Chapter 13

The week seemed quieter after the whirl of the art class and the ball. For Rachel, it was almost a relief—until her phone buzzed with a WhatsApp call from her mother.

Pauline’s face appeared, framed by the kitchen light in her Ashburton flat.
“Well, love, how are you holding up over there?”

Rachel leaned back on her couch, smiling. “I’m fine, Mum. More than fine, actually. A lot’s been happening these last couple of weeks.”

She launched into a summary of the ball, the Linwood art class, and how she and Matt had been spending more time together. Pauline listened intently, her lips pursed, the sort of expression Rachel knew well: half-concern, half-disbelief.

“Darling,” Pauline said at last, “I can’t help wondering ... this Matt fellow you keep mentioning. He sounds nice enough, but is he moving a bit fast? You’ve been through a lot, and you’re still finding your feet. He’s older, established, confident. Isn’t there a risk he might be—”

“Taking advantage of me?” Rachel finished for her, perhaps a shade sharper than she intended.

Pauline raised her hands. “I didn’t say that exactly, but ... you are vulnerable, love. You’ve always been trusting, sometimes too much. And men can sense that. They can twist it. I don’t want anyone sweeping you along before you’ve had a chance to decide what you really want.”

Rachel breathed slowly. A few months ago, she would have shrunk back, let her mother’s words burrow into her chest. But this time she steadied herself.
“Mum, I’m not the same girl who left home. I appreciate you worrying, but you don’t know him like I do. He’s been nothing but good to me. Truly. I wouldn’t still be seeing him otherwise. I’m learning to stand on my own. Matt’s not pushing me anywhere. We’re taking it step by step.”