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We move downstairs to the weighing scales, passing through reception on the way. Charlie is back behind the front desk.
‘Sorry about that, Charlie. Did you take a message?’
I can feel my cheeks turning scarlet.
‘Yeah, but it was really odd. She wanted to know where you live and where Izzy lives. She seemed to know you are living next to each other.’
‘Press?’ Brooks asks.
‘I don’t know. It didn’t really seem like a professional approach. Anyway, here is her number. She said her name is Mrs Periwinkle. She didn’t give a first name.’
I dart forward, taking the notepaper from Brooks’ hand. ‘Let me see that.’
‘Do you know who she is?’
I close my eyes and bite down on my lip. ‘Yes. It’s my mother.’
‘Periwinkle?’ he questions.
‘It’s a code name she uses when she doesn’t want people to know who she’s talking about. Like when she’s gossiping about someone at lunch. She’ll call the person Mrs Periwinkle so she doesn’t get caught out or overheard.’
‘What? Why would your mother call here asking for me and why would she leave her number with a fake name?’
I sigh, knowing my mother too well. ‘Because she hoped you wouldn’t tell me that Mrs Coulthard called. She wants to speak with you.’
‘Why would she want to speak with… Because of us?’
I nod. ‘And she asked where we are staying, which means… Oh God.’
‘She’s here?’
‘Or coming.’ And I know exactly what she’s coming to stop.
31
BROOKS
I lean against the kitchen counter watching Izzy scurry around her apartment, frantically tidying.
‘I thought you said you didn’t care what they think.’
‘And I thought you said I secretly do,’ she snaps. She stops fluffing the sofa cushions. ‘I don’t care. It’s just she’s flown halfway around the globe.’
‘Six hours.’
She launches the sofa cushion at me. ‘Now is not the time to be a smartarse, Brooks.’
The truth is, it’s all I can think to do because I’m afraid. I’m afraid her mother is coming here to tell her what a mistake Izzy will be making if she decides to stay with me. I’ve been here before. I know how this ends up. Me, alone, heartbroken.
I tuck the cushion under my arms for something to hold. A comfort. I’m already hurting, and I don’t know if I should stick around for the main event.
‘You know why she’s coming, Izzy, and it isn’t to tell you that your two-week rental is untidy.’
Izzy stops and faces me. After long seconds of us staring at each other, she says, ‘I don’t know why she’s coming, Brooks.’ Her words hold no conviction. Her shoulders sag and I am struck by a need to hold her.
I cross the living room, ditching the cushion and taking her in my arms. I hold her tight against my chest and stroke her shower-wet hair. ‘She’s your mom, Iz. What are you so afraid of?’
‘Everything. Letting her down, letting you down, letting myself down. You don’t know her, Brooks.’
