Page 53

‘I see,’ he says, and there’s a long pause. I can almost hear his discomfort down the phone. On the one hand, he knows that he needs to get the details so he can pass them on to Mum but, on the other, talking about ‘relationship’ stuff is miles outside his comfort zone and I know he’d rather be almost anywhere else.

‘When you say “unconventional”…’ he prompts eventually, and I can almost feel him squirming.

‘It was another woman,’ I say bluntly.

‘Oh. Umm, right. Well, jolly good, I suppose. I like to think we’re modern parents. Quodcumque te felicem faciat, id fac, and all that.’

‘What?’

‘Whatever makes you happy.’

‘That’s the issue,’ I say, adding an extra layer for Mum to chew on. ‘I mean, nothing happened beyond a kiss, but it’s left me very confused.’

‘Look, Athena,’ he says, suddenly sounding a lot more assured. ‘I’m sure it will come as no surprise to you if I tell you that I’m no expert on, umm, sapphic affairs of the heart, beyond knowing that the word derives from the ancient Greek poet Sappho of Lesbos, who wrote lyrical poetry about love between women. A fascinating character, actually, but I digress. The point is that I may be out of touch with the modern world in lots of ways, but I do know that my students wouldn’t bat an eyelid about sexual fluidity, if that’s the right phrase. I hear them talking and I swear some of them are gay on Monday, bisexual on Tuesday and then straight on Wednesday. And that’s just the cisgender ones.’

I can’t help laughing. ‘Hark at you, Dad,’ I tell him. ‘Latin and all the modern terminology all in the same conversation.’

‘Well, actually, cis and trans are ancient Latin prefixes. Cis, meaning “on the same side as” or “on this side of”, and trans, meaning “across” or “on the opposite side of”. And then “bi”, meaning—’ he starts, but then he must sense my distraction, because he stops, and huffs good-naturedly. ‘I’m not a total dinosaur, you know. And homosexuality is a total non-issue in today’s world, isn’t it? Everyone’s moved on from obsessing about that. I think it’s rather enlightened actually, and not as modern as some people would like to believe. As you know, homosexuality was a significant part of ancient Greek culture, and look what that produced. Amazing architecture, philosophy and science.’

‘To be fair, Dad, that was mainly homosexuality between older men and adolescents. I’m not sure how they were about the women getting up to it.’

He laughs. ‘Or maybe down to it, eh?’

‘Dad!’

‘Sorry. The point is that you shouldn’t feel any shame about being attracted to another person of the same gender. Maybe you’re one of those people to whom personality is more important than what they have, you know, down there. You’re living in an age of tolerance. If you’re going to explore, there’s no better time.’

This conversation hasn’t gone at all the way I expected it to. Far from being embarrassed and trying to get me off the phone as quickly as possible, Dad seems to be championing my non-existent sexual fluidity. I know Mum won’t feel the same way, but it seems I’ve inadvertently made things a lot more complicated. Dad will be disappointed if I don’t bring home a girlfriend now, and Mum would be devastated if I do. I mean, it’s pretty unlikely – I’m fairly certain of my sexuality – but there’s a part of me that would like to bring home another woman just to see what Mum did.

27

Whatever the rights and wrongs of it, my so-called confession to Dad has had the desired effect and got Mum off my case, for now at least. In fact, it’s been a reasonable week. Ian, my boss, passed on some very positive feedback from Sarah, and it seems Jeremiah is now head of the South African branch of the Athena fan club. So, although he was horrible at the start, I’m now feeling much more benevolent towards him and, through him, South Africa as a whole. Even the Nathan fiasco isn’t spoiling my positive view of the place, and I’m looking forward to going back at some point – without Nathan, obviously. But even I can’t deny the sense of regret I feel when I think that.

Still, I’m in pretty good spirits as I pull up outside Trudi and James’s house in Billericay. Although his parents are filthy rich and live in some sort of miniature stately home, they’ve always made it clear that James was expected to make his own way in the world and wouldn’t inherit a penny until his father died, at which time, he would take on the family estate. They’re hardly on the poverty line, though. Unlike many of his ‘toff’ friends in similar positions, James worked hard at school and left Oxford with a degree in economics and management, which then landed him a job in the city somewhere. Trudi has tried to explain it to me, but I’m afraid I still don’t completely understand it. It’s evidently well paid, though. You could fit my house several times into theirs. Trudi, not to be outdone, has carved herself a very lucrative career as an online influencer, reviewing kitchen gadgets. Not only does this mean that her kitchen is always crammed with all the latest ‘trending’ stuff, but their garage is also full of cardboard boxes containing items she hasn’t got around to reviewing yet. They hadn’t been in the house long before James’s Porsche was exiled to the driveway.

‘Athena!’ she squeals delightedly as she throws open the front door before I’ve even rung the doorbell. Of course, they would have one of those camera type ones, so she’s probably been sitting in the kitchen, watching the monitor for my arrival. I’m barely over the threshold before she’s wrapped me in a tight hug.

‘Oh, it’s so good to see you,’ she says as I breathe in the Jo Malone fragrance that’s become her trademark scent ever since she’s been able to afford it. It’s floral and slightly unusual, and it takes me a moment to remember what it is. English Pear and Sweetpea – that’s it.

‘It’s lovely to see you too,’ I reply as she slowly releases me. I haven’t seen her since the whirlwind proposal, but last-minute wedding planning obviously suits her if the way she looks is anything to go by. Her eyes are twinkling with joy, and her flawless skin seems almost radiant under her perfectly styled hair.

‘I absolutely adore your new look,’ she says, holding my cheeks and turning my head from side to side. ‘It really shows off your face. Did you know, your cheekbones are to die for? If there was anything that would motivate me to shed the weight, it would be having cheekbones like that.’ She pats her stomach. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t. So “plus size” it is.’

‘Who’s calling you plus size?’ I ask. Trudi is curvaceous, yes, but in no way overweight.

‘The wedding dress people. They’re actually charging me extra for the alterations, because they say they’ll need to put in extra material to make it go round my bust.’

‘Cheeky bastards!’ I exclaim. ‘I’d tell them where to stick their dress.’

‘I would too, if they weren’t the only people who could get it ready on time. It is a gorgeous dress, too. They’re taking the opportunity to do a fitting tomorrow while you get measured up for your bridesmaid’s dress, and I can’t wait to show it to you. Now, glass of wine? James is taking the process of choosing wine for the reception very seriously, so we’re swimming in the stuff.’

‘That sounds perfect, thank you.’

I follow her through to the kitchen, which looks more like a studio because there are lights on stands and cameras on tripods all pointing at the central island, where an unidentifiable chrome contraption is sitting in pride of place.

‘Pay no attention to that,’ she says breezily, flinging open the fridge door to reveal an impressive array of bottles. ‘I’ve been filming today and haven’t got around to clearing up. I thought we’d order in tonight, if that’s OK with you. James is at a work do and won’t be back until late, so it’s just the two of us.’ She picks three bottles from the fridge and squints at the labels. ‘Chablis, Sauvignon Blanc or Viognier? You’ll have to try all three at some point while you’re here as this is our white wine shortlist.’

‘Umm, Sauvignon Blanc, please.’