The last thing I hear are the lilting strains of Rockabye Baby, then all is gone.
June
"Now, now my dearest, time to go to sleep, don't fight it dear, time to go to sleep."
What do they say? Youth is wasted on the young? Well we'll see won't we? I'm going to lay her in the bedroom, asleep forever, surrounded by sleeping pills and red wine bottles, then I’m going to have another crack at living.
I'll tell dear Auntie Jacs, “she's been inconsolable since the party, I didn't know what to do - it’s been so hard.”
Sob.
I'm surprised I don't feel worse about it, as I pull her lifeless form into the pill laden nest I have built for her, but I think I someone up there is looking out for me. Giving me another shot at life. It would be churlish to refuse.
Strange to think I’ll soon be living with dear perfect old Daddy soon and his lovely, gorgeous new family. What fun I shall have with him and his little vampires.
Franny
I can't believe she did it.
She actually murdered me. The pain of Mum’s body ebbs away, the strains of nursery rhymes unheard in a decade the last thing to go.
I can’t believe she did this to me.
Jacqui
I had no idea she felt like this. All that time I thought she was so cold and thoughtless, but she must have been screaming inside.
If only she had spoken to me. Isn’t that what sisters are meant to do? Dear Franny has barely spoken since. I think she's in shock. I know I am.
Franny and June had a last meal, then June went to her bedroom, finished her wine and sleeping pills. Maybe Mum going hit her harder than I thought.
Russia and America; both gone in the space of a year.
Just us boring Canadians left now. Life may be more peaceful without their presence, but I miss them both.
Franny
I can't believe my own mother murdered me. How cold do you have to be to do something like that? Can you ever trust anyone again? Not that I can ever tell anyone about it now.
Who'd believe me?
I saw the abyss, peered into the darkness of the void, then returned. I found myself standing there, back in my own body and looking down upon the lifeless form of that woman, then I wept.
Despite what she did, I wept.
Dad moved back in, drifting backwards and forwards between me and his other home, his new family, but he's less fun as full-time dad than the Sunday afternoon father he'd become. At least I know he's not murderously intent on stealing my youth. Well, I hope he isn't.
Apparently it's hard to tell.
***
Last Saturday I went out for the first time, over to Camden to buy some new funky shoes, then I turned a corner and there it was. The Bedouin tent. Flaps hanging slightly open and I touched my mum's pendant before entering. It’s been round my neck since she, left me.
The merchant rose as I made my way into the fog of burning herbs and spices.
"Do you have an exchange department?" I asked, holding out the medallion.
He smiled wanly, his thin mouth seeming to stretch almost back to his ears, and once again had the sense this man and his smile could have originated a million miles away from here.
"I will take it off your hands," he said, then he looked apologetic, "but I'm afraid there are no exchanges in this establishment. I'm very sorry you had such a bad experience, but I did warn you it could be dangerous. You though, I reckon you have a greater understanding of your mother now. Was it worth it?"
“Not really,” I say, glancing away, then by the time I look back, he’s gone again, Dad calling me to come and look at some abstract prints, asking if we were ready to redecorate the house yet, or if it was too soon to change.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to ClkerFreeVectorImages for the use of the fantastic image on the cover under a Creative Commons License: https://pixabay.com/en/day-of-the-dead-mexican-holiday-girl-29263/
Thanks
Thanks for taking the time to read my story and I hope you’ll forgive the odd typo or grammatical error that slips through. Feel free to tell me about any you find via @edgarmillion. As much as I try to proofread everything, I know I miss errors here and there, and I’ll remove them if you tell me and add a thank-you to the ‘Thanks’.
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Special Thanks
To my partner and my many daughters who are not (quite) this bad.
Franny and June Page 4