I'd been sipping my coffee for the past half hour while perusing her Instagram profile; her story having updated mere moments before. I'd been waiting for the single, and there it was: Zara was currently busy, and most importantly, my son was alone.
All of this social media stuff was ridiculously insipid to me; nothing but self-indulgence and a complete waste of time. I couldn't believe that the youth of today invested so much energy into how they appeared to others. They'd struggle from week to week to pay their bills, all the while posting snapshots of expensive dinners or glamorous hotels. What was the point? Providing a glimpse into a false life for the sake of appearances? Who cared about appearances that much? What had happened to common decency and hard work? Everything these days was about the number of likes you could get or the amount of followers one could rack up. My family hadn't built its legacy on social media, and I rolled my eyes at this foolish pursuit of some frail popularity.
I sneered while scrolling further down her profile. Photo after photo of the gold-digging bitch flirting with the camera through a variety of provocative poses, all alone with her designer brands. It had been this way ever since she'd turned up in our lives. Where was my son in all of this? He wasn't present for a single photograph, though I knew he was likely the one behind the scenes being ordered to take picture after picture until the bitch queen was satisfied. Those expensive dinners she enjoyed posing with, her mouth wide and eager to start nibbling? Paid for by my son. Those luxury five-star hotels with the infinity pools that she just so adored wearing her string bikini in? You guessed it: all thanks to my son's credit card.
I clicked the most recent photograph from a few days earlier, and low and behold, there Zara was, grinning into the camera in a tight dress with a plateful of lobster and oysters. I looked towards the location and noted that they had been in Iceland. This was the twelfth stop on their 'trip of a lifetime' swan around Europe. Previous photos of Zara flaunting her stuff around Paris, Berlin, and Rome had me seething. Next came the days spent sunning on the beaches of Greece and partying on the islands of Croatia. Finally they'd moseyed on up to Scandinavia where the prices had surely hiked right up. I'd been opposed to the trip from the outset, though, at Zara's insistence, my foolish son had gone ahead and bowed to her wishes. The girl had taunted me with every passing update; I almost felt that she was looking straight through the camera at me, laughing while she had my son cover her every expense. Why did it grate me so much? Because I'd said no, I didn't approve of their relationship, and Zara had got her way regardless.
I scrolled further down the page until that dreaded date the two of them had met a year back: Valentine's Day. They'd met on some stupid dating application and agreed to make it a special one for their first blind date of sorts. He told me about it and showed me a photo. Yes, she was pretty, but I just rolled my eyes. Another girl that didn't have much about her other than her looks. I figured he'd see straight through her. However, my son is a lovely boy, but sometimes he can be a bit naïve. In this case, he'd been a dullard from the beginning, I mean, who goes for a first date on 14
th
February!? Afterwards he spilled all the details to me about how great she was, but I only paid attention to the important stuff. This Zara had picked the restaurant, my son had paid the bill and she'd expected him to bring her a Valentine's present too; she'd even told him what she wanted. I'd tried to talk him out of it beforehand, but he turned up to that date with expensive perfume and a bunch of roses. Not only that, but she didn't even have any career of sorts or any academic achievements. Unsurprisingly, she knew she was onto a winner from that first day and her claws were well and truly latched on. Their relationship had been defined by that moment ever since.
The photos on her Instagram before that day were far different. There was none of the luxury or glamour that drowned her feed these days. There were mostly photos she'd taken of herself, often in the bathroom mirror or at the gym. I could admit her looks were her best asset: tight body, come-to-bed eyes, full lips, dark, curled hair and perky breasts that reminded me of my better days. But, that's all she had going for her in those early photos. It was almost as if she was a honey trap and had laid the bait to ensnare a suitor. There was none of the gourmet food at expensive restaurants, none of the beaches and certainly none of the designer brands. Then my son had clumsily come along and ever since Zara had been living the glamorous lifestyle.
Of course, despite my initial reservations after that first day, I gave her a chance. Well, sort of. As the ever doting and caring mother, once they'd had a number of dates, and Pierce ensured me that things were serious, I laid out the welcome mat and invited Zara into my home. I was fully committed to giving her a grilling and uncovering her intentions regarding my son, but, I had given her the slimmest chance to impress me.
"Well, this is nice," she'd said while stepping into the foyer of our large stately home and darting her head around like some nosey bird. She clutched a brand-new designer purse in her manicured hands and her expensive heels were clacking all over the polished, marble floor. She had seemed more interested in our home than myself, and had barely acknowledged me since the initial, friendly waves as she'd climbed out of his car.
"It's lovely to meet you, dear," I had said while following her around as she looked over a number of our paintings. "Pierce has told me so much about you." When Zara had simply bit her lip and nodded, failing to even turn and make eye contact with me, I had found my patience already running thin. It had been obvious why she was at our home as her eyes lit up; she must have been calculating the value of everything as she walked around, running her fingertip along the edges of all of my prized possessions. The girl had no shame at all. I had known I should have tried to keep my cool, but I could see straight through her. "He's told me all about the expensive restaurants he's taken you to and the gifts he buys you," I had said in a stern tone while she eyed up a cabinet filled with collectible ornamental antiques. "See something you like, do you?"
Zara had suddenly shot a dirty look towards me and narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"
Pierce too had looked like a dear caught in headlights. "Mother," he had said while steering Zara away. "We've only just arrived."
"Is she trying to be funny?" Zara had asked while tugging at Pierce's sleeve as he led her into the living area. "Oh, wow," she had said while passing through the door way. "Everything is so beautiful and expensive looking." Clearly, her feeble mind had already got back on task and my slight had been rapidly forgotten.
However, I had thought that with my being older, the mother of her boyfriend, and this being our first meeting, Zara would have responded to my remark by apologising and making more of an effort. Her response had been confrontational, seeming to throw my words straight back at me, which had made me worried about any future coming together of heads. I wasn't very good when it came to arguments and it had seemed that she held no respect at all for her elders and lacked any class or decorum. Pierce couldn't have picked a worse girlfriend, and even at that early stage, I had only hoped that he would realise she wasn't suitable.
Knowing of their visit, I had prepared a tea set ahead of time, along with some small sandwiches and cakes: the signature afternoon tea. Everything had been set out beautifully and once Pierce had shown Zara to her seat, I had seen tea as an opportunity for us to break the ice. Things had not started off well, and I had been partly to blame for that. Yes, Zara's behaviour had been transparent, but still, I should have acted with more class. I was the matriarch of the house, after all, Lady Miranda Pemberton, and I should have known that a commoner such as Zara would be completely in awe and bewildered by our beautiful home.
