Lost In The Fray

Fourteen

Nia

I knock on the door, which still doesn't feel like home. This will never feel like home. I stare at the intricate stained glass, which feels far too fancy for Mum's liking. Between her inability to hold down a job and the homemade crafts she sells, I never understood how she could afford this house. Or why she needs such a big house when she lives alone. It has more bedrooms than rooms in the bungalow I share with Dad.

A figure appears through the glass, and I can tell it's Phil before he opens the door. I brace myself and lift my lips in the smile, which holds no substance.

Phil opens the door, holding his own face in a pleasant grin I can see straight through. "Hi, Nia."

I shift my weight from foot to foot, wondering if he's going to invite me into my mum's house. The house my mum likes to remind me I can visit without invitation. "Hi. Is Mum in?"

Finally, Phil pulls the door open and stands aside to let me in, but not before I catch the weak flinching of his eyes. Maybe Simon's right and his hostility is a reaction to my unwillingness to be here, or maybe I'm reading more into all of his actions because I want a reason not to visit. "Yeah, she's in the conservatory."

"Thanks." Anticipating a quick stay, I keep my boots on and hang my coat from the bannister by its hood. I trudge through the living room and dining room to reach mum. A mismatch of worn furniture covered by handmade throws and pillows to make them look better fill the rooms. A dead plant stands in the middle of the table surrounded by sacks of papers alongside remnants of hobbies Mum started and never finished. Photos of me I never look at fill the wall between art I don't recognise.

I never understand how Phil can choose to stay here for extended periods of time. It's cluttered and busy and makes my head hurt.

I don't think Mum has ever thrown anything out in her entire life. I'm certain she still has my first paintbrush. I know for a fact she has all my baby teeth in a jar, tucked away on a shelf beside photos of my firsts, a lock of my baby hair, and my first shoes.

It's like a creepy shrine.

It wouldn't surprise me if Mum started using it for some sort of witchcraft.

"Are you staying for tea?"

I jump when Phil's voice appears far too close to me as I enter the conservatory.

"Hey, sweetie," Mum gushes before I can answer Phil's question. I wrinkle my nose at the affectionate term, but it stays wrinkled against the abundance of incense smoke filling the room. "Why don't you stay, honey? We'd love it if you did. Wouldn't we, Phil?"

"Of course." Phil does a good job of sounding sincere.

"Don't put yourselves out." I lean against the doorframe so I can see Phil and Mum either side of me at the same time. "I've got prepared food at home."

"Don't worry. Your mum has a cookbook full of recipes you can eat. I'll make something out of there for all of us."

"Thank you," I say, unsure I can really turn them down at this point. I turn and watch as Phil turns and weaves through the furniture towards the kitchen.

"Does he live here now?" I turn my gaze back to Mum and watch as she morphs a clump of dirt into something resembling a bowl.

"No." Mum's carefree voice floats around the room as she adds more water to the structure. "But he does visit a lot. It does feel like it sometimes." With hands occupied by clay, she jerks her head to the uncomfortable looking wooden chair. I don't think Mum has got the grasp of what a conservatory is meant to be for. "Come sit down."