Page 30 of Something Borrowed

“God, I always forget that.”

“I don’t blame you. The Kendricks have less of a family tree and more of a forest full of ley lines.”

He laughs. “How’s your dad?”

I roll my eyes. “Rollo is as usual—loud and flash.”

“That’s where you get it from. He’s a character.”

“He’s on wife number—” I pause and think. “Four, including my mum.”

“God, he’s practically a romantic.”

I snort. “Anyway, I’m off for lunch with her. Then I’ve got to see Leo at the salon and then home.”

He cocks his head to one side. “How’s Stan?”

I think of last night, and my stomach sours. “You keep asking me that,” I say shortly. “He’s the same as the last time I answered you.”

“Lachlan said he saw him at a restaurant last night with Bennett.”

I frown. Why a restaurant when Stan had already eaten with me? “Was Bennett being excessively loud and bossy?”

“He was telling Stan what to eat. Lachlan said he was stunned the man still had a spleen by the end of the meal.”

I force a reluctant smile. “And yet Stan’s still with him.”

“How long is it now?”

“Four months.” I could tell him how the date when Stan first met Bennett at a charity event feels like it’s burnt on my heart. But that would give Joe ideas about Stan and me and he doesn’t need any more help in jumping to romantic conclusions.

I smile at him breezily. “Anyway, I must be going.”

“Of course, you must,” he murmurs. “I’m sure we’ll return to the subject at a later date.”

“Well, you will. You’re more persistent than a terrier sniffing a crotch.”

“Such a lovely comparison,” he says sunnily.

I grab my stuff and leave the office, shouting a hurried goodbye and leaving that stomach-clenching moment behind me.

A few hours later,I walk through the Italian restaurant my mum picked for lunch. She’s at a table near the windows, her red head bent over her phone. Several men nearby are sneaking looks at her, which is her life story. She was a very famous Irish model in her early twenties, mixing with all the famous pop starsand actors, and something of that time still clings to her in her wild air. It always feels as if there’s no bad behaviour she hasn’t seen or done which was excellent for avoiding parental lectures when I was a teenager.

“Alright, Saoirse?” I say, coming up next to her.

She looks up with wide eyes, as though astonished at seeing me despite having organised the meeting, and then delight spreads over her face.

“Raff,” she says, jumping to her feet and hugging me. She’s as thin as ever, and I tower over her. “It’s lovely to see you.”

I hug her back. “And you,” I say, taking in the familiar scent of Baccarat Rouge that hangs in a subtle cloud around her. “How are you?”

She lowers herself to her seat and smiles at me. “I’m fine. Sit down, darling. You’re like a giant.”

I roll my eyes and slide into my chair. A waiter immediately appears and hands me a menu.

My mother smiles at him with potent charm, and he straightens like he’s been poked with a cattle prod. “I’ll have another Chablis, please, and my son will have?—?”

“Oh, an orange juice, please.”

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