Sixteen
Ma wasn’t at Tregonna. No one was. I tried her bedroom door on the off-chance but it was locked, which really pissed me off. I mean, who locks their bedroom door? In their family home? With only their family around? People with something to hide, that’s who.
I raced around the garden and grounds but there was no sign of her and my anger grew as I paced up and down the drive, waiting for her to emerge from the woods clutching a basket of mushrooms or clamber up from the cove with her skirt and hair fluttering in the breeze, until I came to a stop by the front door and glanced up once more to check she wasn’t skulking in her room. Not that Ma ever skulked.
Her bedroom window was open. Just a few inches at the bottom. Like it always was. She says she can’t bear an airless room. Eno
