Page 102 of Nineteen Letters

Jemma

“The taxi should be here in about fifteen minutes, Mum,” I tell her, popping my head into the bathroom as she puts the finishing touches to her make-up.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” She places the lid back on her lipstick before turning to face me. “Does this look okay?”

“You look beautiful.”

“It’s been so long since I’ve been anywhere nice, or had someone else cook for me.” I smile at her comment, but inside my stomach knots. I feel awful for deceiving her, but it was my only option. “We’re going to have such fun. I might even let my hair down and have a glass of wine.”

Half an hour later, my leg bounces and my hands twist together nervously in my lap as we travel in the back of the taxi. “Are you okay?” Christine asks, reaching for my hand.

“I’m fine, Mum,” I lie, forcing out a smile. This seemed like such a good idea at the time, but now I’m rethinking my devious plan.

Christine reaches into the front seat when we pull up outside the restaurant, as she passes the driver a twenty-dollar note. “Keep the change,” she says.

There’s a huge smile on her face and her arm slips through mine as we walk down the concrete path.

“Good evening,” the maître d’ says when we enter the restaurant.

“We have a reservation under Robinson,” I reply.

“Yes, here we go,” he says as his finger runs down the list in front of him. “Party of three. Your other guest is waiting.”

“Other guest?” Christine asks quizzically as I reach for her hand, following the maître d’ towards our table.

The moment she stops walking, grinding us both to a halt, I know she has seen him.

“What’s he doing here?” she snaps. The look she gives me is equal parts hurt and anger.

“I’m sorry, Mum.”

“Why would you do this to me?” she says as tears rise to her eyes.

She spins around and stalks towards the exit.

“Please,” I say as I reach for her elbow. “I just wanted to have dinner with my parents together. I want to hear stories about my life when I was a child, when we were a family.” She stops walking but doesn’t turn around. “Please, Mum, it would mean so much to me.” I feel horrible and completely selfish for pulling that card on her, but there’s some truth to my plea.

She finally turns to face me. “Fine, but don’t expect me to converse with that man. As soon as we’ve eaten, I want to leave.”

“Okay.” I reach for her, wrapping her in my arms. “Thank you.”

We continue towards the table, and Stephen stands. His confused gaze moves between me and my mother. Technically, I didn’t lie to him, I just asked him to have dinner with me and left out the part about her coming along.

“Pumpkin,” he says, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on my cheek.

“Hi, Dad.” His attention then moves to my mother. “Christine, you look lovely.”

“Huh,” she huffs, grabbing hold of the back of a chair.

“Let me,” my father says.

“I can seat myself, thank you very much.”

I cringe when she flicks his hand away. I lock eyes with him. Seeing his pained look makes me realise I was stupid to think this would work. I haven’t even eaten yet and I’m already suffering from indigestion.

When the waiter approaches the table, he directs his attention to Stephen. “Would you like to start with some drinks, sir?”

“That would be great.” He looks to Christine, but she dips her face down and stares into her lap. “Do you still love Sauvignon Blanc?” he asks.