Page 102 of Home Grown Talent
Although he’d never lived here, it still felt familiar—a lot of the things he remembered from his childhood home had survived the move. Including the old kettle which Frieda was filling at the sink.
“Fetch me a couple of mugs and a plate, will you?” she said over her shoulder. Mason obediently went to the cupboard, drawing out two mugs, comfortingly familiar with their blue-and-white stripes, one with a little chip in the rim. They’d had them on the canal boat, back before the twins came along.
With the kettle on, Frieda busied herself opening the biscuits. “Are you all right, love?” She darted a look his way, her nervousness evident in the way she fluttered about the kitchen. “You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping properly.”
He handed her a plate for the biscuits, watching as she set them out in a neat circle. A thread of guilt stirred in his gut at the knowledge that him turning up like this was going to worry her. But while he usually made it his mission never to give Frieda any cause for concern, he found he couldn’t regret coming over—he was glad not to be alone right now. Finally, he said, “It’s been a tough weekend.”
She grimaced. “Mel showed me all those pineapple posts on Twitter. Is it true that Owen faked being a gardener?”
“No!”
Frieda blinked at his vehemence, and he lowered his voice, adding, “Owen’s the only one who didn’t lie.”
“I’m sure you didn’t lie.”
He let out a huff of breath, not quite a laugh, and didn’t answer. Which was, of course, an answer of sorts, though one Frieda would probably choose to ignore.
The kettle was starting to heat up, but beneath its wheezing hiss, he could hear the faint thump of music coming from Min’s room. “Are the girls home?”
“Only Min—she’s got a ‘free study’ afternoon, but you know what that means.”
He smiled ruefully, remembering his own less-than-stellar academic record. Hard to comprehend that Mel and Min were that age now; it only felt like five minutes ago that he was sitting his GCSEs. While also trying to keep Frieda on her feet, less than two years after Kurt had walked out.
“Come on then,” Frieda said, carrying the plate of biscuits over to the kitchen table. “Tell me all about it.” She threw him another worried glance. “Have they…? Are you still on Weekend Wellness?”
Mason braced himself for her reaction, leaning against the counter while he waited for the kettle to boil. “No,” he admitted, “they cancelled the gardening slot—”
“Oh no!” Frieda’s alarm made his stomach pinch guiltily. “But that’s not fair. You didn’t know Owen hadn’t grown those pineapples.”
Mason sighed. “Yeah, actually, I did. So did Misty, by the way—it was her idea to pretend he had. Owen refused to go along with it, so Misty got me to film an extra segment without him.” He grimaced around a knot of remorse, pressing his lips together for a moment. “So stupid. I should never have done it. And now everyone’s blaming Owen.”
“Oh. I see.” Frieda fiddled with the biscuits, turning alternate ones chocolate-side down to make a pattern. “I suppose that’s lucky?”
Lucky? Mason felt a stab of irritation. “Not for Owen.”
Frieda met his gaze, her expression uncertain. “What does Frankie have to say about it?”
“I haven’t spoken to Frankie.” Turning to open the tea caddy, Mason dropped a tea bag into each mug. “But apparently, he and Misty have cooked something up. They want me to do another interview on Weekend Wellness this Saturday.” Bitterly he added, “To help Misty piss all over Owen’s reputation even more.”
“Language,” Frieda muttered.
“Sorry.” He sighed again. “Obviously, I’m not going to do it.”
“You’re not?” Frieda’s voice wavered, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw the unease in her eyes.
“Of course not! Owen didn’t do anything wrong. They’re lying about him. How can I go along with that?”
“But…” Her lips pinched. “If you don’t, what will happen to you? I mean, if people think you're taking Owen’s side, could that damage your career? Everything you’ve worked for?”
Could it damage my safety net? was what she meant.
“Taking Owen’s side?” Mason echoed angrily. “Owen hasn’t even said anything. He doesn’t care about any of this media crap. Hell, the only reason he agreed to do Weekend Wellness in the first place was because I wanted to do it, and the only reason he didn’t dump me in it live on air last week was because”—emotion made his voice give out—because he was protecting me.
And yes, there it was. Another truth he’d been hiding from.
The kettle started boiling then, and Mason gratefully turned away to pour water into the mugs, getting himself back under control as he fished out the tea bags and added milk and one sugar to Frieda’s, leaving his own black. Christ, he was sick of black tea.
Frieda was wearing a familiar mulish look when he set her mug down on the kitchen table in front of her. “You can’t mean to destroy your career over this,” she said. “Not when you’re so close to a breakthrough—a major brand endorsement could launch you globally. That’s what Frankie said, isn’t it?”