Breaking Leila (25 page)

Not that he could talk, though. One minute he was a paying
client and the next, a self-confessed jealous lover. Last night,
he’d told me I
 
belonged
 
to him. I had always been the type to linger–or panic–over
becoming half of an actual couple, but glancing at his laptop, it
seemed Matt had already changed his Facebook status
to
 
in a
relationship
. Fortunately, I didn’t have a
page–Facebook did no favours for whores–and he couldn’t specify me
personally.

Ah...imagine Joseph’s face if he logged on and
saw
 
that.

I tapped a foot nervously. What was wrong with me? I wanted
to be
 
normal
, to be part of a couple.
Someone to come home to. Someone looking out for me. Smug evenings
on the sofa with hot chocolate and bad television.

Didn’t I?

My body said
 
yes
.
My body usually said yes though, so that wasn’t exactly
reliable.

The dream had
unsettled me. I needed to shake it off.

Niamh’s heels
cracked against the stairs, and the front door slammed. Matt
returned a few minutes later, and his hair stood up all over the
place–he’d been tugging it the way he always did in that fretful
manner.

“Well?” I
said.

“Well, Tobe
said he didn’t ask her back. She just kind of tagged along with
him.”

“You said sorry
to her, didn’t you?”

“I tried. There
wasn’t really a lot of that going on.”

“Oh?”

He sat down on
the bed, his head in his hands. “She asked me if I still loved her…
I said no. I’ve never been able to say it before, but it just flew
out. She didn’t have much to say after that, really. I did
apologize.”

“Did you say
 
it’s not you, it’s
me
?”

“It would be
true.”

“As much as it
ever is.” I reached over to rub his shoulders and he relaxed into
my hands.

Breakfast was
more of a solemn affair. Nate was already out on the farm and Amy
sat with us over dregs of coffee and toast, commenting on this song
on the radio or that traffic update from London. Nobody mentioned
Niamh, but the episode hung in the air like a bad smell.

We were sitting
in peaceful silence on the motorway–Toby had stayed behind–when it
occurred to me that we’d passed the train station some time
ago.

“Matt?”

“Yep?”

“Would it be
okay if you stuck me at the next station? I’m meant to be seeing my
parents for lunch.”

He smiled at me
in the mirror. “I know.”

“The next
station would be good, then.”

A pause. I knew
exactly what was coming.

“I thought
maybe we could, you know…go together.”

I should have
been pleased that he wanted this. His enthusiasm should have been
endearing but instead, it opened floodgates of inner panic and the
knives gushed forth.

“I…they aren’t
expecting you,” I said weakly.

“Would it be a
lot of trouble? Could you ring ahead?” He said these things so
effortlessly now, as if we had been together for ages.

“I suppose I could.” It wasn’t as if Mum would
be
 
cooking
, ha.

Zone out for a
bit and think about fucking him later. Remember what a
roughly-sculpted vision he is without those clothes.

Nope, no good.
When I rang, Mum’s elated shrieks made my ears vibrate.

Matt eyed me as
I came off the phone. “Is it all right?”

“Oh yes.” I
paused, embarrassed. “I’ve not brought a man to meet them before.
Not since in school, anyway.”

His cheeks
flushed in that cute, healthy way. “Should we stop by and get them
some flowers or something?”

“Oh no. No.
Trust me–where we’re going, there’s no need for that.”

As he drove, I
stroked his inner thigh and he gazed down at me languorously, a
teasing grin stretching his pink mouth. A daydream emerged: pulling
over in a lay-by, riding him in the back seat as the thick smell of
tarmac poured through the windows. Messing that gorgeous mop of
hair up all over again while his hand moved between my legs,
exactly the way I’d taught him. We could have done it, too, were we
not now on a collision course for my parents at one.

Ugh.

The scenery
turned green and luscious as we neared my parents’ estate.

“I know you
said they were in trouble,” Matt began. “Is there anything I
shouldn’t say?”

I chewed my bottom lip. “
Your
daughter has sex for money
 
probably isn’t the way to go.”
I watched him in the mirror for any sign of a sense of humour over
the issue.

He didn’t
reply.

We pulled off
the main road and meandered up the drive, past the rows of
chocolate box cottages and the newer barn conversion. The pool
house, with its gorgeous stained glass dome, sent splinters of
coloured light careering down on the windscreen.

“Jesus,” Matt
said. “When you said property business, I thought you meant they
rented out houses or something.”

I shook my
head. “Holiday homes. They bought the estate not long before I was
born and did it up. That,” I nodded back at the pool house, “is
where the trouble started.”

“Dip in
trade?”

“Dip in trade,
rise in utility prices, general lack of financial planning…they
could never afford to build it but ignored the accountant anyway.
Couldn’t do the repayments and had to re-mortgage. There still
wasn’t enough money though, and then when they tried to sell, no
interested buyers.” Finally, I could get–hell, launch–this off my
chest. My parents were so ashamed of their predicament that I’d
never told anyone else. “The place is too big for just one of them
to manage, so they couldn’t get jobs. The bank lost patience and I
had to go in and make a deal with them. I pay them every
month.”

“I can see why
you love the place so much. To think, you were waxing lyrical over
my house. Cheeky cow.”

“What? I love
your house!”

“Yeah, but it’s
not like this. I feel like I should’ve bought a bottle of port or
something.” Gravel cracked beneath the tires as he parked.

“My parents
aren’t really port people,” I said dryly. “They’re…” How to put
this? “A bit, erm, interesting. I’m warning you now, okay?”

He grinned at
me. “I’ll behave.”

“Oh, no need
for such drastic measures, Matthew.” I poked him in the ribs.
“Turning a blind eye will suffice.”

My mum met us
both at the door with an excited yelp. “Leon!” she called over her
shoulder. “Leon, get down here!”

Dad shouted
something obscene from upstairs and I did my best to pretend I
hadn’t heard it.

Mum looked Matt
over and her eyes widened in approval. “You must be Matt,” she
breathed. “It’s wonderful to meet you. We’re so pleased, aren’t
we–Leon!”

Dad hurried up
beside her, trying to pull the wrinkles from his evidently
un-ironed shirt. “For crying out loud, Bridge. Christ.” He gave
Matt’s hand a hard, brief pump. “Well don’t just stand there like
lemons. Come in and have a drink.”

The
conservatory looked out over Dad’s thick fruit bushes and gushing
boughs of elderflower. I took Matt through, knowing Mum would have
laid out the table, parked him on the sofa, and left him at the
mercy of both parents while I poured glasses of Appletise.

“You’re doing
the same as Leila, then,” said Dad, planting himself beside Matt.
“Are you local?”

“Salisbury,”
Matt said, accepting a drink. “We’re at the same firm right
now.”

“She’s never
mentioned you before.” Mum kicked me just a little bit too hard
with her clunky heel.

“This is, erm.
A recent development.” I nudged Matt up the sofa so I could sit on
his other side. His hand sought mine and our fingers knotted. “It’s
still new.”

“Well it’s nice
to meet someone from Leila’s city world. We’re not really town
people,” Dad explained. “Has Leila told you much about us?”

“Only good
things,” Matt said carefully.

“We’ve been
running this place since I was pregnant with her,” said Mum,
gesturing back out to the cottages. “I was doing my MA when I met
Leon, he was lecturing and struggling to find tenure again…then he
came into some money and we stumbled on this place on one of his
field trips.”

“Dad lectured
in plant biology,” I said.

What a peculiar dance of manners. Matt did his best to look
impressed, Dad was still deciding whether Matt seemed decent, and
Mum might as well have mounted him herself.
 
Ye-haaw.

“My dad has a
farm, so you might well share some interests,” Matt said.

“Is that back
in Wiltshire?” Dad asked. “Isn’t it traditional for you to take it
on?”

“Yeah. I’ve got
three brothers, so I imagine one of them will join Dad
eventually…it was just never my thing.” Matt swirled the liquid in
his glass awkwardly. “He’s okay with it. He’s training one of my
cousins at the moment.”

“Nice to keep
things in families.” Mum smiled. “Leila used to do our accounts.
She was only in sixth form, too.”

“I made a mess
of them,” I muttered.

“You did better
than we did!” Dad laughed, getting to his feet. “The accountant was
pretty impressed, if I remember. Are you planning on staying in
London, Matt?”

“No,
actually…I’ve just been offered a job at home so it looks like I’m
moving back.”

“You’ll have to
make use of us as a half-way house,” Mum insisted, “what with Leila
staying in London. Not long to go until you both qualify now.” She
leaned over to squeeze my knee. “You know how proud we are.”

We wandered
into the dining room and got comfy at the glass table. My old
school photos peered back at us from the walls and Matt studied
them: me aged four with a terrible mushroom haircut and crooked
teeth, aged nine, playing the violin for a concert, aged fourteen
and strutting about in my netball uniform. His features softened in
amusement.

Mum put lunch
on the table and he stared at it for a moment, fingers stretching
toward his fork cautiously.

“Ikea
meatballs.” I grinned. “Best food ever.”

“I…didn’t know
you could buy them to take home,” he said weakly.

I watched him
roll one around his plate, avoiding the berry jam with a lip-twitch
of disgust.

Dad dug in
noisily. “Mum’s a feminist. She doesn’t believe in being a slave to
the kitchen.”

Mum tutted as
she swallowed. “It’s not that I don’t like cooking, Matt, because I
do. It’s the time it takes that I could be doing other things–you’d
be amazed at how much work a place like this is to run. Have you
read any Butler?”

The chair
creaked as he shifted uncomfortably. “No. Um. Should I?”

Mum waved a
skewered meatball like a trophy of war. “Fascinating stuff. Gender
performativity. That’s all cooking is, you see–the act of being a
woman according to social tradition. It’s not in my genes and I
don’t have to do it. Ikea does it for me.”

“And they do a
lovely job,” Dad said slowly, rolling his eyes at me. “Matt. Is
everything all right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of
course.” The poor boy brought a limp chip to his mouth and chewed
slowly.

I shot him a
teasing smirk. He squashed my foot under the table–harder than I
think he meant to–and left it deliciously sore.

“I didn’t do
pudding, so you best make the most of it,” Mum said. “Leila always
used to do our desserts.”

“What did you
used to make?” Matt asked.

“Flapjack.
Cookies. A lot of sorbet. Feminism says it’s okay because I did
manly things too, like, um…climbing trees. And accounting.”

“We had sorbet
coming out of our ears at one point,” Dad said wistfully. “The pink
grapefruit one was particularly nice.”

“I’m more of an
ice cream person, but I could put up with sorbet.” Matt smiled.

Ginger ice
cream, a cold spoon in my lap, a kiss in a dark flat. In that
moment, it had been like we’d never touched before.

I wasn’t going to last until we got home–I
didn’t
 
want
 
to.

The chair
creaked as I shifted. “Is it all right if I show Matt around the
estate before we go?”

Mum waved a
hand. “Of course it is. Only a few of the houses are full at the
moment, anyway.” Her eyes narrowed as she finished the
sentence.

“Thanks. Sorry
I’m not around for long today…busy, busy.”

“We know you
are, darling. Anyway. It’s nice to be busy. So slow out here.” Dad
topped up all of our glasses, pale green froth splashing about in
the bottle. “We don’t normally serve guests with this, you know,
Matt. But when Leila said you were driving, we thought it’d be mean
to get out the wine.”

“Dad makes his
own wine,” I explained.

“Oh, right.”
Matt seemed relieved to have an excuse to stop eating. “What
kind?”

“Blackberry
mostly. Some elderflower. It’s good stuff. You’ll have to grab a
few bottles to take home.”

Idle chatter meandered and I ate what I could. The atmosphere
was pleasant enough, but tension fizzed, popped and whirred–I knew
Matt couldn’t shake the idea that my parents
didn’t
 
know.

Mum got a box
of shortbread out and we sat for a while, telling Matt about the
business. Dad explained how they’d renovated all the old barns and
Mum got rather too excited over her choice of soft furnishings,
nail-bitten hands flying everywhere–not that soft furnishings were
a job for women, of course–she project managed the whole thing.