Chapter 24

24

The last time I saw Mom was on my sixteenth birthday, the summer before I started my A levels.

The further back I go, the more memories of her I have, but they get fuzzier. I remember her taking a phone call on Sports Day when I was six and then disappearing; someone else's mom had to take me home. I remember her insisting to Dad that he just didn't understand, and how tired he looked. I remember a Christmas when I was very small and she let me eat chocolate in bed early in the morning, with her and Dad squished on either side of me and Home Alone on the TV.

And then she showed up out of the blue on my sixteenth birthday, having conspired with Dad and Gina behind my back to meet us at the restaurant we went to. I remember the big, happy smile on her face and the warm hug she wrapped me up in while I stood stiff as a board, fury building in my stomach. She pulled me into a seat beside her, tucked my hair behind my ear, and peppered me with questions about school and friends she didn't know and summer days out she'd seen on my social media.

She got me a posh, expensive bag I didn't have a use for and posh, expensive earrings that weren't at all to my taste. She asked if there was anything else special I wanted for my birthday, and I was so rattled I just asked to go home, without her in tow. So me, Dad, Gina and my brothers had a nice evening eating Chinese takeaway and watching a so-bad-it's-good disaster movie, and I tried not to let Mom's sudden reappearance overshadow it all.

She looks different from the last time I saw her.

I suppose it's not that surprising, but as I stare at her, so out of place in the Arrowmile offices, the blood draining from my face, I catalog the ways she's changed since my birthday almost three years ago. There are more lines around her eyes and on her neck. Her usual outfit of smart pencil dress and heels has morphed into a fashionable jeans-and-blazer combo, and she's wearing sneakers.

Sneakers? Am I sure this is my mom?

She's dyed her hair, too. She always has, but this is a bold change. Instead of the natural soft orange that's similar to my hair, she used to dye it a honey tone that looked strawberry blond in a certain light. Now she's leaned into being ginger, to the extreme: her hair is flame red, like Black Widow's or Karen Gillan's. She probably thinks it makes her look younger, or cooler, or both.

I keep staring at her, too stunned to even blink.

Seeing her standing next to Topher Fletcher, I realize suddenly that it's not Mom who's out of place at Arrowmile. Her smart-casual look and natural confidence match Topher's—they make her belong.

It's me who's out of place, in clumpy patent leather shoes that have rubbed blisters into my heels and a boring trousers-and-blouse combo that Gina and I picked out in the Next sale, both of us sure it would be appropriate for a corporate environment. Me, who had to lie on my application to be here in the first place.

Mom beams at me, clearly much happier to see me than I am to see her.

"You know each other?" Topher Fletcher asks, smiling between us.

Barely at all.

"Know each other?" Mom trills a laugh. "I should say so! Anna's my daughter."

It's a knife-sharp pain searing through my chest, though I'm not sure what hurts more: her blasé tone insinuating she knows anything at all about me, or the way she calls me her daughter like it means anything.

Someone just behind me makes a choked noise, which I register as coming from Lloyd.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I also register that as a problem. That I don't want him to know the "eccentric CEO" he was just so dismissive of is my mom. That I've told him things about my (nonexistent) relationship with her I didn't think would ever matter, because he was never supposed to run into her—let alone here.

I'm starting to think this entire summer is one giant cosmic middle finger.

I don't have the capacity to think about Lloyd right now, though; my mind is too busy racing ahead to assess the situation and figure out if I need to do any damage control.

I haven't told Mom about Arrowmile (I didn't post explicitly on social media where my internship was for that exact reason) and she does look surprised to see me…. But is she surprised I'm here, or just in this particular spot at this particular moment? Could Dad have told her? Is she here because I am, or is this some horrible, cruel coincidence?

"You don't say!" Topher exclaims. He clicks his tongue at me, grinning like this is such a great joke. "Anna, you didn't mention your mother was the Kathryn Jones!"

"You didn't mention she was a CEO," Lloyd says from behind me. There's a bite to his voice, an undercurrent of anger that makes my stomach twist. I can't process why. I don't have the space in my brain for it right now.

Mom laughs again. " She-EO, thank you very much!"

"Ah, and Kathryn, this is my son Lloyd. I know he's taken a keen interest in this partnership we've been discussing."

Lloyd makes a sound I think might be a scoff, but he covers it by clearing his throat. He steps forward, hand outstretched and his usual smile firmly in place. "Great to meet you, Kathryn."

She shakes his hand, then nudges Topher with another broad smile and a giggle, pointing a finger at the two of us. "Isn't that funny, Topher! The next generation of both our companies, and just after we were talking about building a legacy! If you ask me, this partnership is going to be in good hands."

Lloyd winces a little.

I think I'm going to be sick.

Then she says, "Darling, I'm making time to be back here tomorrow to iron out some details. Let's do lunch. My treat."

There's so much wrong with that statement, I don't know where to start. "Darling" is bad enough, but "let's do lunch" is truly grating. Are we on Made in Chelsea now or something? Part of the in crowd?

Mostly, it's a terrible statement because it's a statement, and Topher and Nadja are looking at me like this is such a nice thing and of course I'd see my mom for lunch, why ever not?

"I, um…" My voice sounds scratchy and high, and not at all like my usual voice. I try again, saying, "I'm actually a bit busy with…"

Oh, bloody hell, what am I working on? What's that engine project called? I need to say something, anything. Why can't I remember a single thing I'm doing in the internship right now? I'm going to make a fool of myself in front of Nadja and Topher.

"Don't be silly, Anna—I'm sure whatever it is, it'll keep. It's not every day that Kathryn Jones is available for lunch!" Topher claps me on the shoulder. Another great joke. Ha-ha.

Nadja jumps in, seizing her chance. "While I've got you a second, Kathryn, I was thinking it'd be great if we could pin down some time for you to talk to all the interns? You'd be such an inspiring story for them…."

In a blur, goodbyes are said, and we all peel apart.

It's like I blink and I'm suddenly standing in front of the lift with a now-lukewarm cup of tea still clutched in my hands, not quite sure how I got here.

The lift arrives and I step in.

I press the button for the eleventh floor and step back.

Before the can doors close, Lloyd appears. His face is serious, stony—angry.

"You had such a problem with me being the boss's son, having things handed to me, but what about you? I mean…is anything you told me true?"

"I…"

I what? I don't know. I'm still reeling.

"You're such a hypocrite, Annalise," he tells me, his voice tight—fraught.

The doors slide shut on him glowering at me.

When I get to the eleventh floor, I cut a path to the toilets instead of my desk.

Whether it's Mom or Lloyd, it doesn't matter, because whatever it is, it makes something inside me snap.

I cave. I become the girl who cries in the toilets at work.