He closed the book he’d been reading. ‘One of those weeks, is it, Charlotte?’ ‘This time I’m not joking. I’ve had enough. I want to leave.’ That made him sit up. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let me pour you a coffee and then you can tell me all about it.’ I waited while he took the jug off its stand, filled two cups, turned down the Baroque music he’d had playing in the background. Telemann again. Nowadays it was one of my favourites. I knew if I lived to be a hundred, Telemann’s Allegros would always transport me back to Martin’s office. ‘All righty,’ he said, placing a cup of evil-smelling Java in front of me. Then he settled back to listen. So I told him about Will calling my mother ‘Mummy’. ‘It was horrible,’ I said, ‘like someone slicing my chest right open. I couldn’t believe it. To call her his mother. Her! What does that make me? I knew it wouldn’t work, me being away so much!
