Page 25 of The Thug And His Doll

“Your face,” I say, pointing to his cheek. The flour has scattered across his cheeks and chin, collecting in his short blonde beard.

“My face?”

“You’ve got flour on your face,” Daisy points out, surreptitiously swiping at the flour sprinkled on the counter. “Right there,” she adds, reaching up and pressing her palm over his mouth, laughing at her handiwork as Drix coughs, flour puffing from his lips in a white cloud.

“You little brat!” he laughs, his eyes darting to the bag of flour as a smirk slides across his face.

“Don’t even think about it, Drix!” she squeals, backing up as he stuffs his hand into the bag and grabs a handful.

“Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it,” he warns, stalking towards her as she laughs, holding her hands up.

It’s a reflexive action, and I know she’s enjoying the playful moment, but despite that, I feel anxiety creeping up my spine. The way he stalks towards her reminds me too much of how Martin has done the same to me on so many occasions I’ve lost count.

“No, don’t!” she cries, laughing as she backs up, hitting the counter.

Toby is laughing with them too, his childish glee lifting up into the air, joining the chorus of their mutual joy. But joy is the last thing I feel. Fear shudders through me as another memory crashes through my mind. I grip hold of the countertop, my knuckles turning white as I hold on.

“Please stop,” I whisper, partly to the ghost of the memory, and partly to them.

“Drix, don’t!” Daisy squeals.

“Too late,” Drix chuckles, not hearing me as he drops flour all over Daisy’s head. It falls in a puff of white cloud, covering her strawberry blonde hair, colouring it white.

She tackles him, laughing and shaking her head so more flour scatters over his chest and arms. Toby, finding the whole episode thoroughly amusing, climbs down from his seat, his small hands covered in flour too as he pats his hands against them both. Joining in on their fun.

Only it isn’t fun for me.

It’s triggering me in a way I wished it wouldn’t. I can feel myself spiralling, and I don’t want to lose it in front of them. “Please stop,” I repeat, pressing my eyes shut, trying and failing to block out the sounds of Martin’s voice as he goads me.

“Look at you, proper little servant covered in flour. You think that baking me a cake is going to make up for looking like some ugly, washed-out, old hag?”

My hands come up to cover my ears, as I press my eyes shut and begin to tremble. “Please, stop it!” Their laughter somehow twists into sobs, and I realise too late that it’s me who’s crying.

“Lia?” I feel the gentle touch of someone’s hand on my arm, and I flinch away from it, forcing my eyes open as I blink back tears. Drix is standing in front of me, his expression crestfallen. “Lia, what is it?”

“I–” my voice cracks as I back away from him, dragging in deep, even breaths.

“Mama?” Toby whispers, his voice trembling.

“I’ll be okay. I’m okay,” I mumble, but despite my words, I’m not okay. I’m not sure that I’ll ever be okay again.

“Daisy, take Toby to wash up. We’ll be with you in a moment,” Drix instructs, realising that what I need most of all is Toby elsewhere so that I can try and regain my composure.

“Mama?” Toby questions, and I look over at him, forcing a tight smile on my face.

“It’s okay, go with Daisy. I’ll be there in a moment.”

“But you’re crying,” he protests, running towards me. I drop down to my haunches, folding him into a hug.

“I’m just super tired. Think I might have a little headache coming on, that’s all,” I lie. Forcing brightness into my voice, I gently ease back and say, “Mama will be fine. Promise.”

“Promise?” he asks, his own eyes welling with tears.

“Cross my heart,” I say, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Come on, sweetie, let’s get cleaned up, shall we?” Daisy suggests, her expression filled with concern as she gently rests her hand on Toby’s shoulder.

I stand, nodding, feeling ashamed all of a sudden. I can’t even keep myself together for my son. When Toby doesn’t go with her immediately, she adds. “I can show you my collection of toy unicorns. I keep them in the den with all my books.”

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