Fauxmance (Showmance #2)(83)

On the outside world, Mum had been a wreck. In here, she had peace, a routine, predictability. It was the only way I knew to keep her safe.

When I reached her room, I stopped a moment to mentally prepare myself. I did this every time. Took a deep breath, steeled myself just in case she wasn’t feeling well. And when Mum didn’t feel well, she took it out on whoever was around her.

I knocked on the door and waited. A second later a quiet voice called, “Come in.”

I stepped inside and found her sitting by the window, a word search on her lap. Her hair looked washed and her eyes bright. My tension eased. She was having a good day, thank Christ.

“Hi, Mum,” I greeted and went to set the bag of goodies on the table. I always brought the same thing; gossip magazines, chocolate, and the expensive coffee pods she liked. Last Christmas, I’d gotten her a Nespresso machine and it was her new favourite thing. She said it tasted just like the stuff you got at fancy cafés.

“Your hair’s grown longer,” she commented, eyeing me with the tip of her pen in her mouth. She chewed on it a moment.

I ran my hand through my hair. She was right. It had gotten longer. “Definitely needs a cut.”

She scoffed. “Bet you think you look like Jim Morrison.”

“That’s one person I’ve never been mistaken for, Mum.”

“Hush, for a second. I’m trying to concentrate.”

I shut my mouth and looked out the window while she circled a word she just found. Mum had a view of the courtyard garden. There was a woman sitting on a bench with a tiny dog on her lap.

“They let you have pets here?” I asked.

Mum rolled her eyes. “You talking about Maureen over there?” she said, eyeing the woman outside. I nodded. “Not everyone’s allowed. You need to have perfect behaviour.”

“And you don’t?”

She huffed a sigh. “I could have a pet if I wanted, but I’m not interested. Maureen spends half the day picking up poo. And the stupid thing barks constantly. Does my head in.”

“You never did like animals,” I said in agreement.

She eyed me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that I never had a pet growing up.”

“You survived, didn’t you? Anyway, pets are overrated.”

A silence fell, and Mum went back to her word search. I made us both some coffee and set a cup down in front of her. “Thanks,” she said, eyeing me warily.

Mum saying thanks was a big deal. Most of the time she just accepted stuff without talking, like I owed her for the simple fact she brought me into the world.

I retook my seat and noticed her still watching me. “What’s going on with you?” she questioned.

Quite like her thanks, Mum asking questions about me was also unusual. She knew what I did for a living, but since it paid for her life here at Montrose, she rarely mentioned it.

I decided to hell with it. I was going to answer honestly. Maybe it would shock her out of her indifference. “I think I might’ve fallen in love with someone.”

Her brow ticked upward ever so slightly. “Other than yourself? I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

“Yes, Mum. I fell for someone other than myself. Big shocker.”

Mum thought that because I bought expensive clothes, took care of myself, and lived a somewhat luxurious life that I was inherently vain and selfish. I think it suited her better than to accept the reality that I was sensitive, that I had feelings and could bleed just like everyone else.

Still, she appeared curious, her attention wandering over me, her word search forgotten. “Is she one of those women, the ones who pay money for you to chauffeur them around?”

‘Chauffeur them around’ was Mum’s code for ‘shag them senseless’.

“No, she isn’t one of those women.”

She was quiet, then said, “And how does she feel about you…you know, spreading it around like that?”

“I don’t spread anything around.”

She waved a hand through the air. “You know what I mean.”

“She never judged me for what I do for a living, if that’s what you’re asking. But if you must know, I’m not doing that anymore anyway.”

She sat a little straighter, probably because me not working equalled to her not having her expenses paid to live here. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I can still afford to pay for this place.”

Mum sniffed and folded her arms. “So, this woman, you gave up whoring yourself for her?”

Normally she wasn’t so blunt. Mum had an infinite number of ways to describe prostitution without actually saying the words. “No, I didn’t give it up for her, but I did give it up because of her.”

Mum was quiet again. She appeared to be thinking, so I drank my coffee and let her think.

“Since you’re here, telling me your woes, I’m guessing things didn’t work out in the end.”

My expression was solemn. “Unfortunately, when it comes to love I’ve inherited your bad luck.”

She grunted and looked away. “More trouble than it’s worth.”

For once, she was right. Loving people was more trouble it was worth, and Mum was a shining example of that. I loved her to my detriment because she was my mum and I’d never get another. I loved her even though almost all of her decisions ended up hurting me.