Page 21 of Worth Every Game

JACK

Everyone is high off adrenaline after the fire and Mum isn’t the only one who’s keen to get to another venue to have a drink. I’d rather head to bed and rest, especially given Elly’s gone home, but I don’t want to let everyone down.

Our drivers are waiting to take us to the West End. Me, Mum and Kate get into our car, and the Hawkstons take theirs. Lydia, who’s still floating around like a bad fucking smell, gets in the Hawkston car, because I quickly close the door on ours when she heads towards me. She was quick to turn to Seb and cling to him like a lifeline. He can deal with her. She’s not my problem.

In the back of the car, Mum pulls an envelope from her handbag and hands it to me.

“What’s this?” I ask, bemused, as I open it. A bunch of photographs fall out, and every image is a headshot of a different woman.

As I gather them up, Kate watches, her gaze flicking between me, Mum, and the photographs. She looks as confused as I feel.

“I’ve put together a list of the most eligible young women in London.” Mum reaches out and taps the photos on my lap. “All of these have my approval.”

What the fuck?

Next to me, a smothered, spluttering sound escapes Kate’s mouth, which she tries to catch in her cupped hand. She must be drunk to be openly ridiculing Mum.

Mum sits back in her seat, a self-satisfied expression on her face.She’s serious.“I’ve written their details on the back, so you can decide for yourself. It’s about time you settled down. I’ve picked the best of the best there.”

I don’t move for at least five seconds, holding a load of images of women I don’t know. How Mum moves on so fast from a burning building to this is bewildering. I always knew she was unusual as far as mothers go, but this is next-level craziness. She must have been holding this back all night.

I flick through the photos because what the fuck else am I supposed to do? Some of them are printed, others are obviously cut from magazines and stuck on bits of card. Pretty young society women, smiling up at me, their names and ages and educational details on the back in Mum’s neat handwriting. There must be at least fifteen here.

I have no interest in any of these women, especially given my body is still recalling the feeling of Elly in my arms. There’s no space in my head for anyone else.

I can’t help wondering what Mum would say if she knew I’d nearly kissed Elly tonight. She’d fucking hate it.

“Oh, look. Isn’t that Princess Astrid?” Kate says, leaning across to flick one of the pictures.

“Royalty?” I arch a brow at Mum.

“Only the best for my boy.” Mum purses her lips, still looking delighted. “You’re the heir to Lansen Luxury Hotels, after all.”

I lean back in my seat. “Lansen doesn’t exist anymore. We sold out to Nico. No one cares.”

Mum draws her chin in. “Our hotels were always a cut above any of the Hawkstons’, and don’t you forget it. The Lansen name means something in this city. We’ve got to hang onto that.”

Kate shoots me a look that says ‘our mother is a nutcase’, but I don’t return it because Mum’s attention is so harshly pinned on me that she’d notice. I shuffle through a few more of the pictures until I hit another face I recognise, flipping it so Mum can see it. “She’s married to a guy I went to school with. Do you know that?” But even as I hold the image up, I can see on the back that Mum has noted that she’s married, but next to it she’s written ‘on the rocks?’

“Yes, but I don’t think it’ll last,” Mum announces as if it’s perfectly normal to be anticipating the end of a marriage so you can nab one half of the partnership. “She’ll be divorced within twelve months. She’ll get a huge divorce settlement too. I heard her husband has been—”

“Thanks,” I say, cutting Mum off. “But I’m okay.” I stuff the photos back in the envelope and hand them back.

Mum doesn’t take them, and her features harden. “You’re not okay. You keep flitting from woman to woman as though they’re dishes at a buffet. Enough is enough. You’re thirty-five. It’s time to get serious about your future. And these women”—she nods at the envelope I’m still holding—“are it. One of them is the mother of my grandchildren. I know it.”

For fuck’s sake.I have not had enough to drink for this conversation.

“What about Lydia?” Kate asks. “I thought you were dating?”

“No, I’m not—”

“I liked Lydia very much,” Mum interjects. “She’s in there too.” She waves at the envelope. “Did you know she’s the great-granddaughter of Sir Marcus Compton? A fine family. One of thebest.” I roll my eyes at this, and Kate smirks, but Mum ignores us both, continuing to pontificate. “A wonderful coincidence that you’d already met her. I think it’s a sign, darling, so if you don’t want any of the others, I’d be very content if you chose Lydia. In fact, she and I have arranged to go for tea next week. I’d love to have a daughter I could relate to.”

Beside me, Kate sucks in a breath. Our mother is the queen of back-handed blows. I’d pull her up on it, but there’s no fucking point. She’s like a brick wall; nothing you say gets through.

“Lydia? Really? She was wearing a mask with my face on it,” I say.

“I saw those,” Mum says. “I thought they were adorable. You have a very handsome face, darling. In fact, I might ask her if she has a spare one so I can pin it on your bedroom door and imagine you never left home.”