Page 54 of Chasing Storm
“Everything okay?” Mum asks before I’ve even said anything.
“No,” I say, and then burst into tears.
I know she’s been waiting for this moment. This is her time to shine.
“Tell me what’s happened,” she says briskly, her down-to-business head on.
“I quit my job and will soon be homeless,” I sob. I’m not telling the rest of the stuff. It’s inconsequential but just added to an already shit week.
“Hmm. Do you want to tell me why you quit?”
“Angela is a rancid cowbag.”
She snorts prettily. “Well, I know that. Anything specific?”
“She wanted me to do more spying. I told her to get fucked.”
“Good for you.”
I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, but to my surprise, it doesn’t come.
“I take it you are free on Thursday then?”
I blink. “Yep, guess I am. Why?”
“I’m arranging a luncheon. It was during your work time lunch hour, but now time is of no consequence.”
I gape at her.Lunch hour? What century does she live in? Lunch half a bloody hour, more like.
“What’s it for?”
“To meet some prospective men.” I hear the excitement in her voice.
I sit and snatch the phone up. “What? Already? And men? Plural?”
“You need options, and I’m not sitting around waiting for you to change your mind, dear. Be at the house on Thursday at twelve and wear something pretty, not adult film star-esque, hmm.”
“Uhm, okay…” I’m sideswiped. Glancing at my phone, I realise that Thursday is the day after tomorrow.
“Excellent. You are going to love them.”
“Okay.” I don’t seem capable of anything else. Hopefully, I will have more to my chat on Thursday. I wince and then suck it up. “Err, Mum…”
“You start on Friday at 8AM sharp,” she says and hangs up before I can humbly thank her for giving me a job.
Snickering, I put my phone down, flopping back on my bed. I knew days ago that this was what I had to do. I don’t have time to pratt about looking for another job right now. The rent is due next week, not to mention every other bill due on the first of the month.
I absolutely adore her for not forcing me to ask and yelling I-told-you-so in my face. She is the best mum, ever. And this isn’t forever. It’s my plan to look for something else immediately, but this eases the financial burden for now.
My thoughts drift to these men she has lined up. I wonder who they are. I know better than to ask. Mum loves surprises. She wouldn’t tell me even if I begged. She knows I would go and do my own research and probably find something to dislike about them before I’ve even met them. Mum is also big on first impressions. She will make sure everyone is on their very best behaviour. I snort in amusement as I think about some big bad men cowing to her demands. She doesn’t take any bullshit and can sniff it a mile away. All of this leads to the conclusion that they will be good guys, so I’m not worried. My concern is what to wear.
My pretty white top that got coffee all over it was delivered by the dry-cleaner yesterday after I rang them to explain I couldn’t get there. They charged me a bit more than I’d have liked, but no way was I emerging from my flat to walk the forty minutes round trip to get it.
Climbing out of bed, I break the plastic and decide this entire outfit is perfect. It’s flattering, pretty, and, with the pink cardigan, is gorgeously feminine.
“Sorted,” I mutter and then head to the kitchen for coffee before I flop on the sofa to watch TV until my brain goes numb.
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