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And then she showed up out of the blue on my sixteenth birthday, having conspired with Dad and Gina behind my back to meet us at the restaurant we were going to. I remember the big, happy smile on her face and the warm hug she’d wrapped me up in whileI stood stiff as a board, fury building in my stomach. She pulled me into a seat beside her, tucked my hair behind my ear and peppered me with questions about school and friends she didn’t know and summer plans she’d seen on my social media.
She got me a posh, expensive bag I didn’t have a use for and posh, expensive earrings that weren’t at all to my taste. She asked if there was anything else special I wanted for my birthday, and I was so rattled I just asked to go home, without her in tow. The five of us had a nice evening eating Chinese takeaway and watching a so-bad-it’s-good disaster movie, and I tried not to let Mum’s sudden reappearance overshadow it all.
She looks different to the last time I saw her.
I suppose that’s notthatsurprising, but as I stare at her, so out of place in the Arrowmile offices, the blood draining from my face, I catalogue the ways she’s changed since my birthday almost three years ago. There are some more lines around her eyes and neck. Her usual outfit of smart pencil dress and heels has morphed into a fashionable jeans-and-blazer combo, and she’s wearing trainers.
Trainers? Am I sure this ismymum?
She’s dyed her hair, too. She always has, but this is a bold change. Instead of the soft orange that matches my hair, she always used to dye it more of a honey tonethat looked strawberry blonde in a certain light. Now it seems she’s leaned into being ginger, to the extreme: it’s flame-red, like Black Widow or Karen Gillan. Probably, she thinks it makes her look younger, or cooler, or both.
I keep staring at her, too stunned to even blink.
Standing next to Topher Fletcher like that, I realize suddenly that it’s not Mum who’s out of place at Arrowmile. Her smart-casual look and natural confidence match Topher’s – they make her belong.
It’s me who’s out of place, in clumpy patent shoes that have rubbed blisters into my heels and a boring trousers-and-blouse combo that me and Gina picked out in the Next sale, both of us sure it would be appropriate for such a corporate environment. Me, who had to lie on my application to be here in the first place.
Mum beams at me, clearly much happier to see me than I am to see her.
‘You know each other?’ Topher Fletcher asks, smiling between us.
Barely at all.
‘Know each other?’ Mum trills a laugh. ‘I should say so! Anna’s my daughter.’
It’s a knife-sharp pain searing through my chest, though I’m not sure what hurts more: her blasé toneinsinuating she knows anything at all about me, or the way she calls me her daughter like itmeansanything.
There’s a choked noise somewhere just behind me, which I register as being from Lloyd.
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I also register that as a problem. That I don’t want him to know the ‘eccentric CEO’ he was just so dismissive of is my mum. That I’ve told him things about my (non-existent) relationship with her I didn’t think would ever matter, because he was never supposed to run into her – let alonehere.
I’m starting to think this entire summer is one giant cosmic middle finger.
I don’t have the capacity to think about Lloyd right now though, my mind too busy racing ahead to assess the situation and see if I need to do any damage control.
I haven’t told Mum about Arrowmile (I didn’t post explicitly on social media where my internship was for that exact reason) and shedoeslook surprised to see me … But is she surprised I’m here at all, or just in this particular spot at this particular moment? Could Dad have told her? Is she here because I am, or is this some horrible, cruel coincidence?
‘You don’t say!’ Topher exclaims. He clicks his tongue at me, grinning like this is such a great joke.‘Anna, you didn’t mention your mother wastheKathryn Jones!’
‘You didn’t mention she was a CEO,’ Lloyd says behind me. There’s a bite in his voice, an undercurrent of anger that makes my stomach twist. I can’t process why. I don’t have the space in my brain for it right now.
Mum laughs again. ‘She-EO,thank you very much!’
‘Ah, and Kathryn, this is my son, Lloyd. I know he’s taken a keen interest in this partnership we’ve been discussing.’
Lloyd makes a sound I think might be a scoff, but it’s covered by him clearing his throat. He steps forward, hand outstretched and his usual smile firmly in place. ‘Great to meet you, Kathryn.’
She shakes his hand, then nudges Topher with another broad smile and a giggle, pointing a finger at the two of us. ‘Isn’t that funny, Topher! The next generation of both our companies, and just after we were talking about building legacy! If you askme, this partnership is going to be in good hands.’
Lloyd winces a little.
I think I’m going to be sick.
Then she says, ‘Darling, I’m making some time to be back here tomorrow to iron out some details. Let’s do lunch. My treat.’
There’s so much wrong with that statement, I don’t know where to start. ‘Darling’ is bad enough, but ‘let’s do lunch’ is truly grating. Are we onMade in Chelsea, now, or something? Part of the in-crowd?
And mostly, it’s a terrible statement because it’s astatement, and Topher and Nadja are looking at me like this is such a nice thing and of course I’d see my mum for lunch, why ever not?
