Page 112 of When We Are Old

She nodded and her chest heaved. “I want to.”

My chest tightened, unable to shift from under the enormous pressure of my heart swelling and doubling in size. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get any flights.”

“Let’s try, Mum. I don’t want to be here.”

I sighed deep and low. “Running away isn’t always the best thing to do.” It had taken me thirty-five years to realise this. But then I also knew that Hannah had built within her my most fundamental flaw, the complete inability to face things head on. “Just the weekend, but then Monday you go back to school and show this Jackson that you don’t care.”

“I will, Mum. I promise.”

I knew she would, because I’d march in through the gates myself if I had to. Hannah might have inherited my most inane flaw, but I sure as hell wouldn’t let it ruin her life the way it had damaged mine.

“Oh, hold on. I’ve got something of your dad’s for you. Wait here.” I pointed to the floral sofa and she plopped down on it, her face as blotched as the awful pattern printed on the material below her.

I pounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time and making my heart exert itself in a painful push against my ribs. Yanking the box of old shit towards me I pulled out the keyring. As I walked back down the stairs I twisted the key off the ring and slid it into the pocket of my jeans.

Hannah waited expectantly.

“Here you go.” I dangled it on the end of my finger, the shiny surface catching the light. “I know you like pretty sparkly things.”

Hannah took it and turned it in her palm. “It’s nice, Mum, but why are you giving me Aunty Ange’s keyring?”

I stared between her and the keyring. And then again. And then again.

“Oh god.” It’s all I had to say, but it was definitely worth saying again. “Oh god.”

“Can you wait a minute?” I asked the cab driver. Matthew’s house looked dark and I could almost sense it that he wasn’t the other side of the door. The tingle and fizz of excitement that usually sizzled in my veins when he was close by didn’t burst to life.

“Meter’s running.” The cabbie tapped the machine. Good thing too because I could barely understand his thick accent.

“Sure, won’t be a moment.” I slipped out of the cab leaving our bags inside.

“Mum?” Hannah called after me and I turned and held my palm to her.

“I don’t think he’s here.”

Sure enough my knock on the door remained unanswered.

For some insane reason I couldn’t quite put my finger on, a deep clench made my stomach twist and I thought for a moment I would be sick on the pavement. Shaking it off, I paced back to the waiting cab. “I was right.” I fell in through the door. “Let’s go to Lynn’s.”

“Marchant's Way, please.” I told the cabbie and then settled back, trying to ignore the prickle of sweat across the back of my neck. “I don’t know the house number, but I'll recognise it.”

The cabbie grunted something illegible in response and put his foot down. Clearly, he wanted his tea because he swerved in and out of the traffic.

Hannah shot me a wide-eyed glance and we both sniggered as we held onto the seat.

Glad to arrive at Lynn’s in one piece, I paid the man and got out. I needed to go and see Ange, but I wanted to talk to Matthew first. I knew he’d help me talk it through, balance me out. Right now I wanted to rip her into tiny shreds and feed her to a pack of wild dogs.

But I couldn’t deny the strange truth of the matter, and that’s why I needed Matthew. Somehow, deep down, I had a rush of relief. I had a feeling I was playing a nice little game of pass the guilt.

It burned that Ange had kept Matthew and I apart.

That she’d tried to steal my husband… or maybe even loved him behind my back… well actually in a strange way it caused me to breathe out a sigh of relief.

The blame of my awful marriage no longer sat just on my shoulders. No. My best friend could share some of the load.

“Jeez, he was in a rush.” Hannah said, smoothing her hair and bringing me back to the present.

“Maybe it’s a Scottish thing?” I stared after the cab already screeching down the road.