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It was a big step, though. Stealing her mother’s boyfriend then plotting to rob their father, which had ended in his accidental murder, was not a small thing, despite Will attesting to being the sole perpetrator.
Whichever way, it was still mega-forgiveness in my book.
My mother looked a little thrown by Savvie’s invitation. “Oh. Okay then. I guess I can come back for that dress.”
“Which one were you thinking?” Savvie asked.
“Well, I kind of liked that one.” She pulled out the sexy red number with the low-cut neckline. “But… Manon thought I might run away with the new man of the house.”
Savvie’s mouth fell open, and she turned her eyes on me then laughed. “For what it’s worth, I like it, and it’s a Donatella. Can’t go wrong with Versace. Her shapes are always so flattering.”
I pulled out the pink Sunday school dress. “What about this?”
Savvie’s mouth curved downwards like she’d tasted something bitter. “Oh no. It’s too ‘look at me, I’m an eight-year-old again.’ Very Alice in Wonderland.”
“That’s kind of what Mum said. Only she called it Sunday schoolish.”
Savvie chuckled. “Good one.” She slanted her head towards the red dress in my mother’s hand. “I’d get that one. And by the way, Cary’s broke.”
Instead of shock, my mother laughed, as did Savvie.
And there we were—a few months ago, enemies—suddenly working at something close to resembling family.
AnotherpartyatMerivale,and spoilt for choice, I had to change four times before settling for a black Prada silk gown that Savvie had so generously tossed my way after I’d gushed about it. She’d told me she’d worn it once during her Gothic period and had passed the shimmery dress to me, adding, “You’d look great as Morticia.”
Despite being amused, I kind of liked the idea of slinking around in a fishtail gown.
I didn’t normally wear black to those events, since most women favoured colour, but I was in mourning over Drake.
My mother stood at the mirror in her red dress with the scoop neckline that hung seductively low, and with a slit to the thigh, the gown showed off her curves. For someone who didn’t use gyms, she was still in great shape. Something she put down to regular, vigorous sex.
“Sex in at least five different positions beats boring yoga any day,” she’d once told me in the same way a normal mum might rave about the virtues of eating greens.
“Black suits you. Even if it’s a little sombre, wouldn’t you say?”
I slanted my head while studying myself in the mirror. “Mm… I like it. And I’m not exactly in a cheery mood these days.”
“Don’t worry about him. There are plenty more to come. And you need to aim higher.”
I turned to face her. “I don’t want plenty more, Mother. Unlike you, I have no desire to fuck half of London’s elite. And I don’t need to, anyhow. I’ve got my own money. Besides, give me yoga and running any day over boring sex.”
I was half expecting her to call me naïve and stupid, like she used to whenever I would roll my eyes at her, suggesting that I use my body to move up the social ladder. But she just stared at me in the mirror and nodded slowly.
“I need a cigarette,” she said, looking nervous.
I’d never seen her all jittery before. Her normal fearlessness obviously didn’t extend to having to mince with a bunch of rich snobs.
“Let’s go out to the labyrinth,” I suggested. “That’s where everyone goes for a smoke or to do drugs.”
“Show the way,” she said.
I suggested we use the path as opposed to the grounds, having learnt the hard way after my Louboutin heels sank so deep into the ground, I thought I was about to be swallowed up in a bog, and despite wearing chunky heels, I wasn’t about to risk it.
“Are you okay?” I asked, brushing off a leaf from her dress as we stood in the labyrinth and lit our cigarettes.
“I’m just prepping myself for the starring role in a gossip fest.” She puffed smoke. “I’m surprised they’re letting me stay, let alone inviting me to this party.”
“Grandmother’s good like that. She’s rather forgiving.”
