‘What?’ Sophie held her boarding pass out to be scanned.
‘I was right and you were wrong. Theydolast. And youcantrust them.’ Hannah followed her into the air bridge. Sophie couldn’t see her face but she could hear the smile in her voice. ‘And I have a feeling you’re going to find that out for yourself.’
Sophie didn’t say anything but she could feel the curl of a smile forming deep inside her body. In her heart, maybe.
She thought so, too.
24
Where are you?
At the house. Working on something’s better than doing nothing.
How long will you be there?
As long as it takes. Few hours maybe. Why?
Luc straightened up to stretch his back. How long had it taken to clean up the cast-iron register grate of this fireplace? He’d used fine wire wool to remove the rust, cleaned it and then carefully applied the specialist black polish with a soft cloth. Now he had to let it dry to a dull finish before buffing it with a shoe brush.
He could fill in that time with the next task on his list, which was to apply a paste made of bicarbonate of soda to the ceramic tiles to remove the soot staining and grime of decades of neglect. He glanced around the room to see where he’d left the small packet.
It was still a mess in here. Broken ropes dangled by the sash windows and there was a heap of tattered curtains and some rolled-up carpet in a corner that needed to be in one of the skips outside the old house, but that was okay. Being here was the antidote to the two days of dismal meetings Luc had been a part of. This house might well become the only surviving piece of his dream, the way things were going.
Andrew Madden, the retired headmaster of Camberwell Academy and an important community link to be on the board of trustees for Phoenix House, was reconsidering his position.
Donors and other organisations involved with youth aid were distancing themselves but the biggest blow today had been the contact from a football star who had recently approached Paul and then Luc, having heard rumours of the new charity. Malik Baptiste had not only agreed to be available for the media, as the public face of the Phoenix Foundation when it was launched, he’d also promised a first donation of half a million pounds.
He was a perfect fit. Born to a Jamaican father who had died when he was a baby, he was brought up by his British mother on the kind of estate that Luc knew all too well. Discovered by a Crystal Palace scout when he was fifteen, his career, and bank balance, had skyrocketed in his twenties. His personality and good looks had won him countless fans and free access to A-list society circles but he’d never forgotten his roots.
He’d called Luc late this afternoon.
‘So sorry, man, but I can’t do it, yeah? I’ve seen what’s going down online and I told my mum. She’s a strong woman and a good Christian, and she told me to back off. And, bruv – I love my mum, you get me? Can’t piss her off – might get my ear clipped.’
Luc had gone straight back to the house. Back to the project he’d started the day he’d arrived because he knew he would need to spend time here. This old house, the halfway point between his two lives, had become another touchstone. A key to the future, like his camera had been. He’d been here till 2a.m. that first night, stripping the paint off the oak fire surround and then sanding it and soaking the parched wood with oil.
He spotted the small packet and tipped the powder into a bucket to mix with a bit of water. The movement made him catch sight of his watch and he blinked. Had it really been two hours since he’d answered that text from Sophie?
Why hadn’t she responded to his question?
Had she not wanted to explain her odd question about how long he was going to be here? Was she trying to persuade herself to have a difficult conversation with him? Like… letting him know that she didn’t want to see him again? That what was happening had brought everything back and she’d remembered why she’d had to turn her back on him in the first place?
Luc paused as he headed back to the fireplace, standing still for a moment with his eyes closed. He was regretting not popping into that liquor store near theDIYshop he’d gone into this afternoon to get the black polish. He could use a stiff drink right about now. He’d have to make do with focussing on what he’d come here to do.
He applied the paste, covering up the pretty flowered pattern on the tiles. That needed to dry now, but the cast iron was ready for brushing to bring out a shine and Luc took his time, carefully brushing the grate, side panels and the hood with its decoration of ivy leaves spilling out from a central urn. He had to hunt for a clean cloth after that, and some more water so that he could gently clean the hardened paste off the tiles.
The blue of a delphinium was so much brighter than it had been before that Luc’s hand dropped and he sat back on his heels.
It was even more like the colour of Sophie’s eyes.
God… he was missing hersomuch.
He checked his watch again. It was getting close to midnight. Over two and a half hours since that text. Sophie was probably asleep by now, having given up on any intention to communicate with him tonight.
What else had she changed her mind about?
He turned back to his task of cleaning the tiles. He was going to think about something else. To try and conjure up a vision of the future of this room. Maybe it would be a gathering place for the kids who came here. Full of comfy seating and maybe a pool table to create places to connect and talk.
Maybe he’d put a small brass plaque on the door and call it ‘Sophie’s Room’.
