Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Three days, and no texts from Harriet. And then the ringing of my phone startles me out of a melatonin-induced sleep. For a fuzzy second or two I think I’m still in England in our bedroom that smells of mothballs due to Rupert’s fixation on not getting holes in his cashmere jumpers. I turn over expecting him to be there, a softly snoring hump in the duvet, and the next thing I know I’ve flipped like a pancake onto the floor. Ouch! I grab the phone and press it to my ear.
‘Mum! Are you awake?’
‘I am now. What’s up?’
The wall clock says 10 a.m. Ten a.m.? How did that happen? I tug open the patio door and am met with bright sunshine and a chorus of birds twittering in the palm trees.
‘Oh Mum, I don’t know where to begin. It’s so terrible!’
My world turns still. ‘Is it Aiden?’ I ask. ‘What’s he done?’
‘It’s not Aiden,’ she says, through a sniffle. ‘It’s his dad. His dad just rang and said that if we’re really serious about getting married, if Aiden’s, going to, quote, make adult choices , then maybe he needs to take on adult responsibilities and fund his own college education.’
Good grief! It’s straight out of his novel. Ford’s crusty father disinherits him for getting engaged to someone beneath himself. ‘Never in the world!’ I say, in my best outraged tone. ‘But I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He was probably just saying it because, well, he’s a bit of a dick.’
‘Aiden says his dad never says anything he doesn’t mean.’
I can’t say I’d find that hard to believe. ‘So how does Aiden feel about this?’
‘Well, he says his dad can keep his money. He doesn’t want a cent from him. He’ll pay for his own education. He’s got some money from his mother.’
Just like Ford in the book! Life imitating art. ‘So… er… how will that work?’ While she gives me the details of the plan Aiden has miraculously crafted to fund his own way through the next two years of his life, I bang out a quick message to Frank.
You’re going to cut him off financially? I thought we were joking around last night!
He responds instantly.
We took killing off the table. This was easier than kidnapping.
You’re not really going to do it, though? Just a threat?
Can’t talk. In a meeting with my muse.
He sends a photo of himself sitting on the sand in the sunshine, his bare feet wrapped around a big white coffee mug with ‘I Run on Coffee and Grace’ written on it in black lettering.
I tune back into my phone call. ‘So, I have to ask you, Mum. Now you’ve had some time to think…’ Harriet’s voice quivers with nerves. ‘Are you going to support us? Or are you of the same mind as Aiden’s dad?’
The opportunity sits there, a gift of an invitation to piggyback on Frank, the bad guy. ‘Harriet…’
That’s as far as I get. She cuts me off with, ‘Oh wow. Thanks, Mum. Thanks a lot. So you leave me with no choice then…’
And then she hangs up.