For the Sake of Appearances Pt. 01

I'd been sipping my coffee for the past half hour while perusing her Instagram profile; her story having updated mere moments before. I'd been waiting for the single, and there it was: Zara was currently busy, and most importantly, my son was alone.

All of this social media stuff was ridiculously insipid to me; nothing but self-indulgence and a complete waste of time. I couldn't believe that the youth of today invested so much energy into how they appeared to others. They'd struggle from week to week to pay their bills, all the while posting snapshots of expensive dinners or glamorous hotels. What was the point? Providing a glimpse into a false life for the sake of appearances? Who cared about appearances that much? What had happened to common decency and hard work? Everything these days was about the number of likes you could get or the amount of followers one could rack up. My family hadn't built its legacy on social media, and I rolled my eyes at this foolish pursuit of some frail popularity.

I sneered while scrolling further down her profile. Photo after photo of the gold-digging bitch flirting with the camera through a variety of provocative poses, all alone with her designer brands. It had been this way ever since she'd turned up in our lives. Where was my son in all of this? He wasn't present for a single photograph, though I knew he was likely the one behind the scenes being ordered to take picture after picture until the bitch queen was satisfied. Those expensive dinners she enjoyed posing with, her mouth wide and eager to start nibbling? Paid for by my son. Those luxury five-star hotels with the infinity pools that she just so adored wearing her string bikini in? You guessed it: all thanks to my son's credit card.

I clicked the most recent photograph from a few days earlier, and low and behold, there Zara was, grinning into the camera in a tight dress with a plateful of lobster and oysters. I looked towards the location and noted that they had been in Iceland. This was the twelfth stop on their 'trip of a lifetime' swan around Europe. Previous photos of Zara flaunting her stuff around Paris, Berlin, and Rome had me seething. Next came the days spent sunning on the beaches of Greece and partying on the islands of Croatia. Finally they'd moseyed on up to Scandinavia where the prices had surely hiked right up. I'd been opposed to the trip from the outset, though, at Zara's insistence, my foolish son had gone ahead and bowed to her wishes. The girl had taunted me with every passing update; I almost felt that she was looking straight through the camera at me, laughing while she had my son cover her every expense. Why did it grate me so much? Because I'd said no, I didn't approve of their relationship, and Zara had got her way regardless.

I scrolled further down the page until that dreaded date the two of them had met a year back: Valentine's Day. They'd met on some stupid dating application and agreed to make it a special one for their first blind date of sorts. He told me about it and showed me a photo. Yes, she was pretty, but I just rolled my eyes. Another girl that didn't have much about her other than her looks. I figured he'd see straight through her. However, my son is a lovely boy, but sometimes he can be a bit naïve. In this case, he'd been a dullard from the beginning, I mean, who goes for a first date on 14^th February!? Afterwards he spilled all the details to me about how great she was, but I only paid attention to the important stuff. This Zara had picked the restaurant, my son had paid the bill and she'd expected him to bring her a Valentine's present too; she'd even told him what she wanted. I'd tried to talk him out of it beforehand, but he turned up to that date with expensive perfume and a bunch of roses. Not only that, but she didn't even have any career of sorts or any academic achievements. Unsurprisingly, she knew she was onto a winner from that first day and her claws were well and truly latched on. Their relationship had been defined by that moment ever since.

The photos on her Instagram before that day were far different. There was none of the luxury or glamour that drowned her feed these days. There were mostly photos she'd taken of herself, often in the bathroom mirror or at the gym. I could admit her looks were her best asset: tight body, come-to-bed eyes, full lips, dark, curled hair and perky breasts that reminded me of my better days. But, that's all she had going for her in those early photos. It was almost as if she was a honey trap and had laid the bait to ensnare a suitor. There was none of the gourmet food at expensive restaurants, none of the beaches and certainly none of the designer brands. Then my son had clumsily come along and ever since Zara had been living the glamorous lifestyle.

Of course, despite my initial reservations after that first day, I gave her a chance. Well, sort of. As the ever doting and caring mother, once they'd had a number of dates, and Pierce ensured me that things were serious, I laid out the welcome mat and invited Zara into my home. I was fully committed to giving her a grilling and uncovering her intentions regarding my son, but, I had given her the slimmest chance to impress me.

"Well, this is nice," she'd said while stepping into the foyer of our large stately home and darting her head around like some nosey bird. She clutched a brand-new designer purse in her manicured hands and her expensive heels were clacking all over the polished, marble floor. She had seemed more interested in our home than myself, and had barely acknowledged me since the initial, friendly waves as she'd climbed out of his car.

"It's lovely to meet you, dear," I had said while following her around as she looked over a number of our paintings. "Pierce has told me so much about you." When Zara had simply bit her lip and nodded, failing to even turn and make eye contact with me, I had found my patience already running thin. It had been obvious why she was at our home as her eyes lit up; she must have been calculating the value of everything as she walked around, running her fingertip along the edges of all of my prized possessions. The girl had no shame at all. I had known I should have tried to keep my cool, but I could see straight through her. "He's told me all about the expensive restaurants he's taken you to and the gifts he buys you," I had said in a stern tone while she eyed up a cabinet filled with collectible ornamental antiques. "See something you like, do you?"

Zara had suddenly shot a dirty look towards me and narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

Pierce too had looked like a dear caught in headlights. "Mother," he had said while steering Zara away. "We've only just arrived."

"Is she trying to be funny?" Zara had asked while tugging at Pierce's sleeve as he led her into the living area. "Oh, wow," she had said while passing through the door way. "Everything is so beautiful and expensive looking." Clearly, her feeble mind had already got back on task and my slight had been rapidly forgotten.

However, I had thought that with my being older, the mother of her boyfriend, and this being our first meeting, Zara would have responded to my remark by apologising and making more of an effort. Her response had been confrontational, seeming to throw my words straight back at me, which had made me worried about any future coming together of heads. I wasn't very good when it came to arguments and it had seemed that she held no respect at all for her elders and lacked any class or decorum. Pierce couldn't have picked a worse girlfriend, and even at that early stage, I had only hoped that he would realise she wasn't suitable.

Knowing of their visit, I had prepared a tea set ahead of time, along with some small sandwiches and cakes: the signature afternoon tea. Everything had been set out beautifully and once Pierce had shown Zara to her seat, I had seen tea as an opportunity for us to break the ice. Things had not started off well, and I had been partly to blame for that. Yes, Zara's behaviour had been transparent, but still, I should have acted with more class. I was the matriarch of the house, after all, Lady Miranda Pemberton, and I should have known that a commoner such as Zara would be completely in awe and bewildered by our beautiful home.

"Would you like some tea, Zara?" I had offered while taking a seat next to the small table.

"That would be lovely," she had said while placing her handbag at her side. She had fidgeted awkwardly in the elegant chair, seeming more the sort of girl that lounged around on sofas rather than decadent furniture. Even as I had set out the saucers, Zara seemed lost in the walls of our living area, glancing around and marvelling at all of our expensive and luxury possessions.

I had poured a cup and placed it on a saucer near her, then, as I had caught Pierce's eye, I spied an opportunity to undo all of the damage that my earlier, petty, snipe may have caused. After all, I should have been the one to act with grace; Zara's ilk would likely dig her own grave once left to her devices. "Make yourself at home," I had said pleasantly while gesturing towards the table and seat.

"I don't mind if I do," she had said with a giggle, and with that, Zara had settled back into the armchair, then instinctively slipped her dainty feet from her designer heels, outstretching and crossing them on my tea table. "You have such a lovely home," she said, oblivious to myself and Pierce recoiling in horror at her faux pas.

"Ummm, darling," Pierce had said, while slipping an arm around her. "Mother doesn't like feet on the furniture. It's considered quite rude in our circles."

Zara had turned her head slightly and looked at him confused, before she turned and looked towards her feet, wiggling her toes playfully. "But I always do this at your apartment," she had said. "Whenever we're watching a movie together, remember?"

I had leant forward and tried to be as polite as possible, though speaking with slow and pronounced words, "We're not at Pierce's apartment right now, dear, are we?"

Zara had looked at her feet again, still wiggling her toes provocatively; her pink nails dancing around without a care in the world. Even though she had clearly known that she was annoying me and making me feel uncomfortable, she had seemed to be in no rush to remove her feet from the table. "What's so rude about this? My family does this all the time. It's completely normal."

"Let's err on the side of caution on that," I had said. "Please could you remove your feet from the table?" I nodded towards the tea set. "All of the nibbles and beverages are here."

Zara had squinted at me while casually flexing her soles and twisting her crossed feet. There had been a moment where the two of us stared at each other, almost as if a battle of wills was taking place during the pettiest of situations. Thankfully, Pierce had intervened by squeezing her on the shoulder. "Come on, darling. It's not that big of a deal. You can relax when we're back home, but please respect my mother's wishes." He had leant into her, and though he had tried to whisper, I had caught him say, "I said try and make a good impression, remember?"

Zara had pouted, then let out an exaggerated tut. "Fine," she had said, while retracting her feet and placing them back beneath the tea table. She had fidgeted with her fingers in her lap and it was obvious she had something else to say. Her lips had twitched, till eventually they were unable to contain whatever thought was brewing within. As Pierce had looked on, she said, "I just don't get why it's such a big deal?" She had turned her attention towards me with accusing eyes. "I mean, you said to make myself feel at home, didn't you? Was that a lie?"

I had looked towards my son, unsure how to respond. Why was she being so confrontational in my own home? Her behaviour had lacked class and obviously that had been just the usual polite welcome that everyone offered; I hadn't expected to be interrogated over my chosen greeting and as a result I was left speechless.

"Well?" Zara had asked, seeming to sense that I was lost for words. "Were you lying?"

"Baby," Pierce had said. "Could we forget this and move on to something else please? You're making mother uncomfortable."

"Am I?" Zara had said, utterly perplexed and shooting me an expression filled with bemusement. "I haven't even done anything. I'm the one that feels uncomfortable. First, she makes a joke about me, and then I was just doing what your mom said, making myself feel at home, and now I've been made to feel like some sort of criminal."

"Fine," I had said while the temperature grew in my cheeks. I'd always hated confrontation, and I'd find myself growing nervous and anxious the more an awkward situation lingered on. Also, frustration had increasingly grown within me as Zara had been clearly trying to make me out as a villain, twisting everything in her favour. Even at that early stage, I had known I didn't like her. "Put your feet on the table," I had said while giving in and wanting an end to all of the hostility. I had looked towards my son and offered a warm, mediating smile. "Whatever makes you happy."

"I don't want to anymore," she had said while crossing her arms as a petulant pout settled on her lips. "You've made me feel bad about it."

God, I had known this girl was an obvious gold-digger, but I hadn't realised she was such an immature child in the process; I supposed that made it clear how she was able to manipulate my son from their very first interaction. I could only imagine the sulking he had to endure whenever she couldn't get her own way. The lack of respect had been astonishing. She had been a guest, and it was the first time we had met, and yet, she had felt totally comfortable acting like a child and trying to shame me in front of my son. I'd capitulated to her and had allowed her to put her feet all over my tea table and what had her response been? To prolong the situation even further and act like she'd been mortally wounded. "Please, rest your feet on the table," I had said while looking towards my son and offering another smile. I loathed this girl with every fibre of my being, but of course, I had wanted to see my son happy and make a good impression. "Make yourself at home. Our home is your home, dear."

Zara had looked at me from the corner of her eye, then made a show of turning her head away and looking off elsewhere. "I don't want to anymore," she had said.

My mouth had dropped open astonished, and I was met by a similarly baffled look from my son. Pierce had always been such a pleasant child, and despite our wealth, I wasn't used to this bratty and petulant behaviour. I had raised him well, and he knew that no meant no, and when I told him to do something, it was his role to obey his mother.

During that first meeting, I was already worried that this was how Zara always behaved when things weren't going her way. I had been at a loss with how to respond, and seeing the confusion and discomfort growing within my son's eyes, I had wanted the whole ridiculous shenanigan to come to an end. While Zara had continued to sulk, I reached behind me and dug out a cushion, then moved the tray of tea and biscuits aside and placed it at the centre. "There," I had said, in a final attempt to recover the situation. "You can rest your feet up there and relax while we get to know each other." I had dipped my head and offered her a warm smile. "I'm sorry I made you feel so unwelcome."

Zara hadn't even bothered to look in my direction. Instead, she had lifted her hand and seemed more interested in the intricacies of her manicure. There were multiple rings on her fingers, and each flickered in the light as she turned her wrist. "I already said I don't want to anymore," she had said. "Why are you trying to bully me?"

After a quick and panicked glance towards Pierce, I had realised I was losing control of the situation. This girl simply couldn't accept that she'd won? I'd said she could put her feet on my table, for God's sake. I had never let anyone else do that, and still, that wasn't good enough for her. Obviously, despite not liking her, I didn't want to cause a rift and make life difficult for my son. The girl was terrible for him, but he was clearly infatuated, and she seemed to possess a talent for manipulation. I could already imagine the poison she was going to whisper in his ear once she had him alone. How awful his mother was and how unwelcome I'd made her feel. I couldn't let that happen; I couldn't let this Zara twist this misunderstanding to her advantage.

Overcome by desperation, I had reached down and grasped her ankle, before lifting her foot up onto the table and placing her heel atop the cushion.

Zara's head had immediately turned in my direction, and she looked at me with bemused confusion. "What are you doing?" she had asked. "Let go of my foot." She shook it in my grip but my fingers held firm.

"Making you feel more comfortable," I had said while avoiding her eyes. I had reached for her other foot, but Zara deliberately moved it further away. As a result, I had to crouch down from the armchair onto one knee, before grabbing the other foot and placing it next to the first on the cushion. "There," I had said, while gulping and feeling embarrassed with what I'd just done. "Now you can relax."

Hoping that was the end of the matter, I settled back into my seat and smiled at my son; though, my smile had quickly sunk to a frown. Pierce's head had turned slightly towards me, though his one eyebrow was raised. He had almost seemed like he was too shy to fully meet my gaze.

An awkward silence then persisted, as I honestly didn't know how to rejuvenate the conversation. The whole affair had been ridiculously petty and insignificant, yet, the symbolism was clear: Zara had got her way and I had been forced to accommodate her. My son and I could barely meet each other's eyes, though, his girlfriend had seemed completely at ease, sat back with her feet comfortably on the cushion. As if to further her victory, she had lifted one foot and crossed it atop the ankle of the other, bouncing it softly and once again wiggling her toes. Sat opposite, I had been greeted with the sight of her slightly dusty soles, and it had felt odd to be on the receiving end of such an image in my own home. No one ever got to sit like that in our beautiful living area. My home was a place of class; my friends would sit with their feet together, skirts pulled to their knees and back straightened. We'd sip tea, nibble scones and crumpets and gossip. We didn't lay out languidly like my home was some sort of student condo, yet, that was exactly what Zara did that first day. It had almost been like she was marking her territory.

"More tea?" I had said in an attempt to change the nature of the discussion. I had reached over for the teapot, still unable to look Zara in the face after what had happened.

"That would be lovely," Pierce had said after clearing his throat. He adjusted his position and had seemed to be joining me in moving things forwards.

But then, an awful scraping sound had jarred us both, and I grimaced while watching Zara slide a teacup towards me, its handle gripped between her toes. "Yes, please," she had said while still sat with arms crossed. "I'll take a refill."

I had gritted my teeth at the audacity of her; touching my china tea cup with her dirty feet. Why? Because she had been too lazy to sit up and pass it to me like a human being? Still, I hadn't wanted to escalate things further and just wanted the whole meet up out of the way. Once I had Pierce alone, I could reason with him about how inappropriate and rude Zara's behaviour had been. I could make him see sense, but I knew that was a fruitless endeavour while in her presence. She'd only twist things and make me look like the villain. I knew her sort, the sly and manipulative immature little girls who wielded guilt like a weapon.