A Winter's Wedding by Sharon Owens Read Free Book Online Page B

was a professional gambler. I don’t think either of them ever felt particularly fulfilled. But then again, Belfast isn’t exactly a career opportunity hotspot. And we’re not very big on self-help and soul-searching either. That’s it, really.’
    ‘But you said they were eccentric. That all sounds reasonably normal to me, especially your mother being a full-time housewife.’
    Emily bit her lip. How much could she sugar-coat the facts? she wondered. ‘The truth is, my mum shops rather a lot.’
    ‘A lot?’ he said, puzzled. ‘Like, more than the average woman?’
    ‘Yes, much more than the average woman. An awful lot more.’
    ‘Is she in actual fact a shoplifter?’
    ‘No, she’s not a thief. Thank the Lord!’
    ‘Sorry for even thinking it. Do you mean she’s a shopaholic?’
    ‘Maybe I do.’
    ‘Is she really a shopaholic?’
    ‘Yes, she is.’
    ‘I was only joking. Aren’t all women shopaholics?’ Dylan laughed.
    ‘Not like my mum. She can spend an entire day browsing for one little thing – one candle or one packet of soup. She only comes home again when the shops are closing, and sometimes not even then. She window-shops until it gets dark.’
    ‘Wow.’
    ‘Yes, big wow. She’s also a heavy smoker. And she likes a drink. That’s pretty much my mother for you. Always shopping or smoking or having a wee sip.’
    ‘You sound very sad when you talk about your mother.’
    ‘We’re not close,’ Emily admitted. ‘I was more or less reared on Kellogg’s Corn Flakes, with the telly for company.’ She laughed then, but the laughter didn’t quite reach her eyes.
    ‘What sort of things does your mum buy?’
    ‘Do you really want to know?’ Emily said.
    ‘Yes, I’m totally into retail psychology. Can’t you tell?’ he laughed, indicating the shabby shelves dotted with equal amounts of trash and treasure.
    ‘Well, let me see. Ashtrays mostly – nice ones and novelty ones. Cups and saucers – preferably discontinued lines of fine bone china. She’s very fond of leather belts and shoes, leather handbags and purses; she thinks having real leather accessories is a sign of good breeding. She also collects soap dishes, teapots, plant pots, egg cups, coasters, place mats and cutlery. And linen napkins and glass cruet sets. And small kitchen appliances …’
    ‘Does she like giving dinner parties?’ Dylan said.
    ‘No, she’s very antisocial,’ Emily said matter-of-factly. ‘She never cooks either. I have no idea why I’m telling you all this. It’s sure to put you off me.’
    ‘No, I think it sounds fascinating.’
    Emily didn’t tell Dylan that her mother had opted to visit a new department store in Belfast on the day that Emily had graduated from university. Or that she’d queued for seven hours to get into a big sale in Brown Thomas in Dublin on the day Emily was due to get married to Alex. Or that she owned over a hundred ashtrays but not a single picture frame with a photograph of Emily in it. Or that she’d been hospitalized three times during Emily’s childhood when her drinking had spiralled out of control. No, there was no point in telling Dylan any of that, she decided, even if he did seem like the easiest person in the whole world to talk to. It was too soon to go making the big revelations. However, she did feel something in her heart wake up and begin to enjoy the attention that Dylan was paying her. And she felt a sort of sadness too. For she knew now, in her innermost heart of hearts, that her mother would never change. She would never be the sort of devoted, clucking mother that Emily had always wanted her to be.
    ‘How did you come to work for the magazine?’ Dylan asked next.
    ‘What? Sorry, I was miles away.’
    ‘The magazine, how did you end up working there?’
    ‘That was kind of a strange thing too, now you mention it. I was on the checkout in Marks & Spencer, and Arabella – that’s my boss – was chatting on her mobile phone and she dropped her