Walking the Line by Nicola Marsh Page B

woman was nowhere to be seen
now. Her blonde hair had faded to a washed out yellowy-grey. Her
brown eyes were ringed with lines and underscored by dark circles.
Her shoulders were shrunken, her back curved, her muscles flaccid
from lack of use.
    My beautiful, exceptional mother was broken.
An empty shell.
    And it killed me a little bit more every time
I visited.
    “I’m Ashton,” I said, wishing I could
elaborate, wishing I could yell, ‘I’m your son. The one who wiped
the vomit off your face more times than I can count. Who found you
passed out on the floor and carried you to bed countless times over
the years. Who would do anything to have you back.’
    But I said none of those things. Instead, I
swallowed my resentment—at the lifestyle that had put her here—and
forced a smile. “I see you’re a fan of crosswords.”
    “Stupid bloody things.” She picked up the pen
she’d discarded and tapped it against the magazine. “Can you think
of a five letter word for a boy’s building toy?”
    “Block,” I said, remembering the toy sets she
used to buy me when she scored a role.
    I’d treasured every single one, taking my
time constructing the blocks into elaborate houses or fire-stations
or castles, knowing it could be a long time between jobs for
Mum.
    Not that she didn’t try hard but she never
quite cracked it for a starring role. She’d got by with TV
commercials and bit parts in anything from soap operas to local
feature films.
    Having me at forty had changed her life.
    Roles were scarce for aging actresses,
especially pregnant ones. I often wondered if that had been the
start of her downward spiral. If she blamed me for ruining her
life.
    If she did, she never showed it. Mum adored
me, loving me to the point of smothering. And even as she
deteriorated, partying harder to forget the fact she wasn’t working
much, I always came home to dinner on the table.
    “Thanks.” She scrawled the letters into the
boxes, her hand shaky. “Could you help me do the rest?”
    “Sure,” I said, taking care not to startle
her as I cautiously edged my chair next to hers. “I like
crosswords.”
    Knowing I was pushing my luck, I added, “I
used to do them with my Mum.”
    I waited, held my breath, hoping for some
sign she knew who I was.
    “She must be a lucky lady to have a son like
you,” she said, her smile wobbly as she glanced at me with those
blank eyes that broke my heart.
    “I’m the lucky one,” I said, as I settled in
to spend some time with my Mum, hoping I had the strength to do
this.
    Because the way I was feeling now? As brittle
as tinder-dry bark, ready to snap and fly away on the slightest
breeze.
    I had to be stronger. Strong enough for the
both of us.

 
     
     
Read an excerpt from BLURRING THE LINE
     
     
     

Chapter 1
     
    ANNABELLE
     
     
    Being an Aussie studying in Denver was cool.
Unless your BFFs were dating hot Aussie guys and never let up on
your lack of a boyfriend.
    “I don’t get it.” Mia handed me a champers,
as I thanked the gods I’d had the smarts to come to the States in
my final year of uni so I could drink legally at the ripe old age
of twenty-two. “You’ve been here a year, Annabelle, and you haven’t
hooked up.”
    Dani snorted. “Not that I blame her. Half the
guys on this campus have a pole stuck so far up their asses they
can hardly walk.”
    “Maybe she’s too picky?” Mia topped up Dani’s
glass. “She needs to lighten up.”
    Dani sniggered. “And get laid.”
    I sipped at my champagne, content to let Mia
and Dani debate my lack of male companionship. They’d been doing it
the last three weeks, ever since opening night of Ashton’s first
art show.
    Dani never shut up about Ashton, her
sensitive-soul artist boyfriend. The fact she’d met him in
Melbourne, while staying in my flat, kinda irked a little. During
my three years doing a bachelor’s degree in physiotherapy at
Melbourne Uni, I’d never met a single guy I’d drool over the way
Dani