn. “Merry Christmas.”

His gesture warms my heart. Most children would have opened their own presents first before even considering others. I put my small box to the side and watch eagerly as Oscar rips off the paper on the biggest present. I don’t even want to blink. And his reaction does not disappoint. His eyes go wide, and his mouth drops open.

“I can’t believe it! This is amazing!”

My eyes begin to fill with tears, and I sniff and wipe them away. Conrad reaches out a hand and pats my knee as we both watch Oscar inspecting the box as though he can’t quite believe his eyes. He looks at us, and it’s evident he’s debating whether to say thank you, what with the whole Santa thing still up in the air, and I don’t miss a beat, stepping in to remove his uncertainty and rescue the moment.

“Well, I guess you must have been an extra-especially good boy this year.”

He grins and then continues to open the rest, including the two games he’d asked for. “Can we set this up, Dad?”

“Of course we can.”

Oscar runs over and sits in front of Conrad and me, almost vibrating with excitement. “Open yours.”

We pick up our gifts, and I purposefully take my time, letting Conrad reveal his first. It’s some kind of golfing watch. Very technical-looking. I didn’t even know there was such a thing, but the glowing reviews online cinched it. And it seems like I’ve made a good choice as Conrad looks genuinely delighted with it.

“Neil has one of these. Well, not one as good as this. I’ve wanted one for ages.” Conrad reaches out and hugs us both. “Thank you. I absolutely love it.”

I remove the rest of the paper from my present and run my fingers over the gift box within. My surprised and thrilled face is all ready to go. But as I lift the lid of the white leather box, my face falls. I do my best to rescue it quickly, replacing my look of horror with a smile as quickly as I can, but Oscar has definitely noticed something isn’t right.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”

I don’t know what to say. Inside sits a beautiful silver necklace, but it’s not the same one I saw a few days ago. There is a very important and horribly unsettling difference.

Conrad peers over my shoulder, and his hand instantly flies up to his mouth. “Oh… I’m sure it was a… We’ll get it changed, love.” He turns to look at me, and I can feel his eyes boring into the side of my head, waiting for my reaction. Unsure of how to respond, or even how I feel, I continue to stare down at the box.

Conrad breaks the uncomfortable silence. “They must have made a mistake in the shop.”

Obviously, I know they didn’t make a mistake in the shop, but how can I tell Conrad that? Snooping for my present and opening it are not things I want to admit to right at this moment.

Oscar leans in. “That’s not the right one. That’s a T, not an L. They must have put the wrong one on or something.”

Conrad chimes in again, repeating what he said earlier. “Yep, they must have made a mistake. We’ll get it changed when the shops open tomorrow.”

Oscar nods and goes back to his pile of presents. He clearly hasn’t clocked the significance of the letter T, for which I can only feel thankful. Closing the box gently, I try desperately to breathe slowly and calm the clawing panic that is rising inside my chest.

An unexpected whisper in my ear from Conrad startles me. “We asked for an L, I promise. I mean, the T is just… I’m sorry.”

I search his face, and the devastation in his eyes is undoubtedly genuine. I want nothing more than to assuage his guilt and tell him that yes, they definitely did buy an L. I saw it with my own eyes. But where would that lead me? And so I do my best impression of an easy-going nonchalant shrug.

“Like you said, just a mistake. I’ll swap it. And I honestly do love the necklace, well, I will once it has my initial on it.” I attempt a laugh, but it comes out more like a squeak. The sympathy in Conrad’s eyes is breaking my already fragile heart into tiny pieces, and I suddenly feel the need to get away from him.

“Right, those breakfast dishes won’t clear themselves. Why don’t you two set that up in the other room?” I gesture with a wobbling hand at the games console. “And we can all play together once I’ve got everything in the oven.”

Oscar almost falls over his feet, grabbing the box and running out of the room. “Come on, Dad.”

Conrad is still staring at me. “Are you okay? I promise that was a genuine mistake. I would never have…”

I stand up, defiant and determined not to let this affect the day. “Yes, I’m fine.”

He stops and suddenly looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. I know that face. He does it every once in a while, and I hate it.

“Lorelai, we need to⁠—”

I turn my head away from him violently and it stops him in his tracks. A few years ago, I was happy to talk. Needed to, even. But now, I’m not. He’s forever trying to dig up the past and make me trawl through it again. I know he has things he wants to say to me. But I don’t want to hear them, and I have to protect myself. Just because he wants to talk doesn’t mean I have to listen. And his trying again, and on Christmas, is beyond frustrating.

I fix him with a serious stare. “No. Please don’t. Not… not today.”

Conrad nods, still filled with anguish, and weirdly, something that looks like fear. Perhaps we do need to talk, but it can wait until the new year. Sadness has lived in our home for a long time, so it can wait another week. I turn away from him before starting to pile up the plates. Why won’t he just leave? Can’t he see I want to be left alone?

“I’ll go through and set that up before Oscar’s brain explodes then, will I?”

Injecting as much positivity into my voice as I can muster, I concur. “Definitely. I’ll be through soon.” A huge sigh of relief escapes from my mouth as he finally walks away. I hate the way I’m behaving, but I don’t want to look at him right now. I’ll be fine in a minute once I’ve had some time to process things. And I can’t do that if he won’t leave me alone. Yes, I’m aware that I’m not the only one who feels pain. The agony of what happened to us belongs just as much to him as to me. But I can’t go there again. And especially not on Christmas Day.

I glance out of the windows as I carry the plates and cutlery from the dining room to the kitchen, wary of what may be lurking. But there is not a soul to be seen. No wraithlike woman at the window. No haunting presence at the bottom of the driveway. Every step feels like a chore, but I continue putting one foot in front of the other.

Just as I always do, I carry on. I push things aside, and I force myself to forget.

The ghosts of the past have no place in our home at Christmas.

15

Christmas dinner is, without a doubt, my favourite part of the day. My time to shine. Yes, I love the present-opening, but that pales in comparison to the feeling I get from sharing the food I have lovingly prepared for my family.

I look across the table at Oscar and Conrad, who are both groaning after putting away a very impressive amount of food between them. Despite the mammoth amounts consumed, there is still almost half of the turkey left. I’ve already made plans to use it to make turkey tortellini for Boxing Day tomorrow.

Conrad leans back in his chair. “That was incredible.”

Oscar pats his stomach. “Yeah, I’m going to pop, I reckon.”

We all sit together in happy silence for a moment before Conrad struggles comically to his feet. “No arguments, I’m going to tidy up.”

I look up at him. “I’ll just cover the turkey with some foil and leave it on the counter to cool.”

But as I go to stand up, Conrad holds out a hand. “No you won’t. I can do that. How about you two go and play in the other room? Oscar has destroyed me on that football game half a dozen times and I’m not sure I can face another beating.”

I check for Oscar’s reaction. Of course, I know he’d prefer his dad to play with, given the choice, but he seems excited by the idea.

He gets up and grabs the tin of chocolates from under the tree. “Winner gets one of these.”

I burst out laughing. “I thought you were going to pop.” Oscar shrugs, carries the tin through and starts setting things up, shouting over his shoulder at me. “You can be Real Madrid and I’ll be Accrington Stanley. I’ll still beat you though.”

To say I know little about football is an understatement, and I am in no doubt that he will indeed beat me even if he had one hand tied behind his back. Conrad starts scraping and piling plates, and I fight my itching need to help. I’m desperate to remind him to rinse the plates properly before putting them in the dishwasher, that glasses go on the top rack and plates on the bottom, and that he absolutely must hand-wash all the pots. But I somehow manage to keep my mouth shut. It’s unfair of me to pass my particularities onto him. He’s tidying up in his own house. Why should he have to follow instructions from me?

Conrad gestures towards the other room with his head. “Go on then, my money’s on ten-nil to Accrington Stanley.”

I roll my eyes. “It’ll probably be worse than that.” In the interest of not interfering and relinquishing my ever-present thirst for control, I make my way through to the other room and sit on the sofa.

Oscar squishes in next to me, handing me a controller and pressing the buttons to demonstrate as he talks. “I’m in white, and you’re in red. Do this to run fast, that’s for kicking, and that’s for tackling.”

I stare blankly at the controller as Oscar continues to dole out instructions. “There’s loads of other stuff, but I reckon that’s enough for a noob.”

Remembering nothing of what I’ve just been told, I grip the controller and turn my attention to the screen. “All right, let’s give it a try.”

We play three games, and I lose every single one. Miraculously, I did manage to score one goal, and the feeling of satisfaction I got was most unexpected. It was quite the rush, even if I was suspicious that Oscar let me score. I can actually see why Oscar enjoys this so much. My thumbs are aching now though. And so immersed was I in the game that I barely paid attention to the crashing and banging in the kitchen. Who knew gaming would be something I’d find relaxing? But it’s kept my brain occupied and happy, not to mention, I’ve had fun. Perhaps I should play more.

After our third game is over, Oscar puts down his controller and grabs another sweet. “You should have one too, you did score that one goal.” He winks. As I reach into the tin, rummaging for my favourite purple one, there’s a knock at the door. A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s just after five o’clock. But the time is irrelevant. Who on earth would be knocking on our door, uninvited, on Christmas Day?

I pull my hand out of the tin and stand abruptly. Too quickly, it would seem as I suddenly feel light-headed and have to steady myself on the arm of the sofa. Oscar is unperturbed and has switched to a different game, his eyes glued to the TV. Walking slowly towards the kitchen, I see Conrad is already at the door, wiping his hands on a tea towel and reaching for the handle. I almost shout at him not to open it. Whoever it is can go away. We’re not expecting anyone, and it’s Christmas Day! You don’t just go turning up at someone’s house unannounced. It’s beyond rude. But I don’t shout out, I just stand, helpless, with my heart thudding against my breastbone. Because, of course, the only reason why someone might turn up at your door unannounced on Christmas Day is because something terrible has happened. And I know without a shadow of a doubt that whatever lies on the other side of that door is something to be feared.

Conrad opens the door, and it is all I can do to stay upright as our unwelcome visitor is revealed.

It is a police officer.

Our perfect Christmas Day is over.

16

I don’t know where to put myself. Could I just slink back into the room with Oscar and pretend I haven’t heard anything? But that would only be delaying the inevitable. The police officer is obviously here for a reason and that won’t change just because I choose to hide from it. And his reasons for being here could have absolutely nothing to do with the woman. And actually, why would it be about her? I haven’t done anything wrong. Would it be better to simply walk straight in and act confused and put out by the intrusion? Instead, I stay rooted to the spot in the doorway, anxiety bubbling ferociously inside me. Neither in nor out of the situation. Simply lurking and waiting.

Resting my head against the door, I listen as Conrad and the police officer exchange pleasantries. My eyes dart between the two men as Conrad gestures to the dining table, and the officer takes a seat. He is a very large man, clean-shaven, with a white egg-like bald head. The table is still littered with the debris from Christmas dinner. Splats of gravy and crumbs are everywhere, and I wince when the police officer’s elbow almost squashes a stray pea.

He has his back to me, his large shoulders rounded and hunched over. I can’t hear his words, and so without meaning to, I begin walking towards the table. The police officer turns, clocking my presence, before addressing Conrad once more.

“Could we speak alone first, please, Mr Reece?”

Conrad looks uncomfortable, his eyes flitting between the police officer and me. “Um…” He looks up to gauge my opinion, and I return an almost imperceptible shake of my head. My mouth is too dry to speak but there is no way I’m leaving. They’ll have to make me. Conrad understands and thankfully, takes my side. “No, that’s okay. Lorelai, come sit with us. Is Oscar okay?”

I find my voice, but it sounds alien to my ears. “He’s playing through there. I don’t think he even heard the door.”

Conrad pulls out the seat next to him, and I walk over, keeping as wide a berth as possible from the police officer as I do. Everything about him feels dangerous, and I don’t want to be closer to him than I have to be. I fix my eyes on his, assessing him. He doesn’t look angry or menacing. His eyes are actually rather kind, and he looks a little uncomfortable, licking his lips and clasping and unclasping his hands as they rest on the unclean table.

“Okay, if that’s what you’d prefer, Mr Reece.”

Conrad leans forward impatiently. “Yes, absolutely. What can I do for you, Officer?” The strain in Conrad’s voice is evident. This is all my fault. I should’ve told Conrad about our intruder right away. Now we’re about to find out something terrible like she’s murdered one of our neighbours. Why did I try to ignore it all in the hopes of protecting our perfect family Christmas? Because here it is, on Christmas fucking day, in our home, at our table.

The police officer swallows. “I have some news for you, Mr Reece, and I’m sorry to impose on Christmas like this, but we thought it best to make you aware as soon as possible.”

I can barely breathe. News for Conrad? This was not what I was expecting at all. But somehow, it feels worse. News that has to be delivered in person on Christmas Day can never be good. What are we about to hear?

The officer takes a breath, and Conrad jumps in. “What is it? Just tell us.”

“Mr Reece, your wife is in the hospital.”

A sudden pain hits me in the chest, and my entire body goes rigid. The world stops. And I want it to stay that way. I must’ve heard wrong, or else they’ve made a mistake. A horrible mistake. There is no way this can be possible.

I turn my head slowly, my eyes bulging, and stare at Conrad. His face is as white as snow, tears dripping onto his cheeks.

He whispers. “Is… is she okay?”

The officer nods, and Conrad lets out a guttural sobbing sound before turning to me and grabbing both my shoulders. I want to pull away from his touch. I want to be anywhere other than here in this moment, but I have lost all control of my body. And so I sway in his arms like a rag doll, my eyes lolling inside my head.

This can’t be true.

I feel Conrad’s hands touch my face, and I force myself to look into his streaming eyes. “Did you hear that, Lorelai? Your Mum…”

17

LORELAI

TEN YEARS AGO. AGE EIGHT.

Mum has got a new boyfriend. Dad’s only been dead two years, and two years is not a long time. That T-shirt of his I keep in my bedside table still has his smell on it. You can’t replace someone when their smell is still in the house. The boyfriend’s name is Conrad, and he’s over all the time now. Mum pretends he’s not sleeping over, but I know he is. He thinks he’s being quiet when he creeps out in the morning before I wake up for school. They must think I’m stupid.

So this morning I’ve decided I’m going to catch him. I set my alarm for seven o’clock. My room’s pretty close to Mum’s, so I was a bit worried she would hear it. But as if by magic, I woke up at 6.58am all by myself and turned it off.

My door always makes an annoying creak when I open it, so I tested how to make it less noisy last night and flinging it open quickly turned out to be the best option. I pull on my dressing gown and slippers and tiptoe across the carpet like a ninja. I can’t wait to see the look on Conrad’s face when he sees me in the kitchen. Gotcha!

After opening the door expertly, I creep down the stairs as quietly as a mouse. I left one of the chairs at the kitchen table sticking out last night before I went to bed, so I wouldn’t have to scrape it across the floor. I think it will be cool if he finds me just sitting there, chilling. I hope he jumps out of his skin.

At first, I worried that Mum might move the chair back in, but I knew she probably wouldn’t. Mum hardly ever tidies up anything. I sit on the chair and put my hands in my lap. I’m not touching that table. There are two empty wine glasses and a half-drunk bottle of wine sitting on it, and the screw top for the wine is sitting next to the bottle. How hard is it to put the lid back on something? And there are two plates with crumbs of crackers and bits of cheese still on them, along with some sticky stuff that looks like jam. Who would eat cheese and crackers with jam? The whole thing is gross.

When dad was alive, I never really noticed that it was he who kept everything clean and tidy. That’s probably just because I was really little then. He died when I was six. But I still remember. All my clothes smelt lovely and were hung up nicely. There wasn’t stuff everywhere like there is now. I hate living in a mess, and it makes my head feel messy too. Like yesterday, I had my reading book to do for school, and I wanted to do it on the sofa like I always do, but there wasn’t actually anywhere to sit. There was a massive pile of towels, not folded or anything, not even clean, I don’t think. As well as opened letters, cups, and an empty packet of crisps with crumbs spilling out. How am I supposed to concentrate on reading with all that around? Having stuff everywhere makes me feel like I can’t breathe, a bit dizzy, even. I tried telling Mum about it once, and she called me weird and a ‘fusspot’, whatever that is. So I read in my room now. My room is nice and clean, and everything is put away properly. Just like the whole house would be if Dad were still here. I miss him so much.

Excitement fills my tummy as I hear Mum’s bedroom door open and Mum and Conrad whispering. But then I start to get a horrible nervous feeling when I hear two sets of footsteps coming down the stairs. Urgh, this isn’t what I wanted. It was supposed to be just him. Now Mum will get mad at me for being out of bed too early and sneaking downstairs. I need to decide what to do, and fast. If I sit here, sure, Mum will be mad, but then I’ll still get to catch her and Conrad lying. Or I could quickly sneak into the downstairs toilet and hide there until he’s gone. Before I can choose, Conrad steps into the kitchen and stares straight at me. I look at him, and even though I don’t mean to, I smile. His hair is messy, and his face is hilarious. Whatever Mum says to me, this was totally worth it.

He looks behind him for Mum and she appears. She presses herself into the back of him and wraps her arms around his waist. I wrinkle my nose. I do not need to see this. Conrad grabs for Mum’s arms, trying to pull her off him, but she starts giggling and pawing at him. This is hideous! Her dressing gown is open a little bit at the front, and I can see far too much of her skin. Suddenly, this whole thing feels like a terrible idea, and I wish I could turn back time.

Conrad whispers while still trying to control Mum’s arms. “Thea, stop.”

Mum giggles, still clearly having no idea that I’m sitting here watching this embarrassing show. “You weren’t saying stop last night when—” I cover my ears and squeeze my eyes closed, but Conrad cuts Mum off before she can finish her sentence.

“Thea!”

I peel one eye open slowly and see them both staring at me. Mum has wrapped herself back up again and has her arms crossed, with Conrad standing next to her. We all look at each other, saying nothing. Awkward doesn’t even come close.

After what feels like hours of me hoping I’ll somehow just disappear in a puff of smoke, Conrad looks at his watch. “I’d better get going.” He leans in to kiss Mum on the cheek but thinks better of it halfway through. I almost laugh when I see his cheeks go bright red.

“Um, bye, Lorelai.”

I find myself feeling a bit sorry for him, so I answer and even follow it up with another smile. “Bye, Conrad.” Mum opens the door for him, and he leaves without another word, looking relieved. Part of me wants to go after him because I don’t like the idea he might feel bad. Instead, I look up at Mum, waiting for her to kick off, but her face isn’t what I was expecting. She doesn’t look angry at all. She looks sort of sorry, and like Conrad, a bit embarrassed. She comes and sits at the table opposite me. I don’t like this. It feels too serious. I just wanted to give Conrad a wee fright and let him know that I knew he was sleeping over.

Mum smiles, and I try to give one back, but then look down at my hands and start picking at my thumbnail. Mum always tells me off for picking at my fingers and biting my nails, so I try to leave them alone. I keep this one thumb as my worry nail.

Mum speaks. “Came down for some cheese and wine, did you?”

I look up and see a cheeky look on her face. “No, I er, was thirsty, for water, I mean.”

Mum narrows her eyes. “I don’t see any water.”

I can feel myself starting to panic. But why? I haven’t really done anything wrong. I’m only sitting at the kitchen table.

“I just woke up.”

Mum nods, then weaves a hand between the plates and glasses and holds it out to me. I take it, and she squeezes my hand gently.

“Look, you’re eight now, so why don’t we just talk this out. I think it might make us both feel better.” My heart starts to slow, and Mum rubs her finger across the top of my hand, it’s a really nice feeling. We don’t hold hands much anymore, we never have, come to think of it. Mum’s weird about stuff like that, and she only ever hugs me or holds my hand when people are watching.

“Okay.”

“Okay, good. So I’m guessing you came down here to try and catch Conrad leaving. Am I right?”

There’s no point in lying, and like Mum said, it’s probably better to just talk it out. “Yes.”

“But why? You could have just talked to me.”

I huff out a breath. That’s rubbish, and it makes me feel cross. Why do grown-ups think they can just say whatever they want and make it true? I want to pull my hand away. But I don’t, I just sit there feeling annoyed. “What is it, honey? Tell me.”

I know Mum is trying to be nice, but her tone of voice is like she’s talking to a toddler, and suddenly, my anger bubbles out. “You lied to me!”

Mum straightens her shoulders and her face turns serious. “I did not.”

I’m not backing down though. I’m right. “Yes, you did. I asked you if Conrad was sleeping over, and you said no. That’s a lie.”

Mum’s face softens. “Well… Okay, I suppose you’re right. But I didn’t know what to say. It’s… difficult, isn’t it?”

I haven’t really said anything to Mum about Conrad. She told me he was a friend, but then he kept being here more and more. She’s never actually told me he’s her boyfriend and hasn’t asked me if I like him or if I want him here. Shouldn’t she have done that, or do I just get no say at all? I don’t tell her any of these things. Even though now feels like a really good time to say them. Instead, I say probably the worst thing I could possibly say in this moment.

“I miss Dad.” And then I cry. I don’t want to cry but it happens anyway. Mum comes over and pulls me into a hug. Like the hand-holding thing, this is very weird for her. She’s just not that type of mum.

“Oh, Lorelai. I miss him too.”

I let Mum hold me and again don’t say any of the things I want to. How can you miss him if you’re with Conrad now? Why can’t it just be you and me? Why am I not enough?

Mum pulls away and crouches down so our heads are at the same height. “I miss your dad terribly, but I know he would want us to be happy.”

I sniff. I think she’s right about that. Dad was always lovely and would never want anyone to be sad.

“I like Conrad, but he will never replace your dad. I will always love him, I hope you know that.”

More tears come, and Mum wipes them away. I really wish my stupid eyes would stop crying. But it’s nice being so close to her for once, and also hearing her say ‘dad’, and that she loves him. Sometimes I think I’m the only one who remembers.

“So how about this, young lady. I won’t keep anything else from you. If you ask me a question about Conrad, or about anything, I’ll tell you the truth. Deal?”

That does sound good. Exactly what I want. But will she actually do it? “Okay, deal.”

“And you need to tell me if anything is bothering you, and I promise I will listen.”

I look at Mum’s face. She looks like she is telling the truth, even though the words don’t sound like her. It feels a lot like she’s saying what I want to hear so she can get what she wants.

“Okay.”

Mum goes back to her seat at the table. “So should we talk about Conrad staying over? It’s not every night, but I think soon, it might be. How do you feel about that?”

I close my eyes to help me think. Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about Conrad being here all the time. There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s nice to me, and Mum isn’t as moody with me since he started coming over. It wouldn’t be so bad if he were around a bit more. I just didn’t like them lying to me about it.

“I don’t mind. Just tell me though. Like, if he’s moving in or anything, don’t pretend. I’m not a baby.”

Mum’s face brightens. “Thank you, sweetheart. When did you get so grown up?”

My cheeks go red and I feel a bit silly, but at least I’ve stopped crying now. Mum’s right. I do feel a lot more grown up recently.

Mum glances up at the clock on the wall. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for school?”

I look over my shoulder, and my belly does a somersault. I should already have had my breakfast and be getting changed by now. I hate being late, and I always do the same things at the same time every morning. I feel like the whole day will go wrong if I don’t.

I hug Mum quickly and dash up the stairs.

18

LORELAI

TEN YEARS AGO. AGE EIGHT.

It’s been two months since my failed ninja attempt to catch Conrad at the front door, and things have been tons better. Conrad has stayed over a lot, and it’s been really good. He goes home a couple of nights a week, but he’s here most of the time. When he’s here, he gets up before me in the morning, and when I come downstairs for breakfast, the kitchen is clean, and he’s made breakfast for me. And not just rubbish toast either. Mum makes the worst toast. It’s somehow burnt but also cold, and all the butter just sits in the middle rather than going all the way to the edges. I always eat it though, because I don’t want her to feel bad or shout at me. But this week, I’ve had cereal, fresh juice, and this thick white yoghurt with honey, which is my new favourite thing in the world. And one day he even made scrambled eggs and bacon. The fridge is full of cool food, and it’s not just frozen stuff from the oven for tea. Don’t get me wrong, I like pizza and fish fingers, but not every night.

Last night I had my first ever curry. My tongue tingled a bit, and I had more rice and bread than actual curry, but it’s so exciting trying new things. Conrad even lets me chop vegetables with him. I can’t believe I’m eating actual vegetables and enjoying them. Mum hates cooking. Dad always did it, so it’s nice for her to have someone else to do it now. She seems much more relaxed.

Every once in a while, I get a terrible guilty feeling in my tummy. Like Dad would be mad at me for liking Conrad. But I’ve thought about it a lot, even had some conversations in my head with Dad, and I think he’d be okay about it. If Dad were still alive, Conrad wouldn’t be here. But he’s not, and we can’t change that. If there were any chance I could bring him back, I would. I’d give up everything I have in my room. All my toys, all my books. They’re not worth very much I don’t think, but still, I’d give anything. But that’s not how it works.

Tonight we are having lasagna and garlic bread. I haven’t had lasagna before, but Conrad said it’s just like spaghetti bolognese but a different shape and with more cheese. That sounds so yummy, I can’t wait. Conrad and Mum have been a bit weird tonight. Going off into the other room and whispering a lot. Plus, Conrad has set the dining table rather than the kitchen table. I don’t mind that. It looks really nice with all the napkins and candles, like something out of a magazine. We haven’t eaten at the dining table since Dad was alive. It’s just been covered with dust and junk, which I’ve always felt a bit sad about.

I really like our house, but before Conrad moved in, it always looked so messy and dirty. Mum’s always telling me I should invite friends over, but even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I think I’d feel embarrassed. I have a couple of friends I like, but after school, I just like coming home where it’s quiet, and I can read or play by myself. I know Mum thinks I’m a bit weird, but I’m totally happy like that. I think from today we should eat at the dining table all the time. But I can’t help thinking that there’s a reason for it tonight. I think they’re going to tell me that Conrad is moving in, and honestly, I think I like the idea.

Conrad puts the lasagna on the table next to the garlic bread rather than serving it straight onto plates. I like that, because you can choose how much you want.

“Will you go and wash your hands, Lorelai, and then we can all eat? Thank you so much for helping me cook again. It won’t be long before you’re cooking meals by yourself. I think you’re a natural.”

I get a lovely warm feeling in my tummy and can’t help but grin at what Conrad says. And I think he’s right. Apart from the oven, which I’m still a bit scared of, I reckon I could make that lasagna myself. I’m good at chopping, and I can cook things in pots on the hob. I wonder why Mum hates cooking so much. I really love it. But I quite like that Conrad and I cook together because it’s made us better friends. He tells me about his work and asks me about school. Mum hardly ever asks me about school. She hasn’t got a clue when my homework is due in, and I have to remind her about things like parents’ evening and sports days. It’s lucky I’m so organised.

When I come back from washing my hands, Mum and Conrad are already at the table.

Conrad smiles at me. “Do you want an edge piece or a middle piece?”

I don’t really know what the difference is, so I shrug my shoulders. “Either.”

“The corners and edges are crispier, and the middle is softer and gooier.”

I like the idea of soft and gooey. “Ooh, middle then please.”

Conrad dishes out, but I notice Mum is looking a bit pale and uncomfortable, and she’s covering her nose as if the food smells bad. But it smells amazing! Cheesy, and tomatoey and delicious. My mouth is watering.

“Just a small portion for me,” adds Mum.

I hope Mum’s not getting sick. Come to think of it, she didn’t eat much curry last night either. I dig into my food, almost burning my tongue, but I don’t care, it is so tasty. I finish every single bite and mop up the sauce with the garlic bread. Mum is still picking at hers, but Conrad has finished too.

I wipe my face with my napkin and put it back on my knee. “I think that’s my new favourite.”

Conrad smiles and takes a sip of his wine. “Well that’s good to hear, there’s more than half left, so we can have it tomorrow as well.”

That’s another new thing. Conrad makes things that last for more than one night. It’s so clever. I notice that Mum doesn’t have wine tonight like Conrad, only water. That’s weird. She must be poorly because she usually drinks lots of wine. I hope it’s not one of those horrible tummy bugs like I had last Easter. I couldn’t eat any chocolate and spent the whole day throwing up and crying. Maybe she should go up to bed. Conrad and I can tidy up together, and she can rest and try to feel better. Mum notices me looking at her glass, then looks at Conrad, and they both nod.

Mum leans in. “Lorelai – Conrad and I have something to tell you.”

And then the most horrible thought hits me, and it makes me want to run away from the table and hide in my room. If they’re going to tell me something bad, I don’t want to hear it. My brain starts coming up with horrible stories. What if Mum doesn’t just have a tummy bug? What if they’re going to tell me that Mum is properly sick? Sick like Dad was. I feel cold and dizzy and even more scared than I was when I watched a bit of that film about dinosaurs behind Mum’s back.

But when Mum finally speaks, all of my worries drift away, and I find myself crying. Not with sadness, but with relief and happiness.

“I’m pregnant, Lorelai. You’re going to have a baby brother or sister to look after.”

19

LORELAI

NINE YEARS AGO. AGE NINE.

My baby brother was due yesterday. He’s late. Mum says that’s perfectly normal, but I can tell she’s fed up, and she’s as big as a house. Conrad and I have cleaned the house top to bottom, and everything is sparkling clean. I wish my brother would hurry up already! Waiting is so annoying.

Every time I moan about it, Mum tells me that at least I’m not the one who has to carry him around in my tummy. She’s got a point. It looks awful, her ankles are all swollen, and I would never say this to her, but her face is too. She does not look good. The sooner he arrives, the better.

It’s half-term for me this week, so I’m off school. He’d better not be so late that I have to go back to school and miss him being born. That would be so irritating. Mum keeps saying we have no control over it, and he’ll arrive when he’s ready, even though we’re all ready now. It would be better if we got to decide I think.

Conrad hovers by the door. “Right, I’m off to work. I’ll have my phone on me all day. Call me if you get the slightest twinge, and I’ll come straight back. Okay?”

Mum sits on the sofa sipping the cup of ginger tea I made her. I like bringing her things and helping out. She hardly ever says thank you, though. One thing I’ve noticed is that being pregnant makes people rude. She’s been so mean recently. But then, being pregnant does look completely rubbish. I’m sure she’ll be much nicer to me once the baby is here.

“I will, but I reckon we’ve still got a few days yet.”

Conrad kisses Mum on the forehead and then comes over to me and gives me a hug. “You’re in charge now, Lorelai. Keep an eye on her, you know what she’s like.” He winks at me, and I try to wink back but blink instead. Winking is harder than it looks. Mum isn’t listening, instead she’s scrabbling around on the sofa looking for something.

I say a quick goodbye to Conrad and rush over to Mum. “What is it? What do you need?”

“Just the remote.”

“Okay, you stay there, I’ll find it.”

Mum pushes herself up and answers me in the grumpy voice that has become her usual voice. “It’s fine, I’m pregnant, not ill.”

But then I spot the remote under her and grab it. “Here you go.”

Mum lets herself flop back down. “Thanks, I regretted that about halfway through.”

I sit down next to her. “Can I make you anything to eat? I could do scrambled eggs or French toast. Anything you like.”

Mum points the remote at the TV, not looking at me. “I’ll just grab something if I want it.”

“Okay, I’m going to make some French toast for myself then.”

Mum rolls her eyes at me. “Why does every meal have to be such a performance? Can’t you just have cereal or something? Why don’t you go play or something like…” Mum lets her sentence drift off. I know what she was going to say, and it hurts. She was going to say, “Like a normal child.” I don’t know why, but Mum gets really ratty about me cooking and cleaning. I’ve tried to tell her that I like it, but she doesn’t understand me. Mum has never really understood me at all. We’re nothing alike, but I don’t try to change her, so I don’t understand why she’s always trying to change me.

When her friends come over and I make cups of tea, or bring over things I’ve baked with Conrad, they say such lovely things. “I wish I had a daughter like that.” “You’re so lucky, Thea.” But I can tell Mum doesn’t feel lucky at all. I have all these words inside my head that I want to say to her. If she thinks it’s fine to tell me I’m not a normal child all the time, shouldn’t I be able to tell her she’s not a normal mum? She doesn’t cook, or clean, or do the washing, or know what I need for school. And I know she works hard, but she likes to say that a lot. Like every single day.

She works as a receptionist at the doctor’s surgery down the road. When we go to the shops or the park, everybody knows her, and we have to spend ages talking to people I don’t even know. I hate it, and she’s always telling me off for being too quiet and shy. But why would anyone want to spend their time talking to random people? And it’s the same conversations over and over again. It makes my head want to explode. Conrad’s not like that. He’s quieter, like I am, and like Dad was. He likes playing golf, but otherwise, he spends his time reading or cooking. Just like me. And he likes things tidy and ordered too. He works at the university, which is like a school for adults. He spends a lot of time on his computer, and he has his own office at the university so he can work quietly and by himself. I think I’d like a job like that when I’m older.

But I hate arguing with Mum, or with anyone really, so I just say, “Actually, I’m not that hungry. I’ll go play in my room for a bit.”

Mum’s face brightens. “Good girl.” And then she turns her attention back to the TV.

I am actually very hungry, but hopefully Mum will go back up to bed soon like she usually does, and I’ll sneak down and cook.

Conrad and I have already decided we’re having fettuccine Alfredo for tea. You only need four ingredients if you make it properly like the Italians do. Pasta, butter, parmesan, and salt. You wouldn’t think you could make something so yummy with just that. Mum doesn’t like spicy food at the moment, with the baby taking up all of the space in her tummy, but she always eats my fettuccine Alfredo. Conrad has said he’ll teach me how to make calamari tonight as long as Mum’s okay. I’m so excited about that, even though the squid in the fridge is giving me the heebie-jeebies.

I hope none of her annoying friends come over today. I hate it when other people are in our house. They’re loud, and they make loads of mess. I know Conrad hates it too, but most of the time he’s too nice to say anything about it. I’ve heard them arguing a couple of times, and she’s so mean to him. She calls him boring and controlling. I’d like to tell her that’s not very nice, but I won’t. She’s been off work for the last month waiting for the baby to come, and sometimes she doesn’t even change out of her pyjamas.

I walk away from Mum, and she shouts after me, “How about we go for a walk in an hour or so. See if we can get this baby moving.”

A walk sounds good, actually. I can’t remember the last time Mum asked me to go on a walk with her. I can’t remember the last time she asked me to do anything with her, if I’m honest. It’s a nice day today, and it will be better than sitting upstairs waiting for Mum to fall asleep so I can cook in the kitchen without being disturbed. And does walking get a baby to come? If that’s true, it explains why this one is stuck. Mum barely moves. I’ll make sure we do a really long walk and no stopping to gossip like usual.

In my room, I straighten up a few things, then sit down on my bed with a book. My belly is grumbling, so I open my bedside table and take out a cereal bar. I have a stash for situations just like this. It’s gone in seconds, and just as I’m about to turn the page, I hear shouting from downstairs. With my door closed, I can’t make out the words, but Mum does not sound happy. I rush down the stairs and find Mum standing in the middle of the kitchen. She has one hand on her belly and one hand between her legs. Her face is all screwed up and she’s breathing really noisily.

“Mum?”

She opens one eye. “Call Conrad, the baby is coming.”

I rush and grab her phone, type in the code and make the call. “Mum, sit down.”

Mum takes a few steps forward but then yelps and stands still again. Conrad answers after a few rings. I don’t give him a chance to speak, I just yell.

“Come home, the baby’s coming!” Then I hang up, throw the phone down on the table, and walk towards Mum. She’s on her knees now, pulling off her pyjama bottoms. What is she doing? We’re in the kitchen. And how could all this have happened in just ten minutes? Isn’t having a baby supposed to take hours and happen in a hospital? I have no idea what to do.

Mum is panting and her face is bright red and covered in sweat. Is this even normal, or is something wrong? I crouch down next to Mum and put a hand on her back, but as I do, Mum scrunches up her face and then pees all over the floor. I jump back and nearly fall over. Mum lets out a moan like I have never heard before. I don’t think I have ever felt so scared in my whole life. Not even when Dad was really poorly.

Then Mum screams. “Call an ambulance. It’s coming now!”

I scramble to my feet and find the phone again. My hands are shaking, but somehow, I manage to dial 999 and ask for an ambulance.

“My mum’s having a baby on the kitchen floor. Please come. I’m scared.” I don’t know why I said that last part, it just came out. But I am scared. Really scared. The woman on the phone asks me some questions, and I do my best to answer them. Can’t they just send an ambulance now, why all the questions? Mum is now naked from the waist down and her pyjama bottoms are lying in the giant puddle of pee next to her. She is on all fours and just moaning and panting. She looks more like an animal than a person. I wish Conrad was here. I wish anyone was here. I can’t do this on my own.

Mum whispers, “Lorelai.”

I crawl on my knees over to her and put my face close to hers. I can’t find any words. Mum opens her eyes, there is fear and pain in there, and I don’t like looking at her.

“I need to push, Lorelai, I need you to deliver the baby.”

My heart almost stops. I can’t deliver the baby. I’m not a doctor, I’m not even an adult. I don’t even know what ‘deliver the baby’ means. Isn’t that her job? What am I supposed to do? I can see Mum wants to speak, but she is panting too hard. But then something kicks in inside me. I know where the baby is going to come out of, so I slide on my knees behind Mum. There is something between her legs, something that’s not supposed to be there. And then Mum screams again and the thing starts to grow bigger. I can’t believe it. It’s a head. It’s my baby brother’s head!

I can hear the ambulance now, but I don’t think they’re going to get here in time to help me. Without thinking, I take off my jumper and hold it under the baby’s head. A whole head is just sitting there, eyes closed, covered in blood and white stuff. The baby’s body must still be inside her. Do I pull it out? Before I can think anything further, Mum moans again, and the baby’s shoulders start to show. Then he slides onto my jumper so quickly I almost jump back. He’s still attached to Mum by a long, thick rope of some kind. My stomach churns and I feel a little bit like I might be sick.

But then he cries. His cry is so tiny, and his mouth is pink and toothless. And even with all the gunk all over him, he looks like the most perfect thing I have ever seen. I know immediately that I love him more than anything else in the whole world.

A knock and voices sound at the door. I ignore it as I wrap him up in my jumper and stare at him.

He’s here. He’s an actual baby.

I did it.

20

LORELAI

SEVEN YEARS AGO. AGE ELEVEN.

The best way to describe our house at the moment is grumpy. Oscar is two. Two-year-olds shout and cry a lot I have learnt. I’m okay with that because Oscar is my brother. When he’s upset, I want him to feel better, so I try to calm him down. He has a favourite teddy, an elephant that is really soggy and disgusting to look at. But when he hugs it, I can see all the red anger go out of his face.

Mum and Conrad argue a lot. She gets really cross about him going to work, and she even gets cross at me for going to school. I’m in the first year of high school now, so I have to go out earlier, and I get back later than when I was just at the school down the road. But that’s where our nearest high school is, not much I can do about it. I said to Mum that if she would drive me, I’d get back quicker, and boy was that a mistake. She yelled and screamed at me. Apparently, I don’t appreciate how much she has to do around here. But I was only trying to solve the problem.

Mum decided not to go back to work after having Oscar, so he doesn’t go to nursery or a childminder like I did when I was little. I’ve heard her and Conrad talking about it. Well, fighting about it to be more accurate. He’s said to her she doesn’t have to work if she doesn’t want to, or that she can, and they’ll find a nursery for Oscar. To me, that seems really reasonable. She can choose what she wants to do. Nobody is making her stay at home with Oscar, and nobody is making her go to work. So why does she complain all the time? But Mum only ever shouts at him. It’s like she hears different words than what he’s actually saying.

Conrad and I usually get back in around the same time. It always amazes me how much mess can be made in the eight hours I am out of the house. There will be food everywhere, toys littered across the floor, wet nappies balled up and left on the sofa. And all Mum ever says is that she’s had a ‘hell of a day’ or something similar. She says it right in front of Oscar, which I don’t like now he can understand stuff. But I honestly can’t work out what it is she’s been doing. And I don’t think she plays with Oscar. Whenever Conrad or I come in the door, he always toddles over to us. You can see how happy he is to see us, and that just makes Mum even madder. She’ll say that we’re all against her. But how can Oscar be against her? He’s two. Then she’ll take herself off upstairs for a bath or go out to the pub with one of her friends. I hardly ever see her anymore. And to be honest, I don’t mind. She’s never nice to Conrad or me, and as soon as we’re home to help with Oscar, she uses it as an opportunity to get away from us all. Honestly, I don’t think she likes being with us. Any of us.

When I arrive home today, I find Conrad sitting on the floor with Oscar. They are playing with his big building bricks. They’re like Lego but massive, and he is so good at putting them together and building towers. He will quite happily do that for hours. How can sitting and doing that be so stressful for Mum?

I greet Conrad and run over to Oscar. He gives me a toothy grin and hands me a block.

“Ooh, yellow. Thank you.”

I add it to the top of the tower he is building. He claps and I copy him. Conrad is still in his smart work shirt and trousers, and Mum is nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Mum?”

Conrad takes a deep breath and tries to hide his irritation. “She’s gone for a lie down before dinner.”

I look around, and even by the usual standards, it is horrifically messy today.

I sit down next to him. “Why don’t you get changed while I sit with Oscar for a bit, then I’ll tidy up when you come back.”

Conrad runs his hands through his hair and stands up. “Thanks.”

I watch him as he scans the room. I can see the cogs in his head turning, almost hear his thoughts out loud. I know he hates this. There is so much we don’t say to each other that I think we should. But it’s not worth it because all it will do is create upset. Conrad gently suggested we get a cleaner a few months ago. I didn’t like the idea because I think that with us all chipping in, we should be able to manage just fine. I kept my opinions to myself, though. He was asking Mum, not me, anyway. But Mum went bonkers. First accusing him of calling her lazy and then turning it around on him and calling him lazy, saying he should help after she’d been doing everything all day. One day, I would love to ask Mum to describe what ‘everything’ means.

Mum has changed so much since Oscar was born. I don’t know, but I think that having Oscar wasn’t planned. They hadn’t been together very long, and had only started living together.

The Christmas before Oscar was born, Conrad proposed to Mum. I remember it clearly because Conrad let me help with everything for the first time that year. Showed me all the tips and tricks to make the most delicious Christmas food. I loved every minute of it. After we’d finished our breakfast, we all sat down to open presents like always.

After Dad died, I noticed that I got fewer presents, and they often weren’t things I’d asked for. I’m old enough now to know there’s no Santa, but I remember at the time feeling so sad about it. My dad had died, but I’d still been a good girl, so why was he bringing rubbish presents? I remember feeling so guilty for thinking like that, and I tried my best to be grateful. But I was only little, and when I went back to school and found out that all my classmates had got amazing presents from Santa, I felt even sadder. When I realised it was Mum who’d been buying my presents, and not Santa judging me as a bad child, I wasn’t sure how to feel. I never asked for anything expensive, and the things she did buy me probably cost the same as the things I’d asked for. It made me feel like Mum didn’t know me, didn’t care about me. But I wonder if present-buying is just something that’s not important to her, and maybe she doesn’t realise it’s important to me.

The year Conrad proposed, I’d asked for three books, and a necklace I’d seen when we were all at the shops that had a star on it. Dad always called me his ‘little star’, and I thought it would be like carrying him with me everywhere. As soon as I made the list, I regretted it. I wouldn’t get the necklace, and I knew that would make me much sadder than if I’d asked for something that didn’t mean anything to me. But when we all sat down by the tree, Mum sitting higher than Conrad and me, on a dining chair, because of her growing belly, I was blown away to open the exact necklace I had seen. I jumped off the floor and ran to Mum, avoiding her tummy, and hugging her awkwardly from the side.

“Thank you. I absolutely love it.” I had tears of joy in my eyes, but when I looked at Mum, she just looked cold and uncaring.

“Don’t thank me, I didn’t buy it.”

My hands dropped to my sides, and I gaped at her. Her words were like a stab to my heart. Even if she didn’t buy it, why did she have to say it like that? She could see how happy I was. And in that moment, I realised that Mum no longer cared about my happiness. So I turned to Conrad. He looked awkward and embarrassed, and I knew he could see Mum’s behaviour for what it was and the wrongness of it all. But behind that, I could also see his happiness at how I’d reacted to the gift. I took out the necklace, the silver star on the delicate chain glinted in the light from the Christmas tree.

Conrad reached over. “Here, let me put it on for you.” I let him and placed my hand over the star, holding it close to my chest. Mum didn’t even look over at us.

Conrad nudged the pile of presents over to me, and I began opening them. There were the three books I had asked for, plus another that I hadn’t but which looked amazing, and a beautiful leather writing book with my initials carved into it.

My eyes sparkled and I focused only on Conrad. “Thank you so much.” He simply nodded. I didn’t turn to Mum. I knew she would only destroy my happy moment. Conrad reached under the tree and passed me another present, a quite large square box.

Confused and surprised, because I’d already received way too much, I stared at him. “Is this for me too?”

Conrad smiled at me. “Yes. This one’s from me.”

I started peeling back the paper, aware that every single one of my presents was actually from him, but knowing that it would start a war if I dared to say so. I laughed with delight when my present was revealed to be a pasta maker.

Conrad leant in. “I’ll teach you how to use it. We can use the leftover turkey to make something tomorrow.”

I turned the box over in my hand, reading the instructions and looking at the pictures. “I’d love that.” We usually buy pasta already made, and I had no idea you could make it yourself. I couldn’t wait to try it out. Just then, I heard Mum snort, and when I looked up, she was rolling her eyes. Why does she have to take everything that makes me happy and make it feel smaller? She’s my mum, she isn’t supposed to do that. So I stared at her and refused to look away, telling her all the things she did that made me feel sad, using only my eyes. Mum eventually looked away and I felt a small sense of victory.

She ignored me and spoke to Conrad instead. “I’m just saying, it’s a weird present for a kid. Am I wrong?” She shifted in her seat and rubbed her tummy, reminding us that she was somehow untouchable because she was pregnant.

Conrad just shrugged. “I think it’s a great present for a budding young cook.”

I stared back at Mum. “I do too.”

Mum huffed out a breath. “Guess I’m outnumbered. Just like always.”

And then I realised something else. Instead of being happy that Conrad and I got on well and liked spending time together, Mum hated it. I looked away from her and sat with that thought for a bit. Would she be happier if we disliked each other? Why would she want either of us to be unhappy or uncomfortable in our own home? But then Conrad stood up and went to kneel beside her. I watched closely, wondering what he was about to say, and scared that whatever it was would make Mum kick off.

“Thea, I want to thank you. Meeting you has been the most wonderful experience of my life. You’ve made me the happiest man alive.” I felt so taken aback. She’d been so rude, so why was he saying all this gushing stuff to her? She didn’t deserve it. “And you’ve blessed me with becoming a father.”

Mum looked over his shoulder at me and patted her stomach. “Well, not yet.”

I felt like I was going to cry. When did Mum become an actual horrible person? She’d never been super nice, but she didn’t used to be as awful as this.

Conrad continued. “I’m so grateful to be a part of this family, and I can’t wait for our new arrival.” I knew what he was trying to do, and I appreciated his efforts. But the effects of Mum’s words still stung. “So, Thea…” and then he pulled a small box from his back pocket and opened it in front of Mum. “Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

Mum’s eyes widened as she looked down at the diamond ring in front of her. She didn’t miss a beat and pulled it out of the box, staring at it.

“It’s huge!”

And it was. The biggest diamond I’d ever seen for sure. She put it on her finger and held it up to the light, admiring it. Then held it out to me.

“Look, Lorelai. Would you look at that!”

I wasn’t unkind like Mum, so I reacted as I should. “Wow. It’s amazing, Mum. Beautiful.” I remember not knowing how I felt about the idea of them getting married. A lot had happened in the last ten minutes, and I was still feeling burnt from the things Mum had said and the way she had looked at me. But Mum hadn’t even checked for my reaction. Instead, she’d got up out of her chair and walked away from me and Conrad.

“I’m just getting my phone. Going to take a picture and send it to the girls.”

Conrad was still on the floor on one knee, watching her walk away. There was sadness in his eyes at what should have been a wonderful moment. I knew exactly what he was thinking, because I was thinking the same thing too.

Mum, clearly delighted by a stunning diamond ring, didn’t care enough about Conrad proposing to even say yes.

21

LORELAI

FIVE YEARS AGO. AGE THIRTEEN.

In three years, I will legally be able to leave this house. Will I? Probably not, but it’s nice to know I’ll have the option. To everyone who comes in, we are a nice normal family. A devoted stay-at-home mother, a hard-working father and stepfather who has recently been promoted to the head of the best university in the city. A teenager who does well at school, never gets in trouble, and has beautiful manners. A loveable, but shy four-year-old boy who is so well behaved and never causes a scene. But who are we really? The beautiful family home is maintained mostly by me and sometimes Conrad. His promotion means he is out of the house more, but I’m happy for him. He has worked so hard, and he is amazing at his job. Plus, the housework is much less than it was when Oscar was at home with Mum all day.

Oscar is in his reception year at school now, and he loves it. He’s not old enough to understand why he is so eager to go to school, but I am. He doesn’t have to spend his days being ignored by Mum and forced to play on his own until Conrad or I come back. He has friends now, and he is blossoming.

Mum seems to do one of two things on school days – she either lounges around all day, sometimes never leaving her room, or she gets dressed up and goes out shopping or for lunch with her friends. Sometimes a bit of both. I prefer the days she goes out because she usually comes back a little bit drunk. Drunk Mum is often better than sober Mum. Sometimes she’s happy and we’ll have a lovely dinner. She’ll laugh, and we’ll all watch something on the TV together after we’ve eaten. Or she’ll go and sleep it off, and Conrad, Oscar and I will have a nice evening together, playing games or hanging out in the garden if the weather is nice. Mum hates anything like that. TV is fine, but she’ll make an excuse to be elsewhere if we get out some toys or suggest a game of football or badminton outside. Occasionally, she’ll be spoiling for a fight, but that’s usually after Oscar has gone to bed. I mostly keep out of her way on those nights. I can sense it off her and take myself off to my room, ignoring any of her attempts to provoke me. And she has so many ways to try and get under my skin. She’ll make fun of the fact that I like to do my homework on time, that I enjoy baking and cooking ‘like a little housewife’, or that I’m perfectly happy to clean and tidy up to make sure our family home looks nice.

I stopped thinking of her as my mother some time ago. Her words don’t hurt me anymore. And that’s because I know she’s in the wrong. Conrad tries, but Mum somehow thinks she’s invincible. If I were him, I would leave. I’ve often thought about saying that to him. I don’t know if I’d be allowed to, but I would go with him if he did leave Mum. He is more of a parent to me than she has been in a long time. He listens to me, and he cares about my interests and supports me when I want to do something. He has never said one word to put me down. Not once.

I know I’m not like most other teenagers. All the girls in my class like dancing, or gymnastics, or hanging out at the park doing nothing. But I don’t, and I don’t care what other people do. But I know Mum is embarrassed by me. If only she knew how shamed I am by her too. But then, I’m sure my opinion means absolutely nothing to her.

Sometimes I look back and feel sad, because I can honestly say it feels like my mum died not long after my dad. But I have Oscar, and I have Conrad. They are all I need, and I count myself lucky. Imagine if Conrad hadn’t come into our lives, and Oscar hadn’t been born. The thought of living with only Mum sends a shiver down my spine.

As I walk onto the driveway, I see Conrad and Oscar standing by the front door, Conrad searching in his pocket for his keys. Even though Mum doesn’t work, Oscar goes to after-school club every day, and Conrad picks him up after work. I know it shouldn’t be expected that mums do all the school runs, and I’ve heard Mum yelling about this several times, but surely, she should at least do it sometimes, especially when she doesn’t have a job. I know Conrad has to rush away from work to get there on time, and sometimes even has to miss meetings. How can that possibly be fair? I get annoyed at him sometimes for not saying anything to her, but I also understand. She doesn’t listen, and all she does is shout and somehow turn everything around to be our fault. And her shouting scares Oscar. Whenever Mum’s around, he’s as quiet as a mouse, and I can see him avoiding being in the same room as her. I worry about how it will affect him. He’s still so little and he doesn’t deserve to be feeling sad. Especially at the hands of his own mother. It’s so messed up.

I sneak up behind them and tickle Oscar’s ribs. He jumps before turning round and giving me a hug.

Conrad finally gets the door open and turns to me. “Oh, hi, Lorelai, how was your day?”

“Good, thanks. You?”

Conrad mumbles a response. “Yeah, busy.”

We walk inside to find all the lights off. Mum either isn’t home or is upstairs in her room. I breathe a sigh of relief, and I see Conrad do the same. It’s just us.

“And how was your day, Oscar? PE today wasn’t it?” I ask.

Oscar rolls up his sleeve and shows me a graze on his elbow. “Ellie tripped me when we were doing football. She said it was by accident, but I know it was on purpose.” He gives me a very stern, outraged look, and I have to stop myself from laughing. He is such an animated little boy, and I also know that, like me, he isn’t particularly keen on sports.

I squint my eyes, pretending to take a very serious look at his arm. “Well, I’m sure you were very brave.”

Oscar nods as Conrad takes his coat and school bag, checks for letters and takes out his water bottle.

“Do you two want some juice or anything before I go up and get changed?”

I wave him away. “No, you go up, I’ll get Oscar some juice. There’s leftover cottage pie, and I thought I’d do some Yorkshire puddings to go with it?” I’ve been perfecting my Yorkshire puddings over the last few Sundays, and I think I’ve finally cracked it. Conrad smiles but then stops, looking upstairs and listening for movement. Oscar has made his way over to the sofa and is out of earshot, but I still whisper, “I don’t think she’s up there.” I can see Conrad’s inner conflict about how to answer. Over the years we’ve become a little team. Mum’s behaviour has forced us to be. But I know Conrad still wrestles with the idea of us being in cahoots against Mum, and he will never say a bad word against her. I do my best to keep things civil with her. Not for her, but for him. His life is hard enough.

“Okay, I’ll only be twenty minutes. And I can help with food when I get down.”

I take off my coat and hang it up in the cloakroom. “Seriously, take as long as you like.” I shout over at Oscar, “Want to make Yorkshire puds with me? I’ll let you use the mixer.”

Oscar’s head peers over the sofa, and he shows me his elbow again. “I’m injured, remember.” And then he disappears again, back to lying on the sofa.

Conrad and I share a giggle. “Go on up, I’ll keep an eye on the patient.” I listen as Conrad creeps up the stairs. It’s a disgrace that he feels this way in his own house. I’ve heard Mum yell at him many times that he’s living in her house. But he really isn’t. When he moved in, he sold his house and used the money to pay off our mortgage. But even without that, this would still be his home. He’s the only one of the two of them who does anything to make it a home for Oscar and me.

I take off my blazer and drape it over the sofa, checking in on Oscar. His eyes look droopy, and it would be a disaster if he had a nap just now. It would throw his bedtime routine right off.

“I know you’re injured, but what about some apple juice?”

Oscar sits up. “Yeah, I think that would help.”

“And why don’t you come and colour at the kitchen table? Keep me company.”

Oscar thinks for a moment before getting up. “Yep, my colouring arm is fine.”

I get him settled, put on my apron, and take the leftover cottage pie out of the fridge. Conrad is moving around freely upstairs, so I assume Mum is still out somewhere. I cut a slice of pie, place it on a plate, cover it with cling film, and put it back in the fridge for Mum, before putting the rest in the oven to heat up. She won’t eat it, but she would definitely have something to say if she came home and we hadn’t left her something.

I switch my mind off from Mum and turn my attention to the Yorkshire pudding batter. I’m determined to make these ones puffy and glorious. Whenever I’m in the kitchen, everything with Mum somehow doesn’t bother me. It’s like she can’t get me in here, when I’m doing something I love, something I’m good at. I mentioned once to Mum and Conrad that I think I’d like to be a chef, or maybe one of those people who goes to restaurants and writes about food for magazines. I love writing, and I love cooking, so I think that would be the best job ever. No surprises that Conrad was excited and supportive, and Mum was the exact opposite. I think she said something along the lines of ‘that’s not a proper job’. I’ll show her.

Conrad comes downstairs looking refreshed and replenished. “Smells amazing in here.”

I point to the oven. “Have a look. They look good, right?”

Conrad bends to look. “Better than I’ve ever made. Brilliant, and I’m starving.” He makes his way to where Oscar is sitting, but Oscar holds up an arm.

“Don’t look. I’m not finished.”

Conrad takes a few comical steps back and covers his eyes with his hand. “Okay, I won’t, but it’s dinner time now, so go and wash your hands.”

Oscar turns his picture over so we can’t see and does as he is told.

* * *

Dinner is lovely, and my Yorkshire puddings go down a storm. Oscar tells us about a trip to the airport his class has got coming up, and how he’s going to fly an actual plane. I suspect, and definitely hope that isn’t the case, but I don’t burst his bubble. I love it when the three of us sit down together to eat, it’s probably the favourite part of my day. I know I’m Oscar’s sister, and only thirteen, but with Mum mostly absent, and only causing grief when she is here, I know that Oscar sees me as somewhere between a sister and a mum. And I love that. It makes me super protective of him. If Mum won’t make sure he grows up happy, then Conrad and I will. I won’t let him suffer because of her selfish behaviour.

Conrad looks at his watch. “Right, tidy-up time. I’ll go and run your bath, young man, and then it’s a story and bedtime.” Oscar doesn’t argue, but I see him look at the door. I feel a pang of sadness for him. He still wants his mum, and my heart breaks for him at how she treats him. He can sometimes go days without seeing her.

We all clear our plates and load them in the dishwasher. Even Oscar helps before they head upstairs to start the bedtime routine. When they are out of earshot, I take the plates back out, rinse them, and stack them properly, before re-wiping the table and moving things in the cupboards and fridge back to where they are supposed to be. I know doing that is weird, and I try not to, but I just feel better when everything is how I think it should be.

I decide to get ready for bed early tonight. I’ve got some homework to finish, and then I’ll read for an hour or so in my room. Avoid Mum completely. But just at that moment, I hear footsteps crunching up the driveway, so I quickly fold the tea towel and grab my school bag, rushing towards the stairs. If I take them two at a time, I might just make it out of her sight before she comes in. But I fail, and I’m barely halfway up the stairs when I hear the door opening and her slurry voice calling out to me.

“Running away, are we? That’s gratitude for you.”

I stop and turn round, a dozen different comebacks buzzing around my head and threatening to burst out of my mouth. Mum stands there with at least half a dozen fancy-looking shopping bags dangling from her arms, and her hair looks different. I wonder how much money she has spent today, not to mention how much wine she has drunk. I watch her swaying in the doorway, and I feel nothing but hate towards her. She is a disgrace, and one day I will find the courage to tell her so. But that day is not today. Oscar is still awake and splashing around in the bath, and I will not have him exposed to the argument that would no doubt escalate to me being screamed at if I were to even utter a single word.

So I simply say, “Hi, Mum, I’m just going to get ready for bed. There’s food in the fridge if you want it. Oscar’s just in the bath.”

She looks at me like there’s a bad smell in the room the entire time I am speaking, her eyes glassy and unfocused. I turn around and walk away, and she mutters unintelligibly to herself as she kicks her shoes off and dumps her bags on the sofa. My entire body thrums as I walk away from her.

Things can’t go on like this.

She has to go.

22

LORELAI

FIVE YEARS AGO. AGE THIRTEEN.

I get changed quickly in my room and sit at my desk. I’m halfway through my French homework when there is a gentle knock at the door. I don’t panic as I know it’s not Mum. Firstly, she would never knock, and even if she did, it would not be polite.

“Come in.” In walks Oscar, all snuggly in fleecy pyjamas, rubbing his eyes, and his hair fluffy from being blow-dried. He is the cutest thing ever. I hold out my arms, and he wobbles into them.

“Night, Lorelai.”

“Night-night, my Oscar.” I walk with him out of my room and hand him over to Conrad, who is waiting on the landing. “She’s downstairs,” I mouth silently. Conrad nods, his eyes downcast, and takes Oscar’s hand. I probably didn’t need to tell Conrad that, as she’s making plenty of noise down there. He lifts Oscar onto his hip and carries him downstairs, presumably to say goodnight to Mum. If I were him, I wouldn’t bother. Wouldn’t any good mother come up without being asked, perhaps take over bath time or ask her son about his day? But that’s all wishful thinking. I keep my door open and listen.

“This young man’s off to bed now, say goodnight to Mummy, Oscar.” I hear Oscar say goodnight, and I don’t catch what Mum says. But it’s short, one or two words at most. I pray she doesn’t upset him and make bedtime tricky for Conrad. He deserves some peace at the end of the day. I hear Conrad’s footsteps coming back up the stairs, and I make my way to the bathroom so I can bump into them again. Oscar is leaning over Conrad’s shoulder, his eyelids fading, and his teddy elephant pressed into his face. Good, he’s not upset. But then I see Conrad’s face. It’s an expression I’ve never seen before. He’s breathing heavily through his nostrils, and his face is bright red. He looks furious and like he’s struggling to control himself. He just shakes his head at me and walks straight into Oscar’s room, closing the door behind him. I stand for a moment. There’s something ominous in the air, a change of some kind. I can feel it deep in my bones. Something happened down there, and I know that there’s going to be a storm tonight.

Remembering I was supposed to be on my way to the bathroom, I go inside and look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I find myself smiling. Conrad is angry. Good, he should be. We should all be angry. Mum has been allowed to rule the roost, and do as she pleases, without any consideration for the rest of us for far too long.

Closing my eyes, I will Conrad to fight back. To fight for us.

Will tonight finally be the night Mum gets her comeuppance?

I hope so. And I hope it hurts.

23

LORELAI

FIVE YEARS AGO. AGE THIRTEEN.

I finish my homework quickly, set out a clean shirt for the morning, and climb into bed. I pick up my book but just stare at the pages, listening for Conrad leaving Oscar’s bedroom. Mum is still downstairs, the TV is blaring, and I’ve heard the fridge open and close a few times. My heart flutters in nervous anticipation. I’ve seen Conrad riled up before, but never like that. He was fuming. But he’s a very calm and collected man, and more than likely, his anger will disappear as he reads Oscar’s story, then he will go downstairs as always and pander to Mum. Everything will continue as it always has. And maybe that’s okay.

Mum is here less and less. Even on weekends she’s often out somewhere. Conrad has some friends he likes to play golf with, and when he first moved in, he’d go play with them every Saturday morning. But he’s been going much less often, and sometimes Mum even makes sure she’s out, or has at least announced she’s going out before he can go. It’s totally out of spite. Mum would happily sleep in on a Saturday morning, and I’ve told her that I’m happy to get up with Oscar while Conrad goes to golf, and she can have a ‘well deserved’ lie-in. But rather than seeing it as a kind offer, she only bites my head off. I have no idea how to make her happy, except for keeping completely out of her way.

My heart begins to race as I hear Oscar’s door being closed gently and Conrad tiptoeing down the stairs. I’m desperate to get up and listen, but I’m rooted to the spot, worried that any movement I make might attract attention, the wrong type of attention, from Mum. I can just about make out their voices, and everything sounds relatively genial, so I turn my attention back to my book.

But then I hear a bang, and Conrad’s raised voice. Without thinking, I leap out of bed, throw open my bedroom door, and tiptoe down the hall to Oscar’s room. There’s no sound coming from inside, but the elevated voices continue downstairs. Whatever that banging noise was didn’t wake Oscar, but still, I decide to wait it out here. If he comes out, I can usher him back to bed and lie with him. I’ve done it before.

Listening carefully, I try to make out the words being exchanged downstairs. For once, it’s mostly Conrad doing the talking. Still unable to hear the conversation properly, I crawl to the top of the stairs. It’s a bit ridiculous hiding like this, but the last thing I want is to be drawn into the argument. Given the option, I know Mum will always choose to attack me rather than Conrad, so I need to keep my presence undiscovered.

Conrad’s voice is stern and cross. “No, Thea. I want an answer. And I will keep asking until you give me one.” My heart flickers with excitement. This Conrad is completely new to me – strong and assertive. I silently cheer him on from my hiding place. “Why would you treat your son like that? I brought him to you to say goodnight and⁠—”

Mum butts in, “And I said goodnight. What do you want from me, a fucking parade?”

“Really? Is that how you’re going to play it? You barely even looked at him and mumbled goodnight. Can’t you see how wrong that is? You couldn’t even be bothered to give him the time of day. He’s your child, and you hadn’t seen him all day. In fact, you hardly see him, or any of us, any day.” I pull my knees up to my chest. Conrad is on a roll now. He’s finally saying it. Mum is hearing exactly what she needs to hear. “Is that what you want, Thea? Do you wish we weren’t here?”

Mum lets out a sharp hiss. “How dare you! How dare you speak to me like that in my house.” My body stiffens as I hear Conrad laugh. Mum will not react well to being mocked, and I expect to hear something being thrown or Mum stomping out of the house. But Conrad continues.

“Why am I not surprised? Avoiding the question like always. You don’t listen to anything I say. Nothing I have said is untrue, and all I did was ask you a question. I am sick to the back teeth of being treated like complete shit.”

Mum’s voice is quieter now, and I can hear fear in there. It’s a nice feeling. If there was ever anyone who needed taking down a peg or two, it’s Mum.

“I’m not avoiding the question.”

Conrad’s tone softens. “Yes, you are. And I’m sorry about the shouting, but the way you looked at, and spoke to Oscar just now, was the straw that broke the camel’s back. You’re never here. You treat all of us like we’re nothing to you, and like we’re getting in the way of your life. You spend no time with the kids and more or less ignore them. I have absolutely no idea why. I don’t know what happened to us, to you. We didn’t used to be this way. You must see it, and if you don’t, I’m… I’m not sure I can go on like this.” I hear Conrad’s voice break at the end of his sentence. I’m so proud of him for finally letting his feelings out, and a flurry of hope begins to build inside me. He can’t go on like this, and neither should he. And maybe after today, he won’t have to.

I pray that Mum storms out. It would be very much on brand for her too. Saying that Mum doesn’t take criticism well would be an understatement, and she will more than likely lash out and defend herself. I can already picture serene, peaceful evenings with just me, Conrad and Oscar. No looming presence of Mum, and no more tiptoeing around or feeling uncomfortable. But instead, Mum does something I haven’t heard her do in forever. She apologises.

“I’m so sorry.” And then she starts to sob. Conrad makes soothing shushing noises while Mum blubs like a baby. I sit stony-faced and seething. How can Conrad be so easily won over? Is he stupid? Even from here, I know those are fake tears. Mum was backed into a corner with no way to explain her horrible behaviour, so she has resorted to this. And Conrad is clearly lapping it up.

“It’s okay, Thea. But we need to talk. We’ve stopped talking.”

Mum sniffs loudly. “I know, and it’s all my fault. Being a mum is… it’s hard for me. And I know it shouldn’t be. It makes me feel useless, so I guess I’ve just been avoiding it. I can’t believe I’ve treated you all so terribly. You must hate me.”

I risk moving down a couple more stairs, needing to see this ridiculous display with my own eyes. Mum is a great actor, I’ll give her that. She’s wrapped in Conrad’s arms, her head leaning on his shoulder. She doesn’t see me in the darkness, but I can see her perfectly. Her words are full of wholesomeness and remorse. But her eyes are dead and soulless.

“I promise I’ll make things better again. Let’s do something together this weekend. Something fun for Oscar and Lorelai.”

Conrad’s face breaks into an expression of utter joy and relief, and I feel my heart break a little. She’s got him completely wrapped around her little finger. Mum pulls away from Conrad, and I quickly scamper back up the stairs, completely out of sight.

“How about I go for a shower and then we can have an early night together.” She says ‘early night’ in a horribly suggestive way, and I almost throw up in my mouth. I desperately want him to turn her down. Is it really that easy? Some crying and an early night are all she needs to do to answer for years of despicable behaviour towards her husband and her children? But he doesn’t.

“That sounds perfect.” The kissing noises that ensue are enough to make me return to my room. I had such high hopes, but they’ve been completely shattered.

Just as I reach my door, I hear Mum again. “And I’ll go and say a quick goodnight to Lorelai. I’ll talk to her properly tomorrow.” Panicking, I dive towards my bed and grab my book, trying to position myself in such a way that it looks like I’ve been casually reading this entire time.

When Mum opens my door, I rub my eyes and look up at her, attempting to appear relaxed and sleepy. She stands, one hand propped against my door, the other on her hip, and looks me up and down. Then she checks behind her and closes the door. The expression on her face is anything but apologetic.

“Been complaining to Conrad about me, have we?”

My stomach lurches, but I immediately give what is, in fact, the completely honest answer. “No.”

Mum takes a step forward, ignoring me. “Well, it didn’t work.”

I am gobsmacked. I shouldn’t be, but I am. Mum is so deluded that she actually thinks everything Conrad just said was prompted by me rather than him finally speaking the truth. I say nothing, there is no point. Mum will never listen to me, or care about my opinion, and will always think she is right.

She tilts her head and speaks in a soft voice. “You used to be such a lovely girl, Lorelai. What happened to you?”

I wish I could be anywhere else but here in this moment. I know deep in my heart that Mum is in the wrong and that I should stand up for myself. But I can’t bring myself to utter a single word. Despite how I feel about her, she has this strange, unbreakable hold on me. She’s my mum. I bow my head and let the tears fall down my cheeks.

Mum takes another step forward. “Keep your nose out of mine and Conrad’s business. And stop trying to play mother, it’s pathetic.”

She watches me, taking pleasure in the pain her words inflict on me. I don’t move, terrified of provoking even more vitriol. But thankfully, she is done with me, and she leaves without another word, closing the door softly behind her. I sit, not caring that my tears are making wet splotches on the pages of my book, feeling broken and hollowed out, like Mum has taken my heart and stamped on it. How could she say those things to me? What have I done to her?

Closing my book, I switch off my bedside lamp and turn to face the wall, pulling my covers up over my head to protect me from Mum’s horrific words. I stare at the wall, my insides fractured and bruised until eventually sleep swallows me.

24

LORELAI

PRESENT DAY

The officer leaves, and the small amount of Christmas Day remaining passes in a blur. He informed us that Mum was in the hospital, resting, and stable. And not a lot else. I assumed we would be expected to rush to the hospital straight away, but when Conrad called the ward, he was told that tomorrow would be more appropriate. Mum would be unlikely to wake, and visiting times were over, not to mention the fact it’s bloody Christmas Day.

We were also told to be prepared for the fact that Mum may not know who we are. Seemingly, this will be explained in more depth by her doctors tomorrow. But ‘apparently’ Mum is suffering with amnesia. I give the word apparently the quotation marks it deserves. Years may have passed, but nothing with my mother is ever straightforward. I have no idea what has brought her back from the dead, but I guarantee that however this is presented to us, the truth will be something else entirely.

I play back Conrad’s words in my head as I sit at the dining-room table, a cup of chamomile tea going cold in one hand, the other resting against my pounding forehead.

“Did you hear that, Lorelai? Your mum…”

I’m only relieved I managed to hold in my first and only thought at hearing the news. She’s not my mum. That would not have given a good impression to the police. Thea Reece has not felt like a mum to me for many years. And not just because she has been missing presumed dead for the last four.

Conrad trudges down the stairs, and I look up briefly before returning my gaze to the tabletop. I have achieved precisely nothing since the police officer left. The table is dirty and the place is untidy, and for the first time in my life I can honestly say that neither of those things matters one bit. Conrad comes across and sits beside me, placing a trembling hand on my forearm. He lets out an enormous breath that fills the air. It sounds painful and is loaded with meaning.

“Oscar’s asleep.”

I don’t react. Although, I am grateful that he managed to get Oscar into bed without him learning the news. So engrossed in his gaming was he that he hadn’t even been aware of the unwelcome visitor delivering life-changing news. He went to bed on Christmas Day happy and blissfully unaware. Telling him is a job for tomorrow. I stay silent and still, almost afraid to move. I have nothing to say and nothing to give. And if I do say anything, I’m in danger of letting the whole story of the last few days come tumbling out.

The thought hadn’t even entered my mind. But it all makes sense now I know she is alive. The woman who has been taunting me is my mother. And I still can’t quite wrap my head around it. My mother is dead. Was dead. And the woman I’ve been seeing looks nothing like her. Mum’s hair was blonde and thick, not dark and limp. And she was never pale and thin, she was soft, curvaceous and tanned. But anything is possible when it comes to Mum. She has already proven she will go to terrible lengths to get what she wants. She would not be past terrorising me. In fact, I know she’d quite enjoy it. And now I know she’s alive, I’m terrified she has come back from the dead to finish what she started. To ruin our lives. Mine in particular.

Four years ago, just before Christmas, Mum’s car was found parked by the beach, her clothes and Dryrobe neatly piled by the shore. A travel mug of coffee long gone cold sitting next to them. Her body was never found, but it was clear to everyone what had happened. We went through hell as a family. Mourning Mum was not a simple process for any of us, and I don’t mind admitting I struggled massively. Guilt plagued my every waking moment. I had wished for years that she would disappear from our lives. All I ever wanted was for me, Oscar, and Conrad to be a family, away from Mum and her poisonous ways. And when I got what I wanted, shame and remorse almost pulled me under. After her disappearance, I tried in vain to banish that guilt, but it wouldn’t let me be. Visions of Mum tortured me, first only in my dreams but then terrifyingly, while I was awake. It was agony, and the only thing that got me through it was my family. Oscar, although distraught and devastated for a short time, bounced back quicker than Conrad or me. Which I think is a testament to the size of the part Mum actually played in his life and in his heart. He was six when it happened, the same age I was when my own dad died, but Oscar’s grief at losing a parent was nothing like mine. If anything, he blossomed, and Conrad and I put all our energy and effort into making sure he remained happy and healthy. Making him our sole focus helped us both through our grief, and he remains so to this day.

Conrad whispers, “I’ll explain everything to Oscar first thing tomorrow morning, and then we’ll go to the hospital.”

I almost shudder at the thought. The thought of seeing Mum again is the stuff nightmares are made of. But how can I possibly say I don’t want to go? What I want instead is for all of this to go away and for us to continue with Boxing Day tomorrow as usual. To make turkey tortellini and profiteroles like I’d planned. I want to play more football on the PlayStation with Oscar and lounge around eating too many chocolates. But instead, the leftover turkey will sit and dry out, the choux buns will remain unfilled, and we will spend our day sitting in a room with the ghost of my mother.

Time may have passed, but I can’t see how that means we all have to forgive her and play happy families. Should I seriously be expected to erase all the memories of the things she did and how she treated us? Am I glad she’s not dead? Yes… I think so. It’s not that I wanted her dead, I just don’t want her here. We grieved and we moved on. Our family is complete without her.

But now she’s back, and our perfect family is about to be destroyed.

25

LORELAI

FOUR YEARS AGO. AGE FOURTEEN.

It’s been a weird year. The night when Conrad finally called out Mum and she started blubbing, then came up to my room and acted like a total bitch, was a bit of a turning point. Both for us as a family, and for me. Conrad thinks Mum has changed. She gets up in the morning and makes her shit toast for everyone. She even sometimes takes Oscar to school. She’s often here in the evenings too, pretending to care about how everyone’s day was. But she still makes excuses to get away. She can’t handle being a member of the family full time.

Mum has ailments now too, things that mean she needs to take herself off to bed at least a couple of times a week. Migraines, perimenopause, you name it. But she’s brilliant at it. She has Conrad completely convinced.

“I’ll take Oscar to school this morning. I can feel a migraine coming on, but don’t worry, I’ll manage.”

And of course, Conrad tells her to get herself back off to bed and that he’ll take him. It’s only me who gets her side-eyes and sly smiles. God, I hate her. And she’s made friends with Conrad’s golf buddies’ wives. Conrad is delighted, and they now have a new arrangement at weekends. Afternoons and evenings are family time, which Mum often swerves for one reason or another. Then Conrad goes golfing on Saturday mornings with his friends again, and Mum spends Sunday mornings with ‘the girls’. Urgh, they are insufferable. Like a pack of hyenas with too big hair and awful, claw-like nails. But Mum has stepped into this new role very nicely. She has abandoned her old group of friends. Just like that. Because I’ve come to realise that she doesn’t truly care about anybody. Not me, not Conrad, not Oscar, not her old friends or these new ones. Every single thing she does, every word that comes out of her mouth, is all for her. We are simply there as and when it suits her.

I would love to go back to the times when she ignored us all and kept out of our way. But she has a new game now, the ‘playing the perfect wife’ game, and I’m not enjoying it one bit.

Whenever Conrad comes home from golf, Mum greets him with open arms and asks how it was. There is always coffee and cake or pastries waiting, courtesy of me, but she somehow manages to take credit for it. Mum stays in bed until midday while Conrad is out, and Oscar and I fend for ourselves. Conrad has no idea about this and when he asks how her morning was, she makes up some nonsense while I sit and dig my nails into my palms to try and stop myself from exploding. I’ve often thought about telling him, but actually Oscar and I have lovely mornings together. We watch TV, or do some colouring, then bake together, all while Mum snores away. The less I have to put up with her, the better.

And she’s stopped drinking so much. During the week anyway. I did not see that one coming, and I wonder whether she has a sneaky stash in her room or something. I must check that someday. Our fridge is full of CBD drinks and tiny shots of disgusting-looking juices. Her new pals, Carly and Christine, drink these during the week, apparently, so she does too. I’m always having to line them up properly on one shelf in the fridge. Mum scatters them everywhere to irritate me. But come the weekend, her new friends are a pair of lushes, and she’s more than happy to join them in their bottomless brunches and Prosecco-fuelled shopping trips.

I recently overheard Conrad talking to Mum about their bank account and how it was a lot lower than he was expecting. But Mum just played dumb and smiled at him in that sickly way she always does now. How can someone changing so much be real? Conrad is supposed to be an intelligent man, but she somehow manages to make him behave completely dumb. I sort of understand why though. It’s because he wants it to be true, especially for Oscar and me. But no amount of pretending will ever make my mum a nice and kind person. She’s just not built that way.

Sometimes I want to stand in the middle of the room, ball my fists and scream at the top of my lungs, “It’s all an act! Can’t you see!” But instead, I squash it all down into a bitter little ball that lives inside my stomach and get on with life.

It’s Sunday morning, so I’m hiding in my room until Mum goes out. Carly, Christine, and Mum are going open water swimming today. They’ve been a few times now. Good for ageing and inflammation they say, same as those stupid expensive drinks. If someone had told me a year ago that my mother would be going swimming in the sea, in a wetsuit, and then downing a shot of ginger and turmeric juice, I’d have laughed in their face. Yet here we are.

I hear Mum’s singsong voice shouting at me up the stairs. “I’m going in five, Lorelai. Can you come down? I want to say goodbye.”

I roll my eyes and slope off my bed. Mum couldn’t give two shits about saying goodbye to me. What matters to her is the act of showing that she wants to say goodbye, and Conrad seeing it. I turn my face into a smile and bounce my way down the stairs like a good girl. I know she’s hoping her secret jibes will make me act out and behave like a surly teenager in front of Conrad. Not a chance. Two can play at the acting game, and I won’t give her the satisfaction of making me look bad.

She’s standing there wearing a wetsuit with a tracksuit over it and a Dryrobe slung over her arm, her arms held out to me, and a wide, fake-as-fake-can-be smile on her face. Conrad blows the steam off the top of his coffee, beaming with pride at this beautiful display of motherhood. I want to throw up on the floor. A rucksack lies open on the table with a swimming cap and towel inside. My mother has never owned a rucksack. This is all some weird alternative universe. I am clearly going mad.

But I run towards her and accept the hug. “Have a great time swimming, Mum.”

I hope you get swept out to sea, I think quietly inside my head.

26

LORELAI

PRESENT DAY

Conrad finally finds a space in the multi-storey car park next to the hospital. The journey has been filled with an awkward, ominous silence, as though we were on our way to a funeral, rather than something that is supposed to feel like the exact opposite. A rebirth? That doesn’t feel right, but it’s as good a term as any.

Oscar has folded in on himself. The hood of his sweatshirt is pulled up, and his head has remained bowed the entire time. Conrad and I have shared a few concerned glances during the drive, but nothing more. There is both nothing and too much to say at the same time. All three of us are struggling in our own way, and it is only made worse by the heavy, dark atmosphere.

Hopefully we will feel able to speak more freely about our feelings after this first visit. Once we know it’s her. Once we see it with our own eyes and know this impossible turn of events to be true. I think that will be a break-the-ice moment. But it’s what’s under the ice that frightens me. Because even though none of us wants to say it out loud, I know deep down that we are all hoping this is some kind of mistaken identity. That the woman in the hospital bed we are about to visit is not Thea Reece at all.

Conrad looks over his shoulder at Oscar, and the pain in Conrad’s eyes is so unbearable that I’m forced to look away. He doesn’t deserve hurt like this. Sometimes I wish I could turn back time and warn Conrad before he ever got involved with us. He could be living a happy life with a different family, not one that brought him death and dysfunction. But then where would I be? And Oscar wouldn’t exist at all. There’s no point ruminating on the impossible. We will get through this, we will be strong, we have no other choice.

Conrad cracks open his door as a signal for us to get out of the car, but Oscar doesn’t budge. So he gets out of the car and walks around to Oscar’s door. Oscar, who’s barely moved an inch during the journey, springs to life and pulls it closed again, almost trapping Conrad’s hand in the process. Surprised, but not put off, Conrad tries again, but Oscar yanks at the door, grunting and pulling it towards himself. Watching this makes my chest physically hurt. No child should have to go through something like this, and I would take it all away from him in a second if I could.

Conrad relents and returns to the driver’s seat. His shoulders sag as he sits down. When he explained what had happened this morning, Oscar didn’t say a single word in response. Watching him run down the stairs in eager anticipation of a Boxing Day filled with fun, only to be called to the table to be given this unexpected and life-altering news, was almost too much for me to handle. The bewilderment and confusion on his face, the tears in his eyes. Conrad tried to deliver the news like it was a good thing.

“They’ve found your mum. She’s alive and we can go and see her this morning.”

But Oscar did not smile. His face did not light up at the thought of seeing his long-lost mother again. Instead, he looked like he’d just been kicked in the stomach. He simply stood and hugged his dad, then nodded and went up the stairs to get dressed. He hasn’t uttered a word since.

I wanted nothing more than to follow him up those stairs. To tell him that how he was feeling was okay and that I felt the same. But I didn’t, because somehow, I feel like my position in the house has been demoted. Since it’s been the three of us, I’ve been like an honorary parent, especially since I turned eighteen this year. But as soon as the police officer uttered those words, I somehow became the teenage daughter again. My identity in the house and my sense of self was stripped away in an instant, and I don’t really know who I am now.

Conrad takes a deep breath. “Look, I know this is hard, and we’re all feeling… lots of things. But we need to go into the hospital.” There is silence. I sit, my chest aching, and Oscar doesn’t react at all. It’s as though Conrad hasn’t just spoken. Conrad’s eyes plead with me to help him. We’ve been a team for so long, always supporting each other and on each other’s side, but I don’t have the words. So in the absence of any better ideas, I slowly open my car door as a show of solidarity.

Oscar’s shout pierces the air. “No! I’m not going.” Instinctually, I slam the car door closed. It’s not my place to make Oscar do something that makes him feel this unhappy. Conrad’s face crumples. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do next. There is no rule book for dealing with something like this. They don’t make rules for things that should literally never happen.

Conrad speaks gently. “Buddy, I know how you feel. But⁠—”

Oscar pulls his hood down. “No, you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t be making me go in there. I want to go home.” He folds his arms and stares straight ahead. I watch him surreptitiously in the rear-view mirror. His eyes are swollen and red-rimmed. He has never looked so serious or angry. My maternal instincts towards him kick back in. Does he actually have to go in there right now? He only found out his mother is still alive a couple of hours ago. What would be the problem with leaving him to come to terms with that? Opening my door again, I gesture for Conrad to get out of the car. He does, and I walk over to him. Conrad looks like a shell of his former self. Just exactly how I feel.

Somehow, I find my voice. “This is obviously a lot for him, for all of us, but imagine having to deal with this when you’re only ten.”

Conrad runs his hands through his hair and sighs. “I know. But I don’t know what to do. Honestly, Lorelai, I have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to do.” Conrad hardly ever swears, and his words jar me. He looks so lost and confused. But we have to try and hold it together. We need a plan.

“Would you… could you go in first and just check it’s definitely her? I’ll stay here and try and talk to Oscar. I think he needs to get some of his feelings out before we ask him to go in there.”

Conrad closes his eyes and tilts his head skywards. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. He can’t go in like that.”

I furrow my brow, irked at his words. I really hope he means he can’t go in ‘like that’ because it would be too hard for him, rather than how it would look. But his tone suggests otherwise.

Dampening down my annoyance, I try to keep my face neutral. “We’ll wait here for you then.”

Conrad nods, then goes to walk away, before stopping suddenly and turning around as though he’s forgotten something. He strides back towards me and wraps his arms tightly around my body. He kisses my cheek roughly and chokes out his words.

“I love you, Lorelai. I won’t let anything happen to you or Oscar.” He pushes his car keys into my hand, and with that, he is gone. I stand stunned, my mind trying to process his words.

What did he mean by that?

What does he know?

27

LORELAI

PRESENT DAY

I get into the back of the car with Oscar. His hood is still up, and I simply sit and honour his silence for a few minutes before speaking. Rushing him won’t help.

“He’s gone in by himself. I said I’d stay here with you.”

Oscar shrugs and turns away from me. I’ve seen Oscar shut down and hide his face away when he’s struggling with his emotions many a time. It’s his natural reaction, so I slowly reach out and place my palm on his back. Oscar and I are very tactile, even now he is older. We hug every day, and I always kiss him goodnight. I hope my touch conveys what I am intending it to. That I am here for him, more than I am here for anyone else in this situation, even myself. He is my priority and matters more than anything.

Often, I look back on the days when it was the four of us and wish I had done more to protect Oscar from Mum’s abuse. And I can call it that now. Before, and too young to understand it properly, I hadn’t truly known. Not to mention that I was suffering too, perhaps more so, given that I was often Mum’s main target.

“You can talk to me, Oscar. It’s just us here, and I won’t tell anyone anything you tell me, I promise.” That seems to have landed because he turns around. He’s still clearly suspicious and unsure, but it’s definitely an improvement on staring at his back. He repeats what he said to Conrad and me before.

“I don’t want to go in. I want to go home with you and Dad.”

I stay quiet in the hopes he’ll elaborate, and it turns out to be the right decision, because the floodgates open and everything comes pouring out.

“I don’t want it to be Mum in there. Even though I know it is. I just want to go home because…” Oscar’s lip wobbles and tears begin to tumble from his eyes. I shuffle across the seat until our legs are touching. He rests his head on my chest, and I stroke his hair and speak softly.

“I know, Oscar. I know. And it’s okay to say and think whatever you want to. I don’t want you to feel bad or think you have to act in a certain way or say things that you think people want to hear.”

Oscar lets out a huff. “Yeah, to you maybe. But not Dad. And definitely not to… to her.” He says the word ‘her’ with such disdain. I pull away so I can see his face, but he avoids eye contact, his lips pursed, and his brow furrowed.

I lower my head to his, so he has no choice but to look at me. “No, Oscar. You can say exactly how you feel to anyone. And if anybody has a problem with it, you can come to me. Do you hear me?”

His face relaxes a little, and I hope he believes me, because I mean every single word, wholeheartedly and fiercely. I am not a child anymore. Things will be different this time.

I hold my hands out for him to take. “There’s only you and me here, Oscar. Anything you say will stay between you and me.”

Oscar looks so much older than his years all of a sudden. “You promise?”

“I swear. I love you, Oscar. I will never breathe a word to anyone.”

Oscar breaks eye contact and looks down at his lap. “I don’t want her to come back home.”

Relief rushes through me, but I try to keep my breathing calm. “And it’s okay to feel like that.”

Oscar scrunches his eyes shut. “No, you don’t understand.”

I lean in closer to him, still so torn about how much to reveal of my own feelings. Of course I want to support him, but how helpful would it be when we’re supposed to go in and visit with her in only minutes? But he continues before I can come to a decision.

“You’re a grown-up now. If she comes home, you’ll leave, won’t you?”

His words wind me. Does he honestly think I would ever abandon him like that?

“No, of course not. I would never leave you.”

“You say that, but I bet you would. You finish college soon, and then you’ll be off anyway. You’ll leave me with her.” Oscar’s eyes are watery and filled with sorrow. “Everyone thinks I don’t remember much, but I do, you know. She was horrible to you, and me, and Dad, even. But mostly you. I sometimes think about that and feel bad.”

I nod, trying to hold back my tears. Anger hasn’t been something I’ve felt about Mum in such a long time, but it comes racing back now. For a boy who was only six at the time, to feel sadness and guilt like this is unacceptable. Mum’s behaviour has had a lasting effect on both of us, and I can’t allow her to come back and cause any more upset. Oscar and I need to stand together. And I will make sure that happens, come hell or high water.

“Look at me, Oscar.” He does, and I take both his hands in mine to add weight to what I’m about to say. “I will never leave you. Ever. I will make sure you are okay. I swear on my life.”

Something falls across his eyes, something different from the uncertainty and misery that have been etched on his face this whole time, and I feel momentarily taken aback.

“Can I tell you something? But you have to promise you won’t tell Dad.”

My stomach is churning and I have a sudden urge to flee, but I have to stick to my promise. No matter how hard any of this gets, I need to stay strong for Oscar.

“I promise.”

Oscar looks around, even though we are in the car alone and nobody could possibly hear what he is about to say, and he leans in and whispers in my ear.

“I knew she was alive before Dad told me this morning. I saw her.”

28

LORELAI

FOUR YEARS AGO. AGE FOURTEEN.

Mum comes hobbling back into the house after swimming. She’s flanked by Carly and Christine and has a pained expression on her face.

“She was stung by a jellyfish,” announces Carly.

Conrad rushes over and takes control of propping her up, guiding her to the sofa. I watch her closely as she moves into Conrad’s arms, and I see the foot she was previously holding aloft hit the floor. She doesn’t even blink. So not actually stung by a jellyfish then, what a surprise. Although ten out of ten for inventiveness though. I was expecting another migraine brought on by the cold. That was last week’s excuse, and it took a lot of restraint not to bite back with, “Well don’t go swimming in the freezing cold sea in fucking October then!”

Everyone crowds around her and Mum laps it up. Thankfully, Oscar is up in his room, so her audience is reduced by one at least. Has nobody considered how she could have possibly been stung by a jellyfish when her entire body is covered by a wetsuit? Conrad lowers her onto the sofa, and she winces as he props her legs up on a cushion, plumping it up nicely before resting her feet down as though she is Sleeping Beauty. She lies there, one hand on her brow like a Victorian woman suffering from a bout of hysteria. Perhaps I should fetch the leeches.

Conrad looks genuinely concerned. Has he seriously not noticed how she always has an excuse for going up to her bed at least once a weekend to be a lazy arse?

“How did that happen, love? What about your wetsuit and rubber sock things?”

I see a flash of irritation in Mum’s eyes before she returns to the sickly soft façade she’s been modelling for the last year or so.

“I wore my wetsuit and my socks. But there is a little gap, you know, and it just got me.”

I look down at her ankle, and there is indeed a small red mark. She probably did it with her nail or something. Conrad leans in and takes a good look. Carly and Christine witter on about nothing in particular while Mum lies there like a queen. I decide I need to at least say or do something.

“Mum, can I get you some tea? Or paracetamol?” With everyone’s eyes on her, I know Mum will be kind and polite to me, and she is.

“Oh, yes, please, sweetheart. Both would be great.”

Conrad is scrolling on his phone, and I listen in as I go to make the tea.

“It says here to rinse it with seawater and remove any visible tentacles.”

Carly butts in. “Yes, we did that. There was nothing to see right away, but that red mark has come up since. She was so brave, you know.”

Mum gives a self-deprecating smile. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you two there to help me.”

I keep my back to them and make a puking face.

Conrad continues reading from Dr Google. “You’re supposed to keep it in hot water to let the venom out. Should I run a hot bath, or can I get you a bucket of hot water to put it in?” Conrad is blabbering and fussing. Second-hand embarrassment flushes to my cheeks. “Or do you think we should get you to the hospital just to be on the safe side?”

I turn to watch Mum’s response, and as I expected, she plays the brave little soldier she wants them to see her as.

“Oh no, I don’t need to go to the hospital. But a bath would be lovely.”

Conrad nods and rushes towards the stairs. I bring the tea over to Mum, and she holds out her hand for the two paracetamols. I pop them out of the pack and into her hand, then continue with my hostess role.

“If you need anything else just shout. Christine, Carly, can I get you some tea?” They both nod.

“Two sugars in mine,” adds Carly.

I look down at Mum, sipping her tea. She is loving every second of this. I bet she’ll drag it out well into the week and have us all waiting on her hand and foot.

“Oscar and I made lemon and poppyseed muffins if anyone wants one?”

Mum screws up her nose. She hates lemon, I know she hates lemon. Hence, the lemon and poppyseed muffins. You’ve got to take the little wins where you can get them. But Christine and Carly clearly don’t, both accepting my offer eagerly.

Mum uses it as an opportunity to remind us all she is gravely wounded. “They sound lovely, but I don’t think I could eat anything just now. Maybe later.”

As I go to fetch the muffins, I hear little footsteps coming down the stairs, and I turn around and give Oscar a big smile. He looks to Mum and her hangers-on around the sofa and then back at me. He rolls his eyes, and I have to stifle a laugh. Even he can see through this fake performance.

Mum spies Oscar and calls him over. “Hello, my darling. Come and see Mummy.”

Oscar shoves his hands in his pockets and walks over to her, standing just out of reach. He looks so uncomfortable, bless him.

Mum holds out her arms and gestures to him to come closer. “Give me a hug, sweetheart.”

Oscar keeps his hands in his pockets but takes a step forward and bends at the waist. I watch Mum’s face closely. She won’t like this with Carly and Christine watching. Most little boys would run over to their mum, clambering for a hug without even thinking. But it’s painfully obvious that Oscar does not want to be close to her.

Mum puts her hands on his cheeks. “Mummy got stung by a silly old jellyfish.”

Oscar’s eyes widen with interest at that. “Was it big?”

Mum pats the sofa, and Oscar sits down. I walk over with drinks and muffins on a tray and place them on the table. Carly and Christine grab for them eagerly.

“I didn’t see it, but it was very painful.” Mum holds up her foot and points to the now barely visible red mark.

Oscar wrinkles his nose. “Is that the sting?” He’s clearly not impressed. I see Mum’s nostrils flare, and although I don’t want Oscar to be upset, I pray that she breaks from her ‘good Mummy’ act in front of her friends. Shows them who she really is under all the fake niceties. But she laughs.

“It’s a lot more painful than it looks. Daddy is running me a bath so I can get all the poison out.”

Oscar’s eyes widen, and he is about to ask a question when Conrad comes rushing into the room.

“Right, bath time.”

Mum picks up her tea. “I’ll just finish this, love.”

Conrad walks over and takes the cup from her hands. “You can bring it with you. I’ve been doing a bit more reading. Better to get the hot water on it sooner rather than later.”

I watch Mum closely. I’ve become really good at seeing into her head. Even if she doesn’t make a facial expression or say a single word, I know what she is thinking. She wants to sit here and soak up all the attention for a bit longer. Alone, in the bathroom, she has only herself and the fake jellyfish sting. Later, when Oscar wants to play, or there are chores to do, that’s when she’ll prefer to be off upstairs alone. Not now, when there are people to fawn all over her. But if she wants to run with the jellyfish story, then she’s going to have to go for her bath.

Conrad taps Oscar on the shoulder. “Come on, dude. Jump up, and I’ll help your mum.”

Oscar does as he is asked and walks straight over to me. I hand him a muffin, and he takes a big bite. We watch as Conrad helps Mum up and she hobbles comically to the stairs. She even forgets which foot is injured for a second. This is a joke.

Carly shouts after Mum, “We’ll head home now. Message us on the group chat, Thea, and let us know how you are.”

Mum shouts back, “I will. Sorry, our swimming got cut short, ladies.”

Christine joins in. “Don’t be daft. As long as you’re okay. And we’ll do brunch next weekend. There’ll be far less jellyfish there.”

Mum laughs. “Bye.”

Christine and Carly grab their things and head towards the door. Christine waves at us and Carly comes over.

“Bye, kids, look after your mum, won’t you?”

Oscar looks down at his feet, and I put my arm around him. “Don’t worry, we will.” I give them a smile and walk behind them, closing the door as soon as they set foot outside. I walk back to Oscar, who is much more relaxed now that it’s just us. He chews his muffin and looks at me. I try not to focus on the crumbs that are falling on the floor. I’ll get the cordless vacuum out once he’s done.

As I make my way towards the living room to tidy up the plates and cups, Oscar asks a question. “Do you believe her?”

I stop, my back to him, unsure of how to answer, so I buy myself some time. “What do you mean?” I return with the plates. Oscar is old enough to see things he perhaps couldn’t have a couple of years ago. But something inside me tells me I need to be careful here.

Oscar shrugs his shoulders. “Mum’s usually ill or something on a Sunday so she doesn’t have to play with us. I think she’s making up that jellyfish sting, don’t you?”

I glance behind me. Oscar’s voice is not at all quiet, and the bathroom is right at the top of the stairs. I put my finger to my lips, and he nods in understanding.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

Oscar finishes his muffin and rubs his hands together, a cascade of crumbs hitting the floor. “I don’t believe her, but I’m not that bothered anyway. Do you want to play football in the garden? Or frisbee? Yeah, let’s do frisbee.”

I wince. Oscar has clearly forgotten my ‘be quiet’ instructions because his voice is just as loud as before. “Sounds good. Go and get a hoodie, and I’ll hoover quickly in here.” But before I can get the vacuum cleaner, I hear a door slam upstairs. Conrad comes down, his face red. “What was that bang?” I ask.

Conrad is flustered and doesn’t look at me. “Your mum… just her shutting the bathroom door. She’s fine. Well, she’s not.” And then he looks at me, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen disappointment directed towards me from him. He whispers angrily, “She heard you and Oscar talking about her while she was in the bath. Can you imagine how that must have made her feel?”

The first thing I want to say is that apart from ‘I don’t know’, I said exactly nothing. But I’m not prepared to get Oscar in trouble to save myself.

Conrad looks around. “Where’s Oscar?”

“He’s getting a hoodie, then we’re going outside to play frisbee. Give you some time to help Mum.”

Oscar comes running back with his hoodie half over his head and wrestling his arms in. “Want to play frisbee, Dad?”

Conrad’s anger thankfully dissipates somewhat. He goes over to his son and helps him pull his hoodie on, before kneeling down in front of him.

“I’ll play later, and I want you to know that your mum has really hurt herself but is being very brave.”

Oscar’s face flushes red, but he says nothing.

“We all look after each other in this family, don’t we?”

Oscar looks so awkward, so I go to stand next to him in solidarity and answer for him.

“Of course we do.”

Conrad looks at both of us in turn and smiles. “So let’s be kind, shall we? You two go and play.” Conrad walks back up the stairs and Oscar comes over, pulling on my arm to get me to lean down to his level.

He whispers in my ear, “I still don’t believe her. She lies all the time.” I look at his face. He doesn’t look upset or like he’s waiting for me to speak. “Come on, let’s go, Lorelai, and don’t be getting the frisbee stuck in the hedge like last time.” He runs off towards the back door, and I follow him slowly, my mind churning.

She lies all the time.

29

LORELAI

PRESENT DAY

My mind is blown by Oscar’s admission. He knew she was alive. I have so many follow-up questions, but nothing comes out of my mouth as I try to get my head back on straight. Just before I’m about to formulate a coherent thought, a figure appears, walking at pace towards the car.

Frantically, I address Oscar. “You have to listen to me. I promise I won’t tell a soul what you just said, but I need you to come into the hospital with me now if your dad asks us to.” Oscar looks horrified. Conrad is so close now that I have mere seconds left alone with my brother. “Trust me, Oscar. We have to. Nothing is going to happen to you. I won’t ever leave your side. We’ll do it together. We’ll do this all together.” I finish my last word just as Conrad reaches the car, opens the driver’s door and gets in. He turns his whole body and looks back at us. It’s clear he’s been crying. Taking hold of Oscar’s hand, I squeeze it and recite my promise in my head. Nothing is going to happen to you. I won’t ever leave your side.

The atmosphere of anticipation is unbearable, so I clear my throat and ask the question I know will change everything. “Is it her?” I feel Oscar tremble beside me, and I lean my body into his.

Conrad’s eyes fill again, and he wipes at them, irritated with himself. “It is.” His words hang in the air, but eventually, he continues, a forced brightness to his tone. “Now she looks very different, and she is a bit confused. She’s… her memory isn’t…” I want nothing more than to assuage Conrad’s obvious anguish. But where would I even start? “But she asked for both of you. She’s desperate to see you.”

My breath hitches in my throat. I can’t quite believe that after all this time, this is happening, and if I didn’t have Oscar’s needs to think about, I know I’d be handling this very differently. I need to be strong for my little brother, and I will stand by everything I’ve just said to him, but first, we both need to go and face this head-on.

Squeezing Oscar’s hand again, I speak calmly and clearly. “Oscar just needed some time. So did I. But we’ll come with you now. We both want to see her too.” Oscar’s little body stiffens at my last sentence, and I turn to him. “It’s okay. Remember everything I said.” He stares at me and keeping hold of his hand, I use my other to open the car door, then pull him towards me. “Keep hold of my hand.” He shuffles along towards me, and Conrad looks at us both with a mixture of relief and trepidation.

“I love you both so much.”

This is unknown territory, and each one of us is terrified and floored by the uncertainty we are having to manoeuvre through. As Conrad exits the car, I use my last moment alone with Oscar to cement my promise to him. Holding mine and Oscar’s hand aloft, I fix him with my eyes.

“I won’t ever let you go.”

Oscar nods. “I know.”

As we get out of the car together, Conrad holds out his hand to Oscar, but he stays glued to my side. I look at Conrad apologetically, yet don’t let go. Yes, we will go and see our mother, but we will be doing it on our own terms. The times of pretending and putting our own needs last died when Mum disappeared. And I will not let Oscar be pulled back into the horror show that was our family life before.

If Mum is back, she will have to learn to play nice.

Or else.

30

LORELAI

FOUR YEARS AGO. AGE FOURTEEN.

It’s the day after jellyfish-gate and I’m making breakfast. We don’t have much time before school, so I’m just doing bagels with butter, and I’ve washed some grapes and strawberries. Conrad is in the bathroom, and Oscar is putting on his uniform in his room. Conrad has already given me instructions about being quiet. Apparently, Mum had a ‘bad night’ and so must not be disturbed. Bad night my arse. But whatever.

Oscar used to get changed downstairs on the sofa, and Conrad or I would help him. But lately he’s become really self-sufficient and insists on getting himself ready upstairs now. I’m about to shout up the stairs that breakfast is ready, before stopping myself just in time. Mustn’t wake the lady of the house. But as I walk towards the stairs, I see Oscar is already sitting at the table.

I laugh. “When did you sneak down?” He doesn’t look up or answer me, which is very weird behaviour for him. I walk over to the table with his breakfast plate and place it down in front of him. He mumbles a thank you and picks up a grape but still doesn’t look up. I stand for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Maybe he’s just having a grumpy morning. And that’s allowed, isn’t it? But something about his hunched posture and the fact that he’s staring down at the table feels off. This isn’t like him. I take the seat beside him, and he turns his body away from me. If I’m honest, I feel a bit irritated. What have I done to deserve this? But a bigger, more nurturing part of me feels differently.

“Someone got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning.” I punch him gently on the arm, and his reaction floors me. He cowers away from me, covering his head. And that’s when I realise that this is not just a grumpy morning, something is actually wrong here. I reach for his arm and pull him gently towards me. He relents, but still bows his head, so I softly lift his chin and tilt it towards me. I gasp and pull him in for a hug. There is a painful-looking red mark on his cheek and a shadow under his left eye, the beginnings of a bruise. Fury boils in my blood, but I force myself to sit and hold him as he weeps, his body shuddering.

“Did she do that?” I whisper into his ear.

His head moves up and down against my chest. “She hit me with a book.”

I have no idea how I am still sitting here. We are all supposed to be quiet and let her rest after a ‘bad night’, and she’s done this. I’ve sat back and let her get away with a lot of things. Way more than I should have. But this, this is the last straw. I never for one second thought she would be violent. Mum has plenty of tools in her arsenal to make people feel uncomfortable, to get them to bend to her every whim, and take everything she wants. But I never saw this coming. And I will not sit idly by for a single second longer.

Conrad comes bounding down the stairs. “Sorry, I got distracted looking at—” He stops abruptly when he sees my thunderous expression and Oscar quietly sobbing. “What’s happened? You okay?”

I want to scream the house down, but the last thing Oscar needs right now is more upset. So I gently wipe the tears from his face, avoiding his injured cheek and eye. Up close, I can see just how painful his face looks.

“Show Daddy.” I nod encouragingly, dampening down the anger and disgust I feel and keeping my face kind and supportive. Oscar turns, and Conrad takes an involuntary step back, looking like he’s the one who’s just been struck. But then his face changes, as though he’s just remembered something.

“Oh, is that from the book?”

Oscar and I look at each other, and I can’t hide the flabbergasted expression that adorns my face, before words fly out of my mouth without me meaning them to.

“What do you mean is that from the book? A book didn’t do that by itself, did it?” Conrad has the audacity to put his finger to his lips and look upstairs. Is he kidding me? He walks over and speaks quietly. If there were a book here, I would quite happily whack him with it. Has he lost his mind?

“Mummy told me she accidentally hit you with a book.” He turns to me. “She was reading him a bedtime story, and when she went to stand up, she put her bad foot on the floor and fell, and well…” He gestures to Oscar’s face. To his credit, he then leans into Oscar. “That looks sore though, are you okay? Come here. I thought it was just a little bump, I didn’t realise it was that bad.”

Oscar just sits there, not moving. I wait, willing Conrad to get there on his own. There is obviously no way this was an accident. Now he can see Oscar’s face with his own two eyes, he must realise that. But he doesn’t.

“That’s why Mummy didn’t sleep so well. She felt terrible that she’d tripped and the book hit you.”

I look at Conrad imploringly, but he still seems to buy this story completely. I get that he wouldn’t want to believe Mum could do something like this. Even I don’t, and I like her an awful lot less than he does.

I turn to Oscar. “Is that what happened?”

He suddenly looks angry at me and shrugs, before pulling away then crossing his arms huffily. Conrad looks upset with me too, but I can’t let her get away with this. Our carpets are bulging with things that have been swept under them over the years. And this cannot become one of them.

I try again. “Was it an accident, Oscar? It’s important you tell us the truth.”

Conrad starts to speak, “Now wait a minute, I—” but Oscar butts in.

“No, she hit me with it on purpose because I said she was lying about the jellyfish. Then she called me a little s-word.”

And with that, he scowls at both of us and runs off up the stairs.

31

LORELAI

PRESENT DAY

I hate hospitals. In fact, I hate doctors of any kind. They think they know it all, and they never listen, never see what’s actually important. When Mum disappeared, Conrad made me go and speak to a doctor about it. Did it help with the nightmares and horrible visions my brain conjured up of Mum’s bloated body floating in the sea? Not even a tiny bit. The only things that helped were time and the support of my family.

Oscar’s hand doesn’t leave mine as we walk side by side through the busy corridors. Conrad leads the way, and we tuck in behind him as though he is a shield. Doctors and nurses rush past as we manoeuvre around other visitors, most of whom clearly have no concern for anyone but themselves. People stop abruptly or take up the entire corridor. Busy places make me uncomfortable at the best of times, and this is pure torture.

Conrad stops outside a closed double door, and reaches out a finger to press the intercom, but then stops and turns to face us first. “Are you ready?”

Oscar’s face is white, and he looks anything but ready. So I squeeze his hand and answer for both of us.

“We are.”

Oscar flinches as Conrad presses the buzzer and the door clicks open without someone even answering the intercom and asking who’s there. That doesn’t feel very secure; we could be anyone. The smell of disinfectant hits me, and I scan the sparse, sterile environment. It’s weirdly soothing. At least it’s clean and ordered in here.

Oscar and I stand back as Conrad goes up to the reception desk to speak to one of the nurses. The nurse greets him warmly and then comes out from behind the desk towards us.

“You must be Oscar and Lorelai.” Oscar is still and mute. If I had any choice, that’s how I would behave too, but I have to step up and take the heat off my little brother.

“Yes, that’s us.”

The nurse smiles. “My name’s Eddie, and I’m looking after your mum today. Now she’s a bit tired, and she might not say very much, but I know she’s very excited to see you both.”

I think about that for a moment. Is she excited to see us? To say that when Mum disappeared, her relationship with us was not in a very good place would be a dramatic understatement. I was barely speaking to her, and Oscar was afraid, keeping out of her way as much as possible. Yes, that was a long time ago, but how can any of that have changed? She is still the person who did all of those things and treated us terribly. A mother who struck her young son in the face and filled our home with darkness and misery. Whatever has happened in the time she’s been gone does not erase that.

So focused have I been on Oscar and how he’s coping, that all my concerns and fears from the last few days have been relegated to the back of my mind. I’ve never been very good at dealing with things until they are right in front of me. I don’t like making a decision until I have all of the facts, or at least as many as I can get. Is the woman in this bed going to be the woman who has been haunting me? Of the three of us, I have very much more to fear by going in here. Everything I have been hiding over the last few days could be outed in a second. And how would I even begin to explain keeping all of that from Conrad? Not to mention that if Mum is not the woman who’s been terrorising me, I still have that unknown threat hanging over me alongside all of this.

I’ve been forcing myself not to think about the woman at all, firstly because I couldn’t allow her to take up any brain space over Christmas, and secondly because what could I actually do? Nothing.

The nurse starts to walk towards a door at the end of the corridor and beckons to us. Oscar puts one foot forward, but then stumbles back, and I catch him.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” I take the lead but I’m beyond relieved when Conrad puts his arm around my shoulder, and we all walk together towards Mum’s room. Some things in life feel too abnormal to be real, and this is certainly one of those times. Like an out-of-body experience, where you just do things rather than being able to feel and experience them properly.

Before I know it, we are all standing at the foot of Mum’s bed. Her eyes are closed, and she is breathing softly. In my mind, I’d pictured her attached to lots of tubes and machines, but she is just lying on her back in the bed, covered by sheets and a blanket. She doesn’t look hurt. No bruises or cuts, or anything really. She looks like a woman sleeping soundly. I feel nothing.

The moment of realisation I was anticipating does not come. If anything, this woman doesn’t look like either my mum or the woman who’s been haunting me. But on closer examination of her face, it is very definitely Mum. She’s different, but there’s no doubt at all. Mum’s hair is darker than it used to be, but it is clean and brushed back from her face. She’s also considerably thinner and paler than she ever was.

I stand watching her, forgetting for a moment that there is anyone but the two of us in the room, in the world even. With her eyes closed and her face relaxed, Mum looks serene, and I suddenly feel an unexpected pang of longing for her.

Eddie speaks softly. “I’ll leave you alone. But call me if you need anything. Shall I close the door?”

Conrad walks over to him and, immediately, I feel exposed and want to call him back to my side. “Thanks. I’ll get it.” Conrad closes the door carefully and returns to standing next to us. The room is painfully quiet. Are we just supposed to stand here until she wakes up? I find myself praying that she remains sleeping the entire time. Seeing her is one thing, but speaking to her, facing her, and finding out what has happened is another thing entirely.

Examining Oscar’s face, I’m relieved to see that he actually looks okay. Curious but calm. He’s stopped trembling and simply stands, watching her in much the same way I am.

Conrad gestures to two chairs by her bed. “Why don’t you two sit down?” Oscar looks to me for guidance, and I nod at him before taking the seat furthest away from the bed. Oscar pulls at the other seat, dragging it across the floor so it is in line with mine. The scraping sound is horribly loud in the still room, and I hold my breath. Oscar stands holding the chair, barely moving, his eyes wide.

Mum’s eyes start to flutter, and then she gradually opens them. I don’t blink, mesmerised by her coming back to life in front of my eyes. Slowly, she rotates her neck, so she is facing us, her back and shoulders remaining on the bed. It is horribly eerie to watch, and an involuntary shudder overtakes my body. A smile appears on her face in an instant as though transplanted there. Wide and fake. My shudder deepens.

Oscar scoots into the chair next to me and pulls his knees up to his chin, peering over them. Apprehension flooding through my veins, I watch Mum intently as her eyes flit between us. The silence in the room is oppressive, but nobody, not even Conrad, seems willing to break it.

Eventually, Mum speaks. Her voice is tiny and croaky, as though it hasn’t been used in years. Maybe it hasn’t. “You both look so big.”

I hadn’t considered what Mum’s first words might be, but it certainly wasn’t that. Of course we are bigger. It’s been four years. I have no idea what to say, but Oscar seems to have completely shut down, so I force myself to speak.

“Hi, Mum.”

Mum’s eyes glint, with what, I’m not sure, but she returns the greeting. “Hi, my love.” It’s been years since Mum has referred to me with any kindness and despite myself, I find I’m overcome with emotion. I hold back tears and choke down a sob. This is so much to take in. Too much.

Mum’s eyes dart to Oscar. “Hello, my boy.”

Oscar is still peering over his knees, and I reach out and stroke his leg, reminding him he is not alone in this. Oscar cautiously lowers his knees to the ground and sits up straight. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

Tears spring to Mum’s eyes. “It’s okay, Oscar.” It’s so odd to hear her comforting him, but at the same time, I’m grateful. This whole thing is devastatingly difficult, but so far, it’s not nearly as horrific as I was imagining it would be. Mum is being calm and peaceful. She doesn’t appear to be hurt, and she’s behaving nicely. Things could definitely be worse. We all jump as Oscar suddenly blurts out a question.

“Where have you been?”

Conrad immediately steps in. “Oscar, I’m not sure that’s⁠—”

But Mum slowly lifts up a pale hand to cut him off. I stare, transfixed by it, and a sudden vision of the woman at the end of the drive pointing at me before drawing a finger across her throat lurches into my mind. Mum catches me and delicately traces a finger across her neck, her eyes boring into me. A normal movement to anyone else watching but not to me. It’s her. But as Mum speaks, I’m so desperate to hear the answer that I banish any other thoughts and simply listen.

“It’s okay, Conrad. They need to know.”

There is what can only be described as terror on Conrad’s face. I try to catch his eye, but he won’t look at me. Instead, he is transfixed by Mum, and I’m shocked to see it looks like he is warning her not to speak. Mum’s eyes fill with defiance, and I wrap my arms around myself, petrified at what I’m about to hear. Oscar hasn’t moved, and his chest rises and falls rapidly as he struggles to control both his breathing and his emotions. Seconds feel like hours. A guillotine is hanging over us, waiting to slice through our precious family and separate us into pieces that can never be put back together.

“I can’t remember.”

Rather than observing Mum or Oscar, I keep my eyes trained on Conrad and watch as he visibly relaxes at Mum’s words. That was odd to say the least. What is he hiding? But clearly her response is not enough for Oscar, and he responds immediately with a follow-up question.

“What do you mean, you can’t remember?”

Mum doesn’t get the opportunity to answer, because just then, there is a knock at the door, and two doctors walk in without waiting to be invited. Mum reaches out her pallid arm to Oscar, but she can’t quite reach him. He doesn’t move towards her, and she pulls it back. I watch her face closely, but she remains neutral. Any emotion she feels at the slight from Oscar is well hidden.

“I’ve lost my memory, sweetheart. The last few years are a complete blank.” Then she turns to the doctors and addresses them. “The doctors are trying to find out what’s wrong, they’ve been so wonderful.”

I wrinkle my nose at the sickly-sweet tone Mum uses. She may have been gone for four years but nothing has changed. She is as fake and affected as she ever was. The older doctor, who is clearly the one in charge, speaks to the room in an unnecessarily loud voice. “We can talk more when you’ve finished visiting with your family, Mrs Reece.”

Oscar’s face looks exactly how I feel. Confused and irritated. What Mum just said wasn’t an explanation, or even half a story. That was no story at all. And the doctor’s response feels weird. Is it a confidentiality thing or are they avoiding speaking in front of us?

“Anyway, we need to have a look at your mum, and we’ve got some more tests we need to do,” the doctor adds.

Conrad simultaneously taps both Oscar and me on the shoulder. “We’ll come back later then. Come on, guys.”

Mum moves slowly up the bed, so she is almost sitting, and holds out her arms to Oscar. He looks horrified but shuffles towards her and leans in.

“Bye, my darling.”

They embrace briefly before Oscar pulls away quickly. “Er, bye.”

I have no idea what to do. Am I supposed to go over and hug her too? I most definitely don’t want to, but how would that look? And Mum isn’t making it easy. She doesn’t hold out her arms in the same way she did to Oscar. She simply stares at me, emotionless. After a subtle nudge from Conrad, I decide to just do it. Not hugging her seems inappropriate given the circumstances. Mum’s bony arms wrap around me as I lean in, and her fingertips trace up and down my back, bringing a flush of goosebumps to my arms that climb up my neck. When Mum whispers in my ear, my legs turn to jelly, and it takes all my composure to stop myself from crying out.

“I hope you enjoyed Christmas with them.”

I jolt backwards, almost losing my footing. Mum gives me a sugary smile, her eyes brimming with tears. A smile that to the room appears as a tearful goodbye to her much-loved daughter. Only I know that her words are actually a sickening warning.

Enjoy Christmas with them. It will be your LAST.

32

LORELAI

FOUR YEARS AGO. AGE FOURTEEN.

The last month has been hell on earth. Well, that’s not quite true. It’s hell on earth whenever Mum is around. If a more dysfunctional family exists, I can’t imagine it, and I can only feel sorry for them. To give Oscar credit, he stuck to his guns no matter what Mum said, and I’m really proud of him. That can’t have been easy. But I’m a bit worried about him too. He’s angry and has started acting out. Even with me.

To put it bluntly, Mum has returned to treating us all like shit. Long gone are the school runs and half-hearted attempts at family time. It’s back to Conrad doing all the school drop-offs and pick-ups, and Mum is either out of the house, or out of the way, in the mornings and evenings. If I find myself in the same room as her, I say nothing, and she does the same.

One thing I’m happy about though, is that Conrad still goes golfing on a Saturday. As I get older, I realise how important stuff like that is for adults, especially parents, and I know how much he loves playing golf and catching up with his friends. Mum always stays in bed on Saturday mornings, so Oscar and I never have to see her, and then she pleases herself when Conrad comes back. On Sunday mornings she still goes out with Carly and Christine, and sometimes they’re out all day, which suits us just fine.

Conrad has moved into the spare room. At first, I thought that might be the beginning of them actually splitting up, but I don’t see any signs of that happening. I listen in to their conversations when I can, but they barely say two words to each other.

The week after Mum attacked Oscar was the worst. Whenever I’ve talked to Conrad about it, that’s the word I use – attacked. Because it’s accurate. I went mental at the time. I’ve held back a lot of things over the years, thinking that I just needed to put my head down and look after Oscar, rather than rile everything up. But there was absolutely no way I was letting that slide.

She hit him. In the face. He is six years old.

I screamed and shouted at her. I wanted to call the police. I still think I should have, and I might still do it. I could do it anonymously or something. But Conrad always manages to talk me down, and I’m not really sure why. I get the feeling she’s threatening or blackmailing him from some of the things he says, but he hasn’t told me outright. It took him a little while to truly come to terms with what had happened. But I know he believes Oscar completely now. He’s said so. So why shouldn’t we get the police involved? She would deserve everything that got thrown at her. But she vehemently denies it. The day after, I caught her talking to Oscar, trying to manipulate him and get him to think he’d remembered it wrong. The look on his face when I walked in told me that she’d almost managed it too. I’ve never left him on his own with her since. I know he is telling the truth. What reason would he have to lie? I’m not having her screw with his brain like she has mine.

I remember sitting down with Conrad at the kitchen table. Oscar was in bed, and Mum was out. I’d never seen him look so devastated and unhappy. I replay our conversation in my head.

“I know we know what happened, Lorelai. But she won’t ever tell the truth. We can’t do anything.”

“So just because she’s lying, we let her get away with it?”

“No… I don’t know. I’m just trying to do my best to look out for you and Oscar. What else can I do?”

“You could leave her, and take us with you. She wouldn’t care, would she?”

And I’ve said that to him so many times since. But the answer is always a version of the same thing. “It’s not that simple,” or “I need time.” Time for what? Time for her to come at Oscar again? Who knows what she could do next time. But I know there is something deeper and darker at play. He won’t admit it, but I get the feeling Mum has said she’ll blame it on Conrad if he says anything. And I wouldn’t put it past her to do that. Conrad is not the type of man who would sit and turn a blind eye after his son being hurt. I know there has to be something forcing his hand. I just wish he would open up to me. And so I will give him time and protect Oscar until he works out how to keep us all safe. It would be so easy for Mum to paint him as the violent, tyrannical parent when the exact opposite is true, and I can’t imagine how hard that must be for him.

I’m not a little kid anymore, and I understand it’s not as easy as the three of us just walking out of the door. I also understand that I am perhaps the biggest problem in all of this. I’m not his daughter. I know he doesn’t feel any less for me than he does for Oscar. But in the eyes of the law, he doesn’t have any claim to me.

Mum doesn’t care about me. She makes that very clear with her actions and has said it to my face on more than one occasion. But that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t fight for me out of spite, out of a will to win, and to make us all miserable. In fact, I’m absolutely sure she would do everything in her power to make sure we all suffered. Not to mention her desperate need to keep up appearances. She’s dangerous and we all need to be very careful. Oscar, Conrad and I need to protect ourselves and what we have. But we also need to get rid of her before she causes any more harm. How can one person hold so much power?

Sleep feels impossible tonight. Oscar went to bed hours ago and annoyingly, as soon as he went down, Mum commandeered the TV in the living room. I don’t care about watching anything, but I do like reading and relaxing in there before bed or making something nice for breakfast and neatening up the kitchen. I’ve been wanting to try out a recipe for home-made cinnamon toast cereal. I had planned to cook it tonight so we could have it for breakfast before school tomorrow. But I’m not doing it with her down there. Any relaxation I get from cooking and organising would be blighted by her presence. So I’ve been reading in my room for the last two hours, feeling like a prisoner, and wishing I’d had the forethought to bring a hot chocolate or even a bottle of water up with me. I have my ears open for her footsteps climbing the stairs so I can sneak down for a drink. But nothing as yet.

Just as I’m about to give up and call it a night, I hear her. Brilliant, I won’t have to spend the whole night parched or resort to drinking out of the bathroom tap. But instead of walking towards her own room, I hear her coming down the corridor towards mine. Quick as a flash, I turn off my reading light and dive under the duvet.

My door creaks open, a shaft of light growing across the wall. I cross my fingers.

Please don’t come over. Please don’t try and talk to me.

I’ve no idea what my breathing sounds like when I’m asleep, but I do my best to imitate soft, sleepy sounds. I wait for her to come stomping over, or to say something upsetting and slam the door closed. She might do the latter even if she thinks I’m genuinely sleeping just to satisfy herself. Instead, she closes the door softly. I let out a relieved breath and pull my covers down to my shoulders. It was starting to get hot in there, especially with me panicking.

There’s no way I’m going downstairs now. I’m not going to die of thirst, and I’ll drink an extra glass of water in the morning. I try to get comfortable without the bed creaking, but I freeze when I hear a knock. At first, I’m confused. Why would she knock when she just came in? But then I realise she’s actually knocking on Conrad’s door. The spare bedroom is right next to mine.

I hear Conrad’s door open and Mum’s quiet voice. “We need to talk. Can I come in?”

Conrad answers immediately. He sounds pissed off. “Not now, Thea. I’m knackered.”

Evidently, she doesn’t listen, as I hear her voice again, followed by the door closing. “No, it needs to be now.”

Elsewhere in the house, the walls are relatively thick. But between my and Conrad’s rooms, the walls are paper-thin. Whoever lived here before us turned one giant bedroom into two, both of which are still a decent size. But from over here on my bed, and with the spare bedroom door now closed, I can only hear muffled voices.

I crawl out of bed towards the adjoining wall and press my ear against it. It’s an extremely uncomfortable position to be in, but it is worth it. I’m also chilly without my covers, and I consider sneaking back to retrieve them, but I can’t risk missing any more of their conversation than I already have. Conrad and Mum haven’t spoken properly in ages, and I can’t imagine what Mum suddenly needs to talk to him about at ten o’clock on a Thursday night. But whatever it is, I want to hear it. And I am not disappointed.

Mum’s voice is as clear as though she were standing in the room. “I can’t live like this anymore, Conrad. I’m done.” Conrad clears his throat, and his bed squeaks as he shifts position. The poor man was probably already asleep, and he’s woken up to this. “But I have some conditions.”

“Conditions?”

“Yes, and I expect you to agree to every single one. Otherwise…”

Anger flares inside me. This is just typical of Mum. Rude, threatening and always dramatic.

“Otherwise what, Thea? What can you possibly do to make any of us more unhappy than we already are?”

I almost laugh, and I’d love to pat Conrad on the back for that excellent retort. He’s spent so long being polite and tiptoeing around her, to keep the environment in the house more civil, and less hellish for Oscar and me. But why should he? Oscar and I know Mum is a total bitch, and she’ll have to get through me if she ever wants to lay a finger on him again. I’m an inch taller than her now, and although she’s probably a good few pounds heavier than me, I have no doubt I’d be more than a match for her if I ever needed to stand up for myself or my brother.

There is silence for a while, and I wonder whether Mum is going to abandon her plans now she’s been so cleverly shot down. But then she speaks, and what I hear knocks the air out of my lungs. Her tone is callous and icy cold.

“You can’t even begin to imagine, Conrad. So I suggest that you shut that smart mouth of yours and listen very carefully if you value your family.”

I picture Conrad’s horrified face, and I wish I could stand beside him and comfort him. Protect him from her spite and her evilness.

This woman deserves to be locked up.

My mind races with what Mum’s conditions might be and what she might do to us if Conrad doesn’t agree. I only pray that she won’t force Oscar and me to go with her. I sit, my heart beating wildly, waiting for the big reveal.

33

LORELAI

PRESENT DAY

Mum has been home for a couple of days now. I feel like we’ve all been put into a time machine and transported back to the past. Only Conrad, Oscar, and I are all different now. It’s so odd. The atmosphere is hideous, undoubtedly the worst it’s ever been. I can almost visualise the dark cloud that hangs over all of us. I know things can’t stay like this forever, but I can’t work out what is going to happen either, except to say that this situation feels temporary. I don’t know how to describe it better than that. Or perhaps I’m simply hoping it’s only temporary.

Oscar has asked me about a million times whether I’m going to move out and leave him. Every time, I reassure him. It’s annoying, but as soon as I see the fear and desperation in his eyes, my irritation ebbs away every time. He is scared. Understandably. I’m scared too, but I do my best not to let that show.

When Mum disappeared, I was haunted by her memory. I felt her ghostly presence in the house and in my mind relentlessly. The only thing that kept me sane was my family. And we were so happy just the three of us. Thoughts and visions of Mum hadn’t plagued me for a long time. But now everything has changed, and the ghosts from my past are back in the worst possible way. Physically. Spirits can’t harm you, but people can. And I am so afraid for us.

Mum spends almost all her time in bed. Weak and recovering from her unexplained ordeal. At least that’s the part she’s playing. But I hear her moving around up there. And it’s not just that. Once I went in to offer her a cup of tea and found her sitting at her dressing table, her face freshly made up, brushing her hair. By the time I came back with the tea, she was back in bed, face cleaned, and hair scraped back, looking languid and pale once more. I have no idea what game she is playing. But for now, I am keeping quiet. Watching, waiting and cataloguing evidence until I know more. Oscar never goes in there unless he’s asked to, which is usually only to say hello in the morning, or goodnight before he goes to bed. I know life can’t continue for more than a few days like this. She’s going to come out of there sometime and start living again, and I have no idea what that’s going to look like. Which version of Mum are we going to get?

Conrad goes in to see her more often than us, and I can sometimes hear them whispering. I am beyond confused and I am desperate to talk to him properly. But Conrad is not doing so well. He is dishevelled, and his face looks like it’s hanging off his skull. I have so many questions I want to ask him, but his dark and devastated demeanour is making me hold off. I’m scared he might fall apart and run away. Everything feels so fragile, and I’m terrified that anything I might do to try and make things better will only shatter everything beyond repair.

Oscar and I continued to visit Mum every day in the hospital during her stay. It was awkward to say the least. All of us, including Mum, knew we didn’t want to be there. For the most part, she was disturbingly nice during the visits. I’d been waiting for another whispered message, but she never said anything like it again. I’ve had the occasional smirk or side-eye from her, but nothing overt. It’s putting me terribly on edge. Something is coming, and I’ve no clue how to arm myself against it. I feel completely powerless.

I’ve had a lot of time to think about it now, and I’m one hundred per cent certain that Mum is the same woman I kept seeing in the run-up to Christmas. But that very fact throws up many more questions than it answers. I heard her in the basement, and I saw her outside of the window. Has she been in the rest of the house? Why? What is her endgame? Lost and confused does not even begin to cover it.

A horrible, unthinkable thought keeps making its way to the forefront of my mind. What if Mum hasn’t returned? What if she’s been here all this time? Before Mum went missing, she terrorised us. Actively tried to hurt each and every one of us. I truly believed she deserved to be locked away where she couldn’t harm anyone anymore with her poisonous behaviour. Could Conrad have believed this so strongly that he took matters into his own hands to try and save our family? That day I heard the noises in the basement, what if she was breaking out rather than breaking in?

Practically, it could be possible. My dad is the only person who ever used that basement. He and his friends used it for their band practice. But when he died, Mum and I never went down there. And it’s not your typical basement either. It’s done out really nicely and has a bathroom and a mini-kitchen and everything. But I avoided it because it reminded me too much of him. So in theory, someone could live down there pretty comfortably. And undiscovered because of the soundproofing. But it’s a ridiculous thought, brought on by nothing more than a desperate search for the real answers that nobody will tell me. Not to mention Conrad seemed so nonplussed when the basement door was open. Conrad is not a good liar, and I know him too well. He is a good and kind man. He would never do something like that.

I’ve considered sitting him down and telling him everything that happened in the run-up to Christmas. I’d have to do it away from Mum, so maybe one day when we’re in the car together. But honestly, at the moment, I’m not sure I trust him. He’s holding back on me and being secretive. It pains me to feel such distrust towards him, but something has happened to our relationship since Mum reappeared. He’s started treating me like a child again, and in the hospital, he was so guarded and suspicious. Whenever the doctors came in, he ushered Oscar and me away. We know pretty much nothing about what happened or why. It’s infuriating. We all went together to visit Mum each day, but he also went separately on his own. Why? What did he want to say to her that we weren’t allowed to hear? I feel like he’s trying to control the narrative, and anyone who does that has something to hide. At first, I thought he was only doing it to protect us and allow us to get used to the situation slowly. But I don’t believe that now, I know he is keeping something from me.

Mum has to have been the woman that Christine saw being pulled into an ambulance that day. But as far as I can see, there’s nothing wrong with her. She was released from the hospital pretty quickly, and didn’t need any surgery or treatment as far as I’m aware. But again, Conrad made sure we were never anywhere near the doctors or nurses whenever they came in to speak about Mum’s condition. He’s just kept feeding Oscar and me the same story. That Mum has amnesia and we just need to be patient.

I smell bullshit.

There is no way that can be the whole story. It doesn’t even feel medically possible. But what do I know?

There’s a part of me, admittedly a small part, that thinks Mum could be hiding something that’s actually traumatic. What if she truly went missing and something horrific has happened to her? For all her faults, Mum has never liked appearing weak. Is there a chance that she’s been through something terrible and is hiding it to save face? The amnesia thing feels far too convenient. But how am I supposed to get to the bottom of what’s happened when nobody is telling me anything?

There’s something I’ve been putting off, but I’ve decided today is the day to confront it. It’s Saturday morning, and Conrad hasn’t been golfing since Christmas. I think it would do him good to see his friends, but he’s refusing, and to be honest, I’m relieved he’s staying home. The thought of Oscar and me being home alone with Mum doesn’t bear thinking about. It’s only days before Oscar goes back to school, I go back to sixth-form college, and Conrad returns to work. Are we just going to leave her in the house? Another question for Conrad, once he looks like he isn’t going to splinter into a thousand pieces at the slightest provocation.

Anyway, today is the day I’m going to ask Oscar about what he said to me in the car.

I knew she was alive… I saw her.

I might have concerns about Conrad being deceptive, but I have absolutely none of the same fears about Oscar. He’s on my side, and I am on his. I know where his allegiance lies. Every day I’ve thought about asking him, but something always gets in the way. Either we’re not alone and in danger of being overheard, or he simply appears too delicate. There is too much I don’t know, and this feels like a good place to start. I know Oscar will tell me the truth.

So last night before bed, I offered to take him to the park for an hour or so this morning. He’s a bit old for the playpark now, but I said we could take a football. He agreed immediately, eager to be away from the house. And Conrad seemed happy too. I expected him to offer to join us, but he didn’t, stating Mum isn’t supposed to be left alone. That could be true, I suppose, but again, I sensed dishonesty in his words. Yet another thing to add to the list of things that are making me question him.

It’s freezing, so Oscar and I wrap up warm. We walk side by side, hands in pockets, the football tucked under my arm, and heads bowed against the biting wind. It’s a relief to reach the park with its cover of trees, and I point over to the basketball courts.

“They’re empty. Do you want to play in there?” Oscar simply shrugs. “We can play on the grass if you like, but it looks a bit squelchy.” Oscar says nothing and ups his pace, walking towards the basketball courts.

“Hey!” I shout after him. “What’s wrong with you?”

Oscar turns and stares at me. His face is red, and he looks like he is about to erupt with anger. Is he mad at me? And if so, why? I’ve been nothing but supportive. And then he explodes.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me? You’re kidding, right? Er, how about my horrible mother is back from the dead!”

I take a step towards him, but he holds his hand out and takes a step back. I try not to show how much that simple action hurts me.

“I know, Oscar. We’re in the same boat. I told you, I’m on your side.”

And then Oscar starts to cry. I take another tentative step towards him, and this time he stays where he is. I watch as he reaches round and points at a backpack he’s carrying. I hadn’t noticed that before.

“I’m not going back.”

My heart plummets. “What? You have to. I mean, you’re ten, Oscar, you can’t just run away.”

Oscar shakes his head violently. “I’m not going back there. And I can’t believe that you and Dad are making me.” I walk closer and wrap my arms around him. He falls into me and weeps loudly. “I thought that’s what this was. I thought you were going to take me away. That’s why I packed all this stuff.”

I squeeze him tightly, my heart breaking at the desperation in his words. I kneel at his feet, not caring that my leggings will get soaked.

“We can’t run away, Oscar. I get it, honestly, I do. I don’t want her here any more than you, but we need to do it the right way. And what about your dad?” That seems to hit a nerve, and Oscar looks at me with confused, mournful eyes. “If we disappeared, it would destroy him. Think about everything he has done for us. It has to be the three of us. Together.”

Oscar rubs a gloved hand across his face, and I stand up, encouraging him to walk with me. “We just need to sit this out for a few more weeks. Wait until she’s a bit stronger, and then we can talk to Conrad about a plan.”

Oscar looks up at me. “But don’t you think he’s being weird? Like hiding stuff from us.”

I nod. I hate lying to Oscar, but I need to be cautious with just how much I say. “I think he’s just trying to protect us.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “No you don’t. I can hear them whispering, and I know you can too. Just because she went missing and lost her memory or whatever, doesn’t mean she just gets to come back and be our mum again.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself, and with the subject of deception on the cards, now feels as good a time as any to ask Oscar about what he said.

“I do think he’s trying to protect us, but yes, I have heard them whispering, and I do think he’s hiding something. He could have lots of reasons for that. But one thing I know for sure is that he loves us, and he wouldn’t let anything bad happen again.” We reach the basketball courts but neither of us move to go in and instead keep walking.

“Yeah, I know. But this is all so crazy, Lorelai. I’m scared and I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Same. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, and this has all been a dream. Well, a nightmare.”

Oscar manages a small laugh. “I just want things to go back to how they were. Me, you and Dad. You know you weren’t sad when you thought Mum had died.”

I look down at my little brother. There is way too much weight on his ten-year-old shoulders. He shouldn’t be having to deal with any of this. He should be enjoying his Christmas holidays, and we should be playing football right now instead of being embroiled in this deeply serious conversation.

“I need to ask you something, Oscar.”

Oscar stops walking. “It’s me saying I saw her, isn’t it?”

I feel my heart begin to race, and all of a sudden, I’m not ready to hear this. But I know that avoidance will get us nowhere.

“Yes.” I want to say so much more, but I can’t yet. I need him to speak first. Have Oscar and I been keeping the same secret? Did he see her in the days before Christmas and told no one? But when Oscar speaks, his words floor me. We have not been keeping the same secret at all.

“It was about a month after she went missing. I saw her in the house.”

My mouth falls open, my head bursting with a mixture of shock, anger and disbelief. I stare at my brother, not sure whether to hug him or scream in his face. How could a child that young have kept a secret that big for all these years? It feels impossible. I know I couldn’t. He has been lying to me all this time? The very thought that he could do that to me hurts more than I know how to say. Oscar squirms under my gaze, but I can’t find it in myself to comfort him.

Eventually, he speaks. “And… and that’s not all.”

34

LORELAI

FOUR YEARS AGO. AGE FOURTEEN.

My body is starting to cramp now, but there is no way I am moving from this wall. Mum has been unkind and mean to Conrad before, but I’ve never heard her deliver an actual threat.

Listen very carefully if you value your family.

Okay, so she’s not exactly saying, “Do as I say or I’ll take the children away.” But then she wouldn’t want us living with her anyway, so it’d be more likely to be, “Do as I say or I’ll bludgeon you all to death.”

I will Conrad to respond before my legs give way, but he stays silent.

Instead, Mum speaks, her voice as emotionless and dark as I have ever heard it. “I have written everything down in here.”

Shit. That’s not good. I need her to say it. I can’t very well read through the wall.

“I will give you until Monday to agree.”

“What the fuck is this, Thea? Can’t we just talk? I’m pretty sure we both want the same thing.”

Mum laughs. It’s like one of those villain laughs from a cartoon. I picture her dressed as Maleficent. That fits her quite nicely.

“I assure you, we don’t, Conrad. I’m going to go to bed now. Read that over. There will be no negotiation. If you come at me with anything other than a yes, I will assume your answer is no and go to my plan B. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

My mind throws up images of what plan B might entail. Burning the house to the ground? Getting Conrad thrown in jail somehow, and Oscar and me carted off to an orphanage? Who knows. With Mum, it could literally be anything. She’s lost her mind.

“How did it come to this, Thea? What are you even doing? Think of the kids. Surely, we can sort this out reasonably.”

Tears come to my eyes, but I can’t move to wipe my face.

“And that’s what I’m doing. This is reasonable, and I don’t care about the kids, or you. None of you have ever cared about me, so why should I?”

I gasp. I mean, I know that Mum couldn’t give a shit about me, and that she lost her temper with Oscar. But to say she doesn’t care about him at all. There’s something completely wrong and evil about that.

Mum continues her rant. “Nobody cares what I want out of life. You have kids and you’re just expected to drop everything and play Mary Poppins. Lorelai was one thing, but when Oscar came, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I hate being a mother.”

And there it is. In her own words. The one thing that everything boils down to.

I hear Mum laugh again. “Do you know how freeing it is to actually say that out loud?”

Conrad finally replies, although I’m not sure there is anything to say to that. “Well I love being a father, and if you want to go, that’s fine with me. And you know what, you are a mother, whether you want to be or not.”

Mum raises her voice now, and I’m worried Oscar might wake up. This is pretty dreadful for me to hear, so I can’t imagine how it would make him feel.

“No, I am a woman. And I have allowed you all to make me forget that. I want things, Conrad. I want my life back. The life you have all stolen from me.”

Weirdly, I find myself feeling a bit sorry for her. If this is really how she feels, it can’t be easy. But that thought is fleeting. Nobody made her have children, and you don’t get to ditch them because you feel like it. That’s illegal. At least I think it is.

“I have no idea what’s happened to you, Thea. I think… I think you need help. And if you do, we’ll be here for⁠—”

Mum actually yells now. “No, I’ve never been more sane in my whole life. Read that. Take it or leave it.” And with that, she storms out of the room, slamming the door.

I wait where I am for a couple of minutes, listening for the sound of Oscar getting out of bed, but miraculously, he seems to have slept through Mum trying to fling the spare bedroom door off its hinges. I pull away from the wall slowly, thinking I should probably sneak for a pee before I go to sleep, but the thought of bumping into Mum while she’s on this ‘I am a woman not just a mother’ warpath is enough of a deterrent to make me go straight back to bed.

I lie staring at the ceiling and running through my options. Was that easy to hear? No. But also, it wasn’t too much of a surprise. What I need to decide is whether I tell Conrad I overheard everything or not. Would he share Mum’s demands with me? We are close, and honestly, I feel like I could tell him pretty much anything. But I don’t think he would tell me what she wants. If I were a little older, maybe. But he’s still very protective of me. I think I’d only get a sugar-coated version of the truth. And that’s not what I want. No, what I need to do is find a way to get hold of whatever Mum has handed to him.

The thought of going behind Conrad’s back makes me feel uncomfortable. But there’s not a single comfortable thing about this whole colossal disaster that is our family, so I’m just going to have to go with it.

If I think about this practically, there could be a good outcome. Mum wants to leave. We want her to leave. It’s a win-win situation on the surface of things. But what does she want of Conrad? I hope it’s that she wants him to adopt me and relinquish all her rights as a mother to both Oscar and me. That would be ideal, and I think Conrad would be pleased.

I close my eyes and focus on emptying my mind. Tomorrow I will get my hands on Mum’s letter to Conrad, and then I will do everything I can to make sure that the three of us become a happy family.

* * *

The morning has been relatively average as far as our ridiculous existence goes. Oscar got up and ready without any fuss. In lieu of my absent cinnamon breakfast cereal, I threw together natural yoghurt, granola and honey.

Conrad seems a bit more sombre than usual, and the dark circles under his eyes show a distinct lack of sleep. But he doesn’t appear traumatised, so maybe Mum’s just proposing standard divorce stuff. I have friends whose parents have split up, and it doesn’t seem so bad for them. Granted, they all still see their mums. Ours will just look a little different than most. I don’t care about that, and I’m sure Oscar won’t either. I suppose the big question is whether we’ll need to move. I’ve lived in this house with Mum almost my whole life, but I wouldn’t give a second thought to moving if it meant Conrad, Oscar and I could be happy. It’s only a house. I’ll take Dad’s memories with me. I’d only be leaving behind bricks.

I wait until we’re at the car and Oscar is strapped in before putting the first part of my plan into action.

“Sorry, can I have the keys? I’ve forgotten my homework.”

Conrad looks at me quizzically, and I get it. I never forget anything. Schoolwork is always done and never late. But I was prepared for this.

“I know. I took it out of my bag to give it one final check this morning. You know I like things to be perfect.” That sounds much more like me. I’m never careless or forgetful, but I am a perfectionist.

Conrad holds out the keys to me and gets in the car. “Be quick though. We need to get going.”

I smile and sprint towards the door. Part one of my plan is complete. As I run up the stairs, I try to balance the need for speed with staying quiet so as not to wake Mum as best I can. Mum’s door is closed, so I sneak into Conrad’s room silently.

In the interests of efficiency, I’ve already planned out a list of places to search. But there is no need for that, because as soon as I walk in the room, I see an A4 brown envelope sitting atop his unmade bed. Conrad’s name is written on the front in block letters.

Immediately, I want to tidy up his bed, and I know that the image of the unkempt covers will haunt me all day. Who goes out to work and leaves their bed unmade? But I only have seconds to spare. I grab the envelope, taking a second to look and listen behind me.

Then I open it and reach inside.

35

LORELAI

PRESENT DAY

I wish my brain would work faster, or even at all. I’m a very quick, logical sort of person usually, but currently my brain is a bowl of soup.

I stare at my brother. Everything I thought I knew about him is a lie. Maybe that’s a little dramatic, but right now I feel dramatic. I want to run away screaming and leave him there on his own. He’d deserve it. But soon enough, my mind starts to regulate itself and more reasonable thoughts start to flood in. He’s only a child. He’s scared and confused. I need to understand rather than blame him. And thankfully these thoughts win, and I don’t abandon him to run off and have a breakdown.

“What do you mean, Oscar?”

Oscar’s face is as white as a sheet now. This is not going to be good. “I’m so sorry, Lorelai. I knew…”

His words trail off as he scrunches up his face and looks over my shoulder. How can he stop there?

I hold out my arms in desperation. “What? You knew what?”

But just at that moment, something crashes into my back, and my feet go from under me. I put my hand out to break my fall, but it slides through the mud, giving me no purchase. My head hits the ground, and I feel all the air being forced out of my lungs as I land flat on my back. Ouch. I lie like a starfish and try to take a deep breath before rolling onto my side and trying to sit up. Oscar just stands there like a lemon. As I roll over, I spot a leg with a familiar shoe attached to the bottom. Conrad. Why is he here? Did he just push me over? An attempt to stop Oscar and me speaking?

I look over my shoulder and see that my beige coat is slick with mud all down the back. I look like a chocolate éclair.

Conrad scrambles towards me. “Oh my gosh, Lorelai, I’m so sorry. I was running over to join you and I slipped. Are you okay? Honestly, I’m such an idiot.”

I try to dust my hands off, but the mud is thick and squelchy, and I just rub it between my palms ineffectively. Conrad holds out his hands, but I ignore him, and get to my feet by myself. I look down at his shoes. They’re his work shoes. Brown lace-ups with exactly zero grips.

“Not exactly the right footwear for running on mud, Conrad.”

Conrad’s cheeks flush, making him look healthier than he has in days. “I know. Like I said, I’m an idiot.”

Suspicious thoughts creep in. It seems awfully convenient that he would crash into me at that precise moment. And why has he followed us anyway?

Conrad must read my face. “She’s asleep, so I thought I would come out and play football with you. Nice to get out of the house.” He points over his shoulder. “Basketball courts might be a good idea though, what with all this mud.”

He walks over and slings an arm around Oscar. Gone is my brother’s white face, and he actually looks amused and childlike. Back to the boy he was before Christmas. Despite my fury at his lies and annoyance at the interruption, I find myself smiling at him. But then I remember why we’re here. If I let Conrad’s appearance derail our conversation, we’ll never get anywhere. And Conrad, Oscar and I need to stop hiding things from each other if we want to be a team. So I take a deep breath, dig down deep and decide to be brave.

“Oscar and I were just talking. And now you’re here, I think we should all talk, don’t you?” I focus on Conrad, letting him know with my eyes that I am serious this time, and I won’t be fobbed off. “I think there are some things we all need to get out in the open.”

Conrad starts dithering. “You’re covered in mud, Lorelai. Why don’t we head back and get you cleaned up, and then we can all sit down and talk.”

I ball my fists. “No, I’ve had enough of this. I don’t care that I’m covered in mud. We’re going to stand here. I’m sick of always putting it off.” I glance at Oscar, not sure what reaction I’m going to get. He looks afraid but then he nods. “We’re all keeping secrets from each other. How are we ever going to get through this if we don’t tell each other the truth?”

Conrad’s face is a mess of emotions. Sadness, fear, uncertainty. I would normally ease off at this point, caring more about how someone I love feels, rather than getting what I need. But things have gone past that point. The truth has to come out, and it has to be now. I close my eyes and steady myself. Then I turn to Oscar.

“What were you going to tell me?”

Oscar looks furious at me for dropping him in it in front of Conrad. But we can’t do this without him. If we want Conrad on our side, there’s no other option than to be open and honest. Oscar kicks the toe of his trainer into the ground. I want to run and shake the truth out of him, but I stay still.

“Oscar, please. There’s nothing you can say to me or your dad that would change anything. We love you, all we want to do is help.”

Conrad clears his throat. “Lorelai, don’t you think you’re being a little tough? I’m not sure Oscar wants to talk right now.”

I glare at him. “Tough? Are you kidding? This is tough. Why are we all pretending it’s not?”

Conrad moves his hands in the universal ‘calm down’ gesture. As is often the case, this has the exact opposite effect. I am fizzing with anger now, and ready to let everything out in an unstoppable tirade. Fuck their feelings. I open my mouth, and just as I’m about to vomit out every single one of my emotions, I hear Oscar’s tiny voice.

“She’s right, Dad.” My anger dissipates, and I turn to my beautiful, brave brother and smile. He trembles as he begins to speak. “I told Lorelai that I knew Mum wasn’t dead. I saw her in the house, maybe a few weeks after she went missing.”

I’m afraid to look at Conrad. I know how angry and devastated this news made me feel. I turn my head slowly and see Conrad breathing rapidly. He says nothing. I don’t want Oscar to stop there; I need to know what else he was going to tell me.

And… and that’s not all.

I try to help Oscar keep going. “I’ve known that since before Mum came home, Oscar told me the day we first went to the hospital. But he wanted to tell me something else today.”

Conrad, still as a statue until this moment, starts to shake his head.

Oscar looks down. “It was night-time, and I woke up. I felt sick, so I came out of my room.” Oscar’s eyes are filled with tears now and he looks up, pleading with me to help him and make this stop. And if I could, I would. But I need him to keep talking.

“It’s okay, Oscar.”

He casts his gaze back to the ground. “I heard a noise downstairs. The front door was open, and Mum was standing there.” Conrad is still shaking his head, clearly devastated and unable to comprehend what he is hearing. “And she was…”

Oscar looks towards Conrad and suddenly I know what his next words are going to be before they come out of his mouth.

“She was talking to Dad.”

36

LORELAI

FOUR YEARS AGO. AGE FOURTEEN.

The stupid envelope is empty. I open a couple of drawers, but there’s nothing. I desperately want to stay and tear this room apart, but I’ve already taken longer than I should for collecting homework from my desk, so I place the envelope back exactly as I found it and run down the stairs. I had prepared myself for finding nothing. After all, I only had a couple of minutes at best, but the disappointment still hits hard. And the empty envelope is worse than not finding one at all, I think. That probably means Conrad has whatever was inside on him.

I jump in the car and strap in, glancing over my shoulder to see Conrad’s work bag on the back seat next to Oscar. I’d hazard a guess it’s in there. There’s absolutely no chance I can get to it. After school though, maybe?

Conrad starts his usual morning small talk, and Oscar is surprisingly chatty, which is annoying because I’m trying to think.

“Anything special at school today, champ?”

“Just phonics and maths. Oh, then maybe choosing-time after lunch. I think I’ll get a baked potato with beans and cheese today. Normally I just get beans or cheese…”

I try to tune him out. Usually, I’d join in with the morning chat, but today I don’t have the brain space for what he’s going to have on his baked potato. I need to get my thoughts in order.

Annoyingly, I’ll be getting dropped off first, leaving me no opportunity to talk to Conrad even if I wanted to. But I don’t think I would right now. Five snatched minutes in the car doesn’t feel like enough time. No, I’m going to have to see if I can get anywhere near Conrad’s work bag tonight. If I can’t, I’ll have to find a way to sit him down and speak to him without Mum or Oscar hearing. Hopefully Mum will go out tonight, that would make things a hundred times easier. The sound of my name makes me jump.

“Lorelai!” I turn and see Conrad staring at me. “I said your name four times then. You okay?”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry, I was a million miles away.”

“Yeah, I could tell. Need you to jump out quick though, I’m on yellows.”

I look out of the window, amazed to find we are parked outside school. I hadn’t noticed that we’d even stopped. Definitely in a world of my own.

Conrad reaches out a hand. “You sure you’re okay, love?”

I smile. “Yep, all good. Just thinking.”

Conrad’s face softens and he nods at me in understanding.

I crane my neck to wish Oscar a good day. “Enjoy school, and your baked potato, beans and cheese.”

“What are you having for lunch?”

I answer as I open the door and climb out. “I might have the same as you I think.” I wave and make my way into school. This is going to be a long day.

* * *

It was, in fact, an extremely long day. I love school, and I don’t even care if people know that. I’m not cool or popular and I really couldn’t care less. I have my two close friends, both studious and not outgoing, just like me. We blend into the background, never getting into any trouble, or really being noticed by anyone. And I’m not there for the friendships, I’m there to learn. I’ve surmised that most kids my age couldn’t care less about studying or doing well in their exams. Everyone is loud and chaotic. So many people are late or don’t do their work on time. We hardly get any homework, so how hard is it to just do it? It makes no sense to me.

But today I’ve been unfocused. By everyone else’s standards I’ve still been attentive, but inside my head, it’s a different story. I’ll need to do some extra work once my head’s back on form. Those straight A’s won’t achieve themselves.

I spent all day running through various scenarios in my head. Most of them are completely ridiculous, but I’m not sure anyone would blame me. I reckon most people could go their entire lives without experiencing anything like Oscar and I have from Mum. Anyway, the universe has tipped in my favour, and she is indeed out tonight, announcing as I was cooking dinner that she was going to the cinema, then drinks with Christine and Carly. I think I hid my glee well and wished her a lovely evening. She, in turn, ignored me and walked out the door. Now I have all evening free of mother dearest, and a perfect opportunity, while Conrad is putting Oscar to bed, to do my snooping.

I served chicken fajitas tonight with home-made guacamole. It was so tasty, even if I do say so myself. Oscar, as usual, avoided all the vegetables and had a couple of bits of chicken inside a wrap. No salsa, no sour cream, just wrap and chicken. I even saw him trying to wipe all the seasoning off with kitchen roll. My talents are wasted on him, but in the interests of getting him up to bed on time, I said nothing.

With Oscar and Conrad upstairs embroiled in bath time, I set out my books on the table. I don’t actually have homework, but I want Conrad to think I do, and a bit of extra revision never hurt anyone. I briefly consider having a little snoop right now. Conrad’s work bag is right by the door. But if previous bathtimes are anything to go by, Conrad will be up and down like a yoyo with requests from Oscar for various toys he absolutely has to have in the bath. So I’ll wait until story time. Much safer, and as Conrad always sits with Oscar until he is sound asleep, it guarantees me a solid twenty minutes at least. By the time I go to bed, I’ll be armed with all the information I need and ready to support Conrad with whatever’s going on with Mum. In a few weeks, we could be free of her, and I’ll never have to worry about Oscar being harmed again.

Just as I expected, Conrad shouts from the top of the stairs. “Can you come and sit with Oscar for a minute, Lorelai? He needs Batman and The Joker, apparently.”

I rush upstairs and perch on the closed toilet lid. “Why don’t you just get all the toys you want before going in the bath?” I’ve said this like a million times before. Oscar shrugs, his wet hair slicked back and his cheeks pink. He looks impossibly adorable.

“I didn’t want them then, but I need them now.”

I laugh, absolutely seeing why Conrad always bends to his bath time demands. And my brother’s resilience amazes me. His mother, the person who is supposed to love him the most in the world, has treated him terribly and never shown him anything other than disinterest and contempt. How could she not want to be a mother to this beautiful little boy? It boggles the mind.

Conrad runs in and holds out the toys. I stand up just as Oscar slams the two figures together, creating a mini tidal wave and slopping water over the side of the bath. Conrad rolls his eyes and pushes an already sopping towel with his feet to mop up the puddle.

“I think I’ll leave you to it. Give me a shout when you’re starting story time, and I’ll come say goodnight.”

Oscar suddenly stands. “I want to get out now.”

Conrad lets out an exasperated sigh. “But I just went and got… Oh never mind.”

I exit the bathroom and make my way downstairs. Conrad’s bag is still by the door, and it would be very unlikely for him to come and move it before putting Oscar to bed.

I sit at the table, staring at my biology book, but taking absolutely none of it in. The idea of snooping in Conrad’s bag makes me feel horribly uneasy. But I can’t deal with not knowing, especially if it’s something that will have a lasting impact on me and Oscar. I’ve come to expect anything from Mum now. There’s something deeply wrong with her, and I’m terrified of what she might be asking Conrad to do.

Conrad’s voice booms down the stairs. “We’re starting stories now.”

Oscar is already under the covers, and Conrad is perched on the end of his bed, storybook in hand. I sit next to Oscar, and he leans his face into my chest. I find myself suddenly choked up but manage to wish him goodnight without my voice breaking.

“Night-night. Love you.”

He wraps his arms around me. “Night. Love you too.”

I don’t look at Conrad, too afraid he’ll see what I’m about to do written all over my face.

Back downstairs, I sit at the table. The house is still, and even though I’m alone, I have that horrible nervous feeling in my stomach I get when I’m surrounded by too many people. That sudden urge to run away and hide. But I can’t hide from this any longer. I need to know what Mum has planned for us. I can’t do anything to help Conrad until I do.

I tiptoe towards Conrad’s bag and lift it with both hands. It weighs an absolute ton. I wasn’t expecting that, and I have to readjust my stance before hauling it back to the table. I grimace as the clip holding it closed makes an annoyingly loud click as I press it. Inside, there is nothing but papers and books. How can paper possibly weigh that much? I take a deep breath and start thumbing through the contents. It is not a quick task. I am looking for a piece of paper in a mountain of paper. Not ideal.

I’m about halfway through, making sure to keep everything in order as I go, and finding nothing but work-related notes and reports from students, when I spot a small zip pocket at the back of the bag.

A voice suddenly springs into my head. It’s in there. I quickly neaten up the pile I was flicking through and open the zip, and just as expected, there is a single, folded piece of paper inside. I pull it out and hold it for a second, knowing I should just open it quickly. Conrad will be downstairs in minutes. But something inside me won’t let me. I’ve never been a dishonest person and going behind Conrad’s back and betraying him like this feels too much now it is upon me. Now that I have the answers I was seeking in my hand, I realise this isn’t the way I want to go about it. I want to talk to Conrad properly, not find out like this. If he knows I did this, he might never trust me again. And I need him to be on my side, to believe in me.

As I decide to put the paper back, a warm sense of relief washes over me, and I know I have made the right choice. When Conrad comes downstairs, I will discuss it with him like the young adult I want him to see me as. Mum is out of the house, and Oscar is asleep. We can talk easily and freely.

“What are you doing?”

I whirl around, the offending piece of paper still in my hand, to see Conrad standing at the foot of the stairs.

37

LORELAI

PRESENT DAY

The last time I felt this level of crushing loneliness bearing down upon me was the day my dad died. I stare at Oscar, hoping and praying that I heard him wrong. But I haven’t. Conrad looms in my peripheral vision. He isn’t moving and he says nothing. Oscar casts his eyes to the ground. Shouldn’t one of them be saying something? No, shouldn’t Conrad be saying something? I pray he is about to tell Oscar he has made a huge mistake. Oscar was so little then, surely, he could have been mistaken? But Conrad’s silence says more than his words ever could.

All this time, I thought my mother was dead. But both my brother and my stepfather have known she was alive. I stare at a tree in the distance, focusing hard. I can’t look at either of them. I don’t know what I might do. I did not like my mother, but I did love her. In a twisted way that I could never quite shake. I knew she wasn’t a good person, and I hated the things she did to us. But somehow, I couldn’t let go of the love I felt for her. And so I grieved for her when she died. I grieved hard. I feel Conrad’s eyes boring into the side of my head, and unconsciously, I turn towards him. He is clearly falling to pieces, but I do not care one bit. The words come out of my mouth unbidden.

“You knew? You let me… you let me suffer like that.”

Conrad’s face contorts with pure anguish. I feel a strange sense of comfort in it. He should be hurting. He has hurt me more than I ever thought possible.

“I tried, Lorelai. But you would never let me speak.”

I feel like I’m about to explode with rage. Have I avoided difficult conversations in the last couple of years? Yes, because we’d all moved on, and life was good. Not to mention that he only ever brings it up around the anniversary of her death. When I’m busy preparing for Christmas. But before that, all I wanted to do was talk. He’s had more than ample opportunity, and he knows it. I don’t dignify his comment with a response. Instead, I glare at him. We know each other so well that it’s all I need to do.

In the year after Mum died, I became unwell in a terrifying way I didn’t understand. Hiding it from Conrad at first, but eventually, physically and mentally unable to handle it on my own anymore. One morning, he found me sitting at the kitchen table, head in my hands, almost pulling my hair out and sobbing violently. What he didn’t see, couldn’t have seen, was the vision of my mother sitting across from me. Grey skin sloughing from her bloated corpse, her mouth hanging slack, and seaweed tangled in her hair. I took that vision of her with me everywhere, spending hours and hours every single day imagining her last moments. How scared she must have been, how cold and in pain she must have felt. I ruminated constantly about what she must have been thinking. Did she repent of the things she had done? Did she call out for Oscar and me? Did she wish she could say goodbye to us?

I tormented myself with these thoughts until they amassed into a living image of her that followed me. A distorted, waterlogged form of the woman I somehow hated yet also loved. She was there when I closed my eyes and when I opened them. A relentless reminder. Months and months of agony and suffering. And I tortured myself over whether her death was something I had somehow made happen. I replayed the flippant thought I had one day of wishing she would be washed out to sea, relentlessly inside my head. Had the universe heard that and granted my wish? Was I culpable?

Conrad sprang into action the day he found me crying. I remember being so grateful. He didn’t make me feel like I was going crazy or that there was something wrong with me. He simply told me I needed help with my grief, and he stood beside me every step of the way. He drove me to counselling sessions, and when they didn’t help, he spent hours talking to me. And slowly I got better. I thought he was my saviour, my superhero. Yet all this time, he could have taken this all away from me with a few simple words.

Unable to stand any longer, I sink to the ground, the soft mud yielding underneath me. I don’t ever want to move from this place, because where would I even go? I have nobody I can trust. No one who truly loves me. And if Conrad says he does, he is lying. How could he possibly after what he has done?

He is still silent, and I know why. There is simply nothing to say. There are no excuses he can make, and no reasons he can give to explain his devastating betrayal. This is beyond redemption.

Oscar walks over and sits next to me. I can feel his body vibrating. Oscar’s presence has never brought me anything but warmth, but today, I sit cold as stone and feel like I could cease to exist right here. I am broken. A part of me knows I can’t blame him for what he did. For his lies of omission. At his tender age, he probably didn’t even understand what he was seeing. And even today, four years later, he is still woefully emotionally unequipped to comprehend any of this.

And then a flurry of questions starts crashing to the forefront of my mind. Did Oscar tell Conrad what he saw? Have they been in this together the whole time? Or has Oscar been holding this secret inside? But what does it even matter.

Conrad’s shoes squelch through the mud towards us, and I feel my hackles rise. It’s like danger approaching and I want it away from me now. A dog barks in the distance and my head springs up, suddenly aware that we are out in the open and anyone could be watching this horrific spectacle. But there is nobody to be seen. It is just us and our web of secrets and lies.

Conrad speaks, his voice a pained whisper. “I didn’t know, Oscar. Why… why didn’t you tell me?”

Unbridled rage swells inside me and I snap my head up. “Really? You’re putting this on him?” Conrad can’t even look at me, and my anger reaches epic proportions. “You are a liar, and I will never forgive you. Never. You despicable fucking coward.”

Oscar starts to cry beside me, his shoulders bouncing up and down. Conrad takes a step towards us, but I hold out my hand to block him.

“Leave him alone. Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” Thankfully, Conrad stops in his tracks. I would have made him if he hadn’t. I put my hands on Oscar’s shoulders and turn him towards me, my nurturing instinct returning with a vengeance. This poor boy has been holding this in all this time. He has suffered too.

Jumbled words fall from his mouth, and I let him get it all out. “I don’t know, Lorelai. Honestly, until I knew she was alive, I thought it was just a dream. Even now I’m not sure. It was… everyone was saying she’d died. And I was so scared of her. It was only when she came back. I wasn’t lying to you, I promise. Urgh, I don’t know.”

I wrap my arm around Oscar and pull him into my body, his closeness bringing some life back into my shattered soul. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. You’ve done nothing wrong.” I do everything I can to block Conrad, and the rest of the world out, and just sit with my brother. His part of it makes more sense to me now. He saw something one night, half asleep and feeling unwell. Something that confused him, that he knew couldn’t really be true. Something that’s only come to light and begun to make sense after discovering mere days ago that his mum is in fact alive.

I stroke Oscar’s hair. “Remember what I said to you in the car. I have got your back. Whatever happens, I will always be here.” I wish Conrad would just leave us alone. He is not welcome here anymore. He has betrayed us both. Yet he still has the audacity to speak.

“I’m here for you too. Both of you. And I know this won’t mean anything to you now, Lorelai, but I did try to talk to you. I know I should have tried harder, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

I turn and flash him a look filled with contempt. I have so much to say to him, but I don’t want to upset Oscar any more than he already is. This kind of trauma causes lasting damage to a child, not to mention everything else he has already endured, and I need to protect him. And I never thought I’d ever need to protect him from his own father, but I don’t trust this man anymore. It’s a devastating realisation, but Oscar is my priority, and if Conrad or anyone else does anything to harm him again, it will be over my dead body.

“Why don’t you go back home, Conrad?” I feel pangs of the love I once felt, as I look at Conrad shrunken and defeated before me, but they flicker and die. I will not be manipulated into feeling sorry for him. The facts speak for themselves.

He tries and fails to explain himself. “I had to. She wouldn’t… she would have…” He balls his fists and rubs them into his eyes before looking skywards and letting out a guttural moan. I feel nothing but disdain.

And then a plan falls into my mind, fully formed as if by magic, and I know exactly what I need to do to free Oscar and me from all of this. Energy thrums inside me and I need to act now before devastation pulls me under again.

I turn and whisper into Oscar’s ear. “Run with me. Now.” Standing, and without waiting for an answer, I pull Oscar to his feet, holding his hand tightly. I throw Conrad a look that I hope makes it very clear he is not to follow us, before I start sprinting across the muddy field. Oscar keeps pace with me as we slip periodically on the slick, uneven terrain, but we always save each other and stay upright. A symbol of how I hope things will be from now on. Us together, against the world. Propping each other up against any and all obstacles, and not letting anything get in our way.

Conrad’s voice rings out behind us, shouting both of our names, but I ignore it and continue on. I hope he falls flat on his arse again in those stupid shoes. Oscar and I run, never stopping, until we arrive home. We stand panting on the doorstep, and Oscar looks at me, confusion and terror etched on his young face.

“Trust me,” I say with all the confidence I can muster, before I take out my key and open the door, then closing and bolting it behind me. “Go to the downstairs bathroom and lock the door behind you. Do not come out unless I come and get you.” Oscar looks around wildly. Is he even listening properly? I walk with him to the bathroom. “You hear me? Only open the door for me. Not for Mum, not for your dad, not anyone. Okay?” I can see pure fear in his eyes, and I completely understand, but I need him to trust me and do exactly as I say. “I promise you, everything will be fine. I’m going to fix this, Oscar. I’m going to fix everything.” My words are filled with a lot more conviction than I feel. “Now promise me.”

Oscar nods, a little less unsure than he was moments ago. “Okay. I promise.”

I close the door and listen for the lock before making my way back to the front door, throwing my filthy coat on the floor and kicking off my dirty shoes. The normal Lorelai would be horrified at this behaviour. But I am as far away from the normal version of me as I have ever been.

It’s time to put everything right.

It’s time for me to get answers.

38

LORELAI

FOUR YEARS AGO. AGE FOURTEEN.

I freeze, as though somehow my lack of movement will make me less visible. But that would only work if Conrad were a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Although I’ve since learnt that this was a myth perpetuated in the Jurassic Park movies, and not at all based in fact. I try to pull my stupid brain away from dinosaur trivia and back to the present moment, where I have been caught red-handed, snooping through Conrad’s belongings. He folds his arms and stands waiting for me to answer. I’m so annoyed at getting caught, especially as I had just decided to do the right thing. If I’d had even one more minute, his bag would be back where it was, and none of this would be happening.

I attempt to explain myself, holding up the piece of paper. “I was looking for this. But I was going to put it back, I promise you. You probably don’t believe me, but I was going to talk to you instead.”

Conrad walks over and plucks the piece of paper from my hand, before opening it and spreading it out on the table. “Any reason you’re looking for my timetable?”

My cheeks flush. Okay, so my sixth sense failed me. I’m not sure what to do. Could I use this as an out? Say I needed to see his timetable to plan something? Thankfully, Conrad saves me from starting to spout some utter nonsense and digging myself a deeper hole than I’m already in.

“Don’t lie to me, Lorelai.”

And so I don’t. I just purse my lips and keep quiet. Conrad methodically folds up the paper, puts it back where it came from, then closes his bag and calmly places it by the side of the table. I feel about five years old. He gestures to the seat closest to me, and I slide into it, my mouth still firmly shut. Conrad sits across from me then reaches into his back pocket, takes out another folded piece of paper, and puts it on the table in front of him. My eyes go wide, and I stare at it, then at him. His face is deathly serious.

“Now I don’t know how you know about this, or why you were looking for it. But I think we need to talk.”

I nod and feel a desperate need to fill the silence when he doesn’t continue speaking. “I’m sorry.”

Conrad doesn’t look too angry, but I still feel horribly nervous.

“I can see that, Lorelai. And it’s fine, honestly. But I do want you to tell me what you know, and I want the truth, the whole truth.”

And nothing but the truth, my brain adds. But he’s right, what point would there be in saying anything else? And this is the perfect time. It’s just us, with no chance of Mum overhearing.

“I heard Mum come into your room last night.”

Conrad raises an eyebrow. “You heard, or you listened?”

I feel my face going red. “Okay, I listened. But to be fair, it’s hard not to. The walls are like paper.”

He nods thoughtfully. “And what did you hear?”

“Everything, I think.” Conrad stares at me. Clearly that won’t suffice. “I heard Mum say she had some demands or conditions or something. And then telling you to read them. So obviously, I don’t know what they are.”

“And is that all?”

“No, I heard it all, Conrad. Her whole, ‘I don’t care about the kids, or you’ bit. Her saying, ‘I hate being a mother’. And before you start, I’m not upset or anything. I mean, I’m upset for Oscar. But it’s not news to me, I’m well aware she doesn’t like me.” I’m annoyed at myself for getting irritated and sounding a bit petulant. I want him to think I’m grown up enough to hear whatever Mum has asked of him. But it’s hard. “What I’m really bothered about is what it means for Oscar and me. I’m scared you’re going to leave us.” I’m not sure whether to say the next bit. It sounds a little selfish, and I know it’s not true, but I need reassurance. “I’m worried you’ll only want Oscar. Or that Mum will force me to go with her.” I’m desperate not to cry, but a tear escapes, and I wipe it away furiously.

Conrad takes both of my hands in his and there is nothing but love in his eyes. I instantly feel better, but I still need him to say the words.

“I love you and Oscar exactly the same, Lorelai. I always have and I always will. But I understand why you’re scared.” I feel suddenly overwhelmed, and I move to pull my hands away, but he holds on tight. “Look at me. Now I know what you heard your mum say must have been upsetting, even if you say it wasn’t. And that’s okay.”

I shrug. “Sure, it’s hardly nice. It’s just not new information.”

Conrad’s shoulders sag. I know he wishes things were different. But they will never be. What matters now is what happens next.

“Can you just tell me what she wants? Even if it’s awful, I need to know.”

Conrad closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “She wants a divorce. She wants me to have full custody of Oscar, and she wants a court order for me to have parental responsibility for you.”

Butterflies, excited ones, appear in my stomach. So far, this all sounds pretty good.

“And… are you happy about that?”

Conrad puffs out a breath. “Happy feels like the wrong word. Even with how bad things have been, and everything that’s happened, I was still hoping everything would work out. Silly, I know, but I really wanted us to stay as a family.”

I can’t stop my face from falling. He’s clearly not as pleased at this as I am.

He must clock my expression. “I’m not explaining myself very well. Of course I’m happy that you and Oscar get to stay with me. You both mean the absolute world to me. It’s just the whole thing is so awful. For you and your brother most of all.”

It’s horrible seeing him look so guilty and sad. “All Oscar and I need is a parent who loves us and takes care of us. And that’s you, Conrad. And I don’t feel upset really, I feel relieved. For Oscar especially. I’m worried how Mum’s behaviour will affect him when he’s older. I mean, if she doesn’t want to be here, I don’t really want her here either.”

Conrad’s face is filled with pain, but there’s something else in there, relief perhaps. “It means so much to hear you say that, Lorelai. And though it’s not how I wanted things to turn out, it’s where we are.” But then his face changes, and my stomach lurches.

“There’s something else isn’t there?”

Conrad tries to brush me off, but his expression speaks a thousand words. “No, nothing you need to worry about at least.”

I’m not letting him get away with that. “I thought we were being honest. And telling me not to worry about something is only going to make me worry even more. Tell me, I can handle it, I promise.” And I believe I can. As long as I know what I’m dealing with and Conrad is on my side, I think I can deal with just about anything.

“It’s just money stuff. The house.”

Conrad must think I’m attached to this house, and I understand why. It’s where I lived with my dad. “I don’t care if we have to move.”

“No, we won’t have to move.”

I’m surprised at that. What does he mean then?

“Like I said, it’s not stuff you have to worry about. She wants her half of the house. Well, more than half, to be fair. And quite a lot of money. But I can manage it. Honestly, Lorelai, I just need some time to work things out. Move money around, stuff like that. But I can give her exactly what she has asked for. I don’t want you to have to think about any of that. It’s not important. What’s important is that you and Oscar will get to stay here in your home with me.”

His words are music to my ears. “Honestly, Conrad, I can’t think of anything that would make me happier than that. And I just know Oscar will feel exactly the same. Mum can go off and live the life she wants. See us on birthdays and weekends, or whatever. Everyone will be so much happier.” I see something flash in Conrad’s eyes. “What is it?”

“She, um, she wants to move away.”

I hadn’t thought of that. But that’s not such a big problem. There’s nothing really keeping her here without us. But I sense that’s not everything.

“She said, and I’m so sorry, Lorelai, but she said that she never wants to see you and Oscar again. That she gets a clean break.” Conrad looks at me like he’s waiting for a bomb to explode, his shoulders hovering somewhere around his ears. I put him out of his misery quickly.

“Is that what you were worried about telling me?”

His eyebrows furrow. “Well, yes.”

I smile at him. “To be honest when you started talking about full custody and adoption, I kind of assumed we’d hardly see her, so it’s not that big of a difference.”

He relaxes slightly. “Oh, and you’re… you’re okay with that.”

I think carefully before answering. I don’t want to come across as uncaring, but considering what was going through my head about what might have been in Mum’s letter, I kind of feel like I’ve won the lottery.

“It’s a bit like what you said earlier. About not being happy, but we are where we are. Am I okay with the fact that my mother doesn’t want me or my brother, and never wants to see us again? No. Do I wish we were a nice, normal family? Yes. But what I am happy about is the thought that you, me, and Oscar get to stay together, and all the horribleness and sadness there is in the house will be gone.”

Conrad takes a moment to think. “So you’re saying that if you never got to see her again, that there wasn’t even an option, even when you’re older, you’d be okay with that?”

I answer instantly and honestly. “Yes, as long as I have you and Oscar.”

Conrad suddenly becomes very serious, and I feel an odd, ominous feeling take over my body.

“If I do this, I mean, if I agree to her demands, then you could never go back. I need you to think about it very carefully. It would be like she’d… like she’d dropped off the face of the earth. Disappeared.”

I appreciate that he’s trying to get me to think carefully about my decision, but his demeanour is horribly dark, and I don’t like it one bit. And I can’t shake the feeling he was about to say, ‘Like she’d died’, and then stopped himself. But then I suppose this is a monumental, life-changing moment, so perhaps his intensity is appropriate. Yet something still feels off. I do my best to ignore his unusual behaviour and simply answer him again.

“Yes, I think you should agree. Me, you and Oscar being together is all that matters.”

He looks so downcast, and I wonder briefly whether he thinks badly of me for being so accepting of what should be crushing news to a child.

But then his face fills with warmth. “I love you, Lorelai. And thank you. I’ve been a total mess today, and I can’t tell you how much better I feel after talking this through with you.” He stands up and comes over to hug me. I hug him back, trying to shake the weird trepidation I feel.

Somehow, I know he’s still holding something back.

But what? And why?

39

LORELAI

PRESENT DAY

I don’t give myself even a moment to reconsider. Thinking time is not needed here. I am going to confront Mum about everything. About her disappearance. About her peering in at the window like the ghost of Christmas past. About crashing around in the basement. I am an adult now, not a child. She owes me an explanation.

Before I can take even one foot up the stairs, I hear Conrad’s key in the lock. He turns it, but the door doesn’t budge. I have the internal bolt on, and there is no way he can get in. He doesn’t carry a key to the back door on him, so he has no other options to get in. I take my phone out of my back pocket and call him. I hear him muttering and cursing through the door.

He answers and bursts into a tirade. “Lorelai, let me in. I don’t know what you think you’re⁠—”

I cut him off, and even I’m impressed at the calmness and confidence in my tone. “No. Now listen to me carefully. I want you to go and sit in the car.” He tries to protest but his words are barely intelligible. “I won’t say this again, Conrad. I am going to speak with my mother. You are going to sit in the car and let me do that. Oscar is safe, and I will not involve him in any of this.” Unlike you, I want to add spitefully, but I stick to the important parts. I can only hear Conrad’s breathing. I soften my tone. “I think you owe me that much. You have been lying to me all this time, and I am going to put things right.”

His voice is soft and pleading. “Lorelai, please. Don’t.”

But I won’t be dissuaded. “If you try to do anything to get into this house, I will call the police.” I hear him gasp. “Don’t test me, Conrad. I am asking you nicely to give me some time to speak with my mother. If you don’t respect that, then I promise you I will call the police.” He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t argue either. “Remember when Mum gave you her demands, when she wanted to leave us years ago, well now I’m giving you mine. And I don’t think I’m being unreasonable. Not even close.” I can almost picture him on the other side of the door. Filled with turmoil yet ultimately backed up against a wall with nowhere to turn. But this is the way it has to be. My whole family has been lying to me, and I need to find out why. “I’m going to hang up now. Everything will be fine, I promise you.”

“Be careful. You don’t know⁠—”

I cut him off before he can finish his sentence, then he withdraws his key from the lock, opens his car, and gets inside. Peering out at him through the kitchen window where he can’t see me, I watch as he sits gripping the steering wheel as though holding on for dear life. I can only imagine what’s going through his head. But I have spent too long thinking about the feelings and needs of others, and now it’s time to do something for me.

Without another thought, I make my way up the stairs. I hold up my hand to knock on Mum’s bedroom door, but immediately change my mind and barge in. Knocking suggests my presence is optional, and it is not. I do a double take as I enter the room. Mum is no longer languishing in bed, pale and weary-looking. Instead, she sits in the leather armchair by the window, legs crossed and staring at me, one corner of her mouth turned up in a mocking smirk. I want to lunge at her and wipe that stupid smile off her face. She slowly lifts one pale hand and runs it through her dark, wavy hair. Her hair looks glossy and immaculately styled. In fact, she looks amazing from top to toe. Her make-up is done beautifully, and she’s wearing a chic khaki-green drop-shoulder jumper with black wide-leg trousers that flatter her new smaller frame. She looks elegant and sophisticated.

When she speaks, gone is the croaky, pained voice that she’s been adopting since she returned. Her tone is silky smooth and filled with self-confidence.

“Would it be too clichéd of me to say I’ve been expecting you?”

She clasps her hands in her lap. I’d imagined this very differently. I’d expected to find a weak woman lying in bed, but I can’t let her assured, well-put-together appearance throw me off. I came here for answers, and I need to get them. I dive straight in.

“Are you the woman I saw at the window? From the bottom of the driveway?” I feel like I already know the answer to this. But I want to hear it from her.

Her brows furrow comically. “What on earth are you talking about? Are you feeling okay, Lorelai?” Her face breaks out into an evil grin. She’s taunting me, but I won’t let her beat me.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You were in the basement. You tried to scare me outside the kitchen window. You popped up like the grim reaper at the bottom of the driveway. And in the supermarket. I know it’s you. What I don’t know is why. And the necklace too. I don’t know how you did it, but I know you switched them.”

Mum’s eyes glint with evil delight. “Why wouldn’t you want a necklace with your dear mum’s initial on it? Something to remember me by. It was so lovely to see them out together shopping for you.” Her face suddenly turns serious. “Where are Conrad and Oscar?”

She’s obviously checking whether they can hear her before she says anything further and incriminates herself. But I don’t care what she wants. I came for the truth, and I am going to get it.

“Conrad isn’t in the house. And Oscar is downstairs. It’s just us.”

She uncrosses and recrosses her legs slowly. “Remember when it was just us, Lorelai?”

I wasn’t expecting that, and I’m not letting her dodge my last question. But she’s clever and knows just how to push my buttons.

“You mean when you were a decent human being? Yes, barely. But I’m not interested in that now. Answer my question.”

She twirls a finger through her hair. With me standing and her sitting, I should feel at an advantage. But it’s the exact opposite. It’s as though she’s sitting on a throne, holding court.

“I already answered that. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I glare at her. “I know it was you, and you’ve just admitted you were following Conrad and Oscar when they bought my necklace. Why would you bother to lie now when nobody can hear us?” I honestly have no clue why she is doing this. But one thing I do know is that her reasons won’t end well for me unless I fight back.

“Conrad and I have had some lovely chats since I got back. He’s been so supportive.” My chest fills with rage, and I remind myself to breathe deeply and calmly. If I succumb to her attempts to rile me, she will win. I fold my arms and say nothing. “It’s good timing, isn’t it?” She raises her eyebrows, but I won’t give her the satisfaction of responding. “Me coming back just as you become an adult. Conrad and I don’t have to look after you anymore, do we?”

I can’t hold my tongue any longer. “There is no ‘you and Conrad’. If you hadn’t disappeared, you were going to get a divorce anyway. You think you can just sit there and feed me lies? Conrad told me everything.”

Mum throws her head back and laughs. “Do you honestly believe that?”

Her words stop me in my tracks, because she’s right. I know Conrad has lied to me. “He told me all about your demands, the money, and that you never wanted to see us again.” She tries to hide it, but I can see I’ve surprised her with that. “And I told him that I didn’t care. And that Oscar wouldn’t either. We’ve been perfectly happy the whole time you’ve been gone. We thought you’d died and none of us cared.” I regret the last sentence immediately. I said it to hurt her, but inadvertently, I’ve given her back the upper hand.

Her eyes sparkle with glee. “Oh but, Lorelai, the man you speak so lovingly about has been lying to you all these years. Do you really think he cares about you?”

Her words are a slap to the face, and I find myself swaying. I have to try and hold it together.

“He does care about me. The only problem here is you. When you’re not here, everything is perfect.”

She’s unperturbed by my words. “You keep telling yourself that, Lorelai. But just you watch. I’m home now, and I’m going to take back my family.” She overly enunciates her next words and stares deep into my eyes. “Me, Conrad, and Oscar.”

Words fly out of my mouth without care or consideration for anything. Just pure raw emotion. “No. You can’t take them. And they don’t want you. They’ve never wanted you. Don’t you remember what you did to Oscar?”

Her eyes fill with fire, and she spits her words out. “That was an accident. You made him believe I’d done something wrong.”

I can’t believe she’s still denying it. “That’s lies, and you know it.”

She suddenly becomes poised again and shrugs her shoulders. “We’ll have to agree to disagree, I suppose. But that doesn’t change anything. I’m back where I belong, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Her composure and delusional beliefs are infuriating. I stand tall. “No.”

She tilts her head as though pitying me. “No, what?”

“No. You’re not coming home. Conrad doesn’t want you here⁠—”

She butts in. “I think you’ll find he does. Have you asked him?”

The honest answer is no. But then she’s only just come out of hospital. I was hardly going to talk about that with him yet when she was still laid up in bed. Or at least pretending to be. “Well, Oscar definitely doesn’t want you here. Like you said, I’m an adult now. Even without Conrad, Oscar can stay with me. And before you say anything, yes, I have asked him that.” Surely a comment like that should hurt any mother. Hearing that neither of your children wants to be with you. But she is not a mother, she is a monster. She examines her nails, as though bored, before standing. I unconsciously take a step back. And I hate how pleased with herself she looks at my reaction.

“I don’t think that would work, do you? You’re ill, Lorelai. Definitely not fit to be in charge of a vulnerable child.”

She smiles sweetly, and I ball my fists. “And you think you are? And I am not ill! There’s nothing wrong with me.”

She takes a step forward and I hold my ground. I am more than a match for her, physically at least. Psychologically, she’s the kind of disturbed that no one can compete with.

“But didn’t you start seeing things just after I disappeared? Seeing me, I mean.” She holds her hand to her chest as though flattered by the thought. I swallow down my rage. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone more than I do in this moment.

Curtly and without emotion, I answer her. “That was a long time ago. It was grief. Completely normal.”

She taps her finger on her chin. These mocking gestures are really starting to piss me off. “But what about this ‘woman in the window’? Clearly, you’re going mad again. Nobody would let you be in charge of a child.”

My anger ebbs away, leaving me bewildered and broken, as I take in the woman before me. This woman who is trying to destroy me is my own mother. All my emotions flood to the surface, and the abandoned, devastated child that lives inside me rushes out.

“What have I ever done to you? Why do you hate me so much?” No matter how many times I am disappointed and devastated by my mum’s behaviour, there is always a small part of me that hopes to hear something kind and caring from her. But true to form, she explodes into a vicious and bitter tirade.

“Because you stole my life. I never wanted you. Your dad doted on you and always ignored me. And the same exact thing happened with Conrad. You take everything, and what have you ever given me? Nothing.”

My inner child is desperate to tell her that all I ever wanted was a happy family. That she’s wrong, she loved me once, I know she did. And I never wanted to take anything from her, all I’ve ever wanted is kindness and love. But I know words like that would fall on deaf ears and probably be used against me.

“Then why would you want to come back now? I don’t believe for a second that you want to be a mother to Oscar again. You don’t have a single maternal instinct in you.” And then something comes to me. “It’s money, isn’t it?” I laugh. “You’ve run out of money and suddenly Conrad seems like a pretty decent option again.” I see something flash in Mum’s eyes that tells me I could very well have hit the nail on the head. Mum doesn’t love us, but she does love money and the life it affords her. But as she always does when faced with anything she doesn’t like the sound of, she ignores me.

“You can fight me, Lorelai. But I promise you won’t win. And I won’t lie, money is a part of it. I’m hardly broke, but I do miss the luxury of this house. My house.” She takes a step towards me, and I still manage to hold my ground. “You know I thought I’d be happy alone, doing as I pleased, and not having to put up with the constant demands of children.” I snort and her eyes fill with fire. Does she honestly think she ever catered to any of my or Oscar’s wants or needs? What a joke. Her eyes fix on me. “But it all got a little too easy after a while. I missed our back-and-forths. I missed the feeling it gave me.” She presses her palm to her chest.

“You mean you missed terrorising us? Controlling us? Making us afraid in our own home?”

She shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. “I wouldn’t put it quite like that. But I do think Conrad and Oscar need me, and I won’t have you convincing them otherwise. You’ve always been the problem, Lorelai. We’d all have been better off without you.”

I am sickened by her callousness and feel horribly ill-equipped to deal with her delusions. I can’t fight with hate like she can, it’s like having one hand tied behind my back. But if she thinks she can oust me from this family and pick up right where she left off, she can think again. I will not stand idly by and let my poor brother become the victim of her unquenchable thirst for control. And even though I feel like David standing in front of Goliath, I know I have to fight. For him.

“Oscar won’t stay with you. You’re not his mother anymore.” I lift my head now, a new defiance in my eyes. Mum stands, cold and immovable.

“But he won’t have a choice. You’re not well, Lorelai. Conrad and I will make sure you get the help you need.”

I can’t take this anymore. Does she honestly think she can convince me I’ve been hallucinating? “I know it was you. Conrad will believe me.”

Mum takes two slow steps away from me before draping her hair over her face. My stomach twists with dread, as in an almost carbon copy of the scene that day, she holds up a long finger and draws it across her throat. Bile rises up inside me as her evil eyes peer out through her hair, boring into mine, and everything inside me tells me to run. Suddenly, she lurches forward, her face only inches from mine. Panic overwhelms me as I feel her breath on my cheek. I close my eyes, desperate to wake from this living nightmare. I can’t take this anymore.

I whisper as tears stream from my eyes. “It was you. I know it was you.”

I’m trapped somewhere between terror and disbelief. I have no idea what she might do or say next, and my legs feel like they’re about to fail me. Mum takes a step backwards, flips her hair back over her shoulders, straightens down her trousers and smooths down her jumper. The sudden transformation is sickening. She looks immaculate again. She looks sane, normal, every inch a perfectly respectable person. She whispers so quietly that I’m almost convinced the voice is inside my head.

“You know I don’t like to do things by halves, Lorelai. How could Conrad refuse when I’m so weak and vulnerable now? Scaring the shit out of you was merely a bonus.”

Her words land like a kick to the stomach. This is all a twisted game to her. She flashes me a mocking grin, her eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. I feel like I’m losing my mind. How can anyone be capable of this? This woman is the devil. Then, as though a switch had been flipped, her demeanour changes one hundred and eighty degrees. The volume of her voice returns to normal, and gone is the vicious, terrifying monster of mere moments ago. It’s without a doubt the most extraordinarily terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lorelai. Maybe this is more serious than I thought. Do you need to sit down? Can I get you some water?” She gestures towards the bed. Her eyes fill with what looks like genuine concern.

It’s like there are two people inhabiting the same body. I shake my head, tears dripping down my face and blurring my vision. How do I compete with this kind of insanity? Everyone will believe her. Even I almost believe her, which terrifies me most of all.

Petrified, lost, and with no other options available to me, I close my eyes and let out the loudest, most powerful scream I can.

40

LORELAI

FOUR YEARS AGO. AGE FOURTEEN.

It’s the first week of December. The beginning of Advent. Did you know that ‘Advent’ means ‘coming’? The beginning of the season of waiting and preparation. A time of hope. And for me, that could not be more fitting. My heart feels lighter than it has in a long time.

Conrad has been very open with me since our discussion, and I with him. He has agreed to all of Mum’s conditions, and in two weeks’ time, she will be leaving. Every time I think about it, I do an internal happy dance. He assures me he’s moved money out of investments, and stocks and shares, to get the amount of money Mum wants. He hasn’t had to take any money out of the house, and apparently, we are still pretty well off. Who knew we were so rich?

I’ve been surprised by just how much he has shared with me, but I do appreciate it, and I’ve told him so. He says he wants me to trust him, and that he won’t hide anything from me anymore. It’s a really nice feeling, and I trust him completely. Mum hasn’t said a word, and I wonder if she will. Will she say goodbye when the time comes? Or will we just come home from school one day and she won’t be there? The uncertainty of it all is starting to get to me, and I need to sit down with Conrad and talk to him about how we handle it with Oscar. It’s one thing we haven’t talked about yet, and I’m not sure what Conrad is thinking or what the best way would be. Any way works for me, and I know Oscar will be much happier too. He’ll get over it and forget. I’ll make sure he never wants for a mother figure, and I’ll still be the best big sister he could want. And he couldn’t ask for a better dad than Conrad. Hasn’t he proven that he’s dedicated to us by agreeing to all of Mum’s demands?

It’s Sunday today, so Mum has already left for swimming at the shore. I heard her this morning talking with Conrad, telling him that Carly and Christine had cried off because it was too cold, but that she was going for lunch with them afterwards. She usually comes home to get changed first and drop off all her wet swimming stuff if she’s going out for lunch, but she’s probably arranged to do that at Carly or Christine’s house instead. Conrad and Mum’s conversation was oddly amicable, but I suspect it’s just an acceptance thing. There’s no point them leaving on bad terms, is there? They’re both ultimately getting what they want even if getting here has been painful.

I’ve tried to stop thinking about how weird our situation is; panic and doubt sets in if I do. I’m sure there are families out there with stranger circumstances than ours. Children living in abusive situations, and parents who stay together because they feel they have to. At least we’ve worked out something where everybody will be happy. It’s not normal, but I think that’s okay. Conrad, Oscar, and I will make it work. And even though I’m sad and angry at how Mum’s behaved and the things she has done, at least she’s been honest. Perhaps a clean break will be just what everybody needs. And who knows, despite what Conrad says, in the future Mum might change her mind and want to visit us. I’ve come to the conclusion that you can’t have everything in life, but what I have is more than enough for me.

I’m doing a bit of a dry run for Christmas dinner today. Obviously, I’m not doing an actual turkey, you can’t do that until Christmas. Well, it feels like bad luck anyway, so I’m making roast chicken instead. I’ve read that a turkey can be cooked pretty much like a big chicken, so I’m not too worried about getting it right. Conrad took me to the supermarket after golf yesterday and I got everything I needed to practise some of the vegetable sides I want to make – honey-roasted carrots, maple-roasted parsnips, and Brussel sprouts with pancetta. I can already make amazing mash and roast potatoes, and next week I’m going to practise my sauces and stuffing. I have everything in order.

Our first Christmas as a family of three is going to be spectacular. I am fizzing with excitement, and I already have screenshots on my phone of all the decorations I want to buy. I’m sure Mum won’t care how we decorate the house, given that she’s not even going to be here, so I’m going to ask Conrad to take me and Oscar shopping one day after school this week.

I stand at the kitchen counter and have one last read of my cooking schedule. Tea won’t be on the table until five, so I have at least a couple of hours before I need to start prepping.

Conrad and Oscar are playing in his room upstairs, and I decide to go and join them. Maybe we could go for a walk or something? We should probably have lunch first though.

I find them both sitting on the floor surrounded by action figures.

Oscar looks up and smiles. “Wanna play?” There’s barely any carpet visible, but I scootch some toys out of the way and sit cross-legged.

“Sure.” I grab a monster truck and roll it along the floor. “Anybody hungry?”

Oscar tilts his head and thinks. “I’ll have some cookies. Two of the big ones.”

I push the monster truck towards him. “Er, no, you won’t. You’ll have something proper first. We’re having a big dinner later, so how about some cheese on toast with cucumber sticks?” I expect a refusal or at least some back-and-forth, but Oscar agrees immediately.

“Make sure the cheese goes right to the edge though, and don’t use that bread with the birdseed in.”

“Deal.” I turn to Conrad. “I could do the same for us, but with the ‘birdseed bread’?” I hadn’t noticed before, but Conrad looks really twitchy, and he’s sweating a little. I hope he’s not coming down with something.

“Actually, Lorelai, can I leave you and Oscar here for an hour?”

I’m surprised by the request. I’ve been left on my own with Oscar before. I’m fourteen and perfectly capable of babysitting. But it’s usually Mum who leaves us alone. I can’t remember a time when Conrad has asked, but maybe he will more now it’s just going to be the three of us.

Something feels off but I keep my tone breezy. “Sure. Why, what’s up?”

Conrad doesn’t look at me, and even more sweat has appeared on his forehead. “I… have a deadline for Monday and I’ve left something important at the office. I just need to go and get it. I’ll be an hour, an hour and a half tops.” He’s on his feet, his back to me now, as though he’s in a rush. Unease pricks at my neck. Why is this suddenly so important?

“Is everything okay?”

He turns, but his eyes look somewhere off to the side of me. His face is grim and pale. What is going on?

“Yes, I just really need to get to the office. It’s… sorry.” He jumps up and almost sprints out of the room. I sit, confused and just as I’m about to follow him, I hear the front door close. That was quick. Oscar is completely oblivious, still playing with his toys. Maybe I’m just reading too much into it. Conrad has a really important job, and maybe I just don’t understand the consequences of his not meeting his deadline. I get super stressed if I think I haven’t done my schoolwork well, or I might not get something finished on time. Conscientious people do get anxious about stuff like that. And so I push the worry out of my mind and focus on Oscar.

“Right, how about that cheese on toast?”

41

LORELAI

PRESENT DAY

My throat is aching, but I do not stop screaming. It’s not a cry for help, more a desperate way of shielding myself. With my eyes closed and the sound of the years of pain and anguish I have endured erupting from my lungs, I somehow feel safe. I feel Mum’s hands on my shoulders, and she begins to shake me. I don’t resist, letting my body rock and sway, and giving in to all of the pent-up agony and suffering. Am I helping my case that I’m not crazy? Not in the slightest. But this is the only form of protest I can come up with. Mum will easily beat me with her words and manipulative actions. She will take everything from me, and I will be powerless to stop it. But she can’t control me entirely.

She hisses at me over the cacophony of my cries. “Stop, Lorelai. Do you want your brother to hear? Do you want the neighbours to call the police?”

I stop, open my eyes and stare at her. She takes her hands off my shoulders, and I notice she looks so small all of a sudden – shrunken and vulnerable. The sight pleases me, and so I close my eyes and resume screaming. I hear her muttering and shuffling around, and in my mind’s eye, I picture her tiny frame, and her flustered face. If I’d known what effect simply standing and shrieking would have on her, I’d have done it years ago.

The sound of the door opening stops me. My ears ring in the sudden silence, and my head is starting to hurt. I swallow, and my throat feels like razor blades. But I feel suddenly, indescribably better and stronger than I have for a very long time. That scream has somehow taken with it my fear and distress, and now my sense of purpose has returned with a vengeance.

I feel a lovely jolt of victory at making her leave. Okay, so she’s only left the room, but I’m still calling it a win. If I’m going to get the better of her, I’m going to have to get creative. Turning, I expect to see an empty hallway behind me, but instead, she stands just beyond the doorway, and she no longer looks rattled and weak. She is standing tall, with her hands planted on her hips. And I can see why.

Standing next to her, shoulder to shoulder, is Conrad.

I stare deep into his eyes and am met with a look of pity. It cuts me like a knife. “I asked you to stay in the car.” It hurts to speak, and my voice is tiny and pathetic-sounding. He holds his hands out in a peaceful gesture and moves towards me. I stumble backwards. I don’t want him anywhere near me. He seems to understand and backs off.

“Oscar came out and got me. He was scared, Lorelai. He’s downstairs, in the back room, with the door closed. So if we could try and keep the noise down, everything will be fine.”

I splutter out a laugh. “Everything will be fine! What planet are you living on, Conrad?”

His face falls. “You know what I mean. He won’t get frightened again.”

Mum isn’t saying anything. She stands by Conrad’s side, like they’re on the same team. My emotions keep swinging wildly between wanting to fight for the family I love so dearly, and wanting to give in, walk past them and start life again on my own. Why am I clinging onto something so damaged? Why bother fighting when I know I am going to lose? I promised Oscar, that’s why. Leaving him with this woman is not an option. I couldn’t live with myself.

Mum’s face morphs into one filled with concern and fear. “She wouldn’t stop screaming, Conrad. It was like she was in some sort of trance. And I told you, she kept going on about a woman she keeps seeing. She needs help, Conrad. We need to help her.”

Conrad doesn’t take his eyes off me. I flit my gaze to Mum, and she winks. Bitter, vitriolic words fill my mouth, but I don’t let them out. Instead, I swallow them down and focus on my stepdad. We have been through so much together, and I know him better than she does. Despite the lies he has told me, I have never done anything to make him distrust me. I have to have faith that he will believe me.

I speak calmly and with as much authority as I can muster. “Remember the basement door?” Conrad’s eyebrows knit together, but then he nods. “Well I didn’t tell you the whole truth. I heard someone down there, and then they appeared at the window. It was her. She’s been trying to make me think I’m losing my mind.”

Mum sighs. “Oh come on, do you honestly believe⁠—”

Conrad holds up a hand and cuts her off. “I want to hear this, Thea. Let her talk.” I expect Mum to ignore him and continue, but she doesn’t, she takes a different tack instead.

“Okay, well I guess we need to know what we’re dealing with. Go on, Lorelai, tell us what you think you saw.” Her face is filled with self-satisfaction, and I know she’s willing me to dig my own grave, to show Conrad I’ve lost my mind. And he may well believe that, but I need to speak my truth. I need to do this for Oscar.

“I didn’t know it was her at the time. Her hair was all matted and covering her face.” Conrad gives nothing away. I can hear his quick, shallow breaths whistling in his nose. Mum’s eyes gleam, she’s enjoying this. “Then she appeared at the bottom of the driveway and she threatened me.” I draw my trembling finger across my throat to show him. “And⁠—”

Conrad butts in. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

My shoulders sag. I knew this was going to be the most difficult part to explain. The indefensible part, the thing that does actually make me sound crazy.

“Because I was scared. And… because it was Christmas.” Then the floodgates open, and I spill my guts onto the floor. “Because I was baking fucking gingerbread and I wanted to make a gingerbread house with my little brother. Because I love you and Oscar. Because I love every little thing about our lives together, and having the perfect Christmas with my family is more important to me than anything in the whole entire world.” I can almost see Conrad’s heart breaking in front of me. I don’t know whether it’s with pity, with disbelief, or with love, but I don’t let it stop me. “It was her. She told me, no, she showed me just now. She’s been tormenting me. She even turned up at the supermarket.” I open my eyes wide and gesture wildly with my hands. “The person by my trolley at the supermarket. Remember, Conrad. Please remember. You have to believe me. Do you honestly think she just turned up randomly at a hospital after all this time with no memory? She’s trying to get rid of me. She wants you to think I’m crazy so she can have you and Oscar to herself.”

Mum puffs out an exaggerated breath. “Oh please.”

But I’m not done yet. “She wants her cushy life back with you and Oscar. And I can’t let her do that to you. She’ll worm her way back in and control you again. She’ll ruin everything you, Oscar, and I have built together. You need to help me stop her.” My entire body aches with the weight of everything I have just said, and I heave out ragged breaths. I am spent. I am done. There’s nothing more I can give. Conrad remains looking at Mum, and she seizes the opportunity to take centre stage.

“Well it looks like I’m back just at the right time, doesn’t it? You can’t possibly think it’s okay to have her near Oscar? Listen to what she’s saying.”

My fate is in Conrad’s hands now, and although my trust in him has been shattered into a million ragged pieces, I need him on my side. He is the significantly lesser of two evils in this room. He looks slowly to me and then back at Mum, and I hold my breath, waiting for the verdict.

“I think it’s about time for some honesty in this family.”

Mum’s shoulders stiffen, and her face twists into a menacing sneer. “Do you think that’s wise, Conrad? For you, I mean. Do you really want her to know what you did?”

My heart is thundering at a hundred miles an hour. What is she talking about?

Conrad faces me. He looks like he’s aged a hundred years. “I’m so sorry, Lorelai. I did what I thought was best. For us.”

42

LORELAI

FOUR YEARS AGO. AGE FOURTEEN.

I hear Conrad’s key in the door. It hasn’t been an hour, more like two and a half. Oscar and I are lying on the sofa together watching TV, and I peer over the back of the sofa as he enters. The first thing I notice is that his shoes are missing.

“Hey, what happened to your shoes?”

“Oh, I left them outside. I, um, stepped in dog poo. I’ll sort them later.”

I nod. Weird though. He’s just parked up his car, did he step in it on the driveway, or while he was at work? Did he drive the car with poo all over his shoe? He looks no less flustered than when he left, so I don’t question him further, but he doesn’t have his work bag or any important-looking documents in his hand.

“Take it you didn’t find what you needed?”

He pulls off his coat and walks to the closet as he speaks. “Yeah, I, er, emailed it to myself. Took a while but I think I’ve got it sorted.”

There’s something off about him, and I get the definite feeling he is lying to me. But again, I don’t ask any further questions in front of Oscar. Conrad has always been someone who leaves his work at the office. He doesn’t like his work life seeping into family time, so he probably feels pretty bad about having to leave us to go into the office on a Sunday. The last thing I want to do is make him feel worse about that. His cheeks are bright red, and his hair looks windswept. I glance out of the window at the relatively calm day. I try to lighten the mood.

“What’s going on with your hair? It looks crazy.”

Conrad stops, statue still, and runs his hands through it before giving a feeble laugh. “Had the heat blasting in the car. Cold out there.”

I suppose that makes sense. But his demeanour is all wrong. He’s definitely out of sorts.

Oscar gets onto his knees and peeks over the sofa. “Wanna watch with us?”

Conrad suddenly looks all emotional. “I think I’ll grab a shower first.”

Didn’t he have a shower this morning?

He notices my expression. “Sorry, just give me ten minutes. I almost dropped the ball on something pretty big at work. But it’s sorted now, just need to get my head straight, and then I’ll come help with cooking. You still doing your Christmas veggies?”

I check my watch. “Yep, and I need to get started soon. You can do some peeling and chopping, but I want to do the rest.”

Oscar slumps back into the sofa. “Is there anything else but vegetables?”

I poke him playfully in the ribs with my finger. “Yes, but I promise you they will be delicious.”

“Doubt it.”

I turn back around to get Conrad to help convince him, but he has disappeared. I hear him walking around upstairs, and the shower turning on. I snuggle back in with Oscar. I’m often oversensitive when it comes to people’s behaviour, yet another unwanted gift from Mum. I’m forever on edge with her and never know how she’s going to behave from one day to the next. Conrad has had a tricky day, and me poking at him won’t help. When he comes down, I’ll do my best to distract him from whatever work worries he has going on. That’s what families do for each other.

* * *

Even though I much prefer being in the kitchen by myself, I surrender control and let Conrad and Oscar help with the prep. I’m reminded of the days when I’d only started out cooking. Conrad taught me so much. He encouraged me, and I probably created a lot of mess, and made things take much longer, back then. But he never minded. So I ignore the fact that the carrots and parsnips haven’t been cut quite as uniformly as I like, and I try not to wince when Conrad adds milk before butter when finishing the mash. You should always add butter first, as it stops them from going gluey.

Conrad’s tetchiness has eased significantly, and he seems almost back to his normal self. As we sit together at the table, tucking into the food, I make mental notes as I try everything. The chicken, roast potatoes and gravy are a perfect ten. No notes. The carrots need more honey, and the parsnips need less maple syrup. An easy fix. The pancetta Brussel sprouts are probably the best Brussel sprouts I have ever eaten, but Brussel sprouts are grim no matter how much bacon you stir in. I’ll leave them as they are. “You can’t turn a donkey into a racehorse” as my dad used to say.

Mum isn’t here, which is not a total surprise. Sometimes, when she goes out on a Sunday, she comes back for tea, but often, she stays out until the evening or occasionally until late. What I like is that none of us has commented on it, especially Oscar. Nothing feels missing, nobody is pining for her presence. We are just a family having a roast dinner on a Sunday. Soon enough, this will be how it is forever.

I had planned to chat to Conrad more about it tonight after Oscar had gone to bed, particularly the bit about how we handle breaking the news to Oscar, but after the day he’s had, I think I’ll leave it for tomorrow. We’ve got plenty of time.

Oscar puts down his knife and fork. “Done.”

I assess his plate. He’s eaten up pretty well. “What’s the verdict on the dreaded vegetables then?”

He points at the sprouts. “You should just do the bacon next time, that was yummy, the green bits taste like sweaty socks.”

Conrad and I both laugh. I smile at him, it’s nice to see him looking so relaxed again.

“And I don’t like the yellow carrots, I’ll just have the orange ones next time.”

I’ll take that as a win. I thought I might get away with calling the parsnips ‘yellow carrots’, but getting any kind of vegetable into a little boy is a triumph in my opinion.

We clear the table together, and Conrad takes Oscar for a bath while I clean the kitchen. I would usually leave a plate for Mum, but today I purposefully don’t. It’s little steps like this that will help me transition to our new life. I keep swinging between relief and guilt, excitement and trepidation, never quite sure how I actually feel. But I want to be the best possible support I can be to my little brother when it happens. I will look after him always.

* * *

When my alarm sounds the next morning, something immediately feels off. I wake suddenly and completely, as though something has startled me. I can’t describe it, but I know even before I set a foot out of bed that something is wrong. The house feels heavy, and anxiety floods through me with no apparent cause. I sit, waiting for the feeling to ease, but it only heightens to the point where I find myself struggling for breath.

I think back to last night. Everything was normal. Conrad seemed back to his typical self, Oscar went to sleep without any fuss, and Conrad and I went to bed as usual. Nothing was worrying me when I went to sleep. I’ve done all my homework, and it’s a completely normal day at school today. So what is this feeling that has gripped my insides and won’t let go? I tiptoe out of bed and pull on my dressing gown. Peering out into the corridor, I notice Conrad’s door is ajar, enough for me to see he’s not in there. But that’s not unusual. Sometimes I’m up first, sometimes it’s him. Mum’s door is closed as usual, as is Oscar’s. I assume he will still be sleeping. He’s not easy to wake in the mornings.

Light from downstairs shines a faint glow on the landing. Conrad must be downstairs already. But there is none of the usual sounds of him making coffee or emptying the dishwasher. There is only silence, and it does nothing to ease my panic. My guts roil, and my mind begins to churn out reasons for my crippling unease. Something must have happened with Mum and Conrad last night. She was still out when I went to bed, but I didn’t give it a second thought. There were no arguments or noise of any kind after I went to sleep. I’m a very light sleeper. If there had been shouting, I would likely have woken up.

The only thing I can think of is that she’s changed her mind, that she’s decided to stay and maintain our miserable family existence instead of leaving us to be happy. Somehow my body knows that without being told. Since I heard the news, I’ve often contemplated that this might happen. It somehow all feels too easy. If she’s decided to stay, it will be out of spite. There wouldn’t be any other reason. Unless it’s that she’s asked for more money, money that Conrad can’t find. Whatever it is, I need Conrad to know I have his back. And so without another thought, and even though my heart feels like it’s going to burst with fear and foreboding, I walk downstairs.

Conrad sits solemnly at the kitchen table, with his head bowed as though in prayer. He is alone, and there is nothing on the table but his hands, fidgeting and picking. I stop and wait for him to see me, but he seems lost in his own world. A world I’m terrified to enter. I should just go and sit opposite him, but something about this moment feels private. So I simply stand, feeling like an intruder in my own home. When he eventually raises his head, the sight of his face makes my whole body start to tremble. He looks utterly broken. His skin is slack, and his eyes are red and puffy, and filled with… with what?

And then it hits me like a punch to the gut. I recognise that look. I wore it on my face for many years as a young child, saw it staring back at me in the mirror.

It’s grief.

And suddenly I know.

43

LORELAI

PRESENT DAY

“I did what I thought was best. For us.”

Conrad’s words play on repeat in my mind. I want to believe him, but the things I’ve seen and learnt in the last few days have shattered everything I ever thought about him.

Mum carries on with her vitriolic attack on me. “She’s dangerous, Conrad. Listen to her. Do you honestly believe the things she’s saying?”

Conrad’s eyes dart around the room, focusing on nothing in particular, before he closes them and lets out an exasperated groan. “Would you just stop, Thea? I need to talk to her. I need to tell my daughter the truth.”

“She’s not your⁠—”

Conrad’s eyes fill with fire, and he thrusts his finger out, stopping barely an inch from Mum’s face. “Don’t you dare! Lorelai is my daughter. I might not be her biological father, but she is my daughter.” He looks at me, and the anger falls from his face, replaced by a deep sadness. “I’m going to tell you everything, Lorelai.” He addresses Mum again, his tone solid and resolute. “And don’t try and stop me.”

Mum folds her arms. “Very well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I want you to think back, Lorelai. To how things were back then. To how you felt, and how Oscar felt. Take yourself back there and try to understand. I was desperate. All I ever wanted was for you and Oscar to be happy. Nothing I did, nothing I have ever done, has been for me. Only for you and your brother.” He pauses, and I try to do as he asks. The dreadful memories rise up inside me. I let those feelings of worthlessness, of fear, of feeling unwanted and uncomfortable every day wash over me. I am that vulnerable child once more. I give him a brief nod and prepare myself for whatever I am about to hear, knowing that nothing will ever be the same again.

Conrad barely blinks as he speaks, reaching into my soul with his words. “I lied to you about your mum’s demands. I told you she wanted to move away and cut all ties, but it was more than that.” His voice drops to a whisper. “She wanted you and Oscar to think she was dead. And… and I went along with it. I’m so sorry.”

I let that fact settle for a moment. I’m surprised but not horrified. It’s almost anticlimactic. As soon as Mum said, ‘What you did’, I had conjured up much worse scenarios. I’d even contemplated that Conrad had tried to kill her. Comparatively, this doesn’t sound so terrible. But I suspect there is more to come.

I remember the day, the Sunday when Mum didn’t come home, and how weird Conrad was being. How he left Oscar and me alone and disappeared for hours. Coming home with dirty shoes and without the work he had so desperately needed to retrieve from the office.

I pretend Mum isn’t here and ask my question. “When you said you had to go to the office that day, where did you go?”

Conrad rubs the nape of his neck. “Everywhere and nowhere. Reality kicked in, and I went to try to find her. I went to the beach, I drove around aimlessly, I even pulled up outside the police station briefly. I suddenly realised that I couldn’t do it to you and Oscar.”

Despite his obvious devastation, I can’t hold in my next words. “But you did. You let me believe my mother had died.”

Conrad looks like I’ve just kicked him in the stomach. “I know this will never be enough, but I am so sorry. I had to, she said that if I didn’t, she would⁠—”

Mum’s voice rings out. “Woah, woah. I think you’d better stop there, don’t you, Conrad?”

Conrad rises up, and for a minute, I fear he’s going to strike her. “No, I won’t stop, Thea. I’ll never stop. I let you lie and manipulate me all this time.” He returns his attention to me. “She said she would tell the police I’d been abusing you and Oscar if I didn’t go along with it. I couldn’t… I would never…” Tears begin to fill his eyes, and a new-found hatred for my mother blossoms in my chest.

“You did what?”

There is not an ounce of emotion on her face. No sorrow, no guilt, absolutely nothing. My mother has no soul.

“Believe whatever you want to, Lorelai. You always do.” She’s not even trying to deny it. And now I understand everything. Mum threatened Conrad with something that, to a loving father, would be a fate worse than death. How could anyone stoop so low?

Conrad croaks out his words between sobs, a shell of the man I know. “I couldn’t deal with that, Lorelai. It would have completely destroyed me. Even though it was all a complete lie, mud sticks. I know you would have stood by me, but you’ve seen what she’s capable of. It would’ve ruined all our lives. And I couldn’t have you and Oscar questioned by the police. Can you imagine how horrific that would’ve been? I had to do what she said. I hope you understand.”

And I do. I’m not even remotely surprised to hear she could do something so depraved, and I do not want to spend another second of my life anywhere near this poisonous, despicable woman. But first, I have questions.

I face her, stronger than I have ever felt in her presence. “How did you get away with it? How have you been able to convince everyone you’ve been missing all this time? Why have the police not tracked you down?”

A wicked smile crosses Mum’s face. “Oh dear, Lorelai. You really are stupid aren’t you. Do you want to answer that, Conrad?”

I don’t care who I hear it from, but I deserve to know.

44

LORELAI

FOUR YEARS AGO. AGE FOURTEEN.

I find myself sitting in the chair opposite Conrad before I even know what’s happening. I don’t remember walking here. It’s as though time has glitched. I say nothing. I don’t want to ask the question. Conrad is trembling, and my body feeds off him and begins to shake violently as though the room is several degrees below freezing. I know already. I feel it deep in my bones.

Conrad rubs his chin, and I watch his lips as he talks, as though I need to see the words as well as hear them.

“Your mum didn’t come back last night. She… her car and her clothes are still by the sea.” He’s not looking at my face. His eyes are locked on a point about an inch past my right ear. Shouldn’t he be looking at me as he delivers this incomprehensibly terrible news? I’m irritated with myself for focusing on that rather than what he’s actually saying, but it feels wrong of him.

“Is she dead?” A question of only three small words that has the power to change everything. He holds his head in his hands as though it might fall off otherwise. Before I know it, I am out of my chair and leaning over the table. “Fucking look at me. Is she dead?” His head shoots up, fear and loss etched on his face. I force myself back into my chair, my entire body vibrating. I need to calm down. I’m making this worse than it has to be, and it is already the stuff of nightmares. But why isn’t he answering me? It’s a simple question. Even if the answer is life-altering, it’s still straightforward. Delaying it won’t make it any different.

“No, I mean, we don’t know. The police are looking for her.”

I shout without meaning to. “The police!” What has happened in this house while I’ve been asleep?

“Yes, they were here. I… called them when I woke about 5am and she w-wasn’t here.”

Conrad is stumbling over his words, but I am not. “And you didn’t think to wake me?”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t know anything then. But they called… and they, they found her things at the shore.” I glare at him. Who is this man? How could he have left me in bed while all this was going on? And I can’t believe I slept through it all. “I have to go down to the station this morning.”

I sit, my chest heaving, trying to digest what I’ve just heard. Flickers of reasonable thoughts try to make their way through, but my overwhelming feelings are ones of anger and disbelief. None of this makes any sense.

“Can I come with you?”

His eyes widen. He isn’t just surprised by my request, he looks panicked. “No.” Then he gathers himself and answers more calmly. “No. They won’t allow that, Lorelai, you and Oscar will have to stay here, you’re too young.”

Anger flares again. How can he possibly put Oscar and me in the same boat? He’s six, and I’m almost fifteen. Does he know the police won’t let me come? Has he even asked? I cross my arms and silently seethe.

“It’ll just be them asking me questions. When she left, that sort of thing.”

I don’t care what sort of thing it will be. What I care about is being shut out and treated like I’m five years old. I have nothing else to say to him, so I get up, push my chair in and stand behind it.

“Where are you going, Lorelai? Sit down, let’s talk.”

I fling my arms out. “Talk about what? Talk about how my mum is probably dead! About how you let me sleep when you knew that, and I didn’t?” Conrad’s mouth moves, but nothing comes out. “Or how about how both my parents are dead now? That would be fun, let’s talk about that.” I know nothing I am saying is helping the situation. I can see my attitude is hurting Conrad, and it’s hurting me too. But how am I supposed to be acting? Show me the rules and I’ll follow them, because right now I have no clue how to behave. “Or I know, why don’t we chat about how my probably dead mum hated me and never wanted to see me again. Well I suppose she’ll get her wish now, won’t she? Or maybe we should talk about how everything is ruined now. How our plans for us to be a happy family are well and truly fucked because she decided to go swimming in fucking December and died. How we’ll never be happy again!” I only stop because I don’t have enough breath in my lungs to say another word. I feel a scream building in my chest, but I don’t have the energy to set it free. Holding on to the back of the chair, my whole world starts to fall apart around me, because although I was being spiteful and inappropriately flippant with what I just said, I can’t help but feel every word is true.

My mother is dead, and she’s ruined everything.

Conrad stands and holds out his arms, his eyes pleading with me to fall into them. But I can’t. I don’t want to be touched. I stumble backwards towards the stairs, muttering as I go.

“I’m going to get ready for school. Are you waking Oscar, or will I?”

Conrad shakes his head as though trying to clear it. “No, you can’t go to school, not… not today.”

I glare at him, stabbing my finger at him as I spit out my words. “I’m a child, aren’t I? You said it yourself. I can’t come with you, so where else am I supposed to go?”

He takes a step towards me, but I warn him to stay put with my eyes, and he stands still. “We’ll sort something. But please, sit down. Stop, stop… this.”

I want to, I really do. But angry me has taken over. “No, I am going to get ready for school. That’s what I want.”

“But—”

I don’t let him finish. I have no desire to hear another word. “Just you try and stop me.” I stomp to the stairs, stumbling halfway up and landing painfully on my elbow. I crawl up the rest of the staircase, focusing on my bedroom door as I make it to the top.

Oscar’s door is still closed, and not a single noise is coming from inside. My chest aches when I think of what he will have to wake up to. He didn’t even know Mum was planning to leave. He knows nothing. I crash through my bedroom door and pull my uniform off my chair. My blazer snags on the chair’s back, and it tumbles to the floor, barely missing my foot. I stare at the toppled chair and let the clothes fall out of my hands. Losing my grip on everything.

Looking around my room, I’m shocked to see everything looks just as it did when I woke this morning. How can that possibly be? The world isn’t the same anymore. My mother, the person whom I hated and loved equally with such ferocity, is gone. Forever. And not in the way I had hoped and longed for.

I know at this moment that I will never be the same again. I will never get over this. All I have ever wanted is a happy family. Is that so much to ask for? What have I done to deserve this complete and utter devastation of a life?

I sink to the floor and lie on my side, holding my knees tightly to my chest.

And then I weep, because there is nothing else left to do.

45

LORELAI

PRESENT DAY

Conrad’s shoulders slump. “Don’t listen to her, Lorelai. You’re not stupid. You’re trusting and kind.” He pauses as though waiting for me to say something. What does he want, a thank you? I’m not saying another word until I hear the whole story. “I’ve lived in fear this whole time. Waiting. Waiting for her to come back, waiting for you to find out. For everything to go wrong. I can’t actually believe how good things have been all these years.” He raises his eyes to me, but I keep my lips clamped shut. “The police were never involved.”

I suddenly feel so weak and immeasurably tired. This is too enormous, and I don’t think I can take it. I want to be strong, especially with Mum watching me. She feeds off my weakness and pain. But I am in pain, and my strength has been sapped to nothing.

I mumble through trembling lips, “But you said… the police were here. You went to the station.”

Conrad shakes his heavy head. “No. I lied. I lied about it all.” And then I remember. All his excuses and reasons why I couldn’t be near anything to do with the police investigation. “Remember why I did it, Lorelai. I didn’t have a choice. I told her it wouldn’t work, I was sure you would find out, but…”

Mum’s voice is cruel and mocking. “But I was right.”

I block her out and focus on Conrad, who looks as lifeless as I feel. “What were you going to do if I did find out?”

“There was a part of me that hoped you would. I thought about telling you so many times. Especially once you were a bit older and I thought you’d understand the truth and why I had no choice.”

I try to push away the hurt, but it has penetrated deep into my bones. I want to tell him that I do understand because a huge part of me does, but everything is too raw.

And then I remember the reason we are here, what Mum is trying to do to me. She wants Conrad and Oscar back in her life, and she wants me gone. And she plans to cause the most damage and destruction she can while she’s at it.

“Conrad.” A flush of colour appears on his cheeks at me merely mentioning his name. His eyes fill with hope. I’m not ready to absolve him yet, but I do need him. “I need you to believe me. She broke into our basement. She has been terrorising me, and she wants me gone. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I didn’t tell you, but right now I need you. I need you more than I’ve ever needed anyone. I need you to help me stop her.”

Mum throws her arms up. “That’s it. I’m calling the police. Conrad, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll make sure you back me up. If you’re going to buy into her story, then I don’t think you’re safe to be around Oscar either.”

Conrad’s head whips round. “Are you insane? Do you honestly think they’re going to let you have Oscar? You abandoned him. I’ve been the only parent to our two children for the last four years. I’ve only been pandering to you while I get my head straight. Do you honestly think I’m going to let you take my family? You don’t even have custody anymore.”

Mum’s face twists into a demonic grimace. She really is subhuman. It’s terrifying to watch. “But that’s where you’re wrong. I do have custody.” Conrad’s jaw falls slack. “You were always a useless pushover. It’s no wonder I lost interest in you so quickly. Just a shame I was tied to you by that point.”

Conrad straightens and I will him on.

Fight for us, Conrad. Don’t let her beat you.

“Then why don’t you just go? Leave again.”

Mum looks down at her nails. “Because I don’t want to. I’ve had my freedom now and recovered from you all sapping the life and soul out of me. This is my home, Oscar is my son and I’m going to take back what’s rightfully mine. I’m ready to be a mother again.” She wrinkles her nose and nods her head towards me. “Not to you, you’re insufferable. But I quite like the idea of being with Oscar. No more nappies, no more refusing to go to bed. I think I’ll enjoy it. And I started to feel like something was missing. There’s only so many champagne brunches and lazy days you can have before you get bored.”

Conrad grimaces. “That’s not how it works! You can’t just drop and pick up children as you see fit. You can’t just choose one over the other. Do you hear yourself?”

“Oh spare me the martyr act. I can and I will. Watch me.”

Then she pulls out her phone and gives us both a sweet smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some very important things I need to report to the police.”

Without thinking, I lunge towards her, and she holds her hands up.

“I think you’d better stop there, Lorelai. I’m not sure you want to add violence to the list of things I’m going to tell them about you.”

I want to grab the phone, smash it against the wall and silence her. But she’s right. Anything I do she will twist and use against me. I turn desperately to Conrad. He has to do something. We can’t let her get away with destroying everything we have fought so hard for.

He holds up his hand. “Wait, Thea. Just wait.”

She sighs and drops her hands by her sides. “This better be good, Conrad. You do realise that there’s a little boy downstairs who needs his mummy.”

I want to scream in her face, “He doesn’t need you. He’s never needed you. None of us do.” But I mirror Conrad’s approach and stay calm.

“I believe Lorelai. I believe every single word she says. She wouldn’t lie.”

Conrad’s words are music to my ears. But I’m still fearful it won’t be enough. Mum won’t care if he’s on my side or not. She’ll happily take on both of us.

Mum lifts the phone again. “Then you’re just as mad as she is. Really, you’re making this even easier than I thought it would be.”

Conrad reaches out and grabs her arm. “Oscar won’t go with you, you know.”

Mum looks down at Conrad’s hand. “Get your hand off me now. And of course he will, he’ll have no choice.”

Conrad reluctantly lets go. “You’re seriously deluded. No court in its right mind is going to give you custody of him – you abandoned him! You’ve always thought you can do whatever you want. And a lot of that is my fault because I let you. But the fact is, you left us and you wanted it to be forever, so that’s the way it’s going to be.”

Mum’s face breaks into a wicked smile. It doesn’t matter what we say, she will always have something to come back with. She is forever one step ahead, and we can’t compete because she is willing to stoop to depths that Conrad and I never could. She has no limits, no conscience, no remorse.

“Well I had to, didn’t I? I was escaping a violent, abusive partner. I was afraid, and vulnerable. And of course I feel terrible for leaving my children behind, but I was scared for my life.” I gape at her as she states this torrent of lies as though it were fact. She is horribly convincing. “But now I’m back and prepared to fight. Ready to take back what’s mine. And it’s a shame that my daughter’s gone crazy during that time, but I’ll make sure she gets all the help she needs. Locked up somewhere nice.” She turns to me. “I’m not a monster, you know. I’ll make sure you’re well looked after. I’ve had a little look and there are some lovely places.”

Even with how implausible all of this sounds, and with Conrad so clearly on my side, I can’t help the horrible unease building inside me. Mum has always been able to get whatever she wants even if it feels impossible. We’ve been on the receiving end of her destruction and malice too many times. In her twisted, deranged mind she has everything sewn up, and even if we did eventually prevail, she would tear at our skin and shred us to pieces on the way down. Family means nothing to her. It’s all about control. She will annihilate my future and smash Conrad’s reputation to pieces. She will stamp all over Oscar’s young heart and mind, destroy his happiness, and leave nothing but devastation in her wake.

Something deep inside Conrad shifts, and his presence suddenly fills the whole room. I have never seen him look so determined, and it fills me with a mixture of fascination and terror.

“No. This ends now.”

46

“You’re right, Conrad. It does end now. I’ve always played second fiddle to you and the children. You think I’m the one in the wrong, but it’s always been you. Both of you. I’ve never had anything the way I wanted it, and today is the day I take control.” Mum stands proud as though she’s just delivered an inspirational speech to thousands. I wait with bated breath for Conrad’s reply, and I’m completely taken aback when he laughs right in her face. And not a scoff or a chuckle, but a big, booming, jeering roar.

“You know, I’ve always tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, Thea. Always thought you couldn’t mean the things you said or did. I convinced myself you were just struggling and actually were a good person inside. I knew I was kidding myself really, but take control? Are you having a laugh? You are the most controlling, manipulative, terrible excuse for a human being I have ever known.”

I’m sure I see Mum shrink just a little at his words before catching herself and returning to her posturing stance.

“But I do agree with you on one thing, we were in the wrong. We were wrong for giving you too much leeway, for letting you treat us all like shit. I’m wrong for giving you nearly all of my money and letting you fuck off without having to answer for your actions. I’m wrong for letting you hit my son and never holding you accountable. I’m wrong for letting you manipulate me into believing I had no choice but to pretend to your children you were dead.” Conrad takes a breath before continuing. “And I know why you did that, why you had to have them think you were dead rather than just leaving us be. You couldn’t bear the thought that we would be happy without you. So you wounded them, and I hate you for it. Now listen to me carefully, Thea. Get out of my house. Now. I won’t give you another chance.”

My chest swells with pride at Conrad, and for a minute, I think she might actually leave. She’s doing a pretty good job of pretending that what Conrad just said hasn’t affected her. But I can see it in her eyes, her armour cracking ever so slightly. She’s angry, but satisfyingly, she’s also hurt.

And then she stands tall. “You want a war, Conrad? You’ve got one. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be wishing you’d never been born.”

Conrad stands still, his back to me, his shoulders heaving ferociously.

I find my voice. “We can do this, Conrad. Me, you and Oscar. Everything can return to how it was. I’ve got your back.”

Conrad turns his head, his body still facing away from me. His eyes are brimming with tears. “I am so sorry about everything. I can’t ever begin to tell you how much. But you know as well as I do that we won’t win. And even if we do, she will make sure we suffer. I can’t do that to you and Oscar. I just can’t.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. After making that big speech, standing his ground and making me feel that we finally had a chance, why does he sound like he’s ready to give up? We can’t bow down to her again. No matter the consequences, we have to at least try. If not for us, then for Oscar.

Mum jumps in. “I’m glad you feel that way, Conrad. Now let’s all calm down and⁠—”

Conrad’s face suddenly changes, his sadness giving way to something I don’t recognise. A terrifying coldness. A purposeful calmness that paralyses me. I can’t work out what’s going through his mind, but I sense danger, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.

He wipes at his eyes furiously. “I love you, Lorelai. I’m so sorry.”

Before I can tell him that I love him too, he turns and charges his whole body into Mum with a ferocity and strength I didn’t know he possessed. Everything both slows down and speeds up at the same time as they both go careening backwards and crash into the banister. The wood splinters with an ear-piercing crack, and within seconds, both Conrad and my mother disappear from sight. The sound of them hitting the wooden floor below is earth-shattering in every sense.

I blink, trying to bring them back, but there is nothing but an empty door in front of me. Nothing about what I just witnessed feels real, and so I simply stand, trying to breathe, trying to think, trying to hold myself together. I should do something, but if I do, then I will have to believe the enormity of what just happened before my very eyes.

There is not a single sound. No moaning or groaning. Nobody crying out in pain. Nothing.

Just silence.

The silence of death.

47

I don’t know how long I stand there, or how I even remain standing. Time has lost all meaning. But somehow, I finally find the strength to take a step forward. And then another. It’s a miracle my legs work. And then I find myself hovering over the space where the banister used to be. There, atop a shattered pile of wood, lie Conrad and my mother. Conrad’s head rests in a halo of blood, his eyes staring up, a peculiar, almost victorious look frozen on his face. Mum lies by his side, with one arm and leg draped across him. Without all the blood and death, they look like two lovers lying in bed together.

My stomach heaves, and I turn and vomit on the floor behind me. I try to stop, but my body is purging itself of the sight, and I have no control. I retch and heave until my stomach burns and my eyes feel like they might bulge out of their sockets. Finally spent, I rest my back against the wall where I can no longer see them. I’m not in full control of my body, and I can’t risk falling over the banister. What would Oscar do then?

My hand flies to my mouth. Oscar. He’s still downstairs. I have to get to him before he finds them. My protective instincts kick in, and suddenly I feel able to act. I can’t let Oscar stumble across that terrible sight. It would destroy him. It’s destroying me but I can’t focus on that now. I need to get to my brother.

Creeping back to the stairs, I pray that somehow they’ll both have made a miraculous recovery. Conrad’s head will be all put back together and he and Mum will be arguing once more. But they lie just as they were, grotesque and unmoving. I take the steps quickly but quietly, weirdly feeling like I shouldn’t disturb them. I turn my head away. I have no desire to see my mother’s dead face, and Conrad’s will be etched on my brain forever more. There is no need to look twice. There is no option but to cross where their bodies lie, so I place my feet carefully, not wanting to disrupt any of the wood or touch them, all the while imagining that I’m stepping over something else. Anything else. If I let reality in at this moment, I will crumble to the floor where I stand. The puddle of blood is enormous now and continues to spread so I have to jump. I don’t know where I find the strength, but I make it.

The door of the second living room where Conrad put Oscar is still closed, and I stand and stare at it. What am I going to say to him? How am I going to get through this? A deep longing for Conrad stabs at my chest. How am I going to get through this without him? But then I picture my brother on the other side of that door. He will have heard the terrifying noises, and I’m so proud of him for listening and staying in there. He’s such a strong and brave boy, and he’ll need to be for what comes next.

Oscar’s happiness has been the most important thing to me since the day he was born. I was the first to hold his tiny body, and I could not love him more. Unquestionably, I would give my life to save him, and I will dedicate the rest of my life to making sure he is loved and cared for. I will never let him down.

I knock on the door. “It’s me, Oscar. It’s Lorelai.” My heart starts to race when he doesn’t answer. He has to be okay in there. I couldn’t take it. But then I hear a noise. It’s only Oscar clearing his throat, but it is the most beautiful sound I think I have ever heard, and I burst into the room, more desperate to see him than I have ever been.

Oscar sits, cross-legged in the far corner. He has taken all the cushions off the sofas. He sits on one, has one on his lap, and two in his hands pressed against the side of his head. My heart almost explodes with relief and love as I run to him, fall to the floor and pull him into my lap, wrapping my arms tightly around him and kissing him furiously all over his face and neck. His arms encircle my waist, and I hold him against my body, his heart fluttering against my chest.

Even though nothing is okay, and there is a living nightmare waiting for us outside this room, I will make sure Oscar and I get through this. I will protect and love him every second of every day, and unlike my own mother, I will feel nothing but privilege at being able to do so.

My mind keeps trying to drag me back to the horrors that await. But I want to take this moment to hold and cherish my brother. To be grateful for him, even when the world is falling apart. And so we sit, tangled together, holding each other’s bodies.

“I love you, Oscar.”

“I love you too, Lorelai.”

48

ONE YEAR AFTER

CHRISTMAS DAY

Oscar and I sit at the dinner table. There may only be the two of us now, but Christmas dinner is no less of a feast. This year’s gingerbread house sits as the centrepiece. It may be the best one we’ve ever made. We made windows out of boiled sweets this time, and it looks spectacular.

To say it’s been a long and hard year would be an understatement. It’s felt like ten years rolled into one. But we made it in one piece, and we’re happy. Using the word happy makes me feel a little guilty. I would give anything for Conrad to be sitting at this table with us, and I miss him every day. But I know he did what he did for us, and I owe it to him to try and live the life he would want for us. I’ve sort of adopted that as a vow to him, and I take it very seriously.

His death hit Oscar very hard. We’ve had some very tricky times. Acting out, closing himself off, aggression, you name it. But I’ve been by his side through every single step, and I will continue to be, whatever the future may bring.

I look around our new home. We moved out of the old house straight away. It was immediately obvious to me we couldn’t stay there. I haven’t sold it yet, and I’m not sure if I will. There is a lot to sort out there if I decide to, and I’m nowhere near ready for that yet.

This home is a new start for us. New furniture, new everything and it’s working out pretty well so far. Without any family around to support us, Conrad’s friends, David and Neil, stepped in and helped with anything we needed. They’ve been wonderful – supportive, but not intrusive, and Oscar now thinks of them as uncles. They’ve gone above and beyond, stepping in as father figures, and have even asked if Oscar would like to join them on the golf course some time. He’s only eleven, so I’ve said no for now, but perhaps something for the future.

I’m now Oscar’s legal guardian. Something I was really worried about at first. I was still finishing my A levels and didn’t have a job or anything. But there was plenty of money left to us, and the courts agreed I could have guardianship. Conrad even named me as Oscar’s guardian in his will. I often wonder if he knew what was coming. He must have been afraid of it at least.

Oscar puts down his knife and fork. “Ooft. Full up.”

There is nothing but a small pile of Brussel sprouts left on his plate. “You even ate the yellow carrots this year.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “I know they’re parsnips. And I like them now.”

I smile at him. “Why don’t you go and get the PlayStation warmed up while I tidy away, then we can play.”

Oscar grins. “So I don’t have to tidy up?”

I shoo him away. “No, not today.”

I’ve relaxed a lot in the kitchen these days, and I make sure Oscar helps out. I still feel twitchy about it, but I want him to grow up into a helpful, well-rounded young man. Not one who gets waited on hand and foot.

Lots of the people I went to college with have moved away for university, but for many reasons, I’ve decided to stay put. I would never want Oscar to have to move away for me. So instead, I’m now a student at the local university where Conrad used to be the principal. I see it as an homage to him, and I know he would be so proud. I’m studying journalism, and I absolutely love it. My aim is to be a food journalist one day, and I’m going to do everything I can to make my dreams come true. I want to inspire Oscar and show him that life goes on. With that in mind, I’ve started a food blog, and I’m building up quite a following on Instagram. My blog is one of the things I still use the old house for. The kitchen in our new place is sleek and modern, and very easy to keep clean, which is perfect for Oscar and me living alone. But our old kitchen with its granite worktops and old-style cooker and appliances works better in the photos. And despite everything, I have many happy memories of being in that kitchen. I won’t allow what happened make me forget the good times I had there with Dad, Conrad and Oscar.

As I tidy up, a pang of sadness hits me. Missing Conrad is a constant, but never have I felt it as acutely as I do today. We were such a happy little family, and he has left a huge hole. Every day I ruminate on how things got to the point where he felt like what he did was the only choice he had, that Mum would never stop trying to ruin our lives unless she was actually dead. And I hate that I find myself grieving again. It’s such a horribly hard and painful process. I have days when I’m filled with anger, and days where the sadness is so all-consuming that I don’t want to get out of bed. But I do. I get up every day, and I take care of Oscar and work towards a future for myself. No matter what Mum used to say to me, I know that what I want in life matters. I matter.

To an outsider, our life might look tragic, and I know people feel sorry for us. But they shouldn’t. Oscar and I have everything we need.

We have each other, and that is all that truly matters.

49

ONE YEAR AFTER

BOXING DAY

Yesterday might not have been everyone’s idea of a perfect Christmas, but it was perfect for us. We had offers from Christine and Carly to join their families for the day, but Oscar and I decided between us that we’d rather stay here. With how much weight I’ve placed on Christmas being flawless over the years, I was worried Oscar wouldn’t enjoy it with just the two of us. But it was lovely. We didn’t ignore Conrad’s absence, but we didn’t dwell on it either. He wouldn’t have wanted that. We lit a candle in his memory, but other than that we did our best to just enjoy the day. It’s a milestone. Every first occasion without someone you love is the worst.

Today, Oscar has been invited to his friend Alfie’s house. Alfie got some new goalposts for Christmas and Oscar is excited to go and play in their garden. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have liked the idea, Boxing Day still feels to me like a day for only family. But it’s not about what I want, and with our family now so small, I need to let others in a little closer for Oscar. And I’ve actually warmed to Christine, Alfie’s mum, quite a bit. Behind all the brashness, she’s got a kind heart, and that whole family have bent over backwards for us since Conrad died. I’ve seen a different side to Christine, and even Carly, since it happened. I’ve had some lovely conversations with Christine and discovered she is actually a very caring, compassionate woman. She has gone out of her way to make sure I have someone to talk to if I need it, and she has helped me through some of my weaker moments.

I definitely judged both women too harshly before. I only ever saw them at social occasions and never really got to know who they are deep down. They’re outgoing, and I’m not. They enjoy partying and drinking, and I don’t. But that doesn’t make them wrong or me better. I’m starting to see things differently as I get older.

I drop Oscar off at their door and give him a big hug. “Make sure you’re polite. I’ll be back at two.” I wave goodbye to everyone and get back in the car. Even though I don’t want to, I’ve accepted an invitation to a late lunch from David and Christine. I know it’s what Oscar would want, and I’m trying to broaden and strengthen his circle of support. Plus, I can bring the yule log and Irish cream trifles I’ve made. But first, I need to drive to the old house and take some fabulous photos for my blog.

That’s another thing I’ve achieved this year, learning to drive. It is not an overstatement to say that I hate driving with a passion. Driving does not come naturally, and I am perpetually terrified every time I do it. But it’s something I simply need to do now. I have to take Oscar to school, after-school activities, and his friends’ houses, as well as get myself to uni. Not to mention the weekly food shopping. Life without a car would be unmanageable.

I pull up outside the old house. That’s how I refer to it now. It’s not my home anymore. But I visit almost daily and keep everything in order. I don’t want the house looking dishevelled and drawing attention. The neighbours know what happened here, at least the version I told the police, and I don’t want any unwanted interest.

I have to do two runs from the car to the kitchen to bring everything in, my desserts and the props I want in the pictures, amongst other things. I leave the food and props on the kitchen table and grab the other large bag. I have something to attend to first.

Taking a moment, I listen to the house. It’s silent but filled with stories, secrets and lies. The pain of the past bleeds out of the walls. There is no way I could ever live here again. There are three large new locks on the basement door, and I keep the keys on me at all times. Methodically, I open them all, stare down the dark steps to the illuminated room below and make my way down, stopping at the foot of the stairs to scan the room.

“Hello, Mother.”

She glares at me and doesn’t speak. I shrug, I’ve had worse, lots worse. I’ve been spat at and regularly have food and drink hurled my way. She’s yet to get her hands on me. Her manacled leg only allows her to move so far, and I never go closer to her than I need to.

“You know the drill. Go and stand in the far corner, and I’ll leave you your food and drink. If you try anything you can go without.”

Mum mumbles some unintelligible sentences but starts to make her way to the corner. I definitely heard the word ‘fuck’ in there at least a few times. But I don’t care what she says, if she wants to eat, she needs to do as I ask.

You see, Mum didn’t die that fateful day. When I returned to the carnage at the bottom of the stairs, leaving Oscar in the back room, she was starting to stir. I remember the moment as though it were yesterday and feel as enraged about it now as I did then. How could she live when Conrad had sacrificed his own life for us? In what world is that fair? The universe had made a catastrophic mistake, and I had to make things right. And so, before Oscar could see, before I called the police, and before I could convince myself my actions were those of a deranged person, I dragged her down here.

She didn’t fight me. She might have been alive, but she was nowhere near compos mentis, and I manoeuvred her with relative ease. I’m still amazed at what I was able to do that day, at the cold efficiency that took hold of my mind. I gagged her with masking tape and bound her hands with cable ties. Then I simply shut the basement door and locked her away.

Her set-up is a little different now. I’m not a monster, so I make sure she has everything she needs. She has a bed, some books and even a TV. You’d think with all the time she spent avoiding us and slobbing around in her bed, she’d be pleased with this arrangement. And finally, Dad’s old music studio is getting some use again. I’ve manacled one of her feet, so she can move around the space relatively freely, but I can still enter safely. When I need to do anything major or clean up, I drug her food. My GP prescribed me some sleeping tablets to help me through my bereavement. I’ve never needed them, but they’ve come in handy for Mum. I must remember to get that prescription refilled soon; my supply is running a little low.

None of this is what I want, but sadly, this is how it must be. Mum is too monstrous for the world. She will never stop until she breaks me and takes Oscar away. Every day I struggle with what I’m doing, hate myself for it even, but I can’t see another option.

Coming here multiple times a week is complicated for me in so many ways. Firstly, I have to lie to Oscar. If he knew what I was doing, I would lose him. Both physically from my life, but more devastatingly, I would lose my place in his heart and that is the only reason I am doing any of this. I’m terrified every day that he suspects something. I try to hide the food and supplies, and so far, my excuses about taking photos and checking on the house seem to have worked. He has said he never wants to come back here. But what if he catches me out one day? I can never let that happen. All of this is for him, but if he knew, he would think me an even bigger monster than Mum. And perhaps he would be right.

“Do you need anything?” Mum takes a step forward, and I wag my finger. “Ah-ah-ah. Stay where you are, or no food today. And I have Christmas dinner leftovers, you don’t want to miss out on those.”

She must be hungry as I haven’t been down here since Christmas Eve. There was no way I was coming here on Christmas Day. How would I have explained it to Oscar? Leaving her alone on Christmas Day did haunt me, but I pushed every thought of her deep into the pit of my stomach and focused on my brother’s happiness. I’ve always thought that nobody deserves to be alone on Christmas Day, but if anyone does deserve that, it’s her.

“I said do you need anything? If you don’t, I’ll be on my way.”

She steps back, and I take in her appearance. Her face is twisted into an expression of pure hate and disgust. She looks ready to fight, like the dangerous animal she is, but otherwise, physically, she looks well. And I’m glad about that. I’m not trying to punish her, and I’ve no desire to see her unwell or be in pain. I only want to keep her away from our lives and prevent her from destroying us. If there were a better option, I would take it. But I can’t see that there is.

“What I need is to get the fuck out of here. You can’t do…”

I stop listening to her. It’s the same old shit every time. I keep her well fed and regularly bring her clean clothes. This is much nicer than the room she’d have in prison which is where she actually belongs. But I know she would never have ended up there. When I saw she was alive, I knew how things would go. She would lie and continue with her plan to make me look like a crazy person, then she would take Oscar from me. I couldn’t let that happen. If Conrad was willing to die to protect us from her, then I’m willing to do this to protect Oscar.

And the world just keeps turning. I understand completely now how Conrad lived his life, and time simply passed. Is this a long-term tenable solution? Absolutely not. But it’s worked out pretty well so far. Surprisingly well. When I called the police, I explained that Mum and Conrad had had a terrible fight, describing how she’d suddenly flipped out and was screaming and crashing around. I told them she pushed him over the banister but ended up falling too, and that she seemed hurt, but ran out of the door before I could stop her. She’s now a missing person, wanted by the police.

I could barely breathe while they were in the house. She was out of it when I left her in the basement, and even if she did come round, the soundproofing would mean they couldn’t hear her anyway. I knew she was physically unable to get anywhere near the door, but I was still terrified. When the police left, and I went to check on her, she was still drifting in and out of consciousness. I remember hoping she would just die. But she didn’t. Like a cockroach, she survived the unsurvivable.

The police still contact me every once in a while, to say they haven’t found her yet. I play the part I’m supposed to, and life goes on. It’s quite poetic really. I think it’s a very good example of you reap what you sow. This woman is dangerous, she’s a psychopath, and she deserves to be locked up. She’s responsible for Conrad’s death, and she’s getting what she deserves. And me, I will carry my demons inside where no one can see them. I will hold my guilt and the disgust I feel at myself, and I will continue with my life. Mum may be chained down here, but she is a manacle on my leg too. A burden I will have to carry with me for who knows how long. Yet whenever I stumble or fall, all I have to do is think of Oscar, and I get straight back up.

In some ways, having her here has allowed me to get some closure. On her good days she will talk to me. She’ll take any opportunity to manipulate me so I’m always wary, but I’m grateful for some of the things I have learnt. She eventually admitted to being in our basement that day and what she was trying to do to me. She still had keys to the house, so it wasn’t particularly hard for her. I can’t believe that Conrad didn’t change the locks after she left. Perhaps none of this would have ever happened if he had. But I think she would still have found a way. She also confessed to being at the bottom of the driveway and the supermarket, as well as sneaking into the house and swapping around the necklaces while we were all out at school and work. She’d been following Conrad, Oscar and me for weeks, watched them buying me the perfect gift, and purposely sabotaged it. She always did hate me getting nice presents at Christmas. I have to hand it to her, she was pretty committed to her cause of making me look like I’d lost my mind. I’ve stopped asking her questions now. I don’t need to know any more, and speaking with her only gives her the opportunity to control me. Those days are long gone.

I think my New Year’s resolution has to be to find a permanent solution to this problem. I can’t keep putting it off. David and Neil in particular are starting to ask questions about the house. They’ve offered to help me clear it out and sell it so many times now, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep saying no without it looking odd. I’ve told them I just need time to come to terms with what happened, and that it’s the home I lived in with my dad, so I’m struggling to let it go. But I can’t keep using those excuses forever. Something’s going to have to give. Could I find it within myself to kill her? Honestly, I don’t think so, but things will have to come to a head at some point, and as yet, I haven’t come up with any other solutions that wouldn’t devastate Oscar’s life. But that’s a question for another day, for the new year.

Leaving the bag next to her bed, I move swiftly in and out of where she can reach me. She’s charged for me a few times, and I don’t doubt she would try to kill me if she got the chance. In the early days, she came at me almost every time, but now she’s learnt behaviour like that only leaves her hungry. I heated up the leftovers just before I set off, so they should still be warm, and I’ve included enough cold food to last a few more days. There are even some chocolates and a slice of Christmas pudding for dessert. I’ve brought some fresh clothes, including a nice Christmas jumper, and even thrown in a cracker and a party hat. She can have her own little Christmas celebration.

I take one last look at her, like I do at the end of every visit. Looking for a flash of something human, a hint of kindness or regret. Something to make me change my mind about keeping her prisoner. But there is only blackness. Turning my back on her, I begin my walk back up the stairs, and I hear her walk across the floor and start rifling through the bag.

“Merry Christmas, Mum.”

She doesn’t reply, which is probably the best I could hope for. I’m often told to ‘burn in hell’ or something equally unpleasant. But these are the consequences of her actions. The universe returning what she gave out. Karma delivering justice. And in the same way, one day I may have to face the consequences of my own actions. I’ve made peace with what I’ve become. Mum has spent so much of her life never being accountable for the things she has done. And that has led her here. Alone and in darkness. She is an evil spirit that must be banished and contained. It’s the only way to protect Oscar.

I lock her in and leave every thought of her at the door. I cannot and will not let her infect my life outside of these walls.

She is dead to me.

Just as she once was.

THE END

ALSO BY CHARLOTTE STEVENSON

The Serial Killer’s Son

The Guests

The Family Next Door

The Patients

The Therapist

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The Perfect Christmas began as a flicker of an idea in the tent at the Harrogate festival in July 2025. Huge thanks to Bloodhound Books, and in particular, Tara Lyons, for giving me the opportunity to write my twisted Christmas story and for all your amazing support along the way. You are always there when I have a question or a wobble, and that means the world.

The story you have just read is rather different from my first draft, and I owe a massive thank you to the fabulous Patricia Dixon for helping me make the story what it is. I will always value your thoughts on anything I write, and I’m truly grateful for your friendship and unwavering belief.

It was an absolute pleasure to work again alongside the very talented editor, Ian Skewis, with this book. Your attention to detail and care taken throughout the editing process is exceptional, and I feel very lucky to work in partnership with you.

Thank you, as always, to my wonderful family and friends who continue to walk beside me on this writing journey. I’ve dedicated this book to my sister-in-law, Leoni. No matter what she has going on in her life, she always asks about my writing, reads my books as soon as they’re available, and chats thriller recommendations with me. I love you.

I’m only able to continue to write books because I have readers. So if you’ve ever read any of my books, I can’t thank you enough. I appreciate each and every one of you. And helping my books get into readers’ hands are the fabulous book bloggers who go out of their way to share and champion authors. Thank you to anyone who has ever supported me. I wouldn’t be where I am now without you all. I’ll be back in November with The Therapist, the sequel to The Patients, and I hope you’ll join me.

Whether you’re a Christmas lover or not, I hope you enjoyed The Perfect Christmas. If you’ve read any of my books before, you’ll know that I have a penchant for an early twist. I’d love to know how you felt when you got to Chapter Seventeen. Did I get you?

Wishing you all a wonderful Christmas when it comes!

A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER

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