blooms once.” He paused to reflect. “You know, there’s something profoundly powerful knowing you’re her first.”
I nodded slowly, intrigued and, I had to admit, a little hot under the collar.
2
* * *
PENELOPE
THE CRACKS AROUND THE door frame of the only home I’d ever known had widened since my last visit a few days earlier. That forty-year-old flat was crumbling and forgotten, just like those who lived in that council estate, which was a kind of parallel universe where drowsy souls drifted about a foggy urban wilderness.
The stale stench of cigarettes nauseated me as always, and no matter how much I aired the place out, that acrid smell clung stubbornly to the walls.
I turned on the lamp and found my mother asleep on the couch. Paraphernalia scattered about on the coffee table gave her ugly habit away. She hadn’t even tried to hide it. It used to be in the bathroom, where she’d leave a spoon or a belt lying about, but she no longer cared. One thing I’d learned about heroin addiction—that prick of a needle didn’t just dull pain but one’s conscience too.
Her arm drooped by her side, a red bruise in the crook of it as evidence.
Resting my finger on her neck, I felt for a pulse. An aching gap followed. As always, my heart froze despite the fact that I’d seen her parked somewhere between life and death for as long as I could remember.
One never got used to this kind of thing. As a twenty-three-year-old, I felt helpless and eaten by grief.
She stirred, and the breath that was stuck in my throat finally escaped.
“Who’s that?” she asked. If a zombie could talk, it would sound like my mother on junk—slurry and vague.
“It’s me. Penny.” Fury pumped through me. “Fuck! Not again. You promised.”
I’d lost count of how many times she’d promised to kick that filthy habit, which she’d had all my life even though she swore she’d been clean while I grew in her belly. I’d never know if that was true. My mother had made an art form of lying.
All I had to go by were my high marks at school and my unwavering focus. Maybe she’d told the truth for once. Either that, or I was lucky for possessing a curious mind, a good eye for drawing, and the tenacity to become someone other than Penny from the estate.
“Is Frank here?” I asked, referring to her on-off boyfriend, who’d kept us going over the five years that he’d been around.
I should have been grateful, but he hung out with the bad crowd— a crowd I couldn’t avoid, given that I lived in one of London’s oldest, scummiest estates. It was a breeding ground for drug traffickers, and was frequented by men in expensive suits, lowlifes in saggy joggers, and girls who sold everything they had to offer for drugs.
My mother’s droopy eyelids lifted ever so slightly, enough for me to read that he’d been there and that she’d filled her veins with her “forgetting potion,” as she called it.
As I considered my mother’s brutal history, a profound pang of sadness diluted my angry frustration at finding her like that again.
“You spent the money, didn’t you?” I headed to the fridge, which was empty except for a half carton of milk and a six-pack of beer.
“How are you darling?” she asked. “I haven’t seen you in days.”
“I’ve been at Shelly’s. You know I use his studio.”
“Oh, your friend the homosexual. I don’t like you hanging out with those weirdos.”
“Huh?” I put my fists on my hips. “And I suppose your drug-addicted mates are less weird?” I picked up the syringe carefully. “At least Shelly doesn’t take drugs.”
“Don’t talk so loudly,” she slurred. Ravaged by drugs, my mother’s beauty had faded. Her red hair, a tangled mess, hadn’t seen a brush for days.
“Go to bed, then. Here.” I bent down to give her my shoulder. For someone who didn’t eat much, her body was heavy.
“I’m sorry, kitten. My darling Penny. I’m sorry.”
The only one advantage of living in such a tiny flat was that I didn’t have to carry her far. I took her weight and, in twenty or so little shuffles, made it to her disheveled bed.
I helped her down onto it and covered her with a blanket.
“I suppose you haven’t had anything to eat for a while?” I asked.
“I’m not hungry, lovey. Let me sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
I let out a deep, frustrated breath and left her alone.