I suppose this was inevitable. We were naïve to think that my past could be protected. Spencer didn’t even know what he was trying to hide. Perhaps if I’d told him, he could have put some sort of block on my parents’ medical records or something.
Shit, I really am that naïve. Files can be sealed but there will always be a way around it. If hackers can get into Government documents, my parents’ records aren’t going to prove too difficult.
“Everyone thinks I’m the worst mum in the world.”
“They don’t.”
There are worse, undoubtedly. Mum is still getting a lot of hate. Some are even so cruel they call for her to end her life.
Who is that sick?
“Please try to ignore them. All that matters is you and me.”
“This matters, Indie. I won’t be able to walk out of my front door without being judged. How will I get a job now? How will I be able to face anyone when I know they’ll be thinking I’m an awful mother?”
I swallow my guilt. This was supposed to be her new start as much as mine. She had plans, actual plans for the first time in nearly fifteen years, and none of them involved getting drunk. “It will die down. How can anyone judge you when you’re working so hard to make things right?”
“They will,” she says, staring at the other sofa.
Yes, they will.
Dad would explode if he was here right now. Well, if he was here, they’d both probably still be passed out drunk.
“Mum,” I say, trying to get her attention. “Mum, please. Look at me. Focus on your recovery so you can tell everyone that you’ve beat this addiction. You can use this to help others.”
Her hollow laugh chills my blood. “I don’t want to be the poster child for AA.”
“You’re choosing to be a victim.”
Angry eyes cut to me. “Everyone knows.”
“I get that. We can’t change what’s already happened. The only thing you can do now is choose how you react. To turn it into a positive.”
“You’re delusional, Indie. I’m going upstairs to lie down.”
Without another word, she leaves the room with her arms wrapped around her body and head bowed.
I guess it’s a good sign that she’s going to her room and not just lying on the sofa. She can at least be bothered to take herself away to wallow.
That, I can work with. She needs a little bit of time to get her head around everything that’s happened. I’m expecting too much right now. We both need to take a step back and let the gossip tail off. It will. Something else will happen in the world of celebrity, and no one will care what my family life was like again.
It’ll be okay. It has to be.
My phone is full of texts and missed calls from Spence. Wren and Mila have been checking in every hour, too.
I text the girls in our group chat first.
Indie: I’m okay. Can we meet up today?
Mila: Mine? I’ll have a shovel ready in case anyone follows you.
My lips curl into the first smile in a couple of days. They are just what I need.
Indie: Is it wrong of me to hope that I’m followed? I’ll be there in an hour.
Wren: Meet you there.
Mila: Hurry up, I’m bored.
One thing I was wrong about is Wren and Mila. They were sympathetic, of course, but they don’t treat me any differently. I called Wren before Spencer did, the night my life blew up. Then I called Mila to fill her in on everything after she left. They haven’t changed how they talk to me, nor do they shy away from asking difficult questions. The last one isn’t my favourite, but I expect it.
Before I leave, I take a quick shower and check in on Mum. She’s asleep, curled up on Dad’s old side of the bed.
She hasn’t slept well recently, so I’m glad she is now.
I peek out of the blind and sigh in relief when I find the road empty. I heard a vehicle idling by about thirty minutes ago, but it was most likely someone moving the press on. Maybe Spencer did something. Called the police? I don’t know. I’m just grateful that they’ve gone.
They’ll probably be back. It can’t be very interesting, especially given that neither Mum nor I are speaking to them.
I get in my car and, thankfully, it starts without a hitch.
The drive to Mila’s feels longer today. I’m tired, and trying to convince myself that I’m not at all angry at Spencer. I don’t mean to be. I know it’s not his fault, but it’s festering in my stomach like a disease. He can’t help that these bastards think they have a right to every aspect of our lives.
This. Is. Not. His. Fault.
I park in the drive, and Mila lets me in the second I knock.
“Wren’s already here,” she says as if I can’t see her car beside mine. “How are you and your mum?”
I kick off my shoes, and we join Wren on the sofa.
“She’s a wreck—absolutely hates that everyone knows her past. She’s ashamed of who she was and is trying her best to better herself.”
“Are you worried that she might drink again?” Mila asks.
The look Wren gives her almost makes me laugh.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Of course, I’m scared of that. I just hope she can see how far she’s come and won’t want to ruin all the hard work she’s put in to getting sober. The detox was brutal. I can’t see her wanting to do that again. She says she won’t.”
“Do you believe her?”
“It’s hard to. There have been quite a few times over the years that she’s tried to get sober and it hasn’t worked.”
How easy the words fall out of my mouth now. They make it easy to talk.
Wren tilts her head. “But she’s never done it for this long, right? And she’s never been to rehab.”
Mila throws her hands up. “See, those are good signs.”
“I agree. I
