The Tragic Life

Chapter 24

WARNING: CHAPTERS 32 - 36 OF THIS BOOK CAN ONLY BE READ ON INKITT! LINK IN MY BIO ♥️

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I spray the second toilet cubicle down with bleach, and let it sit there for a few minutes. It gives me enough time to check my phone for updates from Jamie. It seems that he's in a better place having felt strong enough to go back to work, but I'm dubious that he can manage the whole day.

The company he works for have been nothing short of amazing in supporting him, having still paid his usual wage even on the days he missed...if only mine are as nice.

My manager is being sour towards me for letting them down when they were already short-staffed, and I get it, but making me work three night shifts in a row, and cleaning out every toilet is a bit petty.

There's no messages from him yet, so I go back to scrubbing the walls with the fumes frying away the tiny hairs inside of my nose. It's almost making my eyes water.

The bathroom door makes the most horrendous noise when it opens. My coworker, Daisy smiles at me. "Molly, your mum is waiting for you down at reception. She says it's urgent."

I drop the sponge in the bucket of water. "My mum? Are you sure?"

It must be at least ten months since I saw her last, only keeping in touch via message when she needs something.

Daisy shrugs her shoulders. "I think so. She said that she was your mum."

"I'll be down in a minute."

Nodding, she steps out of the room which gives me a moment to prepare. It's always an ordeal to see my mum. The past memories and her abandonment affecting me.

It's a lot.

It doesn't take me long to ride down to reception in the lift with the soothing tones of the music doing nothing to calm my racing heart. It's going to be about money. I know it.

I easily spot her bright blonde hair that's piled on top of her head like always, and the beloved costume jewellery earrings that could rival Pat Butchers. She lifts her skinny arm up in the air when she spots me. "There's my baby girl!"

My step hesitates for a beat or two. "What do you need? I'm working, mum."

She steps towards me. "I don't need anything. I just wanted to see you."

I hate that I don't believe her, but I can't help it. There's always an ulterior motive. "How did you know where I was anyway?"

"Clay taught me how to use Find Friends on my phone. I tracked you here," she replies, not aware that she sounds completely barmy.

My eyes pass over the app when she gets the phone out of her huge handbag. "It's been over ten months."

She scratches her head. "I had a lot going on with everything at home. And Clay's kids were starting a new school. I couldn't take much more stress. I'm sorry."

And, that's what it boils down to—her. It's always me, me me.

"That makes two of us. Look, I really must get back to my job," I say, going to turn away as she clasps onto my forearm.

"Wait, please. I'm in trouble," she whispers.

My stomach drops to the floor. "I knew it."

There's unshed tears settling in the corner of her eyes. "I borrowed money. A lot of it, and I can't pay it back."

Jesus.

"Why would you do that after the last time?" I whisper.

Her green eyes dart from side to side. "I don't know. I just can't control myself. It's bad. The money I borrowed has crazy high interest charges."

Noticing that the receptionist is busy typing on his computer, I drag her to the old staff room that nobody uses. It's quiet, and private enough to have this conversation.

I close the door. "Do you owe the bank?"

There's a tiredness in her face that I didn't notice before now. "Yes, among others."

I massage my temples. "Please tell me that you didn't loan shark again."

"I...well, yes, but it's different this time. I didn't borrow as much from them. I can pay it back," she says.

My frown is quick. "Then why do you ask me for cash? If you can pay it back then why do you need them in the first place?"

It's easy to get into trouble with money these days, I get it. But, when you've had to declare yourself bankrupt twice before, you think you'd learn.

She fusses with the blue scarf wrapped around her neck. "I needed a car to get me to my new job, and Clay's kids go to private school now. We don't have a joint bank account. Can't you lend me something? I'll get it back to you."

"I've already helped you out enough. I can't afford to keep handing out my savings," I reply, seeing her jaw start to tense up.

She frowns. "You don't even have a hundred to spare? I'll take anything."

Oh, yes, because one hundred pounds is so little!

"No, I don't."

"But, why, baby? I know that you have some inheritance from your dad-"

"Stop," I shout out at her. "Just bloody stop. I had dad's money put in an ISA when I received it. It's for Emily."

On the night of my eighteenth birthday, my granny Sheila, dad's mum, gave me a cheque for twenty thousand pounds. It came along with a handwritten letter. A letter my dad wrote during his second round of chemotherapy. I think he must've known that the disease had beaten him, and you could tell in his words that that made him sad.

It makes me sad too.

"Emily, my daughter," I reply when it seems that she's confused by the name. Is she for real?

My words don't register. It's so insulting. "I'm desperate! You don't understand. They could hurt me...or my family."

...or my family.

It hurts more than I want it to hurt. I shouldn't care. I have a good life that's surrounded by good people. I don't understand the gapping wound that can never seem to heal over. "Then, I suggest that you find someone else to help you out. Keep it in the family."

She lifts her head up to narrow her big eyes in my direction. "Your dad would want you to help me out. Don't be selfish. I'm asking for five grand at the most. Just to tide me by."

Some of the most poisonous people come disguised as family and friends. God, if she isn't an annoyingly toxic human vacuum.

I need some fresh air to escape her fumes. "I think dad would be shaking his head at you right now. Stop trying to take advantage of me."

We stare at each other until she knows that she's not getting anymore out of me. Then she's storming her way out of the room with a loud huff of air. I simply watch after her with a sad frown. If only it could be different.

My pager pings against the material of my trouser leg when I start to make my way out of here. It's reminding me that it's time for my afternoon break. I'm not much in the mood for stalking with my thoughts, so I go back to scrubbing the walls instead.

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