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Uh-oh.
It certainly hasn’t taken long for the news of my brand-new relationship to reach Manchester.
Nicole Martin.
My holier-than-thou mother.
I bang my phone against my head. One, two, three times.
Sexy tingles have now come to a halt and are replaced with the beginnings of a headache.
“You’re bloody well going to knock yourself unconscious if you keep doing that.”
“Here’s hoping.”
I step behind my floor to ceiling wardrobe that separates my sitting and sleeping areas. I’m going to need a little privacy for this call. “Hi, Mum.”
“Margaret Martin. You tell me that you haven’t gone and attached yourself to some degenerate rock star. You tell me right now, young lady!”
I’m not sure what I regret more, my headache or this conversation. “It’s a long story, mum.”
“You promised me that you wouldn’t do that ridiculous blog anymore.”
“I’m not.”
“You said it was over and that you were going to decide what you wanted to do with your life, which, quite frankly, is ridiculous. You’ve had 28 years to work that out.”
“Mum, listen—”
“He’s only after one thing, darling, and God help me, we both know you will give it to him, but once he has had it, he will drop you like a sack of potatoes.” I can’t even be bothered arguing with my mother and so just let her continue her blustering. The conversation will be over quicker this way. “This man will ruin what little remains of your reputation; you mark my words!”
“My reputation was ruined years ago.”
Kaan pops his head around the wardrobe. “Can I use your shower?”
I wave my hand away as my mother gasps loudly. “Is that him?”
“Mum!”
“Margaret Martin you are going straight to hell!”
“I’ll save you a seat.”
“Don’t sass me, young lady.”
“Sorry, mum.”
“What are you wearing?”
I sigh and roll my eyes at the ceiling. “What do you mean what am I wearing?”
“It’s a self-explanatory question, Margaret. I’m asking whether you are currently walking around in a pair of sweatpants with the wordJuicystamped on the back?” She huffs in my ear. “I’m just saying that you really should try wearing something a little more flattering, darling. He’s never going to want you if you don’t put in a little effort.”
“You’re really sending mixed messages, mum.”
I can picture my mother sitting on the sofa in her twin set, gazing at the photos of her other four perfect daughters, all of whom are happily married with wonderful husbands and exceptional children and wondering what she’s done to deserve such a disappointment for a daughter. “God is definitely punishing me for something!”
“I’m sure God has more important things to worry about.”
