Page 27 of How We Began

24th October

I was Mum’d.

“Oh, Darling, where on earth have you been? Daddy and I have been frightfully worried about you!”

I automatically grabbed my packet of cigarettes and opened my window wide. No conversation with Mum is complete without the addition of nicotine.

My eyes rolled back in my head as I replied. “Well, it’s been weeks. You can’t have been that worried.”

“Tish tosh, Lilah, don’t be difficult!”

“Okay. I’m busy studying. Did you want something?” I wasn’t really studying. I was in my room, alone, wondering how long is an appropriate amount of time before I knocked on Ben’s door.

“Now, now, Darling, don’t be like that. Shall we do a little bite for lunch on Saturday? My treat. Let’s say Harvey Nics at noon.”

“Um—”

“Lovely! Ciao, Darling. See you then.”

And then she was gone.

Mum, I’m now realising, is a rare breed of woman who thinks that anything in life can be fixed by lunch at Harvey Nics and a quick spin around Harrods. I am not exaggerating. There was a rumour once that Dad had participated in a bit of office hanky panky. Instead of freaking out and shouting like a normal woman, Mum just took the American Express to Harrods and killed it. She didn’t just kill the card, she buried it six feet under and danced on the grave.

Still, lunch with Mum is always a bit of a laugh. Well, it’s free for a start. And it always involves a tanker-load of gin and tonic.

I put a quick call in to Tristan after speaking to Mum, because he’s a grass and I needed to know what he’s been saying. “Have you been blabbing to Mum?” I demanded.

“Nope.”

“If you have, I’ll cut your balls off.”

“Jeez, calm down.”

“Is Meredith there?”

“Um, yes.”

“Ask her if she wants to come to lunch with Mum.”

“I don’t think that is such a great idea.”

“Why?”

“Mum might scare her off.”

I laughed, more of a snort. If anyone could pour cold water over Meredith’s newly founded love affair with Tristan it would be my mother. “Hand the phone over, Trist. Look at it as a test of your commitment to each other.”

“You’re a downright bitch,” he growled back at me before handing over the phone to Meredith, coving the mouthpiece for a moment while he whispered to her.

“Fancy gin for lunch at the weekend?” I asked when she’d wrestled the phone from Trist’s unwilling grasp.

“Has anyone ever said they don’t want gin for lunch?” Mer said.

“Not in my family, no.”

When I hung up on Meredith, I knew full well that Tristan would be giving her the McCannon rundown. I don’t blame him really. Mum and I have always had a strained relationship. I just don’t get her. There are no two ways about it.

The simple fact is, I don’t understand how she can be happy swanning around the house all day, so bored that she starts drinking gin at noon, pretending to be an upstanding member of the community with her charity work. How is she satisfied with that?