A Wild Affair (18 page)

My mother looked at me in surprise. “What?”

“A hundred thousand. That's how much you owe?”

She turned and shook her head. “No, darling. Please don't. I couldn't. I really …”

“You can,” I said flatly. “And you will.”

“Yes, but please, darling. I don't want your money. I don't want to owe you.”

“You didn't want a bloody great scar but you got that, didn't you?” I finished writing the check and gave it to her. “Pay them off. Pay them all off. Okay? For me. I'll sleep better at night. I want you to have it.”

For a moment she did nothing. Then, eventually, she took the check and put it in her bag.

“I can't believe I created something so … good,” she said, a tear glistening in her eye. “So unlike me.”

I looked at her searchingly “You're not a bad person,” I said quietly.

She smiled. “Not bad, no, Jessica. But I'm not strong like you. Not like you. You … you really seem to know where you're going, to know who you are. I'm really rather envious, if I'm honest.”

I pretended to look incredulous, but really I was glowing inside.

“But darling,” she continued seriously. “Are you sure about the money? You really don't have to. I'll find a way out of this little predicament. I'm very good at it. I've had a lifetime of practice, you see.”

I nodded firmly. “It's yours,” I said. “I don't know what to do with it all anyway.”

She looked at me for a few seconds; then she shrugged. “Well, in that case, I'm glad to help.” She smiled.

I found myself smiling, too. “Look,” I said tentatively. “Maybe after this we could go and get a drink. Have a meal—-just the two of us. What do you think? We could talk. Properly talk.”

“Just the two of us?”

I nodded. “If you want …”

“I do want, very much,” my mother said, squeezing my arm.
“Thank you Jessica. You really are the best daughter a mother could wish for.”

“I am?” I turned away my cheeks hot all of a sudden. I was the best daughter. My mother said I was the best daughter she could wish for. I felt excited, as if I wanted to hug her. I mean, sure, she wasn't perfect. But then who was? And did it really matter? What was important was that she was here, now. What was important was that I made the best of it, that we gave it our best shot.

I moved tentatively toward her, opened my arms to embrace her, but as I did the door swung open and my arms fell back to my sides just as Helen appeared.

“Oh wow,” she said. “Oh wow, that was amazing. God, I want to move into this place. Do you think they rent out those treatment rooms?” She sank down onto a bench, a blissful smile on her face, then looked up at us. “Tell me you enjoyed yours as much. You had to, right? I mean, this place is like heaven. Better than heaven.”

“Ivana taught her therapist how to massage properly,” I said, deadpan, catching my mother's eyes and smiling. Helen's eyes widened, then she grinned. “Of course she did. And you?”

“Good treatment,” I nodded. “She … got into my knots. You know.” Again I looked at my mother. My mother. It felt real for the first time. I couldn't wait to be alone with her, to ask her all the questions that suddenly filled my head, to get to know her, properly.

“I surely do.” Helen sighed. “Do we really have to leave?”

“ ’Fraid so,” I said regretfully, taking my clothes out of my locker and pulling them on. My mother, meanwhile, had wandered over to take a shower, ignoring Helen's protests that she was meant to let the oils sink in overnight.

I got ready quickly, my mind racing as I pulled on my jeans,
put on my T-shirt. My mother and I were going to talk. Properly. I took out my phone and sent Max a text to let him know, then I started to think through all the things I wanted to ask her, all the things I wanted to tell her. My mother had a long shower, spent an age blow-drying her hair, then spent another age putting on her makeup. Every few minutes, her phone, which was next to me on top of her crumpled bathrobe, would vibrate. But I didn't mind. So she was popular—why shouldn't she be? She was my mother. And I couldn't be prouder.

Eventually, she emerged from the shower room, wrapped in a skimpy towel.

“So,” I said, as she started to get dressed. “Where shall we go?”

“Ooh, are we going out? There's this fab bar around the corner,” Helen said immediately. “Kind of underground. Great music.”

I smiled uncertainly. “Actually, it's just me and my mum,” I said apologetically. “We were going to grab some food.” I looked over at my mother, but she had her phone clamped to her ear and was laughing softly. Eventually she put it down. “So,” I said again. “Where do you want to go to eat?”

“Eat?” she asked.

I nodded. “Or drink. Apparently there's a nice bar around the corner Helen knows,” I said. “We could go there first and then maybe find somewhere … What?” I frowned, catching her expression. “What is it?”

She took a deep breath. “Darling, I wonder, would you mind terribly if we postponed our little drink? I mean, I would love to, really love to spend the evening with you. But Chester has been texting me all day and he's just begged me to have dinner with him. I don't want to let him down, darling. You understand, don't you? Don't you, Jessica?”

I looked at her strangely. Was this a joke? Was she kidding me?

“Would I … mind?” I asked.

“You know I wouldn't ask unless … It's just that I think this might be important. That he might be important. I have a feeling about Chester, darling.”

“You have a feeling about him?” I felt my stomach clench. “A feeling that makes him more important than me?”

“Not more important,” she said, shaking her head emphatically. “Of course not. No one is more important than you. But Chester … he could be my … this could lead to … I have to think about the future, Jessica. I have to do that. You understand, don't you? Tell me you understand?”

“Sure,” I said lightly, trying not to let the fact that my world was crumbling inward show. “Sure, I understand completely.”

And I did, too. My mother didn't love me. She'd never wanted me. What she loved was men and money. Now she had money and all she needed was some arm candy to set it off. I'd been a mug. I'd been a pathetic loser, believing all her crap and thinking that she'd changed. But people didn't change. If I'd learned one thing in my life, it was that people never changed.

As we left the Sanctuary, trooping through the gift shop and out into the street, I could barely bring myself to look at my mother—I could feel her shooting little glances my way, but I just stared ahead resolutely.

Helen grabbed my hand. “Why don't the three of us still have that drink? Retox after all that detoxing?”

But before I could answer, a car drew up. A plush, expensive-looking car with tinted windows. A car I recognized.

“Chester?” The door opened, and his familiar face appeared. “Hey Jess. Hey Esther.”

His face lit up when he saw her and I looked away angrily.

“Chester, darling. You didn't have to come. I told you I could take a cab.”

“Leave you to the mercies of a London cabbie? I don't think so,” Chester said warmly. “So Jess, can I drive you anywhere? Drop you home?”

“No.” I shook my head. “No. My friends and I—we're going for a drink actually.”

“Oh, Jessica, let us drive you somewhere. Please,” my mother said, looking back at me hopefully as she got into the passenger seat.

I shook my head.

“You're sure?” Chester asked.

I nodded tightly. “Very.”

I heard one of the car doors opening and my mother got out, running back toward me. “You're not cross? Please don't be cross, Jessica,” she said, trying to take my arm. “Please understand …”

“I understand that you got what you came for,” I said icily, moving my arm away.

“I'm sorry?” My mother looked at me perplexed.

“The money. That's what you wanted. Now you've got it, so you don't have to pretend to love me anymore. Go. Go out with Chester, I don't care.”

“No, Jessica …,” she said, her lip trembling. “It's not true. I'll give you the money back if you want.” She started to rummage around in her bag but I walked away.

“Keep it,” I said flatly. “Like you said, you know how to look after yourself. Bye, Mum. See you around.”

I refused to turn back to look at her, fighting back tears.

“Well, enjoy!” I heard Chester shout; seconds later they were driving off into the night.

“So, drinks,” Helen said immediately. Then she caught my expression. “Jess? You okay?”

“I'm fine,” I said bitterly. “My mother chose a date over a drink with her daughter, but I'm fine.”

Ivana shot me a long look. “What?” I demanded. “What now? You think she went because I'm not showing enough cleavage? Because I'm not like you? Is that it?”

She blanched slightly, then her face resumed its usual look of feigned boredom. She moved closer.

“Is not about cleavage,” she said.

“Great. Thanks. That's a relief to know,” I said gruffly. “So this time you'll actually concede that everything isn't entirely my fault?”

I didn't know why I was taking it out on her; it wasn't her fault either.

“Is not your fault, no,” Ivana said, a slightly icy tone to her voice. “But mebe you think a little bit more about others, huh?”

My face wrinkled in confusion. “What? What are you talking about?”

“You think is easy,” she said, her eyes boring into me. “You think everyone have what you have—good job, friends, now fiancé. But is not easy. Some peple have only one thing. They no have job or friends. They nid stick to what they know. Otherwise it all go, yes?”

I raised my eyebrows uncomprehendingly “Ivana, what are you talking about?”

“Your mother,” Ivana said levelly “is like me. She good with men. She not good other things. We stick to what we know. Is better. Is better for everyone. And now, I hef to work. I em late already.”

She stalked off, leaving me staring after her in total bemusement.

Helen caught my expression and shrugged. “God knows what that was all about. Okay, Jess, looks like it's just you and me.”

I turned around. “Actually, I think I might go home. I want to talk to Max.”

Helen frowned. “About what? Can't it wait?”

“No.” I shook my head and sniffed. “I'm going to tell him. About Hugh. He has to know.”

“Why?” Helen asked incredulously.

“Because I think people should be honest.”

“Are you mad?” Helen's eyebrows shot up. “Honesty sucks. Honesty hurts people.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But people prefer the truth. It's always best.”

“No, it isn't,” Helen said firmly. “What's this all about, Jess?”

“Max and I trust each other,” I said stubbornly. “I'm not the sort of person who keeps secrets. I'm not the sort of person who lies and lets people down.” I could feel tears pricking at my eyes.
I'm not her
, I wanted to shout.
I'm different from my mother. I couldn't be more different
.

“And you're not the sort of person to upset people unnecessarily. Think about it, Jess. What will you achieve? Nothing, that's what. You'll hurt Max and all so you can feel a bit better. Don't be stupid. Don't do something you'll regret.”

“That's just the point. I already have,” I said flatly. “Anyway, my therapist thought I should tell him.”

“Your therapist? Since when are you in therapy?”

“No, my therapist here. Louise. The girl who gave me a massage.”

“You're taking the advice of a
massage therapist?”
Helen rolled her eyes. “Listen to me, Jess. You tell him nothing. You marry him. End of story, okay? There's been enough drama lately. Trust me, he doesn't need to know. He doesn't want to know. No good can come of telling him. Okay?” She turned around and took my hands, looking into my eyes. “Okay?”

I held her gaze for a few seconds, then looked down. She was right. Of course she was right. I was angry with my mother, that's all. Very angry, as it happened. “Fine,” I relented. “Whatever.”

“So, drink?” Helen asked, eyebrows raised.

I shook my head. “I'm still going to go home,” I said with a sigh. “But don't worry, I won't say anything.”

“You'd better not,” she said firmly, waving as she walked away. “I went through hell getting you down the aisle the first time,” she called. “You're not wrecking things for a second time.”

I DECIDED THAT HELEN was right. There was no point talking to Max, and certainly no point letting my mother ruin my life any more than she'd managed already. Sure, she kept texting me and trying to arrange that drink we “postponed,” but I just ignored her. I was going to get married and I was going to be happy. End of story I could forget about my mother, and I could forget about Hugh, too. Pretend I'd imagined the whole thing.

So for the next few weeks, whenever Chester started talking moonily about “that wonderful woman,” I just smiled tightly and pretended he was talking about some complete stranger. And whenever she swept into the office on his arm, looking like a giddy teenager and making a beeline for me just so she could twitter on about how proud she was of me and to tell me about their intoxicating romance, I did my very best to smile and pretend she was just some woman I'd met and didn't care about in the slightest.