And then there’s Jackson. I’ve been here for over a month and I’m still not sure what I want to come of this summer. I’m still attracted to him—that much is clear—and I still like him—that much is clear too. If heishaving regrets about the past, is it possible that we might soon reach a turning point? And is that even what I want?
I’d hoped by now that everything would be clearer, but my head feels foggier than ever.
21
I feel a little flatat work the next day. Jackson asks me if anything is wrong, but I brush him off, claiming to have a headache. I say the same thing to Mellie when I get home. I go for a lie-down, but she comes into my room after a while with a bowl of soup and crackers.
“Aw,” I say gratefully, sitting up in bed. “Thank you.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s really wrong?”
I shrug listlessly as I settle the tray on my lap. “I think I might have the holiday blues.”
“You’ve still got another two months left here,” she points out.
“I know,” I reply with a wan smile, picking up my spoon. “But I need to start my job search soon.”
“Have you heard much from your flatmates or your other friends back home?”
“Just the odd text here and there. Tasha and Ryan seem to be enjoying their trial run of living together on their own though, so I’m going to have to find new flatmates when I get back.”
“Or a new flat,” she says.
“That’s true. They might be wantingmeto move out if theycan afford the rent between the two of them. That makes me feel even worse.”
“Cross that bridge when you come to it,” Mellie says kindly. “How are things going with the project?”
I fill her in. We’ve yet to receive a mock-up design from Louis, but we’ve been researching bottles and etching methods this week, pressing ahead with the idea of pale blue glass. Jackson is in charge of operations—distribution and manufacturing—so unit cost for the bottles is his remit.
“Have you tried ringing Mum since I’ve been here?” I ask when I’ve finished my soup and am feeling a bit better after our gentle chitchat.
“No. Haven’t you?”
I shake my head. “You know I prefer to wait for her to call me.”
“And she hasn’t?”
“We’ve texted, but I don’t like ringing her in case she doesn’t pick up.”
“I didn’t realize you still fretted about that.”
“You know Mum, she has to be in the right mood to talk, otherwise it’s painful.”
She pats my leg and gets up. “I need to go and put on some washing.”
I frown after her. On a Friday night?
Two minutes later, she returns with her phone.
“It’s your mum,” she says, handing it over.
My insides expand as I stare at Mum’s face on the screen. “Hi!” I exclaim.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “Mellie says you’re not feeling great.”
“I had a headache, but I’m fine.” I pause. “We haven’t spoken in a while.”
“I’ve been really busy,” she replies resignedly. “It’s ten thirty here. I was just climbing into bed.”
