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In another life, I think I would’ve been. If she’dtried, I could have been. But when I think about her spectacular career, all the exciting things she’s done, there’s only resentment – and even that has faded, after almost thirteen years. At some point, I stopped caring, just like she did. Maybe it’s a trait that runs in the family.
I shrug, and answer as honestly as I can. ‘I guess it’s impressive. I just don’t know her all that well. She’s not the kind of mum you call to tell about your day.’
‘I bet she’s so cool,’ Izzy sighs, missing my point.
Elaine obviously picks up on it though because she says, a little more gently, ‘That must be hard, with her being so busy and not being able to see you very much.’
Immediately, my eyes well up and I have to squeeze them shut and bite the inside of my cheek before a sob breaks out. I’ve been on edge since I let myself cry in the toilets this afternoon; I’m sure if someone had forgotten to say ‘thanks’ to me for holding a door, I’d have broken down crying again. I swallow the lump in my throat and take a breath, not answering until I’m sure my voice won’t shake.
‘Sure. But if I had the choice between hanging out with me or Adele, I’d want to hang out with Adele, too.’
The girls laugh, not seeming to notice when I don’t quite join in, still needing a few seconds to get a handle on my emotions.
This is getting out of hand. I told myself that first day that Lloyd wasn’t going to ruin this internship for me, and now, I can’t let Mum ruin the rest of my summer. This was supposed to be a cute evening in, just hanging out while Louis is out on another first date, part of my resolution to not waste this summer and have a little fun. Iwon’tlet her ruin this.
I won’t.
By lunchtime the next day, I have a better grip on myself. My tears turned to righteous anger by last night, and today I’ve woken up determined and immovable.
Or at least – Iwill bedetermined and immovable.
I’m wearing one of my favourite office outfits: a plain navy A-line dress with short sleeves. It goes nicely with my new necklace from Gina.
I’ve agreed to meet Mum downstairs in reception. Replying to her message about when and where to meet made me notice the handful of messages I’ve mostly ignored over the last few weeks. They leave a sour taste in my mouth.
She strides through the lobby twelve minutes late, with a smile and no apology.
‘Alright, darling? All ready to go?’
No, I’m just waiting here with my bag and cardigan, standing around doing nothing for no good reason.
I am immovable. She won’t faze me, not today. I won’t let her.
‘Yes. But I don’t have very long, now.’
She starts to dismiss me before realizing I’m deadly serious, so instead puts on a forced smile and says, ‘Well, we’d better be off then. Come on, I’ve booked us a table at a lovely little place around the corner.’
It’s a brisk seven-minute walk to the restaurant Mum’s booked for us, a cute and airy Italian with a delicious aroma that envelops me as soon as I walk through the door. The decor seems purposeful, chosen with care. It’s the kind of place I’d normally avoid, where starters probably cost as much as a main course anywhere else.
A man in a crisp black uniform shows us to a table and hands us menus, asking for our drink orders. Mum gets a raspberry lemonade. I have tap water.
When he leaves us to peruse the menus, Mum immediately sets hers down. She perches her elbows on the table and folds her hands together under her chin, leaning forward with a smile.
‘I’m so glad we got the chance to do this, Anna. I wasn’t sure if I’d get to see you.’
‘Well, you’ve seen me.’ I bite my tongue for a moment, but then decide I need to know. ‘Did youpurposelycome to Arrowmile just to see me?’
Mum sighs, looking a bit sheepish. ‘No. This has been in the works for a while now, but your dad told me where you were doing your internship. I hoped I might bump into you. If the meeting yesterday went well, my plan was to let you know I might be around so we could have a bit of a catch-up.’
‘A bit of a catch-up?’ I can’t help but gape, incredulous, almost on the verge of laughter. ‘What, like you’re a friend from school I haven’t seen since we set off for uni last year? You’re not my friend, you’resupposedto be mymum.’
‘Darling, I have been trying –’
‘Is that what you call it, when you text me once in a blue moon?’
Her lips purse, and she draws a breath before saying slowly, in what must bethemost patronizing tone she can muster, ‘Anna, I know you took it very hard when your father and I divorced, but you can’t begrudge me my own life. I’ve been trying very hard to reconnect with you –’
It’s selfish. It’s mean and patronizing and selfish. It makes me feel eleven years old, with Dad telling me apologetically that Mum can’t make it for Christmas.It takes me back to the school play in Year 12 and how even though I didn’t want her there, even though I knew she wouldn’t be, I still strode out to take my mark on the stage and looked out into the audience of parents and friends and siblings, searching for her like she might have made it after all.
