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beneath her mother’s eyes and a sag to the skin around her neck that never used to be there. Even her trembling fingers were thinner than she remembered, the gold wedding ring on her left hand held in place with little lumps of sticky tape.
    ‘Mama . . .’
    ‘Let’s get inside. It’s cold.’
    Karen picked up the crushed box and ushered her mother inside. Instead of following Robert to the sitting room, Karen led her mother into the kitchen. She plucked two shot glasses and a bottle off a high shelf. ‘Havana?’
    A ghost of a smile played over Charlaine’s lips. ‘You know better than that, sweetie.’
    Karen left the bottle and stooped to a low cupboard. When she straightened, she held a tall, unopened bottle of Wray and Nephew.
    ‘That’s my girl.’
    She cracked the lid and poured a generous measure of rum into the shot glasses.
    Charlaine didn’t wait but tossed hers back. ‘Wonderful. I needed that.’
    Karen poured another. ‘What’s going on, Mama? You look tired. I wasn’t sure you’d come tonight.’
    ‘How could I not come see my baby girl’s new house? And meet her friends?’
    ‘You’ve met my friends. You know them. Cindy always asks after you.’
    Charlaine frowned. ‘And how do you tell her anything? You never call me. You never visit me.’
    ‘Neither do you.’
    Silence. They both drank.
    Obnoxious rap lyrics floated through the open kitchen door. Someone shouted and the song cut short, replaced seconds later by a softer, reggae beat.
    Karen gripped the bottle of rum. ‘I hear Robert is making himself at home.’
    ‘You mustn’t hate him, sweetie. He’s a good man.’
    ‘Is he?’
    ‘Of course he is.’
    ‘And is he just good to you or does that extend to Suzanne? And Lola? And Catherine? And Lucy?’
    With each name Charlaine shrank further and further into herself until she appeared low and broken in her chair. ‘He’s not seeing them any more.’
    ‘So there’s someone new?’
    Charlaine stared into her shot glass.
    ‘Mama?’
    ‘It’s just me. Only me and he cares for me now. I need that.’
    ‘You survived without him for years.’
    ‘I had you.’
    A twinge of sadness plucked Karen’s heart and brought a bitter taste to her mouth. ‘You still do. You’ll always have me.’
    A tear gathered in Charlaine’s eye and rolled down her cheek. She didn’t bother to wipe it away. ‘I won’t.’
    ‘Mama?’
    ‘You’ve got this man now. Daniel. You’ve moved and you’ll forget about me. There’ll be nobody left to look after me when I can’t manage any more.’
    ‘What are you talking about?’
    She looked up from the shot glass. The whites of her eyes were red, her cheeks puffy. ‘I’m sick, sweetie. Cancer. It’s terminal.’

Chapter Four
Dan
    ‘Hello?’ Dan tapped his knuckles on the bathroom door.
    A loud cough answered, followed by retching and the wet slap of something heavy hitting standing water. He rolled his eyes. ‘Clean up when you’re done, please.’
    The door popped open. Cindy slid through. ‘Have you got any mint tea or fennel?’
    He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Seriously?’
    ‘Yeah. I don’t drink that shit but Sam swears it will settle her stomach.’
    ‘Now?’
    She arched an eyebrow. ‘Unless you want your bathroom to smell like puke and cookies for the rest of the night.’ With that, Cindy darted back into the bathroom and slammed the door.
    Dan rubbed his face with his hands.
    Fuck me . . .
    On his return to the kitchen, he paused to peer into the living room. The music wasn’t any he recognised; a slow, Bob Marley sort of style. In the middle of the room, dancing with his mother, a tall, wrestler-wide black man in a pale grey suit, sang along at the top of his lungs.
    Dan watched his mother sway to the music. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
    What the actual fuck ? Who’s that?
    The stranger pawed Maxine like a horny teenager, his thick, broad hands dwarfing her tiny waist. The hem of her floral dress slipped over her