Chapter 3 #3
I roll my eyes which she’s quick to notice. “Don’t start, Harriet. Now, what have you done to poor Greg? I’m sure it can be resolved, darling.” She takes a drink then fingers the rim with her bony finger.
I look her dead in the eyes. “He fucked Lauren Garcia. Twice.”
She sips her drink and raises her eyebrow. “Well, now… that is poor taste on his behalf, but, Harriet, sweetie, you haven’t been very accommodating to him recently, have you?”
“Accommodating? What’s that supposed to mean?” I sit forwards.
“Oh, come on, you’re not a daft girl. It’s no lie you haven’t been sociable recently and Greg is a very social man. Men have needs, Harriet. You must know that.” She leans back into her armchair getting comfortable.
“So, he’s fine to cheat on me?” I already know the answer will not be what I want to hear, so no idea why I asked in the first place.
“Men are built differently, that’s all. Your father has had flings in the past. It comes with the territory, but he always comes home to me.” She narrows her eyes to mine and sips more champagne, probably to push down the sting of my father’s affairs. I’m not surprised.
I try to connect with her. “You know that’s not right. That’s not love.”
The connection is cut off as always and a reminder that my mother is not the nurturing woman I wish I had.
“What me and your father have is more than love. Love doesn’t pay the bills, darling. We have an understanding. That’s worth more than love. And I’m sure you can learn to have that with Greg.”
I sigh and sit back into the sofa. “Great advice, Mother. Glad I came home. I’ll be staying a few days then I’ll be out of your hair.” I swig back my champagne.
“Harriet. What I am saying is the truth. I gave you this life, and yes, it’s hard sometimes, but we have the opportunities that people can only dream of.
I think you believe the grass is greener but it’s not the case.
With Greg you’ll always be financially secure.
Your children will have the finest education and travel to the finest places that most children don’t get to even read about.
Your clothes, you’ve shopped in Chanel, Louis and Vivienne your whole life. You want to give that up?”
“Maybe. No, actually, not maybe, I do. I want to know myself more than the clothes I wear. Be me for who I am, not what I have. There’s something more to me. I can feel it deep down.” I’m pleading with her to get me. Understand me. Love me even.
She takes another sip, but this time not stopping until she finishes the glass. She wipes a small dribble from her thinning lips.
“Well, more fool you, Harriet. You can stay for as long as you need. But just so you know, I think you’re making a terrible mistake.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m attending the Berkshires’ for tea this afternoon.
I’ll explain to them you’re busy. Probably best you do not attend when you’re clearly having a crisis. ” She rolls her eyes.
She stands and places her glass on the marble coffee table and leaves.
That was pretty much what I expected, to be honest, so well done, Mother, for meeting my expectations.
I pour myself another glass of champagne and take it upstairs along with my bags.
Phoebe offers to help but I tell her to take the rest of the day off and any problems with my parents to let me know.
I could do with a fully empty house. There’s a guestroom at the very top of the house with its own seating area and bathroom with the best roll top bath.
It’s also far away from my parents’ room so hopefully they will just forget I’m up there.
I dump my bags on the four-poster bed. Very OTT for a guestroom but that’s my mother all over. The sheets are fresh, showing poor Phoebe has to change them even though nobody has stayed in this room for over a year. Fair play to her being so thorough.
It is a beautiful room. The windows overlook the tiny green park in front on my parents’ house.
I can imagine in Victorian times and the ladies taking a stroll in there.
The English oak trees are starting to thin their green leaves with the upcoming change of autumn on the horizon.
The room is an off-white colour with beautiful wooden panelling.
It’s light and airy for an attic room. There’s a small seating area with antique French rosewood sofas upholstered in cream silk.
A wooden coffee table sits in the middle with fresh roses in a vase placed at the centre.
It’s in between the Juliet balcony windows so the late summer breeze fills the room blowing through the sheer net curtains.
There’s no TV which is a bummer, but I’ve got my iPad so at least I can rot in bed with Netflix instead of sitting downstairs with my parents.
I draw myself a bubble bath and retrieve the rest of the champagne bottle and bring it up to the bathroom.
A white fluffy dressing gown hangs on the wooden door along with a big fluffy white towel.
It’s the tiny things, and while I enjoy the luxury of this house, I would be just as at peace with a tin bath in a wooden shack.
I feel like being reborn and I’m about to learn everything once again.