“You did give her the story about you being in hospital,” I challenge her, my voice quivering. “The one about me being a terrible daughter for not rushing to your bedside.”
Mum raises her hands as if in surrender.
“Guilty as charged,” she says, with something approaching her usual spark. “I did do that. But only because I felt like I’d run out of options. I’d been calling and calling, and you’d never once answered. It felt like the only way to get your attention. Scarlett told me it would be sensitively done. But I think she got a bit carried away, really. Well, we both did. Look, what can I say?” she adds defensively. “It was exciting. I felt like a celebrity. I liked it.”
Now that’s the Mum I know and… well, love, I guess. Because, in spite of everything, she’s still my mum. And I might not be stupid enough to think she’ s learned her lesson, and that everything’s going to be different from now on, but I believe her when she says she didn’t tell Scarlett about me and Jett. She’s not a good enough actress, to be blunt. The same Mum who pulled that ham-fisted “Joan Collins” act in the hospital wouldn’t be capable of faking the kind of emotion she’s displaying now.I’mthe one who can cry on demand, after all: not her.
“Fine,” I say, relenting at last. “I believe it wasn’t you. But then, who was it?”
“I don’t know,” says Mum, who clearly doesn’t care much either, now that she knows she’s off the hook herself. “Maybe she made it up?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t think even Scarlett would stoop quite that low. And anyway, she got it right, didn’t she? Which means she has to have heard it fromsomeone.”
I start picking at my nails in agitation, and Mum reaches over the table and puts her hand on mine to stop me.
“Lexie,” she says, still holding my hand. “There’s something else I have to tell you. I think we’re going to need another drink first, though.”
I get up with a sigh, and get another bottle of wine, which I pour into our glasses. I’m not even nervous any more. I don’t know what she’s going to tell me, but, whatever it is, it can’t possibly make me feel worse than I did when Jett walked away from me this morning, so I pour the wine, then I sit back down and wait to hear what she’s got to say.
“It’s the distillery,” Mum says, as soon as we’re both seated again. “I don’t really know how to tell you this, Lexie, but we have to sell the distillery. It’s making too much of a loss now. The publicity it got after that whole business last year—“
“What, when you paid someone to sabotage The 39, you mean?” I say, my temper flaring again as I remember the scene last summer when the truth finally came out. “That business?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she wails, putting her hands over her face. “I know it was a terrible thing to do. I can’t defend it. But I was desperate, Lexie. I was absolutely desperate. We were losing so much money. I was about to lose the house. We were going to loseeverything, and I didn’t know what to do.”
“God, Mum,” I sigh. “There must have beenso many thingsyou could have done other than that. Someone could have been seriously hurt. Jack almostwas.”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” she mutters sullenly. “I was assured no one would be hurt. I would never have gone through with it if I’d thought for a second that anyone could be hurt. You have to believe me. I would do anything to make up for it. I swear, Lexie, I would. Anything at all. I just don’t know what Icando. All I know is that we can’t go on like this.”
I sip my drink slowly.
“Here’s what you do,” I tell her, putting the glass down. “You sell the distillery to Jack. Or you give him first refusal, at least. You give him a fair price for it — just enough to cover your expenses, nothing more.”
Mum nods reluctantly. I can tell she’s not 100% on board with this plan, but she’s not exactly in a position to say no, so I forge on.
“I have some money from… from my job with Jett,” I say. “That’ll tide us over for a while. And in the meantime, I guess I’ll start looking for a job. You too.”
She nods again, even more reluctantly this time. What an excellent evening this is turning out to be.
“Oh,” I add, “And you start therapy. A.S.A.P. Non-negotiable. You get some help, and you get it soon. Understood?”
“Understood,” Mum says in a small voice. “I will do better, Lexie. I know I can do better.”
“Good.”
I pick up my glass again wearily. I know there’s so much more to say — so much more we need to talk about. But that fleeting mention of Jett’s name has made my heart hurt so much again that it’s back to being all I can think of. Earlier today, after he left, I’d made up my mind to send all the money I’ve been paid so far straight back to him. I haven’t touched any of it. It never felt right to spend it, somehow, and it definitely doesn’t feel right to keep it, given the way everything’s ended.
It doesn’t look like I have much of a choice, though.
I’m no longer a distillery heiress, as Scarlett put it. I’m not anything, really. I’m not even a fake girlfriend anymore, and instead of feeling relieved that I don’t have to keep up the act, all I feel is sad that I’m never going to be able to tell Jett my side of the story, or to prove to him that I really didn’t betray his trust.
I pick up my phone and open the messages app. There’s nothing from him. I sent him a short message after I read Scarlett’s article, telling him I knew nothing about it, but the words sounded hollow, even to me, and I wouldn’t blame him if he doesn’t even bother to read it, let alone reply to it.
I wouldn’t blame him at all.
“I’m going to bed,” I announce, pushing myself up from the table and taking my glass over to the sink. “I know it’s still early, but I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day. I’ll think about all of this tomorrow.”
“That’s the spirit,” Mum says cheerfully, pouring herself another glass of wine. “Tomorrow is another day.”
