“I told her you weren’t here,” she says, looking me in the eye. “That you’d gone out for the day and I didn’t know when you’d be back. And I told her it wasn’t true, what she was saying. I told her I’d seen you together with my own eyes, just like she had, and that what I’d seen was a young couple who were completely and utterly in love.”
“And why did you tell her that?” I ask, surprised that she thinks I’m buying this for a single second.
“Well, because it’s true, of course,” she says immediately, looking surprised to be asked. “Isn’t it?”
“Oh, come on Mum, you know it isn’t,” I wail, putting my head in my hands. “Would you just drop the act for once in your life? I know you know. I know you heard me and Jett in the kitchen last night. And I know you told Scarlett about it. What I don’t know is why you can’t just admit it? Why not be honest for once? You never know, you might like it.”
“Lexie, are you telling me Scarlett’s article was true?” Mum says, leaning across the table to look at me. “Are you serious? You and Jett were just… faking it?”
She looks so shocked that she almost has me convinced. Almost.
“Acting, Mum. We were acting.” My head drops back into my hands, suddenly too heavy for me to hold it up any longer. “It’s what he does, remember?”
And what I do too now, apparently.
“Well, I’ll be.” Mum straightens up, her mouth still hanging open in surprise. “Wait. How much did you get paid?” she asks, her eyes narrowing. “Was it a lot? Because there’s something I need to—”
“Are you actually telling me you didn’t know?” I burst out, looking up at her. “You must have known.”
Mum shakes her head.
“I honestly didn’t,” she says, getting up and flicking her cigarette butt into the sink. I resist the impulse to get up and clear it away. I want to hear what she has to say.
“I did try to listen at the door last night,” she says, looking slightly shamefaced. “But I couldn’t hear anything, Lexie,” she goes on eagerly. “You were speaking too quietly, and then when I opened the door, you were all over each other, and I thought… Well, I thought you really liked him. I thought he really liked you. And then this morning, in your room… Are you honestly telling me none of that was real?”
I shrug. I know it was real for me, but I have no idea what it meant to Jett. And thanks to Scarlett and her stupid article, I never will.
“I should’ve got you acting lessons when you were a kid,” Mum says thoughtfully. “It might have been a better investment than the pageant stuff. That never really worked out, did it?”
She looks at me for confirmation, then looks away again, embarrassed.
“Not that it matters, obviously,” she says awkwardly. “I was always very proud of you, Lexie. You know that, don’t you? You were such a pretty little thing.”
“Well, that’s the main thing, isn’t it?” I reply bitterly. “As long as everything looks good on the outside, who cares if it’s secretly falling apart?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was about to cry. Instead, she just walks over to the fridge and gets out what’s left of last night’s wine, which she pours into two glasses, before handing me one.
Smokinganddrinking. It looks like shit’s about to get serious.
“It’s not what I meant,” she repeats, sitting back down opposite me. “You were always pretty, Lexie — you still are — but you were also sogood. Always helping around the house, making sure everything ran smoothly. I never had to tell you to tidy your room, or do your homework. It’s like you were the adult and I was the child some of the time.”
“Someof the time? Er, tryallthe time,” I can’t resist pointing out.
“Okay, all the time, then. You looked after me. I didn’t… I didn’t do a great job of looking after you, and I’m sorry for that. No, really, I am.”
Mum pauses, seeing the doubt on my face.
“I know you won’t believe this,” she says with a hollow laugh, “But I really did try, you know. After your dad… after what happened with him, I didn’t really cope very well. I was very young, you know. Very scared. And then I was on my own with a baby I had no idea how to look after, and… well, I guess I just got lucky that the baby was you, and you always seemed to know how to look after yourself.”
“I didn’t ‘just know’,” I mutter, taking a gulp of my wine. “I had to figure it out, the same way I had to figure out everything else. It’s not like I was justbornlike that.”
I’m arguing with her, but, if I’m totally honest, my heart’s not really in it. Because she’s done it again, hasn’t she? She’s somehow managed to make me feel sorry for her. And even though I know she’s probably just trying to manipulate me again, part of me really wants to believe her.
“I know,” she says sadly. “I know that, Lexie. Like I say, I was lucky — not just because you were so strong, and so capable, but because you wereyou, and I wouldn’t have changed you for anything. But I didn’t always show you that, and I’m sorry. I mean that. And, whatever you think of me, I want you to know it wasn’t me who gave Scarlett that story. I wouldn’t do that.”
I watch her suspiciously as she picks up her glass and drains it. I can normally tell when Mum’s lying, but this time I’m struggling. This time, it feels like she could be telling the truth. Or is that just wishful thinking on my part?
