Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“He’s thirty-five. Just ten years older than me. Dad’s twenty years older than you.”
Mum ignores my defensive retort. “So Daddy Dearest has laid down his demands, I expect.” She can’t mention my father without a bucket load of venom in her tone.
“He says Jake’s no good for me. He thinks that because he was relieved of duty in the SAS, he’s a failure.”
Mum hisses. “Ooh, your father is immune to failure.” Every word is laced with sarcasm. “Where’s Jake now?”
I’m unwilling to admit that I don’t know, so I explain everything that happened at Jake’s apartment instead. The sympathy on her face when I finish is too much to bear. Tears pinch at the back of my eyes. “Why is he doing this?” I whisper hopelessly.
She sighs and leans forward, pouring each of us a cup of tea in her posh china. “Because he is a narcissistic control freak. That’s why, sweetie pie.”
“Why did you marry him, Mum?” I ask the question outright for the first time ever. It’s a desperate search for something to redeem him. Something to make him less ugly to me right now. But I know I’m searching in vain.
“I was young.” She says it wistfully, but for the first time I see true regret lingering beyond the mask she wears. Not regret for marrying such an arsehole, but regret because her life has passed her by and, besides me, all she has to show for it is a posh apartment in Kensington. She’s hasn’t found another love. She’s as bitter and twisted as the rest of the divorcees she keeps company with. “Plus TJ was just a boy, his mother gone after your father forced the poor girl back to Russia. Someone needed to instill some humanity into him before he turned into his father completely.”
I smile at my mum’s rare display of a maternal side.
“And look what thanks I got.” She laughs. “Disposed of for that child-wife of his! And the moment I remarry, your father will cease all spousal payments. I barely survive on the peanuts he throws my way now.”
I could laugh. Peanuts in Mum’s eyes would probably keep a small village alive for a lifetime. “You don’t have to remarry,” I point out. “Just date.”
“There’s not a man on earth who could survive me.” She chucks my chin and stands, brushing her skirt down. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up. You’re making the place look untidy.”
I laugh lightly, not in disbelief because of her cheek, but because this is my mum, and despite her being overbearing and a total snob, I love her dearly. “What am I going to do?” I ask, rising to my feet as I set the china cup down.
“Well, before you do anything you’re going to clean yourself up.” She looks at me and tuts her dismay. “No woman can conquer the world if she isn’t looking her best.” Reaching forward, she brushes a stray tendril of my hair away. “I’ll have my driver pop over to your apartment and collect some things for you.”
“No!” I blurt, making her recoil. “Dad might be there. He’ll know I’m here if he sees your driver dropping by.”
“Then what am I supposed to do with you?” She indicates up and down my tatty form. “I can’t leave you looking like this.”
“I don’t know,” I admit, immune to the offense I should be feeling.
She huffs and wanders out to the hallway. “I’ll call Harvey Nic’s and have them pick out some things for you. My driver can pick them up. Use the pink guest room, sweetie pie. There’s a robe on the back of the door.”
She disappears and I let my whole body deflate a little, exhausted after a particularly strong dose of my mother. God, I feel even more drained.
Once I’ve taken a moment to muster the energy, I make my way to the pink guest room, wincing at the chintzy décor as I pass through to the bathroom. And then I’m shielding my eyes when I arrive in the en suite. It’s like King Midas has been let loose. Everywhere I turn, there’s gold glaring at me—the bath, the taps, the shower frame, the toilet seat. This is the spare bathroom. It’s ridiculously ostentatious, and completely my mother.
After showering and wrapping my hair and body in a towel, I wander into the pink room and see a Harvey Nic’s bag waiting on the bed for me. With a little trepidation, I pad over and take a cautious peek inside. My mother ordered these clothes. This could be disastrous. The first thing I spot are some lacy knickers and a matching bra and, pleasantly surprised, I pull them out and smile when I see the brand. I modeled for this range. Mum knows this.
“Perfect,” I say, now not afraid to delve deeper. I get a rush of warmth knowing Mother keeps up with my career, next pulling out an oversized black T-shirt dress, totally me, followed by a pair of cute Dune ballet flats. Collecting it all up, I pivot…