I wonder who told him my secret vice was sugar. No, I don’t. Not really. I’m sure Niamh saw us as a possible match, which—colour me cynical—would’ve fit into her plans for a cosy foursome with Rob.And while I’m not interested, I don’t want to be rude. Or make him feel any worse than he already does. Surely it would be churlish to say no? Just call me a people pleaser. Or a cake whore. And despite ploughing through a massive muffin earlier, I’m probably still in calorie deficit after my night with Kai.
‘Sure, why not.’
‘Great,’ he calls, walking backwards along the corridor, still balancing those tubes. ‘Just let me drop my things. See you in five.’
Putting my purse on the kitchen worktops, I quickly change into jeans and a loose, white shirt, keeping on my pretty new thongs. The doorbell rings at the very same moment as my phone. The number on the screen is heavily familiar as I gesture Matt inside and to the sofa.
‘Hi, Mum.’ I try not to make it sound like answering is a chore, while wishing I’d let the call ring out.
‘Katherine, love. How are you?’
‘Good, thanks.’ There’s the usual pregnant pause which I’ve long since grasped I don’t need to fill by babbling, handing over the conversational upper hand. On this occasion, Kate for the win.
‘Did you get my message, darl?’
‘Haven’t had a chance to check my email yet. Hey, isn’t it the middle of the night there? What are you doing still up?’
‘Oh, I can’t sleep.’ My mum sighs dramatically. She’s got it down to a fine art, and I don’t have to ask why as it won’t be long until she tells me anyway. ‘I’ve such a lot on my mind. Worried about you in that God-forsaken place, the embarrassment of cancelling the wedding plans. It’s all been very sad.’
‘I told you, I’d deal with it, it’s only a few emails—’
‘The guests had to becalled, Katherine,’ she softly berates. ‘We had to explain. To everyone. I just don’t think I’ll get a good night’s sleep until you come home.’
Ah, the emotional blackmail card. I knew she’d get there in the end.
‘I’m sorry you felt you had to do that, but I’m pretty sure everyone had already heard.’You remember Cousin Kate, the one whose fiancé hooked-up with a stripper?And as for forsaken by God, I’m pretty sure those five daily prayers must mean something. ‘I told you in my last email, I’m fine. I like it here. I’m having fun.’
‘Fun?’ The word drips with an ill-concealed scorn.
‘Yes,fun. And my contract is for two years. I won’t be coming home for good before then, just for holidays.’Possibly.‘Maybe you should get some lavender oil or something to help you sleep.’
‘Katherine, the Middle East is not the place to run away to, it’s... it’s dangerous! Your place is here, with your family. You’ve made your point and your fiancé is—’
I cut her off immediately. ‘Please tell me you’re not doing this. I don’thavea fiancé. I don’t want to talktohim, talkabouthim,nothing!’ A sudden thought occurs to me, slithering uncomfortably from spine to gut. ‘He’s put you up to this, hasn’t he?’
‘He came around yesterday,’ she admits. ‘He’s very sad.’
‘You didn’t let him in, did you? You’d better not have given him my number.’ Pinching the bridge of my nose, I will away her response.
‘He was on the doorstep. What would Betty from across the road have thought if I’d left him out there, carrying on like a pork chop? And what harm could a call or an email do? He’s just a man, they do stupid things. He needs to apologize.’
He needs to go boil his head. Preferably using his arse as a receptacle.
‘That’s not the point.’ I strain to keep my voice even, trying hard to regulate my rising temper through deep breaths. Truthfully, I’m about two steps beyond blowing my cool. ‘I asked you not to do this, the onething I asked.’
‘To err is human, Katie.’
‘Yeah?’ The word hits the air coldly. ‘He’s not peddling that crap here ‘cos I know what a lying bastard he is. He broke my heart, Mum, broke myfucking heart!’ From outrage to tears, the final words crack from the strain of trying to hold it all in. Isn’t unwavering support a mother’s function? Isn’t that a mother’s place? Not mine.
‘There’s no need for profanity, that’s not how you were raised.’ Her voice never alters in volume, but the reprimand is there all the same.
‘That’s where you’re wrong. There’s every need for profanity the way I feel. If you don’t want to hear it, maybe next time you’ll think about me. Look, Mum, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you soon.’
I push theendbutton, wishing it was as easy to end my connection to him.
Deep breaths, deep breaths. Don’t let it all in.
Acid washes violently through my stomach as I place my phone on the bench. My mother’s tactics are, as usual, classic passive-aggressive. Though I suppose it’s better than arguing with my stepdad, who leaves me feeling like I’ve banged my head against a solid brick wall.
