‘Have you seen Ben?’ she asks.
‘No. Richard doesn’t want me to.’
‘And you’re going to abide by that?’
‘Yes. It’s the least I can do.’
‘Blimey. You’re a better woman than I am.’
‘You’ve got to be joking, aren’t you? I feel like the worst person in the world.’
‘Why?’
‘What do you mean why?’ I laugh in outrage.
‘You only fell in love, Lily. It’s not like you could help it.’
I pause for a moment and think about this before realising that that philosophy comes nowhere near to letting me off the hook. ‘Yes, but I should have told Richard about Ben from the beginning. And vice versa. I deceived them both.’
‘I think you played it the only way you could have,’ she says seriously. ‘Like you said, what if youhadbuilt Ben up to be someone he wasn’t? You would have been able to draw a line under the whole thing and move on to have a perfectly content life with Richard. And Richard would have been none the wiser, but a hell of a lot happier. Sometimes honesty isn’t the best policy.’
‘But the way things have turned out – it’s all such a mess. Anyway, enough about me. Fill me in on the latest with Mr Horn.’
She puts her hand on my arm and gives me a sympathetic smile before she allows me to change the subject. ‘It’ll be okay,’ she promises. ‘It will all work out for the best.’
My mum is there when I get back to her place that evening and despite our often-volatile relationship, I’m glad not to be walking into a dark flat again.
‘Hello,’ she greets me, coming through from the kitchen.
‘Hi,’ I reply. ‘I wasn’t sure if you were working tonight.’
‘I did the lunchtime shift,’ she replies. ‘And then rushed back here to cook you dinner.’
‘Seriously? What are we having?’
She beams. ‘Chicken in a cream and white wine sauce with new potatoes and veggies.’
‘That sounds amazing.’ It seems I have my appetite back.
‘I thought you’d like it.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ She checks her watch as I slump onto the sofa.
‘What do you want to drink? I’ve opened up a bottle of white.’
I smile gratefully. ‘That would be nice.’
‘Back in a tick.’
I slip out of my heels and put my feet up on the coffee table, closing my eyes for a moment. They sting from stress and lack of sleep. Mum comes through a minute later with two wine glasses and passes one over.
‘Feet on the table,’ she tuts.
‘Sorry.’ I take them down again. She never used to mind.
‘How was your dad’s visit?’ she asks, perching on the second, smaller sofa to my right.
‘Fine. It was good. The girls have grown so much.’
