Chapter Thirteen
‘Eddie!’ I stumble after him across the foyer. ‘Hang on. Wait! STOP RIGHT THERE!’
He spins around to face me. ‘Stop shouting,’ he hisses.
‘I’m not shouting.’
‘You are! You’re embarrassing me, Mum. Stop it.’
‘But no one’s here!’ I look around the otherwise empty foyer. The gleaming wood panelling is hung with formal portraits of men in plumed hats and full tartan battle wear. None look especially friendly.
‘You can’t do this to us, Ed,’ Frank announces. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘Sorry, I know it’s notideal…’
‘Not ideal?’ I splutter. ‘You could say that. Why didn’t you warn us?’
‘I couldn’t! I didn’t know it was happening ’til yesterday—’
‘But we’ve just walked halfway across town,’ I pointout. ‘All that way, you let us think we were just going for a panini—’
‘I never said anything about paninis!’
‘You’ve basicallytrickedus,’ I announce.
‘And we’re supposed to go along with this lie,’ Frank exclaims, ‘that you and, uh – this girl—’
‘—she’s called Lyla, Dad—’
‘—That you’retogether?’ Frank says in disbelief.
As Eddie shrugs, looking helpless, I realise how wrong I was, to believe he’d properly grown up. I was fooled by the flat-share, the job in a fancy restaurant, and his bewilderment when the blind for his window turned up at his flat. ‘I don’t need you to order things for me, Mum!’ But was the towel still pinned up? No, the blind was in place. He’d put it up himself, he assured me. It waseasy. Did I think he couldn’t operate a screwdriver?
‘I didn’t know what else to do,’ Eddie admits now, unable to look at us. ‘Lyla arranged it with her mum, soon as she knew you were coming over to see me.’
‘So youarein touch with her then?’ I venture.
‘Not really. Yeah, a bit.’ He bites his lip.
‘And they’re here now?’ Frank says, as if he still can’t believe it. Eddie nods gloomily.
My heart feels heavy, like a boulder in my chest. ‘I’m not really up for this, Eddie. Let’s just go.’
‘We can’t just not show up!’
‘Yes, we can,’ Frank insists. ‘Say we couldn’t make it. Something happened. Your mum fell ill—’
‘Why me?’ I retort. ‘Why am I ill?’
‘You justare—’
‘What’s wrong with me?’
‘I don’t know. Anything. Your sciatica’s bad—’
‘I’ve never had sciatica—’
‘Lyla’s mumreallywants to meet you,’ Eddie cuts in, desperation in his voice now.
