Confident Women (Extract)

Chapter Four

By Friday, I still haven’t come up with a valid reason not to attend Mum’s party. Every time I think of a possible excuse, my mother’s voice echoes in my head, saying things like, “Oh but darling, Tim will be there.” Or, “But I’ve made your favourite quiche!”

The only way out of this is to pretend I’ve got some contagious disease that will cause all of her golf-playing, champagne-drinking guests to break out in massive red hives.

But there’s a certain amount of acting involved in that, more than my GCSE-grade-B skills, anyway.

I’ll just have to go and deal with Tim Hudson, the brilliant lawyer. And his sister Bryony, the newly engaged.

How bad can it be?

Zara is busy with work anyway, forcing me to go alone. Which means she’ll never be able to tease me about the nonexistent crush everyone in Mum’s social circle seems to think I have on Tim.

I arrive in a green V-neck dress, clutching my new handbag, since I’d had its debut to be at Bryony’s bloody wedding..

It’s Phil who greets me at the front door and pulls me into a tight hug. We’ve always had a close relationship. He’s the nearest thing I’ve had to a dad since my real father walked out on my mum and moved to America when I was three.

But when you’ve witnessed your stepfather shopping with your mother for anything that remotely links to their sex life, a hug isn’t exactly what you need.

“Your mum will be so happy to see you!” he says like I’m their long-lost daughter, not the one they saw in La Senza a few days ago. 

“Is that my Meggy?” Mum appears at the door, her fluffy brown hair unflatteringly backcombed. “Come on in, darling,” she says, adding in a lower voice, “Tim’s helping himself to some nibbles. Why don’t you go and ask him about London?”

The last thing I want to hear about is Tim’s exciting life in London. Really. I’d rather hear about which washing powder he uses, or how many times a day he flosses.

But Mum’s pushing me forwards with an encouraging smile on her face as if it’s my first day at school all over again. 

And there’s Tim loading his paper plate with potato salad. 

He looks just the way I remember him. Black hair gelled back off his pale face, round-rimmed glasses sitting on the end of his pointed nose. He sort of reminds me of Clark Kent. Just not in a good way, like Henry Cavill’s Clark Kent.

“Megan!” he greets me, his arms outstretched for a hug.

I grab a paper plate and hold it out like a barrier between us. “Hi, Tim.” I offer him a limp smile. 

“How’s life treating you?” he asks like a gossiping girlfriend. 

“Um…”

“Your mum tells me you work in admin now. HR, is it?” he continues before I can answer properly. 

“Yeah. I’ve been there about eight months now.” My smile tightens.

“Really? And you aren’t considering going back to your studies? You’d have such great prospects with a degree.”

I flinch at his words. Just about everyone my mother knows feels it necessary to bring up my failed attempt at completing a university course.

For two years, I was a Leeds University fashion student. And then I met Jack. And then I failed my second year. And a whole load of complicated things that I don’t really want to get into happened after that.