“It’s just an act, Owen. That’s all it is.”
“But it’s you.” He pulls back enough so he can see my face. “And I can’t read you, you’re like an enigma. What is going through your head?”
“I’m being professional. I’m doing the exact thing you asked me to do.”
“I need to know what that arsehole did to you,” he growls, and I tense at his question. My eyes whip to his as anger overwhelms me, and I stop us again.
“If you want me to stay professional and do my job, you need to stop asking me that question in the middle of a room full of people. Because if I stop being professional, I may remember how angry at you I am,” I spit, my finger pointing at him.
“Okay, okay,” he placates, pulling me back to him. “I’m sorry.” His lips on my head, and I relax into him. “But we do need to talk.”
“We do, you’re right; you need to tell me everything. The file you gave us was a crock of shit, and it seems you’re exceptionally good at burying your past.”
“I’m not the only one,Kara,” he whispers my name sarcastically, the dig hurting more than I care to admit. The music stops, and it takes us both a minute to realise that we are being instructed back to the tables. “I’m up. Thank you for the dance, Miss Snow.”
He kisses the side of my mouth, then leaves me standing on the dance floor heading off towards the side of the stage. The band now busy taking their instruments off and making theirway off the stage. Making room, for I assume, him and his speech.
I head slowly back to my table, my axis still out of whack, being careful to take a route where I can still see where Owen is out of the corner of my eye. Although nothing suggests anything will happen tonight. None of the intelligence Owen gave us or that Andrews has found says there is any threat to him at this moment.
But I’m still vigilant.
Still a professional.
This is a job, remember?
I have to keep telling myself that.
A man with greying hair in a midnight blue suit stands on the stage. He screams wealth, his deep, rich voice coming over the surround sound speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you have enjoyed your evening so far; we are pleased to see so many people supporting our wonderful charity.”
“Tonight, we have the absolute pleasure to be joined by Owen Cooper.” The room erupts in applause, and I look around, shocked, as a few whoops break out. The man waits for it to die down with a huge smile on his face before continuing. “Who, as you all know, if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t be sitting here today. His own story and experiences have fed into this charity. He knows what it’s like to be abandoned and forgotten.”
“Yeah, right,” I mutter, snorting into my drink. Jules peers over at me, her eyebrow raised in question.
“He has made waves in our little corner of the world, but I think we can all agree that Mr Cooper is making waves on a grander scale. But enough of me standing here, waffling at you all. Please, may I welcome to the stage, Owen Cooper. Executive Chairman of the Fostering Families Foundation.”
The room erupts, and I join in, my eyes tracking his movement as he jumps up onto the stage and hugs the gentleman who introduced him.
Blue Tuxedo exits, and the spotlights turn onto Owen. And there he is, the person who I realise still has so much of my heart, caught in a fucking vice, so much so that I have to swallow down the sudden lump of emotion that clogs my throat.
“Thank You, Pete Sanderson. Here he is, bigging me up, when it’s all his money that got this thing off the ground.” He grins and the audience lets out a small chuckle.
“It’s an honour to be here with you all tonight. This charity wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for all your support. So, I want to thank and applause you all.”
He drops his mic onto a small table and claps at the audience, and they all join in.
“Some of you know my past, but there are many faces around the room that don’t. You’ve only heard mutterings, so tonight I’m going to share with you my story. Well, I’d be lying. Actually, it’s our story. Mine and a little girl called Lucy.”
My body turns to ice at the mention of my name, and I wish they hadn’t moved my butter knife as I’d love to use it on him right now.
“You would have seen our reunion tonight. There’s no missing Lucy, and many of you have asked how we know each other.” He grins and looks down, searching for his words. “Lucy and I grew up together, and I think it’s safe to say that we both experienced firsthand the darker side of the foster system. We saw what happens when the foster parents aren’t given the right support, or that the wrong people are chosen to be foster parents. What checks are done? How do the local authorities keep track of them, like truly keep track? We have known for years that the social care system in this country is buckling. Decades of cutbacks from the government have left the systemimploding. There isn’t the right number of staff, there isn’t enough training, there isn’t enough support. There just isn’t enough.”
He pauses and walks across the stage. The audience is entranced with him, listening to his every word. Including me.
“The thing that pisses me off about it all is that it isn’t them who suffer. It’s us. It’s a little girl called Lucy, and a little boy called Owen. While the government continues to be so far removed from the real issues of this country. Too busy lining their own pockets and their corrupt friends, all whilst people are suffering. Children are suffering, and I, for one, am sick of it.” I glance round the room, and people are nodding.
Jesus, even I’m nodding.
