‘Hi, Mum,’ I called as I turned the key and pushed open her front door.
‘Oh, you’re here, then.’
My body tensed as I closed the heavy wooden door behind me. Her unspoken ‘at last’ hung heavily in the air.
I glanced at my watch: 6.08 p.m. I winced.
‘Sorry, traffic out of Bournemouth town centre was—’
Mum grunted, cutting though my excuses. ‘The traffic wouldn’t be a problem if you left on time, Jessica.’
I met her penetrating blue eyes and tried not to squirm. ‘I know, but the meeting overran. It was only a couple of minutes, but…’
She rolled her eyes. ‘They know what time you finish. You should just tell them that you have to leave. You’re letting them take advantage of you. They only pay you to be there until 5.30 p.m.’
I swallowed but said nothing. What could I say? She was right, of course. I’d never been good at leaving dead on time. It just wasn’t that easy. Delays happened. Sometimes I needed to finish what I was working on, or a meeting ran long. It wasn’t like I planned to be late, but then it also wasn’t as though it was critical for me to leave exactly on time. Was it?
Most of my colleagues had kids to get home to. They had football practice, or dance lessons to drive them to. And yet even they stayed sometimes. Whereas me… How could I explain that I needed to be at my mother’s at 6 p.m. promptly without fail?
Mum stood in the kitchen doorway, watching me. She looked so sad and alone. Guilt churned in my stomach. Those few minutes didn’t seem significant to me, but they mattered to her.
‘I’ll be sure to leave on time tomorrow.’
She smiled and I felt my shoulders relax as I slipped off my jacket.
‘When did you buy that?’
I froze at the sharpness of her tone. I frowned slightly, trying to catch up with the change in conversation.
I followed her gaze to my red top.
‘You went shopping without me.’
It wasn’t a question, but an accusation.
‘No. I mean, yes, but…’ I shook my head and let out a feeble laugh. ‘It wasn’t like that. I met Karen for coffee in town last weekend and had a few minutes to kill before my bus home.’
‘I could have come with you.’ Mum’s voice was small and dejected.
My jacket weighed heavily in my hands. I’d hurt her.
‘It was only a couple of minutes.’ I tried to justify my neglect.
‘I could have met you after you’d seen your friend. I wouldn’t have got in the way. We could have gone for lunch and made a day of it.’ Mum lowered her gaze and stared at the floor. ‘Unless you didn’t want me there…’
‘No, of course I did. That would have been nice. Lovely, even. In fact, we should do that.’ I was babbling. I knew it, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
It was the expression on her face that did it; pinched and pained. The hurt showed in the hunch of her shoulders that made her seem smaller and more vulnerable. The realisation that I’d made her feel unwelcome and unwanted tore at my heart.
‘This Saturday?’ Mum stared at me, her eyes wide and hopeful, watching me intently for any sign of hesitation.
I smiled. ‘Yes, absolutely.’ The agreement slipped easily from my lips as my mind raced. I was meant to be meeting the girls from work for lunch on Saturday. I would have to cancel now. I’d just tell them something had come up. They wouldn’t question it.
‘You’re a good daughter.’
I smiled, feeling a warm glow wash over me. I was redeemed. My earlier thoughtlessness had been forgiven.
‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
My smile wavered. She was pleased with me. I was still loved. And yet there was an implication behind her words; a desperation. Beneath her appreciation I could hear her unspoken words.
You can never leave.
I rubbed my arms as I shivered. The early evening chill must have followed me inside.
Mum nodded, a sharp, short nod of approval, and then disappeared into the kitchen. I stared after her, feeling strangely unsettled. It wasn’t as though I’d really wanted to go out with the office crowd anyway. Had I?
I shrugged as I hung my coat on a peg. Of course not. A mother and daughter day was far more ‘me’.
Mum was already sitting at the table when I walked into the kitchen. I glanced out of the window behind her and smiled slightly. The sight of the ocean always comforted me. It was one of the things I loved about this old house.
I frowned and turned away. Perhaps more accurately, it was the only thing I loved.
‘I bought some minced beef. I thought we could have spaghetti bolognese tonight,’ Mum said.
I smiled and stifled a groan. So much for my plan of popping yesterday’s leftover homemade chicken casserole into the microwave and giving me a night off cooking.
‘Sure, why not?’ I said with another shrug.
I pulled a frying pan from the drawer beneath the hob and rummaged through the fridge for the packet of minced beef. I tipped it into the pan to cook and took a deep breath. Neither my evening nor my weekend were going to work out quite as I’d planned, but at least I still had Friday night to look forward to. I felt a smile tug at the corner of my lips. Just one more day and then—
‘You’re very smiley this evening.’
I heard the suspicion in Mum’s voice.
‘I got asked out on a date.’ I set a pan of water to boil, feeling like a teenager, full of excitement and pride when a cute boy in my class had spoken to me.
Mum stared at me, her lips parted. ‘A date?’
She questioned it as though she didn’t understand the words.
‘By who?’
I laughed nervously, playing for time as I opened a tin of tomatoes and emptied them into a pan with a sprinkling of herbs. I knew my response would elicit a reaction. I doubted it would be a good one. There simply wasn’t a right answer to that question. Whoever the guy was, Mum would find an issue with him.
I took a deep breath. ‘The plumber.’
Mum shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you said the plumber.’
I swallowed. ‘I did.’
Her expression darkened. I shouldn’t have told her. She didn’t need to know every detail of my life. And yet, somehow, she always did. She knew how to draw information out of me, even things I’d promised myself I wouldn’t say.
She didn’t even have to try hard to get me to talk now. It was so ingrained in me. Her need to know had become my need to tell her. She didn’t believe in secrets. That’s what she always said.
We don’t have secrets, Jessica. Not between us.
It was too late now, though. I’d already opened the door, inviting her judgement in.
‘He came to repair the leak under my kitchen sink, and we just got chatting.’ I clamped my mouth shut. Why did I always feel the need to justify myself to her?
Mum’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why would he be interested in you?’
I froze. Some part of my brain was telling me I should feel slighted and insulted by her question. But mostly all I felt was numb.
My mind raced for an answer, but I felt like I was swimming against the current, where my ability to think was drowned out by one terrifying realisation. Mum was right. Mum was always right. What would Adam see in me?
‘Well, it’s not as though you’ll have anything in common,’ Mum continued, giving weight to her question.
‘We have lots in common.’ I grabbed hold of the lifeline she had inadvertently thrown me, and felt a tiny glimmer of satisfaction. ‘We talked about music, books and—’
‘A shared appreciation of music is hardly enough for the foundations of a lasting relationship.’
I shook my head, refusing to let her dismiss the connection I’d felt to Adam. ‘It doesn’t need to be. It’s just a date. We’ll get to know one another better then.’
She stared at me, her left eyebrow arched upwards.
‘It’s just a date,’ I repeated. But I could hear the wobble in my voice.
‘You know you don’t attract the right sort of men. You’re too gullible. It always ends badly.’
My earlier happy glow had been doused by reality. Mum was right again. I was a magnet for disastrous relationships. The guys always seemed okay at the start. Nice, normal guys and then… I stirred the tomatoes with more force than necessary.
Maybe it wasn’t their fault. Maybe it was me. Could something about me drive them to it? Did I change them?
I flinched as the tomatoes spat at me, burning my hand.
‘So when is this date?’
‘Friday night.’ I glanced at the clock hung over the kitchen door. Just over forty-eight hours to go. The tick-tick of the seconds passing filled the silence. The countdown had begun.
I swallowed. There was still time. I could call him and cancel. He’d probably be grateful.
‘I suppose you won’t be home for your dinner on Friday, then?’
Home.
It had been years since I had lived here, but somehow this was still classed as home. Mum was in denial that I had ever left, but then perhaps I hadn’t really. At least not properly. I seemed to spend more time here than I did in my own apartment.
I added the spaghetti to the pan of boiling water. What if I didn’t cancel? It would be nice to have a meal cooked for me for a change. It wasn’t as though anything was likely to come of it, but it would be an evening out.
‘Well, will you?’ Mum asked.
I gave the tomato sauce another stir. ‘No.’ I smiled at the certainty in my voice. ‘I won’t be here on Friday.’