Chapter 8
My mother was on to me.
But what did she know exactly? And for that matter, how did I know that she knew? These were the metaphysical questions I had been grappling with since she had joined me in the kitchen. At first, she'd greeted me cheerfully enough but soon, our chitter-chatter subsided as I came to realise I was under scrutiny. I felt as transparent as glass. It was a rum thing, this maternal intuition of hers.
What I couldn't work out was how she knew. I didn't think anyone had seen what Enide and I had been up to the night before. Even if they had, how would Mother have been made aware of it? I was sure the telephone hadn't rung this morning. It was all rather baffling.
Not that I harboured any shame, or feared reprimand. After all, I was an adult — newly minted, perhaps — but a fully-fledged one nonetheless. Besides, it wasn't as if Enide and I were engaging in some deviant or aberrant conduct. Even so, I was inclined toward discretion and preferred to keep things with Enide under wraps, at least for now.
There were a couple of reasons for my reluctance. Firstly, with our families so tightly interwoven, I was keen to avoid any strife or awkwardness. Secondly, having lived apart from my mother and sister for so long, I was ill at ease when it came to broaching certain intimate topics with them.
Mirrla joined us while I helped Mother prepare breakfast. She was already dressed, resplendent in her school uniform. Though it shames me to admit, lewd thoughts flooded my mind as I recalled what Enide had insinuated about the goings on at my sister's school.
When I came to the table, Mirrla smiled up at me. I smiled back, my face a little tight as I fought back images of uniform-clad schoolgirls engaged in acts of sapphic frottage. I blame this, at least in part, on all the smutty books my friends and I read at school. We traded these in much the same way as cigarettes are in prisons. My proclivity for this kind of fiction did little to make my imaginings less vivid.
Mother began her inquest on a pleasant note. "How were things with Enide last night?" she asked as she joined us at the table.
"Uh, fine," I replied, reaching for a bread roll.
"You came back late."
"We stayed in town for a bit," I replied without elaborating.
"Do anything nice?"
"Oh, nothing special."
"Did you stop for a drink?"
"Ah, yes... at the Konnagatt."
"Not too many I hope," Mother said, fixing me with a stern look.
"No Mother — just the one," I reported, resisting the urge to roll my eyes petulantly.
"I'm glad to hear it," Mother said approvingly. "It was good of you to fetch Eni from the station."
"Er, yes... it was no bother."
Mirrla's eyes darted back and forth between us like a spectator at a fast-paced racquet game. It was apparent that she knew something was afoot.
"Are you seeing her again today?"
"Uh, yes... later, I expect," I stuttered, omitting the fact that I was counting down the seconds to Enide's arrival.
"What about Andra?"
"Not back till the afternoon," I said quickly.
I struggled to think of a way to curtail my mother's cross-examination. In the end, I hastily smeared butter and jam on half a bread roll and stuffed it whole into my mouth. With my mouth bulging, Mother relented and paused her enquiries. She scrutinized me closely, her face bearing a strange expression. Her gaze conveyed both amusement and maternal concern for her firstborn's welfare, all at once.
Finally, in tacit acknowledgement of my reluctance to speak, Mother smiled and changed tack. Mirrla could barely conceal her disappointment. The remainder of breakfast was spent in pleasant conversation about less delicate topics. Afterwards, I tidied up the kitchen while Mother and Mirrla readied themselves, and then I drove them to their respective destinations before returning home.
I took a hurried shower, worried Enide might arrive and I wouldn't hear her at the door. Afterwards, I towelled myself dry with all the meticulous attention of a shoeshiner, whistling all the while. I spent a long time brushing my hair, leaving it shiny and glossy, as if it had been licked into place by a gigantic mother cat.
As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I couldn't help but compare myself to the wealthy boys I had gone to school with. My friends at Fortunbrae were fine people and didn't lack in decency or humility. But they shared a certain trait — an innate confidence that the fine things in the world belonged to them by natural right.
"Let them," I thought to myself. The finest thing of all belonged to me and, soon she would be knocking at my door.
That knock came just as I finished smoothing my bedcovers with military precision, hoping they would soon be thoroughly disarranged. I took one last glance in the mirror and decided my hair looked too cared for. With a quick ruffle, I rushed downstairs to answer the door.
Enide was standing with her back to the door, bathed in the warm glow of the spring sunlight that lent her golden hair an ethereal quality. It almost seemed as if she had second thoughts and was about to leave, but she turned around when I opened the door. She was wearing a lovely pale yellow dress and a cream-coloured coat with a wide lapel that reached down to her thighs. A pair of round sunglasses rested atop her head.
She didn't smile or speak. It wasn't a good sign — something was amiss.
I wiped the grin off my face and stood aside, wordlessly beckoning her to enter. She crossed the threshold without a sound but lingered close to me, as though she wanted me to kiss her, but her countenance was sombre and she shied away from my gaze.
"Tell me what's wrong," I asked.
Enide replied, "Can we talk?" and walked down into the lounge without waiting for my response.
After a brief pause in the hallway, I followed her. I won't deny that my initial reaction was a potent mix of disappointment and frustration, but I managed to calm myself once the initial surge of anger subsided. As it turned out, my concerns were unwarranted. Enide looked so dejected that my only thought was how I could comfort her.
As I approached, Enide looked at me before turning to let me help her out of her coat. The sleeves of her dress were diaphanous, tempting me to run my fingers over her soft skin. A brown and gold scarf was loosely draped around her neck, held together by a simple bronze-tinted brooch. After she turned to face me again, she looked up at me with an unflinching and resolute expression.
I gestured for her to take a seat and sat down beside her on the sofa. We kept a safe distance between us like two wary animals cautiously circling each other.
"Last night," Enide began, "I let myself get swept up."
