Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,312

patiently, “I don’t have a tone.”

“Of course you don’t, because it’s never you, is it? It’s always someone else’s fault.”

Her heart pounded its way up her throat. “Mum—”

“One of these days,” Marilyn went on sadly, “you’ll realise just how much I put up with. You were a difficult child, and now you’re a difficult woman. It’s as if you don’t want anyone to love you. I mean, bad enough that you ruined your face—”

Ruined? Rae curled her hands into fists, her nails decorating her palms with crescent moons.

“—but you had a wonderful husband who stayed with you anyway. He was so devoted! Except, you just can’t help yourself, can you? You’re so excruciatingly miserable. I’m not surprised he needed a little freedom, in the end.”

Rae squeezed the phone so hard her fingers paled. “That’s enough, Mother.”

“Now look at the mess you’re in. You’re not young and beautiful anymore, you know. Who’s going to overlook your—your ways? It’s high time you realised you aren’t nearly as wonderful as you think you are.”

Snap. The sound was almost audible. For a moment, Rae thought she’d broken her phone. Then she realised that razor-edged twang had been the death of her stretched-thin patience.

“That’s enough, Mother.” Her voice was harder than it had ever been during a conversation like this. Usually, she could barely speak, was too busy fighting shocked tears, her mind curling in on itself to hide from each verbal blow. But not today.

“Baby! Don’t shout at me,” Marilyn gasped, a slight wobble in her voice.

So many times, that wobble had convinced Rae she was a monster. That she, not her mother, was the problem with their relationship. That whenever she spoke out, she ruined things. And that belief, in turn, was why Rae had let Kevin control her, stifle her, drain her dry; it had seemed safer than the alternative. She’d been taught so thoroughly that standing up for herself was an act of aggression, it had taken her forty fucking years to figure out who she really was.

The realisation shimmered through her like an awakening. Her mother, Kevin—they were both so manipulative in such similar ways, and no-one had ever given her the tools to see it, never mind to defend herself. That was the problem. Not trust, but trusting the wrong people. Hadn’t she learned, after laughing with Hannah and drinks at the Unicorn and kissing the man she loved, what closeness should be?

She had. It might take her a while and a whole lot of help to remember, sometimes. But she knew. Underneath the fear, she knew.

So, she set her shoulders, lifted her chin, and fought back. “You don’t get to behave like this, Mother. You don’t get to hurt the people who care about you. Not me, anyway, because I’m not going to let you.”

Marilyn made a faint, strangled sound. “Baby Ann. What on earth are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Rae snapped, then thought for a moment. “Or maybe you really, genuinely don’t. In which case, that’s sad, but it doesn’t make this okay. And it’s not my job to bear the brunt of your fucked up-ness. If that makes me a bad daughter, so be it. Because you are a bad mother.”

The words seemed to hover in the air, as if she could reach out and snatch them back. As if she could recall the blasphemy safely into her mouth. But she didn’t want to, because it was true. She released a pent-up breath, and her tense muscles loosened. The weight in her belly faded away. It was fucking true.

“Well,” Marilyn huffed, part-wounded, part-raging. “Well!”

In a second, she’d recover from this shock, and then she’d launch some clever, scathing attack. It might slice Rae to pieces, or it might bounce off her new protective shield. They’d never know, because Rae didn’t wait for it to come. She ended the call with a tap, but that didn’t seem final enough, so she threw her phone at the wall for good measure.

It hit the plaster with a thunk and landed on the floor with a clatter. She stared dully, her chest heaving, her mind tingling like a numb limb coming back to life. Duke lifted his mammoth head from her lap and licked her wrist.

“Thanks, honey,” she breathed. “I’m okay.” And it almost felt true.

But not quite. Because deep down, she wasn’t okay, never had been. Rae lived in a constant state of fearful defiance, always waiting for someone to lash out and hurt her,