Page 24 of If We Were Young

I dropped my gaze to my outfit, checking that my navy trousers and pale-pink chiffon blouse hadn’t morphed into a homeless person’s outfit. Nope, definitely chic and professional. “Thanks.” I smiled. She smiled. Lots of smiling. “Shall we go?”

“Sure.” Walking around the table she dropped a kiss on Ma's head. Ma glanced up at me in surprise. I gave her a discreet and a whole lot of an ‘I don’t bloody know’ shrug.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

I grabbed Hannah's bag while she struggled to pick up the giant box of the solar system. So far so good. On time, no one had cried or shouted, or threatened to leave home, and I’d only checked my phone for Facebook messages twice since waking.

Today had great vibes.

Outside the school gates I let the car idle. She hadn’t pelted for freedom. I shifted in my seat and cleared my throat.

“Thanks, Mum. I know you had to come home early last night. I’m sorry I didn’t remember the planets earlier. I guess I forget that you have to do everything by yourself.”

“Don’t be silly, that’s my job, and let’s be real, it was Nonna who helped, mostly.”

She shrugged, but when her face didn’t morph into a scowl, I let out a slow breath. “Were things better yesterday?” I asked and squeezed the steering wheel in case she exploded.

She nodded, a wistful expression on her face. My stomach dropped. Only a boy, or a girl, maybe… could cause that expression. I cast a glance over her again. Why didn’t kids come with an instruction manual? It was a massive flaw in parenting that there was no step-by-step instructions. Putting up an Ikea sideboard singlehandedly was easier than conversing with a teenager.

“Oh, there’s Annabelle.” Hannah pointed out of the window to where her friend with the black hair and nose ring loitered.

I needed to not be like my mother. Anything but like my mother… “Lovely.” Oh.

“Well done, Mum, on getting that job. I hope you get the paint off your hands.”

I glanced at my fingers. Yikes. “I’d forgotten about that for a minute. I’ll try to find somewhere that sells some sort of industrial cleaner on the way to Brompton Road.”

“Is it okay if I go to the shops after school?”

Play it cool, Ronnie. Play it cool. “Sure, who with and where?”

Not cool, Ronnie. Not cool.

Hannah shifted back towards the door. “Just Annabelle and me.”

“No boys?”

“Ugh. No.”

“Home by six though otherwise Nonna will have the police out looking for you.”

She waved her phone at me. It had been surgically attached to her hand for the last twelve months. “I’ll text.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Good luck at your meeting, Mum.”

“Thanks, Love…” She’d gone though, pushing her big box out of the car first and then grabbing her bag.

Well that was weird. Good, I think. Weird definitely.

The dimension of hell known as The Tube maintained its usual standard and all the trains ran at a ten minutes delay.

My toes pinched in my navy heels as I screeched to a halt outside Red—the designated meeting venue. I should have Googled it. It was fancy.

“Shit.” Strands of my hair stuck to the sweat on my neck as my heart rushed with exertion. My run from the Tube resembled an OAP 100 metre dash (blame the shoes). Then I noticed my hands holding my leather bag. “Shit, shit.” Baby shit. With a quick spin I turned to see what shops were nearby. Maybe I’d find a DIY shop to buy some bleach to pour straight on my skin—there were no DIY shops on the Brompton Road—when I smacked my forehead straight into a solid land mass behind me.

“Oh. Shit. So sorry.” I reached a bright yellow hand out to grasp hold of anything that could keep me upright. Anything being the navy lapel of a suit jacket. I saw the hair first. Then the eyes, deeper than the ocean, lighter than the sky at twilight. “Oh… Shit.”