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“Claire—”
“No seriously.” I rub a hand across my face. “She’s difficult sometimes, but she cares. She found tutors when I was struggling at school. She sat with me for hours after my dyslexia diagnosis and we revised for my A levels together. She helped me buy my flat. She’s there when things go wrong.”
Kath’s expression softens. “I know.”
“What am I supposed to do? Just stop caring what she thinks?”
The way Kath speaks implies that there’s something inherently wrong with my mum. But she doesn’t see it all.
Kath reaches across the table and takes my hand.
“Claire… you deserve to want what you want,” she says. “But please make sure other people don’t get hurt in the crossfire.”
The unspoken name Tom is there, and I try to glide past it.
“Anyway.” I take a deep breath. “Tell me what you’re up to. Have you signed up to any more races? I’m ready to make some signs.”
***
Alicia’s at her desk when I get back from lunch. Thank god. I need the distraction. She spots me the second I round the corner and swivels in her chair like some sort of office meerkat.
“Wow,” she says, eyes widening. “You look… shell-shocked.”
I groan. “Thanks.”
“Seriously, though. It’s the ‘I have stared into the void and the void stared back’ look. I thought you were going for lunch with Kath.”
“I did.” I hang up my coat and sit down with a thud. “We were just discussing life. And sometimes life’s a bit heavy. But don’t worry, I’m fine.”
Alicia opens her mouth as though she’s going to ask for more detail but I wave her off. I don’t think I have the emotional bandwidth to rehash things.
“Tea?”
“Please.”
Three minutes later a peppermint tea is on my desk and the soothing sound of Alicia tapping on the keyboard is calming my nerves. The calm stays with me until the end of the day, through continuing to decode emails, adjust fonts and nod through team meetings.
When it hits 5 p.m. the pair of us pack up together, chatting about weekend plans as we leave the office. I’m in the middle of laughing at something Alicia said when the lift doors open, and I freeze.
My mum is in the foyer.
My mother. At my place of work.
Great. Just great.
Wait. Why’s she holding my makeup bag?
“Darling!” She waves at me like this is a completely normal occurrence.
“Hi, Mum.” I walk towards her on autopilot and pull her into a hug. How can I get her out of here as fast as humanly possible? I start looking around to see who, other than Alicia, is witnessing this.
Mum links her arm through mine, drawing me down the corridor towards the bathrooms. I crane my head back mouthing “help me” but Alicia just shrugs at me.
“What are you doing here?” I try to extract my arm, and fail.
“I texted you,” Mum says breezily, rummaging in that bottomless handbag of hers. “You remember Alexander? My friend Caroline’s friend’s nephew? You met him years ago at that garden party when you were about eighteen?”
She pushes me into the bathroom, pulls a hairbrush out of her bag and then hands me the makeup.
