Page 23 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

Chapter Eleven

William

They stood for a while, holding each other, bracing for the monster who was sitting in the other room stinking up the place with her sour stench, and William kissed the top of Rosie’s head just enjoying the comforting pleasure of having her so close. It was a strange feeling to have someone else in this with him, a support, a person he could confide in. He pulled back. His face stung, and his skin burnt with it. But it was a wonder he was shocked she’d done it. “I shouldn’t have got so close to her,” he finally muttered, his voice calmer than it had been. “I know what she’s like. It was stupid.”

Rosie peered up at him with that inquisitive look she gave him. The one that always seemed to melt even his darkest of moods, and he mentally went over the way he’d talked to her in the car and found the apology on his lips. She touched his face around the edges, avoiding the scratch. “You’re not stupid. You …”

“Should know better.” He pinched the top of his nose and sighed. “I should take her tea.” His back tensed all the way up to his shoulders. Any harder and there was a good chance he’d knock a vertebra out of place, but as much as he tried to roll out the knot, it wouldn’t budge.

“I got the coffee started before you came in. Just needs pouring,” Rosie said as he stepped away from her. “I wasn’t sure how she takes it, so I thought I’d wait for you for that.”

She’d not take it. She’d send it right back because Rosie made it. He brushed a strand of Rosie’s hair back off her face, not uttering the thoughts. He might not have been able to protect himself from his mother’s insults, but he could protect Rosie. “It’s okay. I’ll make her a tea.”

“Tea? I thought you told me to … I didn’t mean … William …”

He squeezed her hand. “The coffee was for me. Add milk and sugar to it.” He gave her a smile to try and ease the tension that was clearly building up in her too. Maybe that was the worst part. Seeing it affect Rosie in this way. It shouldn’t. Rosie hadn’t done anything to deserve this.

“Oh,” she said., “Your mother takes tea?”

He nodded. “And she’d know if someone else made it. Believe me.”

She did seem to relax, bringing a small light to her eyes and replacing the fear and nervousness that was clearly making a home inside her.

His mother—an infection that tainted the air the moment it exhaled. She was a snake, an ugly black snake slithering its way around the room, ready to strike when no one was looking.

He got her tea from the cupboard and tossed it into her cup. Not her favourite. That had gone when they’d had their last fight. When he’d told her some truths and he’d … snapped? Lost it? Maybe he could remind her it was gone. He should have saved the parts to show her. She’d cry more for that cup than she ever would for him. He was glad it was broken, because seeing it with water in it now, would be too much. It was just a cup. Just a cup to anyone looking at it …

“I was thinking we could rent a movie tonight,” Rosie said, interrupting his mental beating. Her voice held caution and he hated that … hated that she felt she had to be cautious around him. He hated he’d somehow put it there with his actions earlier, and he hated the way he was so weak that he’d chosen to hide behind a hostile exterior just to please his mother. Even as he had snapped and pushed Rosie away, he knew it would feed into his mother’s sick mind and make her think she could get an angle for her wedge between them.

United front. That was what they needed. What he needed and what his mother needed to understand her place in this house now. She was no longer the boss inside these walls—no long the dictator or the one who laid down the law and demanded her shit.

“We could let your mom pick?”

The word stuck him, playing across his stomach muscles. “Mother,” he said, correcting her, the word coming out harsher than he meant. He swallowed the rage in his throat. “A mum is someone who cares,” he said, softening his voice. “She is just my mother.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …”

He frowned, seeing the worried look she gave him. “Rosie, Rosie, Rosie …” He inhaled when he said her name the last time, cupped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in to a kiss. “I’m sorry. It’s not you.” He kept their faces together, touching at the foreheads. Just calling her mum raked right down to the vulnerable parts of him. “Everything just needs some getting used to.” He kissed her again. Not a passionate kiss. Not one of those deep ones, but something with more than that. Something that told her she was his. He smiled against her lips. “Now, you mentioned lunch? Eggs? Tuna?”

“Yes … yes. Does she like eggs and tuna?” Rosie seemed to perk up again.

“She better, or she’s going hungry,” he said, letting go so he could set about getting the bread out for toast. Rosie put some eggs in a pan and set them on the stove top to boil.

They worked in the kitchen, not speaking. Sometimes speech wasn’t really needed, but there were brushes, soft touches, gentle passings. Just having Rosie with him in this kitchen was more than anything he could dream of. The distant clang of metal came from the front room almost fifteen minutes later, making the air still, freezing Rosie and William with it.

The door to the other room opened—a squeal of the metal hinges announcing the incoming arrival of the devil. It brought a dry lump to William’s throat and he paused, resting a knife on the side of the butter dish.

Rosie had boiled the eggs. She had three of them shelled already and was working on her fourth. It lay in her hand, poised, ready to roll out.

The door banged open. Maria used her frame to walk in. William had got it from the Elderly Foundation—a charity for the aged. He’d left the sticker on the frame on purpose. It would drive her nuts when she saw it. But the social worker had put him in touch with the organisations who could help him. They also informed him he could get special aids to help him care for his mother. Unfortunately, cyanide wasn’t listed on the inventory of items for sale, and with the look the social worker had given him he wasn’t sure he could ask for it.

The door bounced off the wall, swinging back on its frame and then hit the rubber of the walker’s foot. Maria let out a yelp. “Aren’t you going to help me?” she wailed at him, eyes narrowing.

He wiped his hands down the front of his jeans and dashed to her. “Of course. Sorry,” he muttered like an idiot and cursed himself for that slight slip already. How could he ever stand up to her, if he was going to run to her every whim?

He caught the door and pushed it back so she could get into the kitchen. “Never consider me, do you?” Her top lip curled back, showing yellowed teeth. A little globule of white had formed in the corner of her mouth and it made him internally wince to see it. “I’ve been waiting for hours in that freezing room for my tea. Is that any way to treat me when I just got out of hospital?”

“Sorry, Maria. It was my …”

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