Turns out, that old saying about expecting the worst and never being disappointed super doesn’t work. Jon Fleming behaving exactly like Jon Fleming had no right to hurt this much. “Thanks for not sugarcoating that.”

“Well, look on the bright side. Now you know for certain he’s a worthless sack of shit that you don’t want in your life at all.”

“Yeah”—I looked up, slightly wet-eyed and not sure what my expression was doing—“I guess I knew that going in.”

“No, you felt it. There’s a difference. Now, you’ll never wonder. And your father cannot pull this bullshit on you ever again.”

“Mum, if that’s your idea of a life lesson, it sucks.”

“Bof. Sometimes life sucks.” She paused. “He still wants to do the album, you know.”

I stared at her. “Seriously?”

“He’s surprisingly dependable where fame and money are concerned.”

Obviously, this was the last thing I wanted. It was bad enough when he’d walked out on us. Now, apparently, he was just walking out on me. And it was stupid and selfish, but I did not want to share my mum with Jon Fucking Fleming. He did not deserve that. “It…it’d be a great opportunity for you.”

“Maybe, but I’m probably going to tell him to go fuck himself.”

“Is that,” I asked, “a good idea?”

She made another French noise. “I was going to say, ‘No but it will be extremely satisfying.’ But, actually, yes. It is a good idea. I don’t need the money and neither do you. You won’t take anything from me as it is. So I’m sure you wouldn’t if it had your father’s cockprints all over it—”

“Thanks for that image.”

“And if I wanted to be making music, I’d be making music. I don’t need anyone’s permission for that, especially not Jon Fleming’s.”

“I know it’s none of my business, which is why I’ve never brought it up but, why did you never make another album?”

She offered one of her most expressive shrugs. “Lots of reasons. I’m still very rich, I’ve said what I needed to say. And then I had you, and I had Judy.”

“Um.” My mouth opened and closed a few times. “Judy? Mum, are you coming out to me? Have you been A Gay all this time?”

“Oh, Luc”—she gazed at me in disappointment—“you are so narrow-minded. Judy is my best friend. And when you have lived the kind of life I have, you realise that the big sexy love is not the kind that really matters. Besides, I’m a famous older French lady. If I want to get laid, I can.”

“Please stop. Just stop.”

“You were the one who wanted to know if you’d grown up in a secret lesbian fuck palace.”

“Okay. Never ever say that phrase again.”

“The point is, I loved making music. And I loved your father. And I love Judy. And I love you. In very different ways. I have never wanted to have sex with my guitar or watch Drag Race with Jon Fleming.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Honestly, I think it would threaten his masculinity. He once said he was going to glass Bowie for looking at him funny. I was very embarrassed. I told him, David’s not a gay. He’s just pretty.”

I covered my mouth with my hands and gave a sobbing sort of laugh. “Oh, Mum, I love you. And I know it’s not about me, but if you did change your mind about the album thing, I’d…I’d, y’know…be fine with it.”

“Even if I wanted to work with your father again—which I very much do not—he has treated my son incredibly badly, and I am very angry with him about that. Also Judy and I are getting into Terrace House so we are going to be extremely busy.”

We fell into silence, which was something Mum usually reserved for special occasions so she was probably more concerned about me than she was letting on. Problem was, I wasn’t entirely sure what to say. Or, for that matter, how I felt.

Eventually, she nudged her shoulder lightly against mine. “What of you, mon caneton? I am sorry you have had to go through this.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure? You do not have to say that if it is not true.”

I did something that, on a better day, I would have been thinking about. “I don’t know…it could be. Maybe it’s because I half knew it was coming—I mean not the ‘oh I’m totally fine, fuck you’—but the being let down. It hurts like hell, but not in the way I thought it would. Not in a way that changes anything.”

“That is good. I know it’s a cliché, but he really isn’t worth it. He’s just an old bald man with a leaky prostate who’s on TV sometimes.”

I grinned. “They should make that his intro package.”

“And yet, for some reason, they never even asked me to give them a quote. Though I still get royalties every time they use one of our clips.”

We were quiet again for a moment.

“I think,” I said finally, “what’s weirding me out is that I’ve spent my whole life wondering why Jon Fleming didn’t want me. And now I’m annoyed that I spent such a long time trying to understand this complete arsehole when there are so many people around me who…aren’t complete arseholes.”

“Yes, it’s funny how arseholes do that to you.”

“How do you stop them?”

“You don’t. You just get on with things and eventually it’s…fine. And you’re fine. And you feel briefly bitter you spent so long not being fine. But then you’re fine.”

“I’m…I’m pretty sure I’m in the bitter stage.”

“Eh. That’s good. It’s better than the ‘Oh no, what did I do wrong, am I terrible person’ stage. And the next step you will hardly notice because you will be fine and you will have a lovely son and a best friend and you can watch Drag Race with her dogs. I mean, that’s me, obviously, not you. But you can do the you version.”

I slumped back on the sofa. “I guess. But what with, y’know, everything, I’m not sure I’ve ever had a chance to work out what the me version is.”

“Maybe it’s whatever you’re doing right now.”

Great in principle. But, unfortunately, what I was doing right now was losing someone I actually did care about, not just my wankstain of a father. “Oliver dumped me.”

“Oh, Luc.” She gave me a genuinely sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. What happened?”