Page 52

‘Dear God, if that was Mum being supportive, I dread to think what she’d be like if she genuinely disapproved!’

‘It was quite funny, actually. She said, “You must be very gentle with Athena when you see her, Hebe. Something has obviously happened while she was in South Africa, but she’s too traumatised to talk about it. We need to give her space but also let her know that we’re all here for her when she’s ready to tell us.” I mean, she’s not a million miles out, is she? Something did happen.’

‘If you mean Nathan, then I’m angry and a bit upset. I’m certainly not having a breakdown.’

‘Good luck convincing Mum. What’s the real story behind the hair then?’

‘Nothing that exciting. Lucy was worried about whether she’d be able to get even colouring, I fancied a change, and she talked me into this. What do you think?’

‘I like it,’ Hebe says after studying me for a moment. ‘It’s very à la mode.’

‘I was worried it would make me look like a lesbian.’

‘No.’ She hesitates. ‘Well, not really.’

I narrow my eyes. ‘That’s a yes then, isn’t it.’

Hebe blushes. ‘Not totally,’ she squeaks. ‘It’s quite a radical change though, so you might, umm, want to soften the rest of your look a little, otherwise you might give the wrong impression.’

A thought comes to me and I laugh softly.

‘What?’ Hebe asks.

‘Maybe I should embrace the lesbian look.’

‘One bad experience with a guy and you’re gay now? I’m starting to wonder if Mum is on to something.’

‘No, of course not. But if it keeps the men at bay, it might protect me from the next Nathan. And Mum, now I come to think about it.’

* * *

I don’t spend as much time in it as I’d like, but I’m remarkably proud of my little house. It was advertised as a semi-detached three-bedroom property but, as with pretty much all new builds, the third bedroom is so tiny, you’d struggle to get a full-sized bed in there, so I use it as a study. My next-door neighbours are a young couple with two small children; they’re nice enough and we exchange pleasantries whenever I see them, but they always look slightly frazzled. I’m sitting at my desk watching them trying to load their evidently reluctant offspring into the car when my phone starts ringing.

‘Hi, Mum,’ I say with a sigh. I’m not really in the mood for another one of her rants, but I’ve learned over the years that it’s always better to let her get things off her chest sooner rather than later. If you let her fester, all that happens is that the small problem she wanted to talk about grows in her mind until it’s a full-on catastrophe.

‘It’s not your mother, Athena. It’s Dad.’

I sit up straight. Dad only rings if one of us is in really deep trouble, or if Mum is incapacitated in some way. The last time he rang me was when Mum fell off the stepladder she uses to reach the rarely used pans that live on top of the kitchen cupboards, breaking her ankle and fracturing her femur in the process.

‘What’s up?’ I ask warily.

He sighs. ‘Your mother asked me to call. She’s convinced that you’re having some kind of, ah, psychological crisis that you feel you can’t share with her. I’m to make you talk, apparently. So, how about it, eh? If you tell me what’s going on, I’ll try to rephrase it into words your mother will understand.’

‘Nothing’s going on, Dad.’

Another sigh. ‘I feared you’d say that. Here’s the problem. If I go to your mother, say I’ve talked to you and everything is OK, she’s not going to believe me. You know what she’s like when she has the bit between her teeth like this. Is there something – anything – you can give me that will appease her so we can all go back to normal? Vitam tranquillam modo cupio, if you know what I mean.’

‘I don’t, I’m afraid.’

‘I just want a peaceful life. So, can you help your old man out?’

I think for a moment. If I tell the truth, Mum will be so excited that I’ve shown interest in a man that she’ll simply gloss over the fact that he turned out to be a total douche and I’ll never hear the end of it. Knowing my luck, she’ll even try to track him down. As luck would have it, my conversation with Hebe comes back into my head and combines with my mischievous side.

‘The thing is, Dad,’ I begin. ‘I met someone in South Africa, and the experience has left me with a lot of questions.’ So far, so true.

‘You met someone?’ he repeats. ‘Why didn’t you say?’

‘Because our relationship wasn’t exactly conventional.’ Again, not a total lie – I’m building up to that. I feel bad deceiving Dad, but maybe, if I pull this off, Mum will learn a valuable lesson.