‘What?’
I nod to her top. ‘Dad hated Bananarama.’
Her hand flies to her chest. ‘Iadorethis shirt!’
‘And he hates dogs, and the countryside, and thinks everyone south of Chertsey is a bean counter.’
‘Alright, alright, I get it.’
‘You’ve made a couple of big admissions – have another drink,’ I urge. ‘Why are we shotting limoncello anyway? You’re supposed to sip it.’
Mum cringes after her fourth shot. ‘Would you rather be shotting vodka? Minnie, it’s just past noon. We’re not heathens.’ She places her glass face down on the table, expression introspective. ‘You’re calling him “Dad”, not “my dad” like you usually do,’ she says quietly. ‘I take it coffee went well?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Obviously, I’m a nosy cow.’
‘It did,’ I concede. ‘But his teeth are still too white.’
‘I knew it. I bet they glow in the dark.’
I burst out laughing. Her commitment to hating him less is off to a poor start.
‘Now tell me about your job,’ Mum pivots. ‘Why didn’t you tell me it wasn’t going well?’
‘I couldn’t admit it to myself. I wanted it to work so badly, and for a while, I thought things were changing. But I was kidding myself.’
‘I told you it was a bad idea from the start, but you didn’t listen. Brian O’Connell was always a cunt. He felt up Kurt’s mum at a gala dinner once.’
I slam my hand on the table, making Noodle look up from shredding her toy pheasant.‘What?’
‘She threw her red wine over him,’ Mum recollects.
‘Too right!’
‘Hardly, what a waste of good wine.’ She bends down to pet Maggie who just walked into the table leg. ‘I still can’t believe you resigned. You never quit anything – except maybe boys.’ Let’s not open that stinking can of worms. ‘Such a people-pleasing millennial.’
I don’t think that’s a compliment but I’ll take it anyway. ‘It’s ok to be a bit selfish sometimes. It doesn’t make me Dad.’
‘Urgh, don’t compare yourself to that brute – sorry, old habits.’ She puts her hands up. ‘Doing what you want doesn’t make you selfish, and quitting isn’t failing. When I cut in that bob and hated it so much I got extensions, I wasn’t failing. I decided it didn’t work for me. It’s ok to say bye, kindly, if something doesn’t work for you.’
This isn’t a eureka moment – she’s always preached independence – but sometimes you need to learn the hard way and come to your own conclusions.
‘You looked horrible with a bob,’ I confess.
‘I know. I didn’t look nearly as chic as Irina Shayk.’ She gets up and collects the empty shot glasses. ‘Let’s have a coffee before I put on the Spice Girls and start dancing like a prat.’
I put the limoncello bottle back on the shelf to the sound of the coffee machine whirring to life.
‘I meant what I said about Jack,’ Mum says, leaning against the counter, trying for nonchalant. ‘I never want to stand in your way. He’s head over heels, you know. I can see it on his face every time you interview him.’
I smile sadly to myself. ‘Don’t worry about it. We’re not anything, and we probably never will be.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s a commitment-phobe.’
She frowns and gets oat milk out the fridge. ‘It’s not terminal.’
