Don't Breathe

I decided that it might be something permanent. You’re nearly eighteen, Annie. Can you really not understand that I’m still young enough to want a man in my life?’
‘Not this man,’ Annie snapped. ‘It’s like you waited until I’d finally managed to get together with Tom and then shat all over me.’
‘Annie!’
‘What? I couldn’t care less if you bring a fucking rugby team home for the night. I’m not stupid. I knew you’d end up with somebody else after dad left but why Cam Cleaver?’
Her mum sighed and went to sit on the couch, the fight suddenly gone. In her faded blue towelling dressing gown with the remains of last night’s make-up still in the corners of her eyes and her hair dishevelled from activities that Annie didn’t want to think about, she looked much older than forty-five.
It had been the two of them for the past six years, since her dad had left them for a sales rep who he’d met at an engineering conference. At first he’d tried to keep in touch and she’d been to stay with him at his new flat in Carlisle a few times but, as she grew older, Annie realised that she’d completely lost respect for him and didn’t want him in her life. Now she felt like she might lose her mum and her boyfriend at the same time – it was too much.
‘You knew I fancied Tom,’ she said. ‘I told you last year. I couldn’t work out why you weren’t keen on us going out but now I know. You selfish cow! How can I go out with him now? It’s like incest.’
Her mum smiled at that.
‘It’s not funny. We just got together last night.’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth she realised that her mum would probably misinterpret them and imagine that she and Tom had slept together.
‘Last night?’ her mum said. ‘That’s why he was on your “girly” camping trip – so you could have sex with him? I knew there was something going on.’
‘Pot, kettle, black,’ Annie retorted. ‘You only let me go camping so you could shag Mr Cleaver.’
Her mum stood up and then sat back down again. They seemed to have reached some sort of stalemate. Neither of them was in the right but neither was completely in the wrong either. Annie knew that she was only angry with her mum because of the implications for her and Tom and she also knew that her mum probably wasn’t mad at her for sleeping with Tom; she was mad because Annie hadn’t talked to her beforehand.
And that was the issue.
Somewhere, somehow, they’d lost the ability to communicate.
Dad leaving had brought them closer and for the first few years they’d been more like friends than mother and daughter. Annie had been allowed to get away with things that her classmates’ mothers would have frowned upon – and her dad certainly wouldn’t have allowed – such as staying up way past her normal bedtime and, when she turned fifteen, the occasional glass of cider. They’d talked about school, boys, the news, everything, almost as equals and Annie had always thought that her mum tried to respect her views and opinions. But that had all changed just before the previous Christmas – and now Annie knew why. Her mum must have started seeing Mr Cleaver around that time and didn’t feel the need for her daughter’s company so often.
That was also the time that Annie had started to get seriously interested in Tom. She’d only mentioned the attraction twice and, both times, her mum had expressed her disapproval but given no reason. She’d become a lot stricter and a lot nosier about Annie’s love life.
‘Anyway, not that it’s any of your business, but I didn’t have sex with Tom. I have far too much self-respect for that. And he’s nice. You’d have known that if you’d have given him a chance. He’s not the type of lad who’d pressure a girl – he’s kind and gentle.’
Her mum’s eyes fill with tears. ‘I’m sorry I’ve messed this up for you,’ she said. ‘Cam’s not a bad man either.’
Annie doubted that. What sort of man started going out with somebody so soon after his wife had died? It had only been a couple of years. Didn’t he care about Tom’s mum? ‘Not bad? Open your eyes, Mum. His wife’s only been dead ten minutes and he’s sniffing around you.’
The words were wrong. Too harsh. Her mum’s pale cheeks flushed and, at first, Annie thought she’d embarrassed her but then she realised that her mum was furious.
‘Get out!’ she yelled, standing up and walking over to Annie until they were nose to nose. ‘Go up to your room and stay there. I won’t have you talking to me like this. You’re grounded.’
Annie pushed past her. ‘Grounded? I’m not fucking twelve! And I was going anyway. I can’t stand being around you!’ She slammed the living room door as hard as she could and ran up the stairs, flopping down on her bed, too angry to cry.
A tap on her bedroom door woke Annie up. She looked around, confused. Had she been asleep? The sunlight that usually crept down the wall behind her bed had thinned to a narrow strip and she could hear children playing outside.
Another tap, louder this time. She was about to invite her mum in until memories from their earlier argument reminded her that she was still angry.
‘What?’
‘Can I come in?’ Her mum sounded hesitant, contrite even, but Annie wasn’t convinced.
‘No. Leave me alone.’
‘We really should talk. Come downstairs, I’ve put the kettle on. Five minutes?’
‘No!’
‘Please, Annie. Let’s try to sort this out.’
She listened to her mum’s footsteps as she crossed the landing and trotted downstairs, uncertainty suddenly gripping her. Was her mum really sorry? Was she going to stop seeing Mr Cleaver?
Annie slid off the bed and fluffed up the duvet. Memories of her night with Tom came back, curling up in