“Well, it was mostly Nathan, to be honest.”
“Oh. Well, thanks to Nathan too then.” I force myself to smile.
Penny laughs. “When are you and Nathan going to start getting on?”
“We do get on,” I protest.
“Yeah, right,” she says with raised eyebrows.
She’s right, we don’t get on, but I won’t admit that. Nathan knows what he did to me. He knows why we aren’t close and never will be. And it’s something I will never ever tell Penny.
CHAPTER8
FAYE
The handle is @Jasonjay.
I flick through his profile for a few minutes, finding the original photo with the caption:Does anyone know this woman? Just want to check she’s okay.
The longer I look at the original tweet, the more my pulse quickens. I hate the caption more than I hate the image. It seems so reasonable, caring even. The context makes my denial seem stupid. Why would this Jason person fake a photo of me? Barely anyone knows my face. Yes, I’ve been to book festivals and talked at schools and even attended the odd awards ceremony. But in twenty years, I’ve only been on television three times – hardly enough to be recognisable to the average person.
Everything about this situation suggests that the woman in the photo is me. I’m probably deluded to believe it isn’t, but I can’t shake the strange intuition screaming from my gut.
I fire off a quick DM to Jasonjay asking for more information about the photo. Shalina would probably tell me not to do this. I could lose my cool and Jason could screenshot any messages I send to him, but my desire to know what the hell is going on pushes all of those worries away. Then I shove my phone in my bag, grab my keys, and leave the house.
* * *
I usually bringMum a present when I visit. A book or a stack of magazines. The teabags she likes, or a cake to enjoy. I have come empty-handed today. This time there’s something I need from her.
I fish out my key and open her front door.
“Hey, Mum, it’s me!” I say, loudly enough for her to hear me. Although it’s not her hearing that’s the problem, it’s her eyesight these days.
“Faye,” she says. As I walk into the living room I see her huddled in her armchair, her eighty-seven-year-old body tiny in the wide seat.
While Mum’s vision is failing, and her body is weakened by the fall she had last year, she’s still sharp and still has a great memory, which I envy. To reach that age and still understand the world is a gift I never considered in my youth. Aside from a nurse who comes to the house in the mornings to help her dress, Mum is doing well taking care of herself.
“You look different,” she says, squinting behind thick glasses. “Did you do something to your hair?”
“Maybe it’s longer?” I suggest.
“Sit down, you’re making the place untidy,” she says with a chuckle. “How’s Penny?”
I grab the remote from the coffee table and turn the volume down on an episode ofBargain Hunt.“She’s good. She’ll come and visit you soon. Worrying about me seems to be keeping her busy at the moment.” The words come out with a resentful edge I don’t really mean.
I notice Mum wince at that. She knows about my diagnosis and has said a few times now that she doesn’t want to see me lose myself. During one disturbing phone call she even told me that she hopes she dies before it happens.
“Anyway, I’m here to ask you a few questions,” I say, pulling myself away from morbid thoughts.
She laughs at that. “What’s going on? Is this a quiz?”
“No, I… Actually, I’ve decided to write a memoir, and I want to include what happened to me when I was born.” I pull in a deep breath. “I want to know everything about my birth mother. I think it’s time.”
Mum’s fingers tighten around the arms of her chair. She stiffens slightly, and I can tell that I’ve made her uncomfortable. “I see.”
I suddenly feel guilty for launching straight into this without any warning. “Why don’t I make us both a cup of tea? Then we can go through it all. Is that okay? Have you got any biccies in?”
She nods slightly. “Bourbons. They’re in the usual tin.”
