Beautiful Broken Things(Beautiful Broken Things #1)(30)

‘Do you think they’re talking about us?’ I asked.

‘Undoubtedly,’ Suzanne replied. She picked up a lemon from the box and sniffed it. ‘Waxed or unwaxed?’

‘What’s the difference?’

‘Isn’t the clue in the name?’ She held out two bags for me, one in each hand. I selected the unwaxed ones. ‘Have you spoken to Roz today? Did she tell you what happened in PE?’

When I said no, she launched into a complicated story I couldn’t really follow that involved trampolines and an overenthusiastic somersault attempt. I watched her face as she spoke, searching for a trace of the previous weekend’s sadness. There was none.

We meandered companionably around the supermarket for a while longer before finding my mother and Sarah in the frozen section. They were pushing their trolleys side by side, still deep in conversation. When they saw us, they stopped talking abruptly. Sarah looked a little guilty, while Mum wore a look of earnest sympathy. I knew this face. I called it her Samaritans Face.

Suzanne’s cheerful expression faltered a little, clearly having spotted The Face and being all too familiar with what it meant. She shot Sarah a brief, sullen look and dropped the bags of pasta and rice she’d been holding into the trolley, which was much emptier than Mum’s.

‘Ready to go, love?’ Mum asked me, seemingly oblivious. She took the lemons from me and placed them on top of a packet of dishtowels.

I nodded, watching Suzanne paste a smile back on to her face as she turned to me. ‘See you later?’

‘Yeah, maybe this weekend?’

She nodded. ‘I’ll text you.’ She leaned over and hugged me, which was new, but nice.

Mum didn’t say much until we were out of the supermarket and heading towards the car. Then it began.

‘I had a lovely chat with Sarah,’ she said, manoeuvring the trolley around an ineptly parked car. ‘She seems like a lovely person.’ The double use of lovely meant she must really be impressed. ‘And I must say, what a saint – taking on Suzanne.’ She stopped at the car, keys already in hand, and opened the boot.

I felt my forehead crease. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I mean, teenagers are hard enough work as it is –’ Mum shot me a pointed look at this, beginning to load the bags into the car – ‘but factor in the situation here and . . . well, it’s a lot to take on, I’m sure.’

‘It’s probably worse for Suzanne,’ I said flatly.

‘Perhaps,’ Mum said, only fanning my growing annoyance. ‘Take the trolley back will you, love?’

When I returned to the car and slid into the passenger seat, clicking the seat belt into place, Mum continued where she’d left off.

‘I hope she’s getting regular counselling.’ She adjusted her seat and tapped her keys gently against the steering wheel. She looked at me. ‘Is she getting regular counselling?’

‘How would I know?’ I pulled my elbow up against the window frame and slouched a little in my seat.

‘There’s no need to take that tone.’ Mum reached over and straightened my seat belt, which had twisted near my shoulder. ‘I could recommend some fantastic therapists who work with teenagers. You should find out for sure.’

Like I was really going to ask my friend if she was having counselling, for God’s sake.

‘OK, I’ll try,’ I said.

‘How does she seem to you?’ Mum asked, oblivious to my sarcasm. ‘Does she seem like she’s coping well?’

‘She’s fine, Mum,’ I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. ‘Can we go home now?’

‘I’d be surprised if that were the case,’ Mum said, making no move to put the keys in the ignition. ‘Growing up in that kind of environment, it has a profound effect. Children rarely pass through their teenage years unscathed.’

Are you a therapist now? I wanted to say. I so wanted to say it.

‘And this can have a negative impact on their relationships,’ she continued. ‘I did wonder if there was something strained about how she and Sarah were with each other.’

As opposed to what? How relaxed and open Mum and I were right this moment?

‘Can we please go home?’

Mum ignored me. She was sat back in her seat, fiddling with her keys, her head tilted slightly upward, eyes on the ceiling. She seemed like she was thinking hard, and she didn’t say anything for at least a minute.

‘I hope you’ll be careful in your friendship with her,’ she said finally, delicately.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Damaged people—’

‘Mum! You can’t say things like that!’

‘I’m trying to be frank with you,’ Mum said, raising her hand to indicate she had more to say. ‘And yes, it is upsetting and unfair, and I certainly don’t want you using the term in front of her, but it’s important that you recognize what damage has been done to her. And what effect that could have on your friendship and the way you interact.’

My face felt hot, and a big part of me wanted to get out of the car and bolt, just to get away from her. There was something horrible about what she was saying, and she either didn’t recognize it or just didn’t care.

‘My priority is you,’ Mum said. ‘I worry about what effect this will have on you. People in pain can be very self-destructive. And sometimes they pull in the people who are close to them, often without realizing.’