‘I’d had too much gin then,’ she dismisses.
Reaching up for the highest lock, I’m glad she can’t see the expression on my face. ‘And this time you’re going to stay off the booze?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, darling. But gin makes me silly. I’ll have Pimm’s instead.’
I turn round. She’s observing me with a mixture of fondness and despair. I can’t blame her really.
‘What happens if there’s a fire?’ she asks.
‘Mum...’
‘I’m being serious. You’ll never get out in a hurry.’
‘I’m very careful. As you well know.’
She snorts. ‘You’re twenty-five years old. You’re not supposed to be careful. You’re supposed to have fun.’
‘I am having fun.’ I don’t look at her as I say this. I don’t have to.
‘We could try the doctor again.’
‘I’ve seen enough doctors.’ I remain stubborn. ‘Besides, few of them make house calls these days.’
‘Madge’s son has a friend from university who’s a psychiatrist.’
I grit my teeth. My condition is not a secret but I still get wound up when it’s obvious she’s been discussing me. She spoke to Madge, Madge spoke to her son, her son spoke to his mates. I know I’m a weirdo; I don’t need the rest of the world to know it too. Okay, my mother means well but I’ve been down this road before – and not just once. I’ve accepted my life with what I believe is impressive equilibrium. I wish everyone else would do the same.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I manage.
‘I’m not staying. I have an appointment at the hairdresser’s.’ She eyes my home-hacked mop but thankfully doesn’t comment. ‘I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Do you need anything?’
I soften. She goes out of her way to look after me and it can’t be easy having a hermit for a daughter. ‘No. I had a delivery yesterday.’
She waggles her eyebrows. It’s a feat I’ve tried to replicate many times in the mirror but I can’t manage the same moue of distaste that she conveys. ‘You are lucky you were born at the right time for the internet. You never need to leave the house.’
I offer a small smile. ‘No, I don’t. And that’s why you should stop worrying about me.’
‘What else would I do?’ She reaches over and pecks me on the cheek. Her breath smells of peppermint and she’s wearing a different perfume.
‘Mother...’
‘What?’ She blinks innocently.
‘Are you meeting Mr McIntyre later?’
‘What if I am?’
I put my hands on my hips. ‘He’s married.’
‘Henry is a good friend.’
‘Is that what you call it these days?’
‘You would like him if you met him. I can bring him round, you know.’ Her eyes gleam. ‘Then you’ll be sure there’s no hanky-panky taking place.’
‘Don’t you dare.’ I hate having strangers in the house.
She gazes at me thoughtfully and taps the corner of her mouth. ‘Tell you what. I won’t bring him round if you leave the door unlocked after I leave. Not for long,’ she adds hastily, forestalling my protest, ‘say, just an hour or two?’
‘You’re being ridiculous.’
‘Am I?’ Her expression is steely. I can’t help wondering whether this was her motive in popping round. The trouble is, I know her well enough to be aware that she’ll make good on her threat if I don’t do as she asks. I can’t lie to her either – ever since the time I ate all the chocolate-chip cookies and blamed it on the dog, she’s been able to wheedle out any untruths.
‘That’s not fair,’ I say quietly. ‘You know how hard it is for me.’
‘I know. Just an hour, darling.’ She twists her hands together and I realise how much she needs this. It will put me on high alert and induce backbreaking tension but my mother needs to feel I’m making progress.
Blood starts pounding in my ears. I do my best to ignore it. ‘Okay. One hour.’
She’s relieved. ‘Thank you. You’ll see, Zoe. Nothing bad will happen. You’re not going outside, you’re not going to be in any danger. You’re just not locking the door, that’s all.’ She gives me a tight, warm hug. My arms feel leaden but I reciprocate. ‘Are you going to let me escape from Alcatraz?’ she asks lightly.
I nod, moving my body to block the sight of my shaking hands. She’s trying to protect me from me and I’m trying to protect her from me too. It’s farcical.