Blood Loss by Kerena Swan (good beach reads .txt) 📕

have kept quiet because they feel as I do now – ashamed, even though I’m innocent. I’ll have to find another job soon. Maybe I’ll have to take on late shifts at the bar again because I need an income, not just for me but for Merlin too. What a mess.

I suppose there is one positive in all this, though. Until I get work I can devote more time to Mum when she isn’t sleeping. Sometimes I think she pretends to be asleep for a bit of peace but I want to make the most of every minute I have left with her. She’s deteriorating in front of our eyes and some days she’s too weak to get out of bed for even a short time.

I can’t bear to contemplate my life without her and sometimes I want to howl and rage at the injustice of the world. Instead, I sit quietly and hold her hand, keeping all my emotions inside until I fear I’ll break down completely and end up as a bawling and blubbering pile of uselessness. When Mum goes, apart from my dear friend Nisha and possibly Grace, I’ll only have Lucy and she appears to hate me.

A sudden thought has my hand flying to my mouth. Did Lucy call Mrs. Kingston? Is it her plan that I should be around more to look after Mum so Lucy doesn’t have to get so involved in the intimate care and her inheritance won’t be reduced by Mum paying Grace? Or is this simply part of Lucy’s campaign of malice? The carrier bag that spooked Merlin, the shove at the race and now this.

No, this is crazy. I can’t believe it. Or is it a case of not wanting to believe it?

I let myself into the utility room, pause to draw in breath and steady myself, then enter the kitchen. Mum is at the sink, her hand wobbling as she fills the kettle. I rush over and take the kettle from her.

‘Let me do that. You sit down.’

‘I’m not an invalid yet. I still want some independence. I was about to make myself a peppermint tea.’

‘Why don’t you have another of those nutrition drinks? Grace has been to the chemist and got you some more strawberry ones. They seem to help your energy levels and that’s your favourite flavour, isn’t it?’

‘I fancy a peppermint tea to settle my stomach.’

‘Okay.’ I carry the drink to the table and we sit in silence.

‘Is everything all right, Jenna? You seem upset. Has something happened at work? I thought you were meant to be there until five today.’

‘Everything’s fine.’ I can’t have Mum worrying about me. ‘Really,’ I add, when she looks sceptical.

But she puts her head on one side and simply waits. I attempt a reassuring smile but to my horror and shame I can’t carry it off. A tear steals from my eye and runs down my cheek. Damn. I brush it roughly away but more tears form and when Mum comes round the table to hug me a huge sob wrenches itself from my chest. I shudder and heave with grief. I’ve been holding everything in for so long but now Mrs. Kingston has smashed my self-control to pieces with a wrecking ball of lies.

I eventually calm down and Mum hands me some kitchen roll to dry my face.

‘I’m sorry. You don’t need this.’ I smile weakly at her and she smiles back and pats my hand.

‘I’m still your Mum, Jenna. What’s happened?’

I tell her about Mrs Kingston and Mum looks shocked.

‘I know you’d never do such a thing. There must be a mistake but I don’t want you going back there anyway. You’re better off out of there.’

I nod, but I’m still hurt and I’m worried about how I’ll get by without the income.

‘You’re thinking of the money you’ll lose?’ Mum asks.

‘No, I’ll manage.’ I absolutely don’t want her fretting about my finances.

‘I’ll pay for Merlin’s upkeep. I’ve nothing else to spend my money on in the time I have left, and although I’d love you to have a career plan for the future, I want you here now rather than out looking for another job.’ She gives a hollow laugh. ‘Best not tell Lucy, though, eh?’

Chapter 44

The Previous March | Sarah

I sit on the edge of my bed agonising over what to do. I can’t just turn up at the house in Bow Brickhill and say I’m the Winterbournes’ real daughter. I need some sort of proof for one thing. Maybe I should gather all the evidence to show them – the photos, the bracelet, the DNA test results. I could suggest that they take DNA tests themselves as further proof, but they might think I’m delusional, even unstable, if I just turn up on their doorstep making claims that sound like something off a TV drama.

For a moment I lose myself in a fantasy in which my real family suspected all along and have been waiting for me to show up. I picture us hugging and crying, laughing and sharing stories, then I shake myself. I’m being ridiculous. If they suspected, they’d have come looking for me. It didn’t take me long to find them, did it? No. I need to be practical and logical.

Maybe I should involve a solicitor. I’m not keen on that idea though. I want the Winterbournes to love me for the woman I am now and this approach might look confrontational.

I need to work out the best thing to do.

I listen to the sound of Mum shuffling around downstairs and the clink of bottle on glass before the television blares out the theme tune for Love Island. I’m surprised she watches that crap but maybe it taps in to her idea of romance and relationship dramas.

I get up with new determination. I’ll sort out the photos first. I go downstairs to fetch the box of family pictures and see that Mum is in her usual place on the sofa – stretched