Page 68 of When We Were Young

Liv

I hurry down the stairs at the sound of Mum coming in. I’ve been a bundle of nerves waiting for her to get back from Amplify .

‘Hi,’ she says, surprised to see me. ‘You’re here already.’

‘Dad dropped me about half an hour ago.’

‘Was Katya there when you left?’

‘No, she’s coming later. Dad’s tidying the house.’

She nods. I follow her to the kitchen and watch as she fills the kettle.

‘How did it go with Paul?’ I ask.

‘He’s letting you go back for the rest of the summer.’

I’m so relieved, I run over and hug her. ‘Oh Mum, that’s brilliant! That’s amazing! Thank you so much. Thanks for talking to him.’ I quickly let go and step out of her personal space.

‘But…’ she says, a warning in her voice. ‘He wants you to listen and do as you’re told. Don’t mess this up, Liv.’

‘I won’t.’

‘What did his email say?’ she asks.

‘There was no message, just the file with loads of comments on it.’

‘He said it needs work, and he’ll only run it if it’s ready in time for the Fragments anniversary. Can you do it?’

There’s a strange fluttering in my stomach. ‘I’ve already started.’

The kettle bubbles noisily, so I wait for her to make her drink.

‘Mum?’ I ask as she takes her drink and sits at the table.

‘Yes?’

‘Paul wants me to interview you.’

She sighs. ‘He mentioned that.’

‘Are you okay with it?’

She pauses. ‘I’m not promising anything, Liv. Get everything else done and we’ll see.’

‘Okay.’ I fiddle with the handle of the cutlery drawer, plucking up the courage to ask about the archive. ‘Mum, it’s Saturday tomorrow…’

‘And?’

‘I go to the Baileys’ house to work on the archive on Saturdays…’

‘You know how I feel about that––’

‘Please, Mum. The Baileys don’t know who I am. There’s no need for them to know. And if I don’t do it, then someone else will, but they won’t care about it like I do.’

‘Liv, I can’t deal with this now!’ she snaps.

‘I’m still coming to terms with the fact you’ve been going through his private things.

Behind my back. For months. I’ve just read all the articles you wrote.

About the person I loved…’ Her voice wobbles.

‘And it’s been hard… really hard… to think about him again after all these years of desperately trying not to. ’

She’s right. I’m being selfish. That must have been difficult. ‘Okay, I won’t go.’

As I go to leave the room, I think of all she has done for me. Reading my articles, talking to Paul, getting my job back. That must have been difficult for her. She deserves to know it wasn’t her fault.

I turn back. ‘You didn’t kill him, Mum. He killed himself.’

Her eyes meet mine. ‘ Because of me,’ she says.

‘You think he did it because you split up with him?’

‘He kept calling, turning up at my flat. I couldn’t talk to him. I was a coward. It was easier to avoid him.’

‘It wasn’t because of you,’ I tell her.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He didn’t do it because of you. I’m not saying he wasn’t upset about the break-up; he was, but… there was another reason.’

She pulls back slightly, her face slackens. ‘What other reason?’