Spray Painted Bananas

Chapter 31

I open the door and move aside to avoid being mowed down by a tall woman in a bright orange dress. She storms into the middle of the room and her eyes widen into huge, fiery canon balls. I notice the resemblance with Elliott at once and there's suddenly no doubt in my mind that this is his mother.

She holds a hand up and closes her eye and I think she's going to sneeze. But then she snaps them open again and fixes me with a fierce stare.

'Let me guess, you're a poor artist who Elliott has decided to rescue.'

Her words are like a stinging slap across the face.

'No, I didn't need rescuing,' I say, my voice quiet but defensive.'I just needed some space and he offered this studio. I didn't realise it wasn't his to offer.

'It certainly wasn't his to offer!'

I could kill Elliott for putting me in this embarrassing situation. My eyes dart down to my chicken wire creation, now part bandaged with dripping loo roll. How the hell am I going to get it home? Because it's quite clear that I'm being chucked out.

'I'm so sorry,' I say, holding up my hands in surrender. 'I'll just get packed up at once and I'll be gone.'

She let's out an exasperated sigh. 'There's no need to be so dramatic. What's your name?'

'Amber.'

'You'll have to excuse me Amber, but I've just got off a mammoth flight from New York, only to get back and find I'm locked out of my own house. That Elliott didn't pick me up is bad enough, but not to be at home when he knew I didn't have the keys is completely unacceptable!'

I feel like I'm being told off and struggle to arrange my face into an expression of sympathy. 'That's terrible. Do you live far?'

She narrows her eyes for the briefest second. 'No, Notting Hill. I'm surprised he hasn't taken you there.'

My cheeks are on fire. Of course, that beautiful house. That sophisticated, elegant house with its female touch evident throughout. What an idiot to think it was his.

'I wonder where he is,' I say, weakly.

'Call him for me, will you?' she says, striding over to the kettle. 'My phone has run out of battery.'

'Of course.'

'I haven't had a decent cup of tea since I've been away,' she says. 'I don't know why other countries find it so bloody difficult.'

The atmosphere is tense and I'm dreading spending time with her.

'I hope for his sake that the house is in a better state than he left it last time,' she mutters under her breath. 'That boy thinks he's some sort of celebrity who can wonder around doing what he pleases. It's not for lack of education I can tell you that.'

I've dialled his number and it's ringing. I feel nervous and twiddle my hair into knots as I wait.

'Amber! I knew it! Are you missing me already?'

Elliott sound jubilant and possibly drunk.

'No I'm not but you're uh...' I hesitate. I haven't actually had confirmation that this woman is his mother.

'Give me that,' she snaps, holding out her hand.

I pass her my phone. If she asked for it, I'd hand over my wallet too. Her voice is as persuasive as knife.

'Elliott Frinton-Smith. This is your mother speaking. I'm in my studio with a young lady friend of yours called Amber. Would you care to explain what is going on.'