Theo blinked as if something had dimmed inside him.
“It’s tricky edit,” he said, glancing at Skye. “You change one thing, and it’s like a domino’s been knocked over in the novel. I’m so close to the end now, and then”—he turned to his son—“I promise I’ll have more free time.”
George resumed his slump, bottom lip protruding.
“When’s Mum coming?” he asked.
Skye began to fold away the letter. She could almost feel the heat of Theo’s discomfort.
“I’ve told her where we are,” he said. “Whether she comes or not is up to her.”
George tore off what was left of the scab, blood blooming.
“Maybe she can’t afford the plane ticket,” he said hotly. “Or she might be scared of flying—you don’t know.”
“I wish that were the case,” Theo began, but George had gone past the point of calm discussion. He began flicking his thumb and second finger together, his body hunched over. Skye put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Why don’t you go and get your pens, George, and we’ll do some sketching?”
He shook his head, the flicking becoming more insistent.
“Come on, mate,” Theo began, only to be interrupted by a loud rumble of thunder. Skye jumped, though the noise steadied George. He stopped stimming and crossed to the window.
“I saw lightning,” he said. “Do you think it was like this in the war, when bombs were going off all the time and people were being blown up?”
Skye went to join him.
“I think that would’ve been far scarier,” she said, peering out. The sky had turned eerily dark, the wind whistling as it tore at the earth.
“Dad, what was the biggest explosion ever? Was it from a nuclear bomb?”
“I don’t know,” Theo said tiredly. “Maybe. Why don’t you go and look it up on the iPad?”
“But it’s not my screen time.”
“I’ll make an exception,” Theo said. “Off you go.”
George scampered off as if the disagreement with his dad had never happened. Theo waited until his bedroom door closed, then turned to Skye.
“Sorry you had to hear that,” he said. “The situation with my ex-wife is complicated.”
“Say no more,” she said, but Theo wasn’t finished.
“We broke up a long time ago,” he said, sitting in the space that George had vacated, his elbows on his knees. “Everyone said we got married too young, but when you’re twenty, you don’t listento anyone. George wasn’t planned, and Deirdre, that’s my ex, didn’t enjoy being pregnant. They say women bloom, but it was the opposite for her, and when George was born, she struggled to bond with him. I did what I could, took her to the doctor, and then another doctor.” He sighed. “Somehow, we made it through the first few years as a family, but it was as if a part of her wasn’t there. The day after George’s fourth birthday, she told me she’d met someone else and wanted to leave. I thought at first that she’d want to keep George with her, but I was wrong about that.”
“I’m so sorry,” Skye said.
Theo pulled a what-can-you-do expression.
“Deirdre went from seeing him every weekend to every other weekend, and then slowly, the visits dropped off. There was always an excuse, and suddenly six months had passed with no contact, not even a phone call. My friends told me I should go down the legal route, but I didn’t want that, not for any of us. The final straw came when she missed his birthday in October. I was so angry.” He shook his head. “I left George with a friend and went to confront her, but when I knocked on her door, a stranger answered, told me they’d bought the house from her months before. There was no forwarding address, and she didn’t answer my calls or emails.”
Skye’s skin turned clammy, her breath catching in her throat. Rain had started to fall, hard and steady.
“What about grandparents?” she asked.
“Deirdre’s parents were in Ireland, and they were never close. The only time we took George to see them, it ended in disaster, so we never went back.” He stared glumly at his hands. “They didn’t know where she’d gone—nobody seemed to know anything—until this one day. I got a message on Facebook, of all places, from a friend of hers. She said she felt sorry for me and told me where I could find Deirdre.”
“And did you?”
