Magenta Mine (Invertary 3)

“Harry seems to have gotten over it.”

“Maybe, but the reasons I said those things haven’t changed. Harry is better off far away from me. And I’m sure I’m better off without him in my life. If we try to reboot our friendship, we’ll only get hurt. It’s smarter to stop it before it starts.”

Kirsty eyed her keenly. “He hurt you.”

“No.” Magenta turned away from her friend. “But he could have. I stopped it before it got that far.”

She felt Kirsty’s hand on her shoulder, her touch gentle. “You loved him.”

Magenta stopped breathing. Kirsty Campbell was far too perceptive for her own good.

“Of course I loved him,” Magenta scoffed. “We were best friends.”

“No.” Kirsty shook her head. “You were in love with him.”

For a minute the pain of the past overwhelmed Magenta. She closed her eyes and reminded herself to breathe. When she opened them, she shook Kirsty’s hand off.

“A stupid teenage crush. I grew up. I got over it. It’s time Harry got over the past too.” With that, she walked away from Kirsty. She was done talking about Harry.

After a long day at work, Magenta entered the flat she shared with her twin best friends to find the phone ringing.

“Don’t answer it,” she shouted, but it was too late. She could already hear Claire tell Magenta’s mother that she’d just come through the door. Great. The icing on the cake of death that was her day. She slipped off her boots, dropping in height by several inches, before holding out her hand for the phone.

“Sorry,” Claire, one half of her twin roommates, whispered as she handed it to Magenta.

Magenta pursed her lips. They paid extra for caller ID so that they would know who was calling before picking up. They paid extra so that Magenta could avoid her mother. Right now it was money wasted. She took a deep breath as Claire tiptoed away. Why she was tiptoeing was anyone’s guess.

“Mum.” Magenta felt her stomach tighten as the word came out of her mouth.

“Maggie, honey, I wouldn’t bother you, but I need a wee favour.” Her mother’s soft whine made Magenta cringe. As did being called Maggie.

“What do you want, Mum?” Magenta had to work hard to stop from biting out the words. Since leaving home when she was sixteen, her mother had called at least twice a day to “not bother” Magenta.

“I wouldn’t ask, but…” Her voice faded to a pathetic nothingness.

“What is it?” Magenta squeezed the words through clenched teeth.

“Mr Morrison put a note through my door about the hedge. He’s complaining about my side of it again. I don’t have the strength to deal with the hedge. It’s so much work trimming it. I’ve been meaning to find a teenager to come cut it for me, but I haven’t been well enough to get to it yet. I wondered if you would have a word with him.”

Magenta closed her eyes and tried to think of something calming. Anything calming. It didn’t work. Her mind was blank. Mainly she wanted to kick old man Morrison’s backside for leaving a note instead of waiting until her mother was home and dealing with her in person.

“Mum, he’s your neighbour. He’s right next door. I’m on the other side of town. I think you should talk to him.”

“Oh, no, I can’t do that. You know how he gets. It would be best if you came over and dealt with it. You know I wouldn’t impose if I was feeling better.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “I’ve been feeling so faint this past week. I nearly passed out in the supermarket. Lorraine Buchanan had to fetch me a chair from the staff room. They made me a cup of tea, and Lorraine sat patting my hand until the dizzy spell passed. She’s such a lovely girl. I told her all about you taking care of me.”

Magenta almost choked on the words she wanted to say. There was nothing wrong with her mother. The woman made almost daily trips to the doctor and they’d never found anything wrong with her. Ever since their father had left when Magenta was nine, her mother had been “ill.” Sometimes it was hard to remember that the woman was barely fifty.

“Why don’t you phone Mr. Morrison? If you’re too weak to walk next door, you can make a call. You had enough energy to call me.”

There was a long sigh. “Aye, you’re right, sweetheart. I could probably call, but this has taken a lot out of me and I’ll need to lie down when I hang up.” She made that pathetic little mewing noise that made Magenta cringe.

“If you had enough energy to make one call, why did you make it to me instead of to your neighbour?”

She knew the answer already—she couldn’t make Mr. Morrison dance like a puppet on a string, but with a few master manipulations she could manage it with her daughter.

Her mother let out a little moan. The kind people make when feeling weak. The kind she’d spent years perfecting. “You are so much better at dealing with conflict than I am.” That whining voice went right through Magenta. “You’ve always been so good at standing up for yourself. Ever since you were a wee lassie and the kids in school made fun of you because you weren’t as smart as they were. I feel terrible that I was never well enough to help you with that, but you dealt with it great on your own. You may not be as clever as other folk, but you’re so good at dealing with people. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

It was amazing how her mother could slice into her self-esteem at the same time as praising her. Magenta rubbed her temple to ward off the headache that was creeping up on her. Immediately she snapped up straight. She was doing it. She was manufacturing symptoms. She was turning into her mother. She let her hand drop to her lap.