“Sleep then.”
She shakes her head. “I should go help out?—”
“You’ll stay,” I repeat. “Sleep. Now. Close your eyes.”
Despite everything, she laughs. “Cameron, I can’t just sleep on demand?—”
I reach up and slap the light switch over my bed. “Night.”
“But—”
“Stop talking.”
She snorts and curls into a ball. “Fine. If you insist.” She lays her head on the pillow and lets her eyes flutter shut. “You are…” she mumbles. “Sweet.”
I ignore her, watching as her breathing slows. It’s barely five minutes before she’s asleep.
I wipe a hand over my face. I feel overwhelmed with some emotion I can’t put a name on. Summer shifts, and I see the ridge of the scar curving up her wrist.
Anger. That’s the word for it. Feeling slightly perverted, I carefully extricate my phone from under my pillow and type “Summer Faye mother” into the search engine.
Immediately, thousands of results pop up. Summer’s mum is called Caroline, and she’s apparently quite famous. I click on an article named “Ten Women Who Shaped the World of Civil Law”and scroll down to Caroline’s section.
She looks a lot like Summer. Same brown eyes and long blonde hair. She’s dressed severely in a blouse and skirt, and she’s giving the camera a hard look I’ve never seen on Summer’s face. I read the caption.
Caroline Faye is making waves in the entertainment industry with her unflinching boardroom presence and constant drive for justice.
Hmm. I scan the article. Apparently, Summer’s mother was a prodigy. She graduated high school at sixteen, went to Oxford Uni, and was one of the youngest people in the UK to pass the bar. In her thirties, she won a very public case against a film producer who abused several of his celebrity actresses. Now she owns her own boutique law firm, specialising in workplace abuse. I skim to the end of the article.
Caroline has spoken in interviews about how an unplanned pregnancy in her twenties almost derailed her career. ‘I think everyone expected me to quit when I became a single mother,’ she tells our correspondent. ‘But I refused. Life will always throw you obstacles. It’s your job to push through them to your goals. I’d encourage any woman to do the same.’ Caroline’s now-adult daughter is a popular fashion influencer.
I put my phone down, feeling sick. She called Summer anobstacle.
I’m familiar with abandonment. I know what it looks like. I grew up wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Why none of the adults in my life ever wanted to keep me. My dad left. My mum shipped me off to my nan. My nan wanted nothing to do with me. It wasn’t until I was a teenager I realised that most people are just selfish. I was better off without them. I don’t need a family.
But Summer does. She’s brimming over with love to give. And what does she get instead? A mother who criticises her forhow her brain works,and tens of thousands of people online mocking her.
And I’m part of the problem. I called her pink shoes ridiculous. They were her favourite ones, and I let them get stained with mud. I’m no better than the rest of them.
I need to fix this. I don’t know how.
But luckily, I know someone who will.
Very slowly, I eke myself out from under Summer. She mumbles in her sleep. I grit my teeth against the pain in my leg and leave the room as quietly as possible.
When I limp into the lounge, Fraser’s on the sofa in front of some trashy reality TV show. He’s got Summer’s lamb wrapped in a blanket on his lap, and he’s trying to bottle-feed her. His face lights up when he sees me.
“He lives! Missed you this morning, mate.” He offers me a hand, and I sit down heavily next to him. He immediately hands the lamb over to me. “Your leg doing better?”
I ignore the question, passing him my phone. “Read this.”
He examines the picture. “Who’s that?”
“Summer’s mum.”
“Looks like she’s sucking a lemon.” He goes quiet as he reads the article. Summer’s lamb tries to eat my finger. “Right,” he says eventually. “Great lawyer, shitty mum.”
“Seems like it,” I mutter.
