Crash

Chequered Flag

"Charles!" Penelope yelled, trying to tie the lace on her shoe without falling over. "Your phone is ringing!"

From somewhere down the hall, she heard the tap switch on. "Who is it?" he called back. 

Penelope stretched her fingers to grab the phone from their bedside table, her eyes scanning the screen, which was filled with a picture of a smiling middle aged woman. Instantly, Penelope recognised her as his mother. She dropped the phone back onto the bed like it was hot to the touch. 

"It's your mom," she replied, eyeing the screen with a cautious gaze. 

"Can you answer it?" Charles called again, like it was nothing. "Tell her I'm in the shower. I'll call back."

Penelope's eyes widened, her stomach knotted with panic. "Can't you just let it go to voicemail?"

Charles poked his head out of the bathroom, waving a toothbrush at her. "Please? Or she'll just keep calling and calling and-"

"Fine!" Penelope said quickly, her thumb hovering over the answer button as Charles winked at her. "But you owe me."

"Add it to the list!" he laughed, disappearing back into the bathroom as Penelope cursed him silently, holding the phone to her ear. 

"Hello?" she said, her voice instantly drowned out by an onslaught of French. 

"Ah Charles? Où étais-tu? J'étais inquiet, pourquoi n'avez-vous pas répondu au téléphone? Je suis ta mère, le moins que tu puisses faire est de répondre!"

It took Penelope a second to process what she was hearing. She could pick out a few words, something about the phone, but not much else. Clearly, she took too long to respond, because his mother launched into another wave of speech before she could gather herself enough to speak. 

"Ello? Vous m'entendez?? Vous allez bien?"

"Hi," Penelope said finally, trying her best to sound friendly and not completely terrified to be speaking to her boyfriend's mother for the first time. "Mrs Leclerc? I'm sorry, Charles isn't here right now."

"I'm sorry," she said in a thick, French accent. There was a hint of Charles in there, which was disorientating to say the least. "Who is this?"

Penelope's fingers tapped nervously against her leg. "I'm Charles's...uh, I'm his girlfriend."

There was a long silence before she spoke again. "...Girlfriend?"

"Yeah, uh, my name is Penelope. Maybe Charles has mentioned-"

"Yes. He has mentioned you. I'd like to speak to my son, actually. Is he there?"

As if on cue, the bedroom door opened as Charles walked in, a white towel hanging from his waist, hair wet from the shower. He seemed to sense her staring at him, because he mouthed "what?" as he reached for a shirt.

Penelope continued to glare at him, grabbing a pillow from the bed and launching it at his head. Unfortunately, she missed, the cushion sailing past and landing in a heap on the floor. 

"Actually," she said through gritted teeth, "he's right here. I'll pass you over."

*********************

Penelope wasted no time in leaving him to it. The muffled sound of him speaking in the same quick French that his mother had just moments earlier followed her up the hall as she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to wake herself up. They'd had a late night followed by an early morning, and she was starting to feel the exhaustion. Despite the pain meds she'd been taking everyday, her body was still sore. She hadn't told Charles because she didn't want him worrying about her when he should be focusing on the race, but the pain was making her irritable. The miserable introduction she'd had with his mother hadn't helped to improve her mood.