“Listen, Mum, this isn’t really a good time—”
“Are you going to be back by the tenth?” she said tersely, and for a moment, Skye was lost.
“The tenth?”
“Yes, of June, as in six days from now. It’s Jonathan’s sixtieth. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
Skye said nothing.
“For goodness’ sake. The table plan is done. You RSVP’d a yes.”
Had she? Skye cast her mind back, tried to recall an invite arriving.
“And are you getting him the cuff links or the silk tie? Please stick to the list I sent over. You know how particular he is when it comes to gifts.”
Skye could feel heat rising through her, and it had nothing to do with the soaring afternoon temperatures. Jonathan, her mother’s partner—Cassandra abhorred the termboyfriend—was a priggish bore of a man with an ego the size of Belgium. It had been loathing at first sight for each of them, and matters had not much improved since. Skye’s phone buzzed with a notification, and checking the screen, she saw that another message had come through, this time from her friend Sal.
Your mum is on the hunt,she had written.Call me when you can. Love u.
Too late, Skye realized her error. By reading Sal’s text, she had shown herself to be online.
“Shit,” she muttered, fumbling in her belated attempt to change the settings.
“Charming,” her mother barked.
Victoria came out through the open front door.
“Oh great,” she said to Skye, “you’re still here. We thought we’d all wander down to the taverna—lunch on us, to say thanks for helping out.”
Skye clamped her hand over the phone, nodding furiously.
“Are you still there?” Her mother sounded disjointed, as if she were underwater. “The line is breaking up.”
“I really have to go,” Skye said, her tone rising as Adam, Andreas, and Joy filed out into the yard. “Sorry about the dinner. I’ll explain everything when I can, OK?”
“No,” her mother said imperiously. “It is not OK. Tell me where you are.”
Joy paused by the path.
“You coming, chook?” she asked. Skye gave her a thumbs-up, trying to communicate through gesture alone that they should all go ahead without her, that she would catch up to them. Tears were beginning to threaten; her neck and face were hot, hands clammy.
“I can’t,” she whispered into the phone.
“Can’t? Can’t what?”
“Tell you where I am,” Skye said. “I’m sorry, Mum, but I can’t.”
“Are you in trouble? Is someone holding you against your will?”
“No, Mum—I’m fine. I’m safe. I just needed to get away.”
“Oh.” She let out an arduous sigh. “Have you and Martyn fallen out again?”
Martyn.
At the mention of his name, Skye went cold. Bile rose in her throat as she croaked out a faint “No.”
“I’m happy to call him if you want,” her mother went on. “I’m a proficient mediator. Did it enough times when I was working my way through the divorce court ranks.”
