Page 19 of You Had Me At Thirteen

I kiss her head, before planting myself on the stool next to her, gathering my breakfast. ‘How was work?’ I say between mouthfuls of fluffy, syrupy goodness.

‘Same old. Blood and vomit.’ She gestures to her dirty uniform.

‘Well,’ I say as I take another bite, ‘make sure you get some sleep today. But only after you’ve had a shower. You smell terrible.’ I wrinkle my nose as I make a choking noise.

She laughs as she sniffs her shirt. ‘I guess I’m used to the smell.’

This makes me smile. With that laugh, and that face as beautiful as ever, it makes me wonder how men aren’t throwing themselves at her. She only turned forty this year, so she still has so much life to live.

Instead, she spends it cleaning up bed pans and sticking people with needles. Not my idea of a fun time, but to each their own. I guess it becomes a habit when you need to distract yourself from a failing relationship. You can either sit and dwell on how unfair the world is, or you can save lives.

‘So… fess up,’ I say, shoving another piece of pancake into my mouth. The syrup drips down my chin, and I swipe it away with the back of my hand.

‘What do you mean?’ Mum says, avoiding my eyes.

I nod to my plate. ‘The pancakes. I know you too well.’

‘Please.’ She waves a hand in front of her. ‘Can’t I make my favourite daughter breakfast?’

‘I’m your only daughter. Besides, I’m not complaining, trust me.’

Mum goes quiet as she presses her lips to her mug. Her blond hair sits in a messy bun on top of her head, her face a little withdrawn from the lack of sleep, but her eyes are as bright as ever. Sometimes it’s like staring into a mirror, except my hair is a little darker, and I have freckles across my nose and cheeks. But we both have dark brown eyes and slightly upturned noses.

Since my dad died, it’s just been me and her. I keep telling her she should start dating again, but she says she doesn’t want to disrupt my schooling. I know it’s just an excuse to avoid being intimate with someone. After what my dad did to her, he’s lucky he’s already dead.

Bastard.

I get why she wants to stay single, though. It’s easier that way. If you let someone in, they can break your heart. It’s sometimes better to keep yourself guarded. No-one can get close enough to hurt you that way.

Mum shifts in the chair, lifting a leg so her foot rests on the stool. ‘Anyway, how’s training going?’

I shrug, standing to take my plate to the sink. ‘It’s going.’

‘Everything okay?’ Mum frowns as she places her mug down.

‘It’s all good, just Coach. He’s uptight, as usual. You know what he’s like, end of the world and all that?’

‘Well, it’s not about him. You girls train hard. I’m sure he sees that.’

Opening the fridge door, I lean down to glance inside, hoping to avoid talking about training. ‘Yeah, maybe.’

‘I’m sure it’ll work out, honey.’ Mum yawns as she stands, giving me an out to this conversation. She walks towards the stairs, stopping at the bottom to turn to me. ‘Maybe sometime next week, we can have a proper meal together. There’s something I want to talk to you about.’

I glance up from the fridge, a smirk on my face. ‘I knew there was something you wanted to spill.’

‘No, no. Just want to… fill you in.’ She smiles, but I’m not sure if it’s making me feel better, or her.

‘On?’

She waves me off. ‘It can wait. I’m heading upstairs to shower and sleep. I’ll see you later.’

‘Okay. Love you.’

‘Love you more,’ she says before disappearing up the stairs.

A million reasons why she might want to talk to me run through my mind. The last time we had a serious conversation was about two years ago, literally an hour after I’d lost my virginity to Richie Jones, a whole thirty seconds of it.

She had walked into my bedroom carrying a tray of cookies and glass bottles of cola. Richie was pulling up his pants, his face turning a shade red when Mum barged through the door. She kept a straight face, placed the tray down on my bed, and darted out of the room.

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