Chapter Thirty-Six
After another successful book club, I head home, tempted to ask Mum to go out for dinner to a little wine bar. It seems my socialising muscle is growing stronger.
‘Mother?’ I place my keys in the bowl and wait for her jump scare. I wait. And wait. ‘Mum? Your precious offspring is home and ready to be interrogated.’
I don’t panic. I’m not easily alarmed. Reading whodunnits has given me the requisite tools to remain cool, calm and rational under pressure.
I cycle through the facts in front of me.
It’s highly unusual for mother not to be here waiting for me after a social outing for the following reasons: one – to ascertain I’ve made it back to base safely.
And two: because she’s nosy and wants all the juicy details.
With these facts in mind, it’s decidedly odd that she’s not present.
There are various reasons she could be MIA. Suddenly taken ill and rushed to the doctor. Ducked out for groceries and missed the bus back. Got taken by a gang for nefarious purposes in a tragic case of mistaken identity.
The case is solved when I go to the kitchen and find a note: Having an early dinner with the neighbour who stopped by to fix the stuck window. Thought you’d prefer we ate out! Text me so I know you’re home safe. Love, Mum x
The neighbour? This is the first I’ve heard of any such person. How strange she doesn’t mention them by name and not a pronoun in sight. I send her a text to confirm she is alive and well and only hope the nefarious types don’t have control over her phone and are pretending to be her.
Mother, I’ve managed to make it home, whole of body and quite unmolested by any threat.
Who is this neighbour you speak of? As for the stuck window, that cannot be as I have personally checked them all myself to make sure in the (hopefully unlikely) event of a fire we have the means of ventilation and/or possible escape. Your loving daughter, Viviane.
Mother’s replies are normally speedy so when my phone remains silent, I can’t help but stare at it, waiting for the ellipses that show she’s typing to appear.
Nothing. Could the woman be having … fun?
With someone other than me. With people outside of her big boisterous family?
The thought stops me in my tracks as I weigh up how it makes me feel. A slow smile settles.
I hastily snatch up my phone. And I’m not the hastily snatching up sort.
Are you perchance carving out your own Porto friendship with this mysterious neighbour who doesn’t have a name?
If so, I approve wholeheartedly. But please, spare me any details if this new relationship is of an intimate nature (your body, your choice).
Be safe, and don’t rush home. Your ever loving daughter, Viviane.