No point, Faith. Say nothing. Keep blowin’ it out.
Perry, ever the perfect host, made more drinks and settled everyone down before throwing me to the wolves.
‘Faith was just going to tell me some more about her family. Isn’t that marvellous?’
I choked on my orange juice.
Aunt Eleanor raised one eyebrow. ‘Well. That would depend on what she tells us.’
I tucked a strand of my new bob behind my ear. Looked at these people I would soon be a part of. I felt tired and scared and utterly fed up with these ridiculous games. There were parts of my past I would never share as they belonged right there, in the past. But I already fell below Upperton standards. That was their problem, not mine.
‘I didn’t used to be called Faith Harp. My name was Rachel.’
And I told them – the short version – of how my mother had lived, how she died and why I changed my name.
Talk about awkward. Larissa and Aunt Eleanor stared at each other across the table, sending silent posh messages regarding what they thought about that revelation.
Milton folded and unfolded his napkin a few times. He muttered, ‘Change of name. That explains why Google drew a blank.’
But Perry looked straight at me. He took hold of my hand. Cleared his throat.
‘I wish you’d told me.’
I shrugged, glancing at his family. ‘I think you can understand why I didn’t.’
‘So.’ Larissa took a large swig of wine. ‘You lived in Chester. Did you ever go to the racecourse?’
‘No.’
Perry sighed. ‘Of course she didn’t, Mother. She left age six.’
‘No.’ She pulled a tight smile. ‘I suppose even if you had, you wouldn’t remember.’
‘I never went.’
‘We were last there… remind me, Milton. Seven years ago? No. It must have been eight, as Hugh hadn’t graduated yet.’
‘No, Larissa.’ Eleanor shook her head. ‘It couldn’t have been more than six. It was before my operation.’
My phone rang. I looked at the screen. Sam. Calling from his own phone, not the hospital line.
‘Excuse me.’ I stood up, interrupting the discussion about which horse had won what race. ‘I need to take this.’
Perry frowned at me. ‘Sam?’
I nodded, hurrying out of the room. Moving into the kitchen, I answered the call. ‘Sam?’
‘Hi. Yes, it’s me!’
‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m home.’
‘What?’ I sat down, hard, on one of the chairs.
‘I know! I can’t believe it. But I’m doing really well. Feeling great.’ He sounded it, too.
‘How did you get home? Why didn’t you call me?’