‘The housekeeper that Singleton employed to look after the house and Ruby.’
‘Was she there last night?’
I shook my head.
‘Wouldn’t surprise me if she was working undercover. Reporting back to the NCA on what Singleton was up to.’
‘You seem to know quite a bit more about all this than you’re letting on, George. Ralph the superintendent, for example? You obviously know him. And I saw the look that passed between you and Joel when we were at Sorrel’s breakfast leaving do. You’ve known him a while, haven’t you?’
George sighed and drained his glass of limoncello, wincing as it went down, but obviously needing the hit. ‘The police and Youth Justice Service round here came up with the idea, several years ago, of seeking volunteers to work with disaffected youth. Youth clubs, as such, don’t exist any more, so I went on board. I was in a bit of a bad way myself when I knew my tennis career was well and truly over. Working with these kids helped me out of my own anger and frustration. I did some tennis coaching, a bit of football, you know? And then I decided to do a mentoring/counselling course they offered one weekend. I found I liked working with kids – especially kids who’d been thrown out of school and were on the streets, hanging around. I met Joel then. He was troubled; his dad was – still is – in prison. All he wanted to do was dance. I’d no idea Sorrel was involved with him – that you and your family had taken him in hand – until he arrived at Kamran’s the other day.’
‘Right.’ I stared.
George suddenly stood up. ‘I should go.’
I felt a frisson of disappointment. I wanted to carry on talking, wanted to find out more about him.
‘I think you need to rest,’ he went on.
‘So do you. Besides, you’ve been drinking… You can’t drive anywhere just yet. Look, there’s a particularly comfortable sofa under the window. Close your eyes for an hour…’ When he didn’t say anything, I went on, ‘Although I’m sure you’ve things to do…’
‘Jess, there’s only one thing I want to do.’
‘Oh?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jessica…’ George reached out a hand, pulling me to my feet until I was so close to him, I could feel the steady beat of his heart. ‘Ever since I saw you for the first time…’ He started to laugh.
‘You mean wrapped round an orange Sainsbury’s carrier on Kamran’s carpet?’ Even while my pulse was racing at the nearness of him, knew he was about to kiss me, I still offered up a look of disdain, of disbelief.
‘You were so funny, so unaware of how utterly gorgeous you were…’
‘Gorgeous?’ Was George Sattar making fun of me? I leaned back to get a good look at his face, but while there was humour, there was something else.
‘How utterly gorgeous youare,’ George went on, smiling down at me. ‘And if I don’t go, well, I can’t be responsible…’ He moved a hand to my face, stroking my cheek oh so gently.
‘To hell with responsibility,’ I muttered, moving my face into his caress.
At exactly the same time, the kitchen door flew back and a most indignant Dean spluttered, ‘That kid of yours, that bloody lodger you gave my best bike to, has just had me arrested under false pretences…!’
35
A couple of Saturdays later, Lola and I had spent the day shopping in Leeds, both of us being fitted for and buying new underwear. Jayden had sent a slightly belated (but extremely healthy and most welcome) cheque for my birthday back in March, and, having finally got round to it, I was on a mission to treat the pair of us.
‘Go on, Mum,’ Lola insisted, holding up several hangers of frothy lace and silk. ‘Treat yourself as well!’
‘My big bottom will never fit into those.’ I laughed.
‘Mum, will you stop this about your bum,’ Lola ordered as though she were the mother and me her child. ‘Now, the matching bras – go on. You’ve been fitted for new ones; you need to buy them.’
And they did fit. Beautifully. ‘You’ve a fabulous figure,’ the lingerie department fitter had said. ‘So good to see a woman who actually has a bosom and a backside these days…’
‘Come on,’ I said, three hours later, our hands and arms full of carrier bags containing the new outfits I’d continued to treat us to. ‘Let’s indulge ourselves some more. Lunch?’
‘McDonalds?’ Lola asked.
‘The Ivy,’ I said, steering her towards the Victoria Quarter. ‘They’ve a lunchtime menu.’
Once seated and our food ordered, Lola fiddled with her napkin. ‘Mum…?’
