Page 40 of The Whole Package

A car sped past, splashing filthy water up my legs.

Perfect.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and started marching towards my parents’ house. I hated all of it. The miserable, freezing weather. The strange men. The way people spoke so openly about their problems, as if sharing them was meant for normal conversation.

I hated it.

Back home, people had problems too, but they buried them under polite small talk and expensive haircuts. That’s the way to do it. Not like this place where everyone knows everyone’s business. They know exactly where you’re from, your family’s most secretive business, and probably when you took your last shit!

When I got in, I heard Dad shout something from the living room, but I ignored him and marched straight upstairs.

In the bathroom, I washed my hair one-handed while trying to keep my swollen finger clear of the water. Then I changed into those threadbare snowman pyjamas and crawled into bed.

I opened my phone and started scrolling through old photos of Rupert and me. We looked happy in them. We had been happy. I was sure of it. We went on expensive holidays, bought each other ridiculous gifts, smiled in photos and shared them on Instagram, and I knew we were one of those couples people secretly hated online. I stared at my phone screen for hours and cried until my eyes felt as dry as my own sad vagina.

Eventually, I heard footsteps in the hall. My bedroom door creaked open, and my mum stood there. ‘Are you all right, hen?’ she asked gently. ‘How’s the finger?’

My bottom lip wobbled. ‘Sore,’ I mumbled.

Fresh tears immediately started streaming down my face. She tutted softly and came over, sitting beside me on the bed and pulling my head into her chest like she used to when I was little and had scraped my knee. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up,’ she said, stroking my damp hair. ‘I thought you’d come to see me before you left, but you were fucking offski.’

‘I know,’ I sniffed. ‘I had a bit of an argument with Jamie and left. I’m not going back there, Mum. I hate it.’

She shooshed me gently as she rocked us side to side. ‘All right, hen. I thought it might help you. Just a wee distraction. But if you don’t want to go, I won’t force you.’ She paused. ‘I won’t mention it again.’

Relief flooded through me, and I sank further into her. After a moment, I asked quietly, ‘Why do you go there, Mum?’

She hummed.

‘You could get a job in a café or something. Make actual money if you’re bored,’ I said. I had no idea why she’d give so much time to a place and get nothing in return. She’s supposed to be retired.

She gave a small laugh. ‘I don’t do it for money, Harri.’ She brushed my hair back from my face. ‘A lot of folk there have had problems with drink and drugs. Some have lost everything.’ Her voice softened. ‘Your dad nearly lost everything to alcohol, too.’

I sat up. ‘Dad threw five years of his life away because he was stupid enough to rob a shop,’ I said bluntly.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. ‘Aye, and why did he rob the shop?’ she said, holding her hands up.

‘For drink and cash,’ I said. ‘For pure stupidity.’

Mum shook her head. ‘We’d just bought you that doll’s house, and there was barely any money left. He panicked and made a bad choice.’

‘He was selfish,’ I muttered.

Mum smiled sadly. ‘Aye, but addiction makes people selfish, Harri. And your dad’s worked bloody hard to beat it.’ She looked at me seriously. ‘He hasn’t touched a drop since he came out of prison. Not one. Because he knew he couldn’t do that to us again.’ She folded her hands in her lap. ‘So what about the people who don’t have that hope? The ones who don’t have a family waiting for them?’ She met my eyes. ‘Do we just let them spiral until they rob shops too? Or do we help them before it gets that far?’

I didn’t answer.

A quiet understanding settled between us. My mum was a good person. She always had been. She was the kind of person who never passed by someone in the street without giving them a smile or a wave, who gave up her evenings to stand in cold halls handing out tea to strangers. She was good through and through.

‘And anyway,’ she added with a grin, ‘not everyone there’s an addict. Some are just plain old skint.’ She nudged my arm. ‘I’ve seen nurses and professionals in that kitchen trying to get by. The brew doesn’t exactly pay well, Harri. Not that you’d know that.’

I gave a small smile, understanding a bit more now. ‘Well . . . maybe I’ll find out soon,’ I said with a sigh. ‘I don’t really see a way out of this mess yet.’

My mum stood up and dusted off her hands. ‘Away you and shite,’ she said firmly. ‘You’ve got your channel, and you’ve got us. You’re a talented girl, you take after me on that front, and you’ll come off better out of all of this.’ She pointed at me. ‘You know that Rupert didn’t deserve you, hen. I’ve never trusted a man who wore tighter jeans than his wife.’ She landed that with a nod, as if I should take it as future life advice.

I burst out laughing. Rupert’s white ankle-grazer jeans flashed into my mind like the traumatic fashion memory that they were. ‘Aye,’ I admitted. ‘His dress sense was . . . questionable at times.’

‘Questionable?’ Mum scoffed. ‘The man owned a red silk blazer, for the love of God!’