Page 85 of The Highland Fling

“Roses? Really? I told you to stay away from my daughter.”

I freeze. What the . . . ?

Softly I pad closer, my heart thumping.

“You’re making this harder for her than it needs to be. She’s going to call you tomorrow to break up with you, so please let that be the end of this madness.”

“Mum?” I enter the living room and stare at her in horror. “Who are you talking to?”

I know the answer, of course, but I’m so shocked I’m not sure what else to say.

Her eyes bulge, and she hurriedly jabs the end-call button. “Oh, Grace, I thought you’d left. I was just—”

“Was that Aidan?” My voice wavers. “What do you mean, you told him to stay away from me?”

I recall Aidan’s last visit, and my stomach churns. He’d been desperate to talk with me about something. In the hotel room, he’d mentioned being hesitant to “bad-mouth” my mum, and I’d taken great objection to that. I didn’t let him explain but instead left abruptly, although not before telling him I needed some time away from him.

Now, though, I can guess what Aidan wanted to speak with me about. I can scarcely believe Mum has been sticking her nose in and meddling in things behind my back, but given how she’s always been, I should have seen it coming.

She’s still not answered me, although I’m sure her thoughts are racing, trying to figure out how she can come out of this on top.

“What the hell is going on?” I demand.

“Now, Grace, take a seat and let’s discuss this in a civil manner. I won’t have you raising your voice at me in my own home.”

“Are you being serious?” My volume increases considerably. “Are you honestly trying to tell me off?”

“All I’ve been doing is looking out for you. You’ve got a baby on the way! When you and David flew back after Christmas, you were talking about leaving your job—leaving your life here—for some . . . outdoor instructor, and one who likes to sleep around. Well, I’m not having that!”

I inhale sharply. “Why do you think you have any right to make decisions on my behalf?”

“Because I know how hard it is to be a single mother! I’ve been through what you’re about to go through. You’ll need support, Grace. This isn’t the time to leave London for a man who’s obviously going to be unfaithful to you and who’ll break your heart before the year is out.”

I can’t believe this, and Mum still isn’t done.

“Mark—now he was husband material. He had a great job and excellent prospects. He’d have given you a good, stable life, but for some reason I will never understand, you left him!”

“Mark?” I howl, anger consuming me. “Mark? The man who barely gave a damn about me? Who treated me as his maid—as someone whose main purpose was to tidy up after him and make him his dinner? Mark, who wanted to have an open relationship with me, so he could screw other women while I was ironing his shirts? You’d rather I’d stayed with him? Seriously, Mum?”

For once, she’s lost for words, her eyes wide. “I . . . I had no idea Mark was like that.”

“Well, he was! And . . . and . . . oh, what a fool I’ve been!” I pace, my hands on my head. “When I was growing up, you were forever sticking your nose in my business. When I finally moved out, I felt such freedom, but then I met Mark, and I gave up that freedom in return for . . . so very little. It took me a long time to realise I deserved so much more than what he was offering me. I vowed I’d never again get myself into that situation, that I’d always put my own needs first, and yet look at me! I’ve fallen right back into the old trap.

“Here I am with you, Mum, when up in Bannock is a man who loves me. And I’ve been ignoring him—I’d even talked myself into breaking up with him. But that’s thanks to you, isn’t it? You’ve been putting doubts into my head and subtly steering me to do what you believe is best. I could maybe forgive that—you’re entitled to your opinion, I suppose—but contacting Aidan behind my back? No, that’s unacceptable. You have no right to be that meddlesome.

“I realise you don’t think much of Aidan, but I do. He’s a good man, Mum. I . . . I have to go.” I turn and hurry away.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Mum calls after me. “I didn’t know about Mark, but—”

I yank the front door open and storm out of the house. Mum rushes to tug on shoes and grab a coat, but finally a bit of luck: a black cab is approaching, and it’s free. I wave it down.

“Grace Adefope, come back here!”

Ignoring her, I get in the taxi.

The driver—a middle-aged man with a thick moustache—turns to me. “Where to?”

“I’m not sure yet, but just go, please. I’ll figure out a destination later.”