“I went to his house, Mummy,” I said. I heard the click of a lighter and then a long exhaled breath.
I could almost smell the smoke from her Sobranie. “Oooh,” she said. “Interesting.”
She took in another lungful and expelled it with a sigh. “Who’s this ‘he’?”
“He’s a musician, Mummy.” I didn’t want to tell her his name quite yetthere is a power in naming things,
and I wasn’t quite ready to cede it to her yet, to hear those precious syllables rolled in her mouth, for her to spit them out again.
And he’s handsome and clever and, well, I think he’s the perfect man for me, really. I knew it as soon as I saw him.
That all sounds rather marvelous, darling. And you went to his house, did you? Tell me, what did you find there?
I sniffed. “The thing is, Mummy... I didn’t actually... go inside.”
This wasn’t going to be easy. She liked doing bad things, and I didn’t. It was as simple as that.
I spoke quickly, hoping to head off the inevitable criticism.
“I just wanted to have a quick look, make sure he lived somewhere app... appropriate,” I said, stumbling over the words in my haste to get them out.
She sighed. “And how are you supposed to know whether it’s nice if you didn’t go inside?
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