Page 33 of Hot Mic

Robin knew she should say something too. But her mind was spinning.

Robin had spent weeks assuming Sienna was just naturally cold. But maybe she was just shivering from standing too close to her mother.

Robin understood that kind of baggage better than she cared to admit. She knew exactly how easy it was to absorb someone else’s ways, even when you hated them.

Well, this was great, wasn’t it? Here Robin was trying to shake a big old crush. And now she understood Sienna more deeply. That was the last thing she needed. Because it was exactly how a crush turned into something even worse.

Twenty-Seven

Sienna gripped her tea mug like a shield. She still wasn’t entirely sure why she had sat down.

When Robin’s mother had invited her to sit with them, Sienna’s impulse had been to make an excuse. But something else had prevailed. Now, sitting under the café awning, Sienna was glad she’d stayed. Hearing Brenda casually lay bare the wreckage of Robin’s childhood explained a lot about Robin Croft. She made a different kind of sense than she had before. Maybe her idealistic, bouncy approach to life wasn’t as easy as it looked.

Sienna felt a sudden wave of shame for making such an early judgment of Robin’s character. She wasn’t just a narcissist in need of attention. She was much more complicated than that.

But Robin had definitely lucked out in the mother department. She was the kind of mum Sienna might have picked for herself, given the choice. She was very warm and clearly proud of her daughter. To Sienna, that was practically inconceivable. The only time her mother had expressed anything like approval of her daughter was when Sienna had been made class prefect at school, and that was only to say, ‘They picked you? I suppose you must have impressed the teacher somehow.’

Sienna had long since stopped wanting her mother’s approbation. The only time she saw the woman these days was when a family member got married or buried.

‘Does your mother tune in?’ Brenda asked. ‘To your show?’

‘I doubt it,’ Sienna said. ‘I’m pretty sure she tells people I’m still a risk analyst. The podcast job doesn’t really fit with the image she likes to project.’

‘Well, it just goes to show,’ Brenda declared, patting Sienna’s arm. ‘You can never judge a book by its cover. That’s what I said to my friend Val when my nephew Nigel bought that house in Croydon. I said, ‘Val, it looks like a damp squat from the road but wait until you see the kitchen conversion.’ Mind you, the builder he hired was an absolute cowboy. Went off to Marbella halfway through fitting the double glazing.’

Robin let out a long, theatrical sigh. ‘Mum, Sienna doesn’t know Nigel, Val, or the builder.’

‘I’m just making a point, Robin egg,’ Brenda said blithely. ‘Sienna knows what I mean.’

Sienna glanced sideways at Robin, whose cheeks carried an embarrassed flush. She couldn’t think what Robin had to be embarrassed about. Sienna was the one admitting her own mother didn’t love her.

Which was weird. She never talked about her mother. She certainly didn’t hand pieces of her past to colleagues and acquaintances over tea. But Brenda’s openness had bypassed Sienna’s usual security protocols before she could stop herself.

‘So, Robin,’ Sienna said, flailing for a subject change. ‘Kiki... is she your first terrier?’

Robin looked up from her latte, blinking in mild surprise at the direct question. ‘Oh. Uh, no. I had a Border Terrier called Buster in uni. Absolute menace. Stole an entire loaf of sourdough off my flatmate’s counter once.’

‘Sourdough?’ Brenda chimed in instantly. ‘That reminds me, my hairdresser’s cousin started making her own sourdough during lockdown. Ended up in A&E because she burnt her forearm on a Dutch oven. Terrible scarring. She had to wear compression sleeves to her daughter’s christening.’

Robin grinned at Sienna. ‘Incapable of sticking to a topic.’

Sienna found herself grinning.

‘I’m just saying that sourdough is dangerous!’ Brenda insisted. ‘That reminds me, Nigel wants a Bichon Frise, but his wife can’t abide dogs. Said they ruin the carpets. But I told him, a home isn’t a home without a bit of hair on the sofa.’

‘Or a feather,’ Sienna said.

‘Exactly,’ Brenda agreed.

Sienna took a final sip of her tea and put the mug down onto the saucer with a clink.

As much as she found herself surprisingly settled into the rhythm of the table, she was an outsider here. She didn’t want to overstay her welcome.

‘Well,’ Sienna said, lifting her bag and draping the strap back over her shoulder. ‘I should leave you two in peace.’

‘Oh, leaving already?’ Brenda asked. ‘You don’t have to rush off. I was just about to tell you about my neighbour’s podiatrist.’

Robin laughed. ‘Mum, let the woman escape before you diagnose her with an ingrown toenail.’