I did take this story down, but I've decided to post it back up again, as I still found myself writing it even after removing it. Thanks in large part to Phantomfundraiser, who, from what I've seen, is a lovely person, and a few of the other commenters who offered kind words in reviews : )

Next chapter then?

Chapter Eight

Jenna cranks the key to the right and lets herself in, drops the bags filled with shopping to the floor before locking the front door back.

"It's only me mum! Just brought your shopping!" She calls towards the living room, wraps some unruly black strands behind her ear, listens for that usual creak in the sofa.

Silence.

She sighs with a tut, and the bags weigh on the folds of her fingers as she collects them up and heads for the kitchen, placing them all on the large wooden table...

"Oh, bless you for bringing the shopping, dear."

Jenna's eyes flit towards the door, rest on her hunched, slow-moving, silver-haired mother. She leans her lower back against the work surface, folds her arms, smiles as emphatic a smile as she can muster. "Were you asleep?"

The older woman nods, slowly hobbling across the kitchen using the backs of the wooden chairs for stability. "You look like you could do with a couple days sleep yourself." She says under breath, carefully slips into one of the chairs around the table with consideration for her sensitive hip.

Jenna stands up straight, tucks some hair that isn't there behind her ear, "Oh I'm fine, mum. Have you taken your medication yet?"

"I've been roaming this earth far longer than you, Jen. A hip replacement, gray hair, and four pairs of dentures down the line, I know when my own daughter is fibbing me off."

"Why has there always got to be a problem?" Jenna snatches the bottle of milk from its shopping bag, yanks open the fridge, and drops it in the door with thunderous commotion. "I said I was fine, and I am." She says, slamming the jar of mayonnaise in next to the bottle of milk. After some time spent just standing there staring into the fridge, she clears her throat, gently shuts the door. "Everything's fine, I'm just a bit tired with work."

"How are James and the girls?"

"They're normal happy kids, mum. Just normal happy kids."

"Nobody said they weren't darling."

Jenna crosses her arms across her chest again, glares at the woman who birthed and raised her all those years back. "This is why Carla doesn't stop by here to help you out; because you're always trying to make us feel bad about our lives, and all of the things we haven't achieved."

The older woman's jaw drops in a moment of silence, then: "I just want to know how my daughters are doing. Now," She says, dragging a bag towards her and having a nose around inside of it. "How's Rob?"

Jenna rolls her eyes. "Just like everything else you've quizzed me about today, Rob's fine."

"If everything was fine, you wouldn't be getting so defensive - you forget that I know you like the label on my walking stick."

Under her mother's watchful gaze, Jenna continues to pack the cupboards, toss bread in the bread bin, empty teabags into their jar...

"I have some money stashed on the bank. If you're really that tired with work, take a few months off."

Jenna slowly closes the cupboard under the sink, looks at her mother with an apologetic smile. "Thanks mum," She says, slipping into another vacant chair at the table, "But I'll be ok. I'll be...fine." She croaks, eyes filling. Her eyelashes rapidly flicker down, and a drop of water falls from them, splashes the table.

Her mother sighs, reaches across the table to gently rub the back of her hand. "What's the matter poppet?"

"I think," Wipes at her eye with the back of her thumb, gasps for air. "I think Emily's," She sniffs the tears back, "I think she's," Looks her mother straight in the eyes. "Gay."

Frowns. "What on Earth makes you say that?"

Eyes red-rimmed and veined, Jenna gazes into the wood of the table for a long moment, tries to gather herself. "She erm, she stayed out a few nights ago," Shrugs a shoulder, reaches into her pocket and retrieves a tissue, empties her nose into it loudly, "Says she stayed at the house of one of the young girls from work, but," She blows out an exasperated huff of air, shakes her head as she continues her gaze with the knots in the wood. "I've got my doubts."

"Well where else would she've stayed?"

"God," Jenna suddenly says to herself, absently runs a finger back and forth her bottom lip, "She's got a bloody computer in her room too; God knows what sorts of things she's probably been looking at." She shudders at the thought, eventually drags her bag towards her, rummages until she's pulling out a small purple and silver book. She places it on the table out in front of them, looks up at her mother. "I found her diary..."

"And?"

"One of the women at work, the one I don't get on with; her name's Naomi." Slides the book across the table, nods at it. "Look at the last few pages..."

The older woman gulps, flips the small book over, opens up its back cover. Her tired eyes travel the scribbles written to the page on display, "I love her, I love her, I love her...," Pauses, peels back the page before, "I love her, I love her, I love..." She stops then, simply blinks across the table at her broken daughter - the daughter that she's always considered the strong one. "Jenna," She mutters sympathetically, "Love..."

Another tear splashes the wood as Jenna mops her nose with her tissue, croaks, "That's not even the worst of it, keep going."

Her mother collects the corner of the page before in her wrinkled, pale, fingers, hesitates. "We shouldn't panic, darling. She doesn't go out much; maybe she's just not met a boy yet."

"Turn the page, mum."

She slowly lifts the page, frowns deeply at it. "Naomi?"

"Yes! Bloody Naomi," She grunts through caged teeth and a steely glare. "Written time and time and time a-bloody-gain. It's absolutely disgusting!"

"...Are you going to talk to her about it? She's going to be upset that you went through her diary."

"Of course I am!" She almost yells, her rage all hitting the wrong person. She sniffs, alters her tone to something softer. "If she talked to me, told me the truth about where she stayed the other night, I wouldn't have gone snooping this morning. She's been really rebellious since she's started working," Shakes her head, squints evilly at the wood, "Not my sweet, quiet little Emily anymore."

"You know I'm not condoning her behavior, but she's twenty now. She's not going to be sweet and quiet, and easily told anymore. Lord knows I tried to keep your sister that way, and now I have to depend on you to bring me my shopping, because she won't come round." Gently squeezes her daughter's hand, smiles somewhat. "Have you spoken to Rob about it yet?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because...Because he'd probably be ok with a gay daughter."


She pats the pockets of her coat down as it hangs on the back of the swivel chair, frantically pulls out draw after draw, even searches the photocopier's mouth.

Nothing.

Breathless, she stands in the middle of the small room, scrunches her ruby hair in one hand, gives a low but husky growl. "Where the fuck is it? It's not at home, it's not in the car. Wher –"

When the door suddenly opens behind her, she spins around, lets her hand fall back to her side, frowns. "Naomi."

"Yeah. Can I have a word?"

"...What about?"

Naomi gently pushes on the door, and it clicks shut. She stares at Emily a moment, before crossing the small room towards the swivel chair, sits in it, looks up at the red-haired girl with what many would consider an undecipherable gaze.

"...What?" Emily utters when she can't take it anymore, and she suddenly feels inclined to fold both arms across her lower midriff, suddenly feels the need to make herself smaller.

Crosses one of her long legs over the other, leans the point of her elbow on the desk at a side-ward angle. "Emily, do you know anything about the flowers in my office?"

Emily's mouth instantly dries, and her heart begins to thud so hard that she's sure there will be nothing left of it by the time the hands on her ten-thirty-five showing watch reach ten-thirty-seven.

"...I...I..."

"Just a simple yes or no."

"W-Why would I know," Looks down, winces, "Anything?"

"Well," Naomi sits up straight, slips her hand into her blazer pocket, pulls out an IPhone and places it on the desk. "I found your phone; you forgot it at mine."

Emily slowly looks up, the relief that should be filling her at seeing her phone again eluding her. It's the complete opposite. It's dread. Utter dread. Whispers:"Fuck."

Naomi rolls her eyes, "Look, if you sent the flowers, then just tell me. If you sent them as some kind of prank to avenge what happened between me and your mum, then just say so, and we can all move on knowing where we stand."

"No, I...I didn't."

"Well if you didn't send them, why've you got a revolving flash show of them as your screensaver - all taken in my office?"

"No, I, I mean I didn't send them to get revenge." The words are out of her mouth too quickly for her hand to catch. She feels like crying, like running all the way home, throwing the duvet over her head and crying herself into dehydration.

"So," Naomi slowly dips her head in an attempt to understand, "You did send them?"

"I just, I wanted..." Sighs, runs a hand through her hair. Blinks back tears.

"Hey," Naomi says, her one cheek bunching in a soft smirk. "Stop stressing yourself out. It's ok. The flowers were very nice. For the record, you've got impeccable taste."

"Stop trying to make me feel," Sniffs, "Better."

Shrugs. "Well you're not doing a very good job, so I might as well."

"Everything's gonna be all...weird and awkward between us now, and, and-"

"You've got to admit; things were pretty awkward between us before, only now I know why." She stands, pats Emily's shoulder once, smiles. "It's fine."

"...Really?"

"Really." Naomi nods, never relenting the comfort in her smile. "Despite the fact that you're nineteen, it was a nice compliment."

"I'm...twenty, not," Shakes her head, meets Naomi's eyes, "Not nineteen."

Naomi shrugs, "Twenty then."

"How old are...you?"

Naomi chuckles, makes a show of having a stiff back. "Too old."

"What's, what's too old?" Emily dares to push.

Naomi frowns, folds her arms. "You're an inquisitive creature, aren't you?"

Emily grimaces, looks away.

Naomi then rolls her eyes, drops her arms: "Well if you must know, I'm thirty-two."

Emily nods to herself, tucks that little fact safely away in the back of her mind, along with all the other little things she's picked up about the other woman so far.

"Well now that I've solved the mystery of the flowers," Naomi declares, making it over towards the door, "I think I'll get back to work."

"...Ok."

"And Emily?"

"Y-Yeah?"

"Don't worry about it."

Nods, once, albeit barely, then musters: "N-Naomi?"

"What?"

"Could you not use this as erm, as ammunition for your next argument with my mum, please?"

"I've actually taken to ignoring your mother at this point, so there's no danger of her finding out from me."

.

.

.

She closes in her office door, walks straight over to the vibrant vased flowers, chuckles as she thumbs a smooth petal. "And against mother's wishes, here's me thinking I needed Botox."


Thoughts? And thanks for reading.