‘I only put them in this morning!’ I watch in horror as she makes herself comfortable behind me. ‘Could you do that in the kitchen, please? I’m working.’
‘Working?’ she asks. ‘You’re in pyjama bottoms.’
‘I am working from home,’ I say.
‘Wrapped in that blanket?’ she asks, eyebrow raised.
‘It’s freezing in here.’
It may be April, but it’s the fakest ‘spring weather’ I’ve experienced in years.
‘Is that your mum?’ Aiden asks brightly, connection issues apparently solved.
The male voice triggers her curiosity. She sets her basket down and makes her way back over to me, peering over my shoulder and squinting at the screen.
‘Is that Aiden Edwards?’ she asks loudly, apparently entirely unaware of how video calls work. ‘Oh, he’s grown up nice and handsome, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes, it is, and he can hear you.’ I sigh deeply.
‘Hi, Mrs Clarke! Long time, no see!’
She coos. ‘Aiden! How’s your mother? Did she have her surgery?’
‘She did, yes, and it was tough, but she’s recovering well.’
‘Your mum had surgery?’ I ask.
‘A minor one. A couple of months ago.’ He shuffles uncomfortably, glancing down. ‘She’s fine.’
A couple of months ago, while we were working together. Friction or not, I would have remembered something like that. Disappointment stirs in my stomach. I hate that he didn’t feel like he could tell me, and that I never picked up on it. I want to ask more, but it feels wrong of me. Intrusive almost, like crossing a line our newfound acquaintanceship isn’t quite ready for.
‘I thought you said you were working, not catching up with old friends,’ Mum says, turning back to me.
‘Mum. Aiden works for Evie, the woman I’m doing that event for.’
And he’s not my friend.
‘Oh, how fun! I always liked that boy!’ she says.
‘He can still hear you.’
‘I always liked you too, Mrs Clarke.’ Aiden beams through the screen.
She smiles widely, proving once again that almost everyone falls victim to the Aiden Edwards ‘charm’. I sit with my eyes glued to the ceiling as the two exchange an unnecessarily long string of pleasantries. He’s a different person in front of her– sweet, polite and engaging. It’s sickening to watch him put it on and even worse to watch her buy it. I let out an audible sigh of relief when she eventually gathers the washing basket and heads for the kitchen, door closing tightly behind me.
‘Mums love me,’ he says, lip curled. ‘And she’s great. Shame about her daughter, though.’
I groan. ‘Focus, please. How’d the invite copy go down?’
‘Evie loved it– signed off the wording, so now it’s with Design. How’d the date go?’ he asks. ‘You had a lot of shots on that table.’
I shout triumphantly. ‘So, youdid see the photo!’
Silence. For a moment I think the connection has dropped again, but then I see him dip his head in shame as he fumbles for a reply.
‘It’s none of your business anyway,’ I say, attempting to hurry the awkwardness along. ‘I sent the picture for evidence, not because I wanted to discuss it with you.’
‘Oooh, that bad?’ he asks, recovering quickly.
