Stranger At My Door

9. Stranger

Before I did anything, I decided to take a shower to clear my head. I'd always found that after a hot shower, I could think more clearly, and right now, my thoughts were tangled into impossible knots. But as soon as the water hit my face, my mind started spiralling again.

Was I going crazy? Am I reading too much into all of this?

The scent of lavender rose with the steam, but even as the hot water poured over me, a cold unease settled deep in my chest. I chuckled to myself. Who did I think I was—Nancy Drew? Still, the idea of investigating lingered, like a persistent itch I couldn't ignore.

I dried my hair, pulling on my Mulan pyjamas, and sat down in front of my laptop. My plan had been to research my mother, but when faced with the Google search bar, my fingers hesitated. What was I even looking for?

Before I realised it, I'd typed in the best route to Moulding Springs. A bus and two trains. Amber and I could leave Friday afternoon, stay at a hotel, and explore the town on Saturday. It felt reckless, yet I couldn't ignore the pull of needing to know more.

Pulling my bank card from my purse, I dialled Amber to confirm she'd be up for it. Her answer was exactly what I expected.

"Hell yes! I'll transfer you my money NOW," she said, her excitement obvious.

"No way, I'll cover it. You're coming for me, remember?" I said. The truth was, I had enough saved from my sixth form grant—£720 sitting untouched in my account. But as I stared at the confirmation screen, doubt crept in. What was I really getting into?

"Sam?" My mum's voice jolted me out of my thoughts. I froze, quickly closing the laptop and turning to face her.

How long had she been standing there?

"Yeah?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual, even though my heart raced.

Her gaze wandered around the room, but I couldn't tell if she'd seen the screen. "I've been asked to pick up a night shift at the hospital," she said. Her voice was calm, but I could sense something beneath it, something off.

"Okay," I replied, dragging the word out. Normally, she wouldn't even tell me when she left for a shift—just a note or a quick text. So why now?

"I'll be back in the morning," she added, still lingering in the doorway. "Why don't you ask Amber to come over or see if you can stay at hers? I really don't want to leave you alone after... well, you know."

Her voice softened, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like she was really trying. But it only made me more uncomfortable. I forced a smile. "I'll call her, see what she's up to."

"Good," she said, but still didn't move. The awkwardness between us felt like a thick fog, heavy and suffocating. My heart thudded in my chest, weighed down by the silence between us.

Finally, she left, and I waited until I heard the front door click shut and her car pull away. Silence filled the house, but it wasn't comforting—it was stifling, almost claustrophobic. I let out a shaky breath. Something felt off, more than just the tension between us. There was something I wasn't seeing yet, something just out of reach.

As I stood there, a memory floated up, unbidden.

I was eight years old. It had been sports day at school, and I'd placed second in the sack race. Mum hadn't come to watch. When I asked her why, she said she had an emergency shift at the hospital. I remember nodding, brushing it off at the time. But later that night, I overheard her on the phone, laughing with a friend, talking about a lunch they'd had in town that afternoon. I'd shrugged it off back then, assuming it didn't matter.