My toes were crushed after walking up the steps. Rob opened the door and gave me a big hug.
‘You look gorgeous,’ he said, making me light up inside and out. There was classical music playing, candles flickering on a side table, and a delicious smell of home-cooking.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ I lifted my head for a kiss.
He took my face in his hands and kissed me softly.
When we parted, I paused to take in my surroundings: everything was cream, white, and glossy – it was a well looked after, tasteful home. ‘Nice pad. I can’t wait to see all the embarrassing photos of you growing up.’ I scoured the hall table.
‘Quick update,’ he whispered, looking over his shoulder. ‘Dan’s here, but Florence isn’t. Not quite sure why, but I don’t think things are going well right now. He doesn’t want to talk about it – not around Mum, anyway. If she starts to dig, we’ll change the subject. She used to be a therapist, remember. Mum loves relationship problems – if there is a problem, I’m not even sure. Anyway, families, hey? Go with the flow, like you always do… Do you mind taking off your shoes? Mum’s got a thing about shoes indoors.’
It was great to see Dan again, he was such a friendly, easy-going guy who instantly made me feel at ease, and the brothers were sweet and attentive to their mum. They loved her to bits, it was clear to see, and Marian was the kind of woman who relished the attention from her ‘two beautiful boys’. It was heart-warming to witness such stability compared with the uneven keel I felt between my sister and me, in my parents’ eyes. She being the perfect one and I being the one who worked in fashion and was, therefore, certifiably ‘bonkers’. Marian was well groomed, with blow-dried brown hair, good make-up, and what looked like a very real Chanel twinset. I felt glad I’d made an effort with my appearance, though she wasn’t the kind to compliment me on it.
Maybe it was because Marian had never had a daughter, or perhaps it was just the way she was, but it quickly became clear that she found it hard to relax around her son’s girl-friends – this one in particular. She eyed me with the kind of cynicism of a Gogglebox family watching TV.
‘So, tell me about your work, Amber – it might not be worthy, but it sounds terribly thrilling, from what I’ve heard. You style celebrities, right?’
I was taken aback by the ‘not worthy’ dig. Would she prefer me to work for Christian Aid?
Rob gave me a look that said, ‘let it go’.
‘Well, I did work with famous people,’ I replied. ‘But these days I style dummies for the shop windows at Selfridges and, to be honest, the fact they can’t answer back suits me better.’ Her crestfallen face indicated that I should have gone along with the celebrity line.
‘Right. But you must have met some huge names when you were out in LA – you know, when you and Rob were working on the show together?’ She glanced at her son. He’d obviously filled her in on our backstory.
‘Oh, you mean with Mona Armstrong?’ I looked to Rob for help. ‘That was certainly an interesting time in my career – we worked a lot with Jennifer Astley.’ Her eyes widened. Everyone loves a celebrity encounter, evidently even those who might claim to be ‘worthy’. From then on I caved in and gave her what she wanted – an embellished list of the famous names I’d been in fairly close proximity to at the BAFTAs and the Oscars, giving her plenty to regale her friends with, and – hopefully – pass on to Florence.
My career done, she then moved on to family. ‘So, what do your parents do, love?’ she asked, oblivious to the fact I was dying to get the subject off myself.
I dunked a hefty piece of ciabatta in olive oil and chewed it for a few seconds, giving myself a moment to think.
‘Mum was a hot-shot lawyer, she worked for years at a firm in the city handling litigation cases mainly, and now she’s semi-retired she still works freelance for them but can take or leave cases as she likes. And Dad was a stay-at-home dad, he did all the school runs while Mum was working and did some work as a handy man. There’s nothing dad can’t fix.’
She gave me a stare that felt like she was trying to read my soul.
‘Keep the hubby at home, clever woman,’ she remarked finally, a wry smile across her face. ‘How delightful.’
When my five minutes of grilling from Marian was finally over, she proceeded to spend ten minutes telling us about Florence’s latest work projects – including a campaign for a new London art gallery filled with paintings created by children with behavioural problems, and a charity project sending make-up products to women in remote African villages.
‘All fantastically worthy,’ Marian gushed. She had a wicked glint in her eye.
Noticing my puffed-out chest and reddening cheeks, Rob placed a firm hand on my knee.
‘Let’s take out the plates.’ he said. Dan looked as though he wanted to slide under the table. Marian looked at her watch. I was clearly dull as ditch water compared to Florence.
‘Mum adores you, it’s obvious,’ Rob said in the kitchen as I placed two empty plates on the side. He had wound his arms around my waist and was peppering my neck with little kisses.
‘Have we just been in the same room?’ I asked. ‘I feel like I’ve been in front of a firing squad. She’s infinitely more excited about how Florence is saving the world than anything I have to say.’ I rolled my eyes.
‘Please, Amber, don’t take it personally. Mum’s just testing you, she likes a woman who can stick up for herself, it was the same when Florence first came round. I know when Mum likes someone and she likes you. You passed.’
‘I passed?’ It’s a weird kind of test. ‘Anyway, when are we going to—’ I stopped abruptly as Marian joined us and leaned against the work top.
‘To what?’ she asked, and we both averted her eyes. ‘I’m worried about Dan,’ she continued, looking earnest. ‘He’s not himself at all this evening and he’s stepped out to make yet another call – to Florence, I’m sure – but he won’t let on if anything’s wrong. He barely said a thing over dinner, and he didn’t even finish his lamb. That’s a first. Has he said anything to you, Robert darling? I just want to be sure he’s all right.’
Sensing a mother-and-son private moment, I excused myself for the loo.
I locked myself in the downstairs toilet and sat down, breathing a huge sigh. My eyes wandered around the tiny room; there was a super-cute photo of Rob and Dan in a paddling pool on the wall – I imagined it was taken in the garden of this very house. I guessed they were aged about four and six, with grubby hands, freckled faces and huge smiles. Rob looked a cheeky blond scallywag and Dan more serious and dark haired. It must have been captured not long before their father left. Rob had told me a little about what happened, but not much detail.
‘It was the biggest cliché in the book,’ he had said. ‘Dad went off with his young PA and broke Mum’s heart. I don’t think she’s ever got over it. After going to some counselling sessions she decided to train as a relationship therapist herself. What is it they say about therapists? They’re the most messed-up people out there.’ I knew that Rob now had a fractured relationship with his father, who went on to have three more children with the PA. They saw each other maybe once a year. It was sad, really. Knowing this made me feel a little more sympathetic about
