‘Hmm?’
‘Are you OK?’
‘OK?’
‘Well, about Dad and Farrah I mean. You’re not feeling left out?’
‘No, honestly, I’m not. You mustn’t think that.’
‘Is it because of George?’
‘George?’ I felt my face flame and, in turn, I fiddled with my own napkin.
‘I heard you talking to Aunty Robyn.’
‘Oh?’
‘You were in the garden, trying to tie back the daffs, but you just got cross with it all and instead started telling her about George.’
‘You were listening?’
‘Mum, I couldn’t help it.’
‘You could have closed the window.’
‘You could have stopped going on and on about him.’
‘Do you mind?’ I asked.
‘Mind that you’ve got a bit of a thing for your step-uncle?’ Lola peered over the new sunglasses she’d spent her pocket money on in Accessorize and was now refusing to take off, even though we were indoors. ‘Well, if having a thing about George makes you always in such a good mood, then I don’t mind at all. I like him. He’s giving me another tennis lesson next week. Says I’ve got potential.’
‘I know.’ I hesitated. ‘He’s invited me for dinner next Friday at his apartment. You OK with that?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be? I’m off over to Granny’s to stay in Sorrel’s room. I’m going to have a bubble bath in her ensuite and keep walking in and out of her walk-in wardrobe.’
‘And you’re OK with Joel staying a bit longer?’
‘Yes, he’s fine.’ She grinned. ‘At least he doesn’t leave the loo seat up like Dad does. And he helped me with my English SATS revision yesterday. I’m much better at maths and science, but he was really good explaining the questions that went with some daft poem about cargoes. Or something.’
‘He’s a good kid.’
‘And has Dad forgiven him for leaving his bike down at Ruby’s?’
I nodded. ‘We got it back. George, Fabian and Ralph – the superintendent – managed it between them. Accepted it was nothing to do with that lot down at Queen’s Gardens and let us have it back.’
‘Is Dad letting Joel ride it again?’
‘I’mletting him,’ I said firmly. ‘And there’s an end to it.’
* * *
‘You look lovely, Mum!’
The following Friday evening, I presented myself for inspection to Lola, Joel and Arthur. While the dog was more interested in trying to find the tennis ball Joel had rubbed with aniseed and hidden under the sofa (he was, Joel informed me, training him to be a sniffer dog), both Lola and Joel actually whistled their appreciation. Which was good, because I’d spent a good two hours doing the usual showering, hair washing, conditioning, de-fuzzing, yada yada that women put themselves through before a hot date. And itwasa date. George and I, in the weeks since falling asleep on each other in a limoncello-induced afternoon nap (we both woke, bleary eyed and dry mouthed, slightly embarrassed), had met up a couple of times. Once for a walk over the moors with Arthur, calling in again at the farmhouse and barn for which George had actually put in an offer. Twice in The Dog and Duck after hockey practice, and once up at Mum and Kamran’s when we’d both ended up there, probably, I realised afterwards, when we knew the other was going to be there as well.
Carole Traynor hadn’t turned up for hockey practice the first week after Rob had been arrested, and Serena had taken over as coach and been, to my surprise, exceptionally good at it. Then Carole had reappeared and, although pale and strained, had taken the practice as usual, putting us through our paces, but not joining us at the pub afterwards. It was generally rumoured that she and Rob were having marital problems, and I certainly wasn’t going to start gossiping about what Iactuallyknew, despite Serena reckoningsomethingwas going on and did I knowanything?
Every time George and I were in each other’s company, we sort of circled each other, eyes meeting deliciously; a hand lightly touching my arm, his face lighting up as I arrived. But we were, I knew, both wary. We’d both just come out of long, toxic relationships and weren’t quite sure the direction, if any, we should be taking.
