Where's the nearest clothes shop?” “Sorry?” Her voice was milk-maid cute. “I need to buy a pair of trousers.” I saw her look down at my legs which were clearly not naked. “For the wedding. Today. Here. This afternoon.” “Oh. Righto. Well ...” She launched into a potted geography of the local area, punctuated with snippets of her own very local history and that of various neighbours, school friends and family members. Eventually she disgorged that there was a gentleman's outfitters in the small town about fifteen minutes away. I thanked her and left, texting Alice, knowing that it'd make her laugh. Her response seemed to suggest that it did. I screeched out of the car park and, following a mixture of landmarks mentioned by the receptionist and vague half-rotted sign posts I made it. Small high street. My mum would love it. Proper shops. Hardly any major chains. Certainly no Starbucks or Pret A Manger. I found the place alright, opened the door and stepped in. Or maybe I should say. For both Kris and me it was like truly coming home. There was none of the “what have you been doing lately” nonsense. For one reason, I knew that Mom and Kris talked on the phone every day, and I would have lunch frequently with Dad. They knew what we had been doing lately at least as well as we did ourselves. It was Friday night, and after cocktails and hors d’oeuvres, Mom served a beautiful dinner. It was French haute cuisine, and was superb. She hastened to inform us that the dinner was due to Kris’s coaching.Finally we were just sitting around the dining table enjoying coffee and cognac when Mom reached out both hands, one to me and the other to Kris. Then looking into Kris’s eyes she asked, “When are you and Cam getting married, Daughter?”Sadly shaking her head, Kris said softly, “We’re not, Mother. We can’t. I’m a whore, remember?”“And there’s no way a girl with your background would ever be accepted in a family like the Harris’s. Right?”Kris just nodded.“Young lady...” she.
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