Page 68

CUTTING THE CORD

Pember

The afternoon slipped into evening as Pember stood on the perimeter of his childhood home. He swallowed, placed a hand on the garden wall and just stared at his mother.

She was on the sofa by the window, scribbling answers into the daily crossword. She always kept the curtains open well into the night, because spying on the neighbours was her personal hobby.

Tracey McArthur looked small, hunched over with her head in the newspaper and pink reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. She almost looked normal, and not at all like the looming shadow that’d darkened most of Pember and his sister’s lives.

With every fibre of his being, he wanted to march straight to the house and scream at her for being such a vindictive fucking bitch. Imogen’s ashes were still under his fingernails, despite him showering and scrubbing his hands red raw.

He wanted to, but he didn’t, because if he’d learned anything in his relatively short life, it was that blowing up and losing control was exactly what she wanted. It’d mean she’d won. She’d been the bigger person all along.

It had been Imogen’s fatal flaw, and every time they had a blazing argument, his mother would develop this self-satisfied gleam in her eyes.

Afterwards, she’d go into Pember’s room, take him into her arms, stroke his hair and say “Thank God” that he was such a good boy. Her boy. Her baby. Not like his sister.

It had driven a wedge between him and Imogen for years, which was something he could never forgive.

It had all stopped when he was about to hit puberty and estrus started to bloom within him. Something in his mum’s expression hardened when his pheromones started to change that fateful Saturday morning, and she cut off all his hair. Then he started to understand why Imogen hated her.

He picked at a piece of lint on his thin blue jumper and brushed out a non-existent crease from his jeans.

Val could tell he was going to do something stupid, because she’d chewed his ear off about nothing at all, trying to fill the space created by his contemplative silence.

And for once Pember’s brain was quiet. The chaotic buzz that usually accompanied any and all thoughts of his mother was dormant.

Taking a step forward, he let his walking boots crunch heavily against the gravel. His mum looked up, then rose as her dark green eyes homed in on him like a goddamned tractor beam. She knew he would come.

“Hi, Mum,” he whispered, though she would never hear it.

She ran her fingers over her skirt then plucked the glasses off her nose and placed them on the coffee table. She still carried herself with the grace of a dancer as she moved with unnatural stillness towards the front door.

Pember straightened his jacket, combed a hand through his hair and let out a breath.

“We can do this,” he said, running his thumb over Imogen’s necklace.

The door clicked, and he stood face to face with his mother once again. She sniffed, her jaw setting into a hard line. “You look terrible,” she said, folding her arms and jutting out her chin.

Pember sighed, biting the inside of his cheek. “Hello, Mum,” he said, slowly walking towards the house.

She scoffed, drumming her fingers across her folded arms. “I’ve been a nervous wreck, you silly boy. I had to go to the doctor’s and?—”

“How’s Aunt Mary?” he said, drawing level but keeping out of striking range. “And Uncle Ron?”

Her eyebrow twitched at the dismissal. “What? Pember, I’m?—”

“And cousin Emma? Has she had the baby yet?”

Tracey’s lips peeling back over her teeth. “A girl. Alpha. But I have been so?—”

“That’s nice.” He nodded. “Shall we have a chat?” He gave her a curt smile, gesturing towards the house.

Tracey’s nostrils flared as she stood her ground. “I’m not sure we should. Who knows where you’ve been this last month.”

Pember scoffed. “You know exactly where I’ve been, but I’m happy to air our dirty laundry to the neighbours.”

He shrugged, tipping his face towards the road.

She stepped forward, eyes flitting up and down the street, because although she craved his anger, she would most certainly not want to taint the image of the perfect family she kept up to everyone on the street. With a huff, she stepped back and let him in.

The house was just as he remembered—well-kept without a cushion out of place.

Suffocating.

“Tea?” he said, slowly walking through the living room and glancing towards the fireplace. She’d rearranged the china ornaments to make it look like Imogen’s ashes had never been there at all. Pember sighed, drawing two cups from the cupboard and flicking on the kettle.

Tracey’s slippers padded across the tiles before she stopped and yanked the mugs out of his hands. Pember flinched, making her head tilt in that horribly patronising way he was used to. Like he was a kid who’d been caught out in a lie.

He thought for a moment she was going to smack him, but instead she placed the cups down and began making the tea.

Pember moved towards the kitchen table, turning away as he tried to steady the hammering behind his ribs.

Soundlessly, he pulled out the chair and lowered himself onto the seat.

He’d silently promised Imogen that he’d stay calm, but now he was there and his mum was staring at him, his muscles tensed all at once.

Neither of them spoke, and when the kettle clicked she turned to make the tea. Pember let out a quiet breath, letting his hands ball and un-ball in an attempt to release the pins and needles gathering at his fingertips.

Checking his phone, he saw a text from Blake. ‘ I’m almost done, should I get dessert on the way home? ’

He glanced up before smiling softly and typing back, ‘ Brownies? ’

Pember ached to be wrapped in Blake’s arms again. Maybe they could eat the brownies in bed and fall asleep to a shitty movie. Blake replied with a thumbs up, followed by a photograph of Oliver and Lucas with their heads buried in a stack of paperwork.

‘ They came to ‘help’ but all they’ve done is bicker about the meaning of the word ‘covert’ for the last thirty minutes. ’

Pember pressed a hand to his mouth, trying not to chuckle. ‘ I hope you’re supplying them with plenty of tea and biscuits? ’

Three dots appeared on the screen, followed by another photograph.

‘ Babysitting. ’

It was a photograph of Mina on Blake’s knee, a teething toy rammed into her mouth and a damp patch covering his trousers. Alfie was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Lucas, trying to figure out a jigsaw puzzle.

Pember’s mouth twitched when he noticed Chichi in the background, writing Forensic Strategy in blue pen across a whiteboard. Warmth bloomed in his chest and he covered a smile.

‘ What a cute family photo :-P ’

“Why’re you smiling?” his mum snapped, and Pember flinched when he realised she’d already placed both mugs on the table and sat down. “Have you… have you met someone, Pember?”

He thought about saying, “ Yes! Yes, I have. Someone I chose! ” But he didn’t. Instead, he reached across the table, took the mug by the handle and pressed it between his palms. It burned, but at least it distracted from the roiling in his gut.

“ Pember, ” she repeated, rapping her knuckles against the table. “I asked if you’ve met someone?”

Sniffing, he took a sip of scalding hot tea and levelled his eyes at her. “None of your business.”

Her face suddenly lifted, a flash of surprise in her eyes. Standing abruptly, she moved around the table and tugged his arm. “Really, baby? Who is he? Tell me everything. When can I meet him?”

Her eyes were doe-like, but calculated, an expression that made him feel absolutely sick.

“Mum—” he said, yanking his arm free.

“What’s he like? Have you told him about me? Does he want to meet?”

Pember planted his feet on the floor and shoved his chair back with a scrape. In one fluid movement he ducked around her and moved to the sink.

Bracing both hands on the countertop, he said, “Why did you do it?”

When she didn’t answer, he slowly turned to look at her.

“Why did you disrespect Imogen like that?”

She scoffed, the softness in her expression rapidly receding. “Why did you disrespect me like that? Haven’t I given you everything?”

Swallowing, Pember grit his teeth. “Honestly? The only thing you’ve given me in the last eighteen months is a reason to leave.”

Her eyebrows flew up, and if she’d have made a move towards him in that moment he’d have left without a second glance.

Instead, she dropped her head and shook it. “You were such a good baby,” she muttered. “I really don’t know where things went wrong.”

Running his tongue over his teeth, Pember tried to swallow the laugh that was bubbling in his throat. “Of course I was,” he said, tipping his head to the side. “Because I didn’t have a mind of my own.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not this again. All I ever wanted was?—”

“Mum.” He cut her off. “I asked you why you disrespected my sister like that.”

She scoffed again, her hard expression faltering ever so slightly. “She was my daughter .”

Pember dropped his gaze, a tiny thread of guilt starting to curl in his belly.

“And because I was sick of having her in the house, being reminded day after day about what she did.”

The thread dissolved and Pember’s jaw twitched.

“ Reminded ?” he said, the word barely above a whisper.

“ You don’t want to be reminded ? I was there, Mum.

I was there when she… when she fucking killed herself.

When she was there one minute, then gone the next.

Do you… do you even know what happened?”

A muscle ticked in his mum’s jaw. “I don’t want to know.”