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“I think at this point you do need to admit you’re old.”
“Never.” He winks at me and then starts the car. My knee bounces relentlessly as we drive. I know Tom notices, but he doesn’t say anything.
“You know,” Tom says as we stop at a junction, hands tightening on the steering wheel, “this is probably the weirdest date we’ve ever had.”
I laugh, I know he’s trying to distract me. It’s what I usually like him to do when I get in my head, and it’s lovely that he’s still trying to do it even now, at a time when his adrenaline must be sky high too. “It’s not a date.”
“We’re travelling across London together to confront your mother. That’s at least date-adjacent.”
By some miracle he finds a parking space on my parent’s road and manoeuvres my car into place. As the engine cuts out, silence floods the car. I sit there for a moment, just staring at my parents’ house. Digging my hands into the car seat, I take a deep breath, but I can’t control the way my leg continues to bob up and down.
I can do this, I chant to myself. I’m strong enough to do this.
Tom looks over at me, hand gently landing on my knee. “Do you want me to come with you?”
He’s right. I don’t have to do this alone and I don’t want to.
“Yes.”
Chapter 41
Claire
The pair of us climb out of the car and then push through the large gate, making our way up the path to the front of the house, with its steps and imposing door. I squeeze Tom’s hand and then ring the doorbell, legs still shaky.
The door opens seconds later, and Mum stands there, wearing a pink cashmere jumper and her usual pearl necklace.
“Claire?” Her eyes slide past me. “Tom?”
“Can we come in?” I’m trying to keep it polite, and fighting not to just shoulder past her into the hall.
“Of course, your father’s away but I’d love to talk to you.”
The smell of a scented candle wafts through the air as we step into the corridor and then turn into the sitting room. The whole room looks painfully neat. No messy magazines, no notebooks lying around or cushions all piled at one end of a sofa. Just a tasteful tree that wouldn’t dare to shed a single needle, and matching baubles.
I look around, unsure of whether to take a seat. Do I want to be sitting? Or do I still need to pace to expel all this nervous, angry energy? Tom’s obviously thinking the same because he continues to stand awkwardly beside me.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d joined Ashcroft’s board?” I start, unable to wait a moment longer. No pleasantries today.
My voice is steady, but my hands are balled into fists.
There’s silence as Mum just looks at me. A silence that makes me feel twenty-one again, and listening to her list the reasons why working in marketing is more sensible than doing something else. Or eighteen, standing in this room arguing with her about university. I clench my fists tighter, forcing the memories away.
Mum sighs. “I suspected that might be why you were here.”
I just stare at her, that’s not an answer. That’s not even an acknowledgement of the line she’s crossed.
“I only joined recently,” she says in a conciliatory tone.
“That’s not the point,” I snap.
“Then what is the point?”
I just gape at her. “The point,” I say carefully, “is that you knew Tom was presenting yesterday, and somehow you ended up sitting on the board making decisions about his proposal without mentioning it to either of us. Interfering in my life even though I don’t want you to.”
“Claire—”
“No.” I raise a hand. “You still haven’t apologised for the way you spoke to him at lunch all those weeks ago, and you haven’t apologised to me either. And then you turn up at his presentation. I’m tired of this. Tired of trying to guess what you’re thinking, or feeling like I need your approval for everything. I’ve spent years trying to be the person you wanted me to be; the right job, the right hobbies, the right friends, the right boyfriend.”
