“That’s understandable…”
She nodded slowly before continuing painfully, “I still feel that way, to be honest. I hate the thought of you knowing any of this, and I don’t even know why anymore, because obviously it’s not like it was when I was a kid.” Her voice wobbled a little, and Owen wished he wasn’t driving the damned van. He wanted to take Emily in his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he said, uselessly. “I’m sorry you went through all that, but I’m glad I know now.”
“I don’t know if I am. It feels…scary.” She let out a shuddery breath as she shook her head. “Anyway, when I was in Sixth Form, my mother had a psychotic episode that ended up with the neighbours calling the police. I won’t go into the details, but it meant she was hospitalised for the first time. As I was over eighteen, I wasn’t taken into care or anything like that. I just coped on my own, and in some ways that was a relief. To be alone. But I felt sad and scared, too. It was a strange time.” She gave herself a little shake, as if to rid herself of the memories. “Anyway, when she came out of hospital, she had a diagnosis and she was on medication, and life felt a lot easier, but also, if I’m honest, duller. The meds evened my mum out, and I missed her, if that makes sense, because of course it was better.” Another trembling smile.
“I can understand how you would feel that way.” Some parts of Emily’s story were strangely and uncomfortably close to his own. He thought of his father’s expansive moods, his generous bonhomie, the lightning shift to temper, the festering resentment, and then he pushed it all out of his mind. He couldn’t think about his stuff right now. He needed to focus on Emily.
“But at least it enabled me to go to university, because I felt my mum was well enough to be left on her own. And she was, although there were some ups and downs.” A pause, telling in its weighty silence. “Then, three years ago, she chose to go off her medication and had a psychotic episode, out of control and suicidal. She ended up in a psychiatric hospital like the one she’s in now, for six months. So I really should have seen this coming.”
“Emily, you cannot blame yourself for this.” She just shook her head, and Owen struggled with what to say, because he knew you could blame yourself. Easily. You could and you did. But even so, Emily shouldn’t.
“You can’t be your mother’s keeper.”
“Someone has to be.”
“Your mother is an adult—”
“You sound like my father.” From her tone he knew it wasn’t a compliment. “My mother is mentally ill, Owen. Seriously mentally ill. If I’m not responsible for her, who is? If I can’t help her, who will?”
Owen stayed miserably silent. He didn’t have the answer for that one. Not for Emily, and not for himself.
“Still,” he said, knowing it was unaccountably lame, and she let out a huff of sound that felt like disappointment. They drove in silence the rest of the way home, because although he had so many things to say, he didn’t know how to say them.
“Thank you for the lift,” Emily said as he pulled the van into the courtyard of Willoughby Close. She sounded horribly formal. “I really do appreciate it.”
“Don’t,” Owen blurted, and her eyes widened as she looked at him.
“Don’t what?”
“We’re past that kind of thing, aren’t we?”
She shook her head slowly. “Owen, you don’t even know me.”
“But what I know, I like.”
“Really?” She sounded both sad and disbelieving, and it made Owen ache even as he considered her point. Really? She’d annoyed him when he’d first met her, and although he understood her prickliness now, he still didn’t know that much more about her. Did he? Was he reaching out to her now simply because she was fragile, and here was someone he could finally save? Maybe this wasn’t about Emily at all. And maybe he couldn’t save her.
“Please don’t shut me out,” he said quietly. “I want to help.”
“Thank you, but there’s nothing more you can do. My mother will be in hospital for the next twenty-eight days. After that…” Emily shrugged. “I don’t know what will happen.” She opened the door of the van while Owen watched in hopeless frustration. “Thank you,” she said again, and then she got out of the van.
*
Emily could feel Owen’s eyes on her as she grabbed her bag and walked towards her front door. She was waiting for him to start the van back up and pull away, but he didn’t. What did he want from her? He’d been so kind, too kind, but there was nothing more he could do now.
She had to go to work. She had to live her life.
Even if you’re not sure you like the way you’ve been living anymore? Even if letting someone in just a little bit might have been both the best and hardest thing you’ve ever done?
Emily reached for her key and fit it into the lock. It wasn’t until she’d shut the door behind her and breathed in the quiet calm of her cottage that she heard Owen’s van start up.
A plaintive meow split the silence and Emily looked down to see her kitten—it still needed a name—inching forward.
“Oh, you.” She let out a little laugh as she bent down to scoop the little ball of fluff into her hands. The kitten came willingly, letting out a thrumming purr as Emily cuddled it close. The live contact felt good, grounding her in the reality that for once she wasn’t alone. She had a kitten.
And you have Owen.
Of course, she didn’t have Owen. She’d as good
