I said, not sad, not happy, just stating facts. She laughed. “It was your idea, as I recall, darling.
I merely... cheered you on from the sidelines. That’s what a supportive Mummy would do, isn’t it?”
I thought about this. Supportive. Supportive meant... what did it mean? It meant caring about my welfare,
it meant wanting the best for me. It meant laundering my soiled sheets and making sure I got home safely
and buying me a ridiculous balloon when I was feeling sad. I had no desire to recount a list of her failings,
her wrongdoings, to describe the horrors of the life we’d led back then or to go over the things she’d done and not done to Marianne, to me.
There was no point now.You set fire to the house while Marianne and I were asleep inside. She died in there.
I wouldn’t exactly call that supportive,” I said, trying my best to keep my voice calm, not entirely succeeding.
“Someone has been telling you lies—I knew it!” she said, triumph in her voice. She spoke brightly, full of enthusiasm.
“Look, what I did, darling— anyone would have done the same thing in my situation.
It’s like I told you: if something needs to change, change it! Of course, there will be inconveniences along the way...
you simply have to deal with them, and not worry too much about the consequences.”
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