A warm welcome to this month’s Spotlight Author with the Rave Reviews Book Club, Michelle Abbott!
Michelle is the author of Just Stay
Excerpt from Just Stay in Trey’s Point of View
I study my list of Facebook friends. I can see why Pia got mad, there must be about thirty women and they’re all hot, but Pia leaves them in the dust. I don’t even know why I friended all these people. I shake my head, lonely much. I begin the process of unfriending them. I’m halfway through the list when I hear Mum call me.
I take a deep breath as I open her door, I never know what I’m going to find. She’s sitting in bed, wearing her pyjamas. Her hair is straggly and her eyes are red, her cheeks are streaked with tears. There are photos spread all over her bed. There is a box of tissues on the table by her bed. I sit down beside her, and wipe the tears from her cheeks and the snot from her nose. “What’s wrong, Mum?”
She picks up one of the photos. “I miss Jowan,” she says, her bottom lip wobbles.
I glance at the photos. Old pictures of Dad, Jo and me when we were younger, back when we were happy. The volume on her television is loud, they’re showing an old sitcom and the canned laughter seems inappropriate right now. I snatch up her remote and turn the volume down. I put my arm around her thin shoulders, she doesn’t eat enough. “I miss him too, Mum, but he wouldn’t want you to be unhappy like this.” I check my watch. “You can have some meds in an hour; they should make you feel better.”
She rubs her eyes, and sniffs. “Will you call your father, and see if he’ll come over to see me for my birthday tomorrow?” She runs her fingers over a photo of Jo and Dad standing in front of Jo’s first car. I remember that car; two weeks after that picture was taken he reversed it into a concrete post. “I’ll give this photo to your father when he comes over,” she says.
I sigh and give her a squeeze. “Don’t get your hopes up, Mum. You know how busy he is trying to build up his business.”
Her bony fingers grip her yellow blanket. “He doesn’t have to stay for long. Ask him, I’m sure he won’t mind.”
It’s started to get dark so I hit the light switch in the lounge and close the curtains. I pick up the cordless phone, and lean back against the wall as I dial Dad’s number. She answers. “Can I speak to my dad?” I ask.
“I need to talk to my dad, it’s about my mum.”
She raises her voice, and I hold the phone away from my ear. “What does she want this time? She needs to get it through her head that they’re divorced.”
I hear a scuffling noise, and then whispered tones. Finally, my dad speaks. “Why are you calling Trey? Is something wrong?”
I notice some toast crumbs on the carpet next to the sofa, I should vacuum tonight. “Mum’s upset; she’s been looking at pictures of Jo.”
“You should keep those pictures locked away.”
I ignore his comment and pick at the hem of my t-shirt. “It’s her birthday tomorrow, she wants to see you.”
“I’m busy tomorrow, I’m meeting a client.”
I pick up the framed photo that is beside the phone. It’s a photo of all four of us, and I remember when it was taken. Mum wanted a professional photo, so we’d gone to a photo studio. We’d all sat on cushions on the floor. Dad has his arm around Mum’s shoulders. I’m sitting in front of him, and Jo is sitting next to Mum. Jo was pissed because he had a zit on his nose. “Maybe you could come over in the evening; you don’t have to stop long.”
I hear Dad huff. “It’s always something with her. I can’t be expected to drop everything to pander to her every five minutes.”
My fingers grip the phone, and my voice rises. “Every five minutes, we haven’t seen you in a year.”
“You should hire someone to take care of her.”
I slam the photo frame down onto the table. “Genius idea Dad. What shall I pay them with? Food?”
“You can always get a job.”
I step away from the wall and clench my fist. “Newsflash, Dad. I can’t get a job because I can’t leave her on her own. In case you’ve forgotten, she’s suicidal.”
“How could I forget that? I’m not giving you any more money. I already pay the mortgage, and I gave you the car.”
Spit flies out of my mouth as I scream down the phone at him. “I’m not asking you for money. You know what, Dad, don’t bother.” I slam the phone down and glare at the framed photo. Those (SWEAR WORD REMOVED J!) smiling faces are mocking me. I pick it up and hurl it against the wall, the glass splinters.
Connect with Michelle:
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Michelle-Abbott/e/B00C7N1AQ6/
Michelle Abbott lives in the UK and hates describing herself in 3rd person. She’s a self-published author who loves to write new adult romance about heroes who begin as the underdog and are protective of their girl. She’s an avid reader of romance, is addicted to coffee and loves wine and chocolate, so yeah, not the most healthy eating and drinking habits 🙂 She spends way too much time online when she should be writing. She collects teddy bears and occasionally knits a couple of rows on a sweater she started years ago, which she may eventually finish in time to wear for her funeral.
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