Page 29 of ICED
It takes him less than a minute to reply.
JACKO: You need anything? I can bring you lunch. Or a nap. Or reinforcements in the shape of gingerbread bears.
A laugh punches out of me before I can stop it. It’s shaky and wet, but it’s real.
MAYA: Appreciate it, but I’m alright. Just a dodgy alarm.
There’s a pause. I imagine him reading it, that crinklebetween his eyebrows, that quiet stillness he has when he’s worried but doesn’t want to push.
JACKO: Hate those things. Heart jumps right out your throat. You sure you’re alright?
And this time, I don’t lie.
MAYA: Not really. But I’m managing.
Three dots appear. Then vanish. Then appear again. I wait.
JACKO: You’re not on your own, Maya. Even when it feels like you are.
I blink down at the screen. Something sharp catches in my throat. I want to believe him. I really do. But the truth is, I’vealwaysbeen on my own. Even before everything went wrong. Even when I was married. Especially then.
People say things like that all the time; you’re not alone, I’m here, just ask. But they don’t stay. Not when things get messy. Not when the bad days come.
Still, I type one more reply.
MAYA: Thank you. That means more than you know.
I pick Lila up early from nursery.
I miss her. I need to see her with my own eyes. Need to hold her, feel her small hand in mine. She squeals when she sees me, full of glitter and finger paint and a pink plastic tiara that makes her look like the world’s tiniest royal disaster.
“Look, Mummy, I’m a fairy queen!”
“You always are,” I say, and I mean it.
We walk home slowly. She tells me about snack time and circle time and how Jacob pulled her hair but said sorry after.
I nod and hum in all the right places, but my mind keeps drifting. I’m not scanning the street as much. Not checking over my shoulder as often. Her voice grounds me in a way nothing else does.
Once we’re home, I leave the door open for five whole seconds while she takes her shoes off. It’s the tiniest rebellion against the fear.
Dinner is easy. Pasta and peas. She helps stir the sauce, spilling more than she saves. It doesn’t matter.
For a while, the flat is warm again.
After bedtime stories and one more check of the windows, I settle on the sofa with my phone and stare at Jacko’s last message.
You’re not on your own.
I want to believe that. And maybe, just maybe, if I let him a little closer, I could start to believe it. I don’t know if I’m ready. But I know what fear feels like. I know how it burns you hollow and leaves you small.
And I remember how it felt when he stood beside me. Quiet. Solid. Safe.
So, I open my messages again.
MAYA: Hey. If the offer still stands… I wouldn’t say no to those gingerbread reinforcements.
JACKO: On my way.
