Page 103 of Home Grown Talent

Mason settled into the seat opposite her. “It is, yeah.”

Years ago, they used to sit just like this on the narrow boat when Mason got home after school. He’d told Frieda everything then, unburdened all his boyish worries and listened to her advice. He stared at her now, her face showing the signs of the passing years. Lines around her eyes, her mouth, a peppering of grey in her frizzy hair. She picked up a biscuit and dunked it in her tea, letting the chocolate slightly melt before taking a bite.

Perhaps it was nostalgia, but as he wrapped his hands around his mug, he found himself saying, “The thing is… I love Owen. I’m—in love with him.”

Frieda froze, biscuit halfway back to her mug for another dunk. “It wasn’t just for the telly then, all that flirting?”

He shook his head. “Couldn’t you tell?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, it looked real, but you always were a performer,” she said with a smile.

Mason swallowed. Yeah, he was, wasn’t he?

Frieda’s smile faded at whatever she saw on his face. After a moment, she added, “It’s difficult, if that’s how you feel.”

“Yeah.”

“Does he feel the same?”

“I don’t know. I thought so, but now he won’t even speak to me.” Mason shrugged. “Actually, I think he despises me, and I don’t blame him, so…”

Frieda dunked her biscuit again. “If he feels that way, he doesn’t deserve you, love, and you need to put your own interests first.”

“My interests?” He met her wary gaze across the table and added, tentatively, “If I’m honest, recently, I’ve been wondering what my interests are.”

“Well, your career, surely?” she said immediately. “Your future, Angel. You’re going to be a star.”

“What if I don’t want to be a star at Owen’s expense?”

“But none of this will stop him from being a gardener, will it? You said he isn’t interested in the media business. He’ll probably be happier going back to his normal life.”

Back to his normal life. Before he hooked up with Mason.

Yeah, he probably would be happier with that.

Mason’s eyes burned, and he looked away from Frieda, his gut churning. But even if that was true—that Owen was better off, happier, without Mason—that didn’t make it okay to give in to Misty’s demands. And it hurt that his mum would argue that it did.

“It sounds like you reckon I should go along with the lies about Owen to save my career. Is that really what you think?”

For a while, Frieda was silent, but at last, she said, “You’ve been blessed with a gift, Angel. Your looks, your talent… I don’t understand why you’d throw away a career that millions of people would give their right arm for to keep a man you think despises you.”

“Maybe because it’s the right thing to do?”

“Right for who? Not for you.” She was angry now, frightened and angry. He could hear it in her voice. “You’d have to give up your flat. No more fancy restaurants or foreign travel...”

He shrugged, watching her, even as she averted her gaze. “Maybe I’m tired of all that. Maybe I want to do something more satisfying with my life.”

Frieda snorted. “You’re tired of earning good money?”

“There’s more to life than money, right?”

Frieda’s mouth twisted. “The only people who say that are people who don’t have to worry about paying the rent or keeping food on the table for their children.”

Annoyed, he said, “But I don’t have any children.”

“Well, I do!” she exclaimed, her voice turning tremulous with that feeble waver he knew so well. “And if this is how you feel, I suppose I’ll need to start looking at schools for the girls in a cheaper area because we won’t be able to afford—” She broke off on a sob.

A familiar wave of dread broke over him. Fuck, he shouldn’t have said anything. What had he been thinking? He couldn’t cope with one of her crying fits right now—he just couldn’t, not when he was already feeling like shit. He had to try to head this off at the pass.