Page 3 of The Other Twin
The pub was busy tonight, which didn’t give me much time to think about seeing Mum in that Range Rover earlier. I was so late for work that I couldn’t text her until my break. But the message is still showing as unread, so either she’s avoiding answering, or she hasn’t seen it yet.
I let myself into the flat, shrug off my denim jacket, and hang it on one of the pegs in the cramped hallway. Next, I enjoy the bliss of kicking off my shoes. Always the best part of getting home after being on my feet for seven hours.
I pad into the lounge and sink on to the grey Ikea sofa that sags in the middle. I think this might be one of those nights when I don’t bother to convert it into a bed. I might just lie down where I am and pull the duvet over me. My back will probably regret it tomorrow, but the thought of wrestling the sofa into bed mode is beyond me right now. Mum’s a stickler for me converting it back into a sofa during the day. She threatened to turf me out if I don’t. Says she doesn’t want to feel like she’s living in a squat. But the last thing I’m in the mood for when I come off a late shift is making up a bed.
I stab the TV remote and wince as it blares out the canned laughter of a comedy show. I quickly fumble to turn down the volume. I don’t need the plot, but it’s comforting to have the flicker and murmur running in the background.
‘That you, Jade?’ A sandpapery voice drifts from the bedroom.
Damn.My jaw clenches. ‘Yeah, sorry.’
A few seconds later, I hear the bedroom door open and she shuffles into the living room, bleary-eyed in an oversized T-shirt, running a hand through grey-blonde hair.The brunette hair must have been a wig then. ‘Told you to keep the noise down when you come in, Jade. You know I’m a light sleeper.’
‘I saidsorry.’
‘Sorry’s no good to me now I’m awake.’ She shakes her head and yawns, her jaw clicking. ‘Do you want a cuppa?’
‘Please.’
Mum sighs and heads over to the kitchenette, filling up the kettle and flicking the switch.
I should probably be the one making tea, seeing as I woke her up, but now I’ve sat down, my limbs have gone soft. There’s an upside to waking her, though, because it means I can ask what she was doing earlier this evening.
‘How was work?’ she asks, taking a couple of mugs from the little wooden mug tree on the countertop.
‘Hectic. Any toast going?’
Mum purses her lips but takes a couple of slices from the bread bin and slots them into the toaster. Next, she takes the milk carton from the fridge, and tuts. ‘Forgot to get more milk today.’
‘Too busy driving around with your fancy man,’ I mutter under my breath.
Mum gives me a sharp-eyed look. ‘What’s that?’
‘Nothing.’
She scowls and shakes the near-empty milk carton as though that’s going to magically increase the amount. ‘Well, there’s enough for tea, but none for my muesli tomorrow, which is annoying.’
I don’t respond. Mum always narrates every thought she has in her head. Drives me mad. The kettle clicks off with a hiss, and she sloshes hot water into the mugs.
‘Saw you earlier,’ I say nonchalantly, watching her reaction.
‘Saw me where?’
‘Driving down Blake Street in a Range Rover.’
‘Ha, ha, I wish.’ The toast pops, and she turns away to take it out and start buttering. ‘Jam?’
‘Yes, please. But, seriously, Mum, what were you doing in that car? And who was the bloke with you? Oh, and why were you wearing a brownwig?’
Mum is still turned away from me, but I see her shoulders stiffen. ‘Stop talking rubbish,’ she snaps. ‘I’m not awake enough to cope with your warped sense of humour.’
‘I’m not joking.’ I straighten up, sensing that she’s hiding something. ‘I saw you.’
‘Well, I’ve been home all evening binge-watchingReal Housewives, so you obviously dreamt it.’ She brings over my tea and toast. ‘There you go, your highness.’
‘Thanks.’ I grab a slice of warm, buttery toast and cram in a mouthful. It hits the spot, and I relax back against the cushions, still chewing.
‘If you really want to thank me, you can nip out first thing tomorrow morning and fetch some more milk.’
