The Other Woman(36)

I can’t recall another word being said until we got home, when he put his key in the front door and said, ‘You’re drunk. Go upstairs and sort yourself out.’

Yes, I was tipsy, I’d had one or two more than I should have, but I didn’t say anything I didn’t want to say. Had I been more sober, I would have perhaps approached it in a slightly different way, but it was what it was, and I didn’t regret it. The only part of it that stung was that, once again, I’d been made to look like the bad guy, whilst she remained firmly on her throne.





17

It took three days for Adam to talk to me, bar saying, ‘Excuse me’, as we met each other coming in and out of the bathroom. And when the ice was finally broken, there was no big sit-down heart-to-heart, which is what we so desperately needed, it was, ‘What do you want to do for dinner tonight?’

‘I don’t mind. Fancy a takeaway?’

‘Okay, then. Indian or Chinese?’

And so, we were at least back on speaking terms. I wasn’t intending to apologize to him, and it seemed he wasn’t prepared to apologize to me, so we were right back where we started.

We exchanged pleasantries as we ate, but it felt awkward, like two strangers meeting on a blind date. His eyes never left his chicken chow mein for fear of them meeting mine.

‘So, how’s Jason doing at work?’ I asked. I was more interested in how the new girl, Rebecca, was getting on, but it felt too risky a subject to bring up, so I settled for the safe option.

‘Yeah, he’s okay,’ he said. ‘He seems to have upped his game, so we’ll see. And Ryan? How’s he doing?’

‘Better, thankfully. He’s a good kid, and I think he’s got real potential, but he’s young and can’t quite see it yet. It’s a shame because I think they might get rid of him before we see what he’s capable of.’

A silence stretched out between us as we both contemplated what to say next.

‘So, what’s going to happen with Mum, then?’ he asked.

The question blindsided me. I wasn’t expecting him to go there and, despite my best efforts, I felt my mouth drop open.

‘Because clearly something has got to shift. I can’t go on with things the way they are between you. You’ve obviously got an issue with her – or is it an issue with yourself? Is it that she just brings out the worst in you?’

I sighed heavily.

‘You can’t deny that something’s going on,’ he continued. ‘You seem so tense whenever she’s around, or even when she comes up in conversation. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells whenever her name’s mentioned. You make me feel bad for wanting to see her, or even talk to her.’

‘You don’t see how she is,’ I offered meekly.

‘But I’ve never seen or heard her be anything other than perfectly civil to you. Why wouldn’t she be? She thinks you’re great. She always has.’

‘You just don’t get it.’

He pushed his plate away and folded his arms on the table. ‘Well, explain it to me, then. She’s always looked out for you, hasn’t she? Made you feel part of the family?’

I let out a small laugh. It wasn’t meant to sound sarcastic, but that’s how it came out.

He groaned. ‘See, there you go again. What exactly is the problem?’

I didn’t know how to explain it to myself, let alone to him, without it coming across as petty.

‘Okay, so I’ll give you an example.’ I racked my brain for an easy one, but nothing was forthcoming. ‘Erm . . .’

He politely stayed quiet while I thought, but I was beginning to feel like a fraud.

‘Okay, so how about last Sunday, at lunch in the fish restaurant?’

‘Christ, how can I forget that? You completely showed us up.’

I took a deep breath. I needed to keep my cool. I needed to explain myself eloquently and succinctly to have any hope of him understanding where I was coming from.

‘So, she made an unpleasant comment about my weight as soon as she got there.’ I cringed as I said it. I sounded like a schoolgirl.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Em. Are you serious? Isn’t that what most mothers do? Is that the extent of what we’re talking about here?’

I smiled as I thought of my mum, who berated me for asking for seconds, yet pushed me when I didn’t. But then I pulled myself up. Pammie was not my mother.

‘At your party, she lined everybody up for the family photo, and asked me to take it.’ I really wanted to tell him that I thought she’d faked her fainting fit, but if I was wrong he’d never talk to me again, and there was no way of ever proving me right.

He looked at me blankly. ‘And?’

‘Well, I wasn’t in it.’

‘It was a photo.’ He looked at me incredulously. ‘There was lots going on, loads of people there . . . I’m sure there were other family members that were left out, but it wouldn’t have been intentional.’

‘But she asked me to take it,’ I said, already feeling defeated.

‘You’re bigger than this, surely?’ he questioned. ‘Even if Mum has her little foibles – and believe me, I know she has them – are you not better to rise above it? So that we can get on with our lives, rather than you making a meal out of everything she says or does? And I’m not being funny, Em, but you make it sound as if she’s got some kind of vendetta against you. She’s over sixty years old, for Christ’s sake. What do you think she’s going to do? Run after you and batter you to death with her umbrella?’