Free The Accident by Kate Hendrick

and blankets, murmured something and Aunt Jen forced a laugh. ‘Yeah, sure.’
    She came back over to the door and gestured at us to shoo. ‘I’ll be down in a bit.’
    We sat grimly at the kitchen counter for the next hour or so, waiting for her to come down. I stared hard at a plastic orange bowl full of burnt popcorn, not wanting to speak in case I tipped the scales in some terrible way.
    Lauren looked at Morgan, then at me. Her eyes were piercing, her jaw set. ‘We’re not going into foster care.’
    I didn’t ask her how she could be so sure. Somehow I just believed her: she would keep that promise, however she could.
    And somehow, she did. We didn’t go into foster care. Aunty Jen stayed for a month, taking over running the house. That didn’t go over much better with Lauren, who was used to doing things her way. But Aunty Jen’s reign, as friction-filled as some moments were, was a brief escape into my old life of packed lunches, bedtime stories and goodnight kisses. I knew it wasn’t going to last forever, but I clung to each tenuous moment, trying to store up what I could.
    I was sitting on the front step reading when I encountered my mother for the first time in almost two weeks. I’d fled to escape an argument between Aunty Jen and Lauren. I pulled my book close against me as I felt the front door swing inwards, expecting a violent flurry of movement and the angry strides of my sister. But it wasn’t Lauren’s tread. It was still crisp, but more careful; a little hesitant. Mum.
    She paused. My head was still down as I pretended to be deep in the book, but I could hear her quiet breathing behind me. The clipped footsteps moved past, and she stopped a few metres away with her back to me. I could tell from the way she searched her pockets and then cupped her hands to her face that she was lighting a cigarette. Finally she turned around, meeting my gaze and shuffling a little.
    ‘What are you reading?’
    Her voice was surprisingly clear, casual. I’d expected her to look different, ill somehow, but Aunty Jen had been making her eat properly and it looked like she’d just show ered and washed her hair.
    I held my book up to show her, and she raised an eyebrow. ‘You need some new stuff.’ Again she shuffled, stamping her feet as if it was really cold, and she came forwards, reaching for the ashtray that I had nudged aside with my feet. ‘That’s not challenging for you.’
    This wasn’t at all how I’d imagined this meeting would go. I wanted to say something, to tell her how unfair she’d been on us, but I wasn’t brave enough. When I did speak, my voice was shaky: ‘Aunty Jen says…you feel like you’re letting everyone down.’
    Mum raised an eyebrow and let out a scornful snort. ‘Jen likes to think she knows what everyone feels.’ She tapped her cigarette against the rim of the ashtray. Red embers tumbled, curling and blackening as they died. ‘But I have let you all down.’
    Only when you go all weird and don’t get out of bed. Only when your writing is more important to you than us.
    That’s what I wanted to say to her, but I didn’t. I should have been the bravest, but if anything I was the biggest wuss, the last one to speak out. Lauren would explode all over the place, and even Morgan would complain, but I would just sit there silently, feeling as if my mouth had forgotten how to work.
    ‘Come on.’ She stubbed out her cigarette. ‘It’s time I introduce you to my classics.’
    ‘Mum?’ My voice was wobbly, nervous.
    She turned back.
    I felt sick in my stomach as I asked, ‘Are you going to keep writing?’
    She turned fully to face me. Leaned back against the wall. ‘It’s all I ever wanted to do.’
    ‘More than have us?’
    ‘It’s not the same.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘It’s just not. I have to write. It’s in my blood. I knew I wanted to do it just like I knew I wanted you three.’
    ‘What if you can’t have both?’
    That stopped her. She rubbed at her