Someone I Used to Know, page 17
Oh God, I don’t know! Ashlee and Nia will have a mother and father who will love them and care for them, support and help them through every stage of their young lives. They’ll be dedicated to their upbringing, protect them at all cost. Isn’t it too much to ask that of George? His own life has barely got started – he’s a boy, not a parent. He should be allowed to live for himself, not for his little sister. Isn’t that why the courts made the decision they made? It’s all such a minefield.
I step forward to comfort him, but his body goes rigid beneath my palms. He pulls away.
‘I need to be by myself for a bit,’ he says gruffly.
‘George,’ I choke out.
‘I’ll be all right,’ he tells me over his shoulder.
I stand on the grass and watch him walk away.
* * *
Anita and Ollie come for another visit the very next day. Mum and Dad are doing everything they can to accommodate them, wanting them to form as much of a bond as possible with Ashlee and Nia before they go to live with them. Dad wants to be there for the visit this time, so after dropping Jamie, Joanne and George to the market, he returns home.
I’m glad George has gone with the others – glad for his sake, not mine. I don’t think he could handle seeing this process through, not when he’s linked it so strongly to what’s happening with Sophie.
Anita and Ollie pay much more attention to Ashlee than they did last week, and while I struggle to hold back my tears, it does warm my heart to see their shared looks of affection and excitement. They’re clearly blown away by the fact that they’ll soon be a family of four. While it’s nowhere near official, my parents and the girls’ social workers are confident that the courts will support the decision for Ashlee and Nia to go to the same family.
In fact, Mum is so confident about this, that she tells Ashlee that Anita and Ollie are going to be her new mummy and daddy. Ashlee goes along with this quite happily, having no real understanding yet of what this means. Anita and Ollie both get a bit tearful when Ashlee repeats the words: ‘My new mummy and daddy?’
‘That’s right, darling,’ Mum says. ‘That’s daddy there.’
Ollie holds open his arms to Ashlee.
‘Nia’s mummy and daddy too?’ Ashlee asks Mum, not going to Ollie. He doesn’t seem to mind, dropping his hands and continuing to smile.
‘Absolutely,’ Mum says.
Ashlee grins and tickles Nia’s tummy, making the whole room laugh, along with her baby sister.
Chapter 19 Now
‘Talk to him, please,’ I implore Mum before going upstairs to say goodnight to Emilie.
George has just pulled up in his truck. We’re off out to a pub near Masham for dinner. Mum will read Emilie a bedtime story after I’ve gone, but first I want her to speak to George about payment for the work he’s been doing.
I hear her let him into the kitchen as I enter Emilie’s bedroom.
‘Night, night,’ I say softly. She’s lying in bed, watching her revolving bird-themed nightlight go around and around in circles.
I stay with her for a while, chatting about her day, until Mum comes to take over.
‘Any luck?’ I ask after giving my daughter one last kiss.
She shakes her head and shrugs as if to say, ‘What can I do? I tried!’
I huff with annoyance and stomp downstairs, glaring at George.
He gives me a funny look. ‘All right?’
‘You cannot work for free,’ I hiss as we go outside.
He groans. ‘I’ve had all this from your mam! I want to help.’
‘Why?’
He opens his truck’s passenger door for me and goes around to the driver’s side.
‘Seriously, why?’ I persist as he climbs in. ‘You don’t owe us anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘Actually, I do,’ he says firmly, buckling up and putting the truck in gear.
‘It was my parents’ job to look after you. You don’t owe them for that. Looked after children don’t owe any adult anything.’
He glances at me as he drives down the farm lane. ‘Do you know what your dad said to me when I first came to your place?’
‘What?’
‘Before she left, my social worker warned me to be good. Your dad turned to me and whispered, “No, son, we’ll take you as you are.” Do you know how much that meant to me?’ he asks. ‘I’d come from three places where no one gave a shit and then your dad said that. At first, I dismissed it, convinced myself that it was just something he said to everyone. But he meant it, Leah. He meant it.’
‘Of course he did.’
‘And I threw it back in his face by running away without so much as leaving a note. He and your mam must’ve been worried sick. I know they were. They told me.’
‘You were only trying to do what you thought was right.’
‘No, I knew it was wrong. But I was so inside my own head at the time that I didn’t care who I hurt. I didn’t even call later when things had settled, I just buried it and tried to forget all about you.’
I stare out of the window, feeling faintly sick. ‘Well, you’ve more than paid them back with all the work you’ve done in the last few weeks. I think you should let it go now.’
‘No,’ he states firmly. ‘I want to do this for your mam. In your dad’s absence, it’s the least I can do.’
I look at him. ‘But when will it stop? When your guilt subsides?’
Is that when he’ll go back to Devon? When he feels he’s paid his penance?
‘I don’t know. Please, though, leave it for me to decide.’
I return to staring out of my window at the fields cast in sunshine.
Is this the loose end he was talking about tying up?
Or is there more to his ‘unfinished business’ than that?
* * *
It’s a gorgeous summer’s evening, balmy and still: perfect weather for sitting outside a pub by the river.
George goes to the bar while I find us a table at the water’s edge. He returns with a gin and tonic for me and a pint of what looks like lemonade for himself.
‘Are you not drinking?’ I ask.
‘I never drink when I’m driving.’
‘Not even one?’
‘No.’ His reply is curt.
I’m tense as I lift my glass. ‘You must be furious with Theo.’ I can’t help but say it.
‘It’s not my place to be angry,’ he mutters.
‘I’m angry.’
‘I know you are.’
‘It’s okay if you’re angry too.’
He stares into his pint glass.
‘I wrote to him, like you suggested.’
He lifts his gaze. ‘Yeah?’
‘Two letters and counting.’
I wrote again to him today, had an absurd urge to tell him about Emilie’s potty training and the silly things she sings to herself when she’s doing a Number Two.
Our daughter is random.
‘How did it feel?’ he asks.
‘To get it all out?’
He nods.
‘Kind of good.’ I shift on my seat. ‘I haven’t told him about you yet, though.’
‘No?’
I shake my head.
‘Why not?’
I shrug and reach for my drink.
The sun has come out from behind a low-lying cloud, basking George’s face in golden light. His brown eyes have become more caramel-hued. He’s still staring across the table at me.
‘How mad was he at me for leaving?’ he asks.
‘He was more upset than mad. He cared a lot about you, and he knew I did too. It made it even harder for him to be away.’
‘Away?’
‘In Italy.’
He cocks his head to one side, puzzled.
‘Theo’s dad sent him to Italy to live with his aunt. He went to boarding school there. Becky didn’t have any of this on her Facebook page?’
‘No.’ George looks knocked for six.
‘He came to tell us, but you’d already left. We tried so hard to find you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, dragging his hand across his mouth. ‘I had no idea.’
‘He left the same day you did.’
Chapter 20 Then
It’s half term, and even though we have no school for the next week, there’s so much to do on the farm. The herd has now been shorn, but the alpaca ‘blankets’ still have to be sent away to be processed. First they have to be skirted, which means all of the ‘vegetable’ matter has to be removed. In other words, the pooey bits and other impurities have to be picked out. We have twenty-six animals, so that’s a lot of fleece to get through.
Mum has her hands full with the little ones, Jamie has his A levels coming up, so he’s got loads of revision to do, and Joanne point-blank refuses to do the ‘dirty stuff’. It was hard enough to get George to learn how to knit, so I’m not expecting much help from him either.
On Monday morning, I head downstairs, preparing to get stuck in, when I hear Dad on the phone in the study. He sounds cross, which is so rare for him, that it causes me to eavesdrop.
‘This is completely unacceptable,’ he says. ‘No, she was supposed to call me herself first thing, and now you’re telling me she’s on holiday?’
Movement in the kitchen redirects my gaze. George is standing at the door, listening. We share a look of apprehension.
‘She said she’d try for Wednesday! That’s this Wednesday! I was calling to find out a time.’
‘Sophie,’ George says to me quietly.
‘Can anyone else help?’ Dad asks. ‘I’ve got a young man here who simply wants to see his sister, the sister he was separated from almost a year ago. That should be a priority here, not a bloody holiday.’
I bite my lip, listening intently.
‘Oh. I see. Well, I’m sorry for her. But this poor lad has already been through three social workers. Do you understand what I’m saying? At this rate, his young sister will be adopted and he won’t have even had a chance to say goodbye.’
I realise I’m holding my breath.
‘That would be much appreciated.’
Dad ends the call and comes out of the room, stopping short at the sight of the two of us.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says resignedly to George, ushering us both into the kitchen. ‘I’m afraid your social worker has had to take a bit of a break for mental health reasons. A new one will be appointed to you soon.’
‘And my meeting with Sophie?’ George asks through gritted teeth.
‘We’ll make it happen,’ Dad assures him. ‘Not this week, maybe not next, but soon.’
I jump out of my skin at the sound of something smashing on the tiled floor: a mug. Rage has contorted George’s face and his body is racked with tension, his chest rising and falling sharply and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
‘All right, son,’ Dad says calmly.
‘No, it’s not fucking all right!’ George yells, grabbing another mug from the countertop and hurling that at the wall too.
‘George!’ I gasp with shock as it ricochets off and broken crockery scatters everywhere.
He storms towards the door, wrenching it open.
‘Leave him, Leah!’ Dad shouts as I hurry after him. ‘Give him some space!’
I ignore him. ‘GEORGE!’
He’s striding fast along the lane, away from the farm. I have this overwhelming feeling that, if I let him go, I’ll never see him again. The thought is so hellish that I run, catching up with him at a bend in the road and spinning around to try to halt his progress.
‘Move!’ he commands, his dark eyes flashing with fury.
‘No. Stay,’ I beg, sidestepping to block his path.
‘Get out of my way.’
‘Please,’ I gasp, placing my hands on his chest.
He smacks them away and butts right up against me, completely invading my body space.
‘Get out of my fucking way,’ he growls at me with cold hatred.
Ice floods my veins.
‘What the fuck is going on?’
I spin around at the sound of Theo’s voice. He’s standing in the lane behind me, looking appalled.
‘George is upset,’ I tell him.
‘I can see that, but why the hell is he taking it out on you?’
George turns his face up to the sky and lets out a strangled scream. It rips out of him, full of frustration and anguish and fury.
He turns and sets off towards the lower paddock and I run after him.
‘LEAH!’ Theo shouts, before following too.
George comes to a stop at his silver birch sapling and proceeds to try and pull it from the ground.
‘Please,’ I cry.
He’s sobbing: scary, heart-wrenching and out-of-control yelps. He seems unhinged, his face red, veins popping in his neck.
Theo stands beside me, dumbstruck, as I cry and beg. And then my dad appears, just as George yanks his sapling free of the rich peaty earth.
‘Go inside, Leah,’ Dad says with quiet but absolute authority as George falls to his knees, his head bowed, the fight gone out of him. ‘Take Theo with you.’
This time I don’t argue. This time I do as I’m told.
* * *
‘And I thought I had problems,’ Theo says flatly as I make us tea.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask him bluntly.
‘Went for a walk.’
‘That’s a long walk.’
‘Nowt else to do,’ he replies in a monotone.
‘You sounded Northern then.’
‘I am Northern. Not my fault I had my accent beaten out of me at boarding school.’
‘I hope you don’t mean literally.’
He shrugs.
I really hope he doesn’t mean literally.
‘You should’ve called for a lift. Dad would’ve picked you up.’
‘Looks like your dad has got other things on his mind.’
‘Yeah,’ I agree morosely.
‘What happened?’
I fill him in as we drink our tea in the living room. When we’re up to date, his comment from earlier comes back to me: ‘And I thought I had problems…’
‘How are you?’ I belatedly think to ask. ‘You didn’t have plans for half term?’
‘Nope, but Acton’s in Monaco and my father and Sylvie are no doubt having a lovely time in Italy,’ he replies drily.
‘Oh. You didn’t want to go with them?’
‘I didn’t even know they were going until Saturday when Bart took them to the airport.’
‘What?’ I let out a small disbelieving laugh. ‘Your dad didn’t tell you he was going abroad?’
‘Nup,’ he replies sardonically, picking up a skein of rose grey yarn from the basket next to the sofa. He freezes when he sees that one end is attached to a knitting needle.
‘Careful,’ I say. ‘That’s George’s scarf.’
The edge of his mouth curls up as his blue eyes dart towards me. ‘George is knitting a scarf?’
‘Well, not all that willingly. But if he can sell it at the market, it should pay for his festival ticket.’
‘I need to get in on this.’
‘I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic,’ I reply after a pause.
He grins at me. ‘Why were you laughing?’
He slips the question in so casually, but I don’t miss a beat.
‘I will never tell.’
He returns my smile, but his is not as carefree as it usually is.
‘It’s good to see you,’ I say, sobering. And I am glad of his company. Dad is still with George and I have no idea if he’s managed to calm him down.
‘It’s good to see you too,’ Theo replies quietly, holding my gaze.
I smile and look away, feeling oddly edgy. ‘Have you got the house to yourself this week, then?’
‘Yeah. Want to come over for a house party?’
‘Really?’
‘Well, no, but… You could come over for a movie night?’
‘George too?’
‘Sure,’ he replies after a slight hesitation. ‘And Becky, if you like.’
‘He wasn’t going to hurt me.’
I feel a wave of nausea when Theo averts his gaze, not quite convinced.
I hate the thought of Theo thinking badly of George, not with everything that George is going through.
‘He kept asking me to get out of his way, and I wouldn’t.’
‘I did not like hearing him speak to you like that,’ he says gravely, and it’s the most serious I’ve ever seen him.
I change the subject.
* * *
A couple of days later, Dad drives George, Becky and me over to Theo’s house. I haven’t spoken much to George since his meltdown. He was very quiet when he returned to the house with Dad. Theo and I were out in the Yarn Barn so we missed him and Theo left soon afterwards. It was probably a good thing that Mum gave the phone to George rather than me when Theo called earlier. It gave the two of them a chance to clear the air.
It feels completely different visiting the Whittington residence now that Theo is a friend. I stare out of the window as Dad turns into the gate, driving slowly along the winding road surrounded by open fields. A herd of deer are lazing under the shade of a big oak tree. I would’ve missed them if it weren’t for the stag horns spanning majestically above the long grass.
‘Bloody hell,’ Becky murmurs from beside me when the house comes into view.
Built out of cream-coloured stone, with a myriad of windows reflecting the late afternoon sun, the large Elizabethan mansion is almost too breathtaking for words. The gardens are also out of this world: a yew hedge has been sculpted into interesting rounded shapes, and the rose garden before it is in full bloom, bursting with colour.
George, in the front, is silent.
Dad crunches to a stop on the gravel drive. The heavy wooden front door swings open and Theo comes out.
‘Don’t you have staff to open the door to visitors?’ Becky teases.
