Page 19 of Try Hard
“When are you leaving?” she asked, voice purposely cutting.
Mum tutted at the two of us. “Play nice. You’re not children anymore.”
Soph gasped dramatically, pausing as she came down the stairs. “We’re not? Why did nobody tell me?”
I laughed as I pulled my mum into a hug. It was nice to be back. “I think you’re supposed to figure that out for yourself when they kick you out into the big, wide world and tell you to get a job.”
Soph made it to the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her own hug. “Oh, right. And I just took up drawing on people, so it doesn’t really feel like a job.”
Mum shot her a look, heading back towards the kitchen. “Sophie, please don’t tell me that’s how you describe your job to people?”
“It’s not,” she replied easily. “But maybe it should be. It is technically true, and that’s my favourite kind of true.”
We followed Mum into the kitchen, Hercules trotting along at our heels, and found Terrence standing at the stove, laughing.
“What?” Soph asked him, hoisting herself up onto one of the countertops.
“You sound like some of my lawyer friends,” he said, shooting her an anticipatory look. He knew how much she’d hate that comparison.
“Ick. Proper, real, adult jobs? No thanks.”
I sat on the floor again, allowing Hercules to clamber awkwardly into my lap, technically too big for it. “Yeah, imagine Soph in a suit, having meetings, working regular hours…”
“I have meetings,” she shot back with a scowl.
I laughed. “Somehow, I imagine yours are a little more lighthearted than the ones lawyers routinely have.”
“Not my fault they picked a boring job.” She nodded in my direction. “Even you’re going that way.”
“I’m an interior designer,” I said, deadpan. “It’s hardly life or death.”
“Don’t tell your clients that,” Terrence quipped, and I laughed, looking up at him. From down on the floor he looked even taller than usual, and the man already felt a little too tall forthe low ceilings and exposed beams of my mum’s cottage. I was tempted to ask him how many times he’d smacked his head on them.
“Indeed,” Soph agreed. “If they don’t get just the right shade of terracotta flooring, they might perish.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “Laugh it up.”
My mum shot me a look. “At least her job isn’t life or death forheranymore.”
Soph scowled again, dropping her head in defeat, while Terrance simply wrapped his free arm around my mum’s shoulders, still stirring whatever was in the large, cast iron pot before him.
My mum had always been proud, but she’d also worried. Concussions were common in rugby, and she knew the dangers of them. That, along with the risk of other injuries, had made her more than a little relieved when I’d finally hung up my professional rugby boots.
“So,” Terrance said, cheerfully changing the subject, “how was plane spotting?”
I grinned up at him. “Honestly? Great. I mean, cold and I was a little unprepared for how chilly you get just standing out there for hours, but the group was fantastic, Dad’s clearly having a great time with it, and, yeah, really fun.”
“That’s lovely,” Mum said sincerely. “I’m so glad things are working out for Jeremy.”
Terrance gave her the warmest smile and I was hit with that same feeling as earlier, when Alistair spoke about his wife. My parents hadn’t been right for each other in the end, but they were doing really well in divorce. They weren’t best friends, but neither of them struggled to talk about the other, they still cared and wanted great things for the other. It was healthy—healthier than those final few years had been—and it just… fit. While Terrance saw my mum the way she’d always wished Dadcould, he understood and supported her feelings around Dad. No romantic love left, no wishing they were still together, but a deep, familial care for the man who’d once built a life with her and fathered her children. Love was a many-faceted thing.
“And,” Terrance said, looking at me and Hercules, “I figured you’d be chilly, so we’re having ital stew. That should warm you right up.”
I smiled delightedly at him. “You’re the best.”
Ital stew had been something Terrance’s grandmother used to make for him, and it was one of the first dishes he’d made for us, given that my mum had told him all about me being a vegetarian. He’d since adapted a bunch of Jamaican dishes to my diet, but ital stew still held a special place in my heart.
I pulled out my phone, checking it again, and fully deserving it when Hercules whacked me with his paw after I stopped stroking him with both hands.
