God, she was spending far too much time thinkingabout these strangers, which was a sure sign that she needed to — as Penny would phrase it —get a life.
She picked up her phone, because now was a respectable time to text her friend.
Are you free for a swim tomorrow? Breakfast afterwards? I’ve lots to fill you in on x
A response pinged through immediately.
Penny:
Sounds perfect x
12
HERE COMES YOUR MAN
1988
Iwoke to Dad placing a cup of tea on my bedside table.
“What time is it?” I said through a yawn.
“It’s early. Go back to sleep if you want, kiddo. I’m heading out with Jasper and Jeremy for the shoot.”
I sat up and reached for my glasses, blinking as my eyes focussed. “Do you really have to kill those poor birds?”
Dad dusted my forehead with a kiss. “You used to make decorations with the feathers.” He pointed at the dust-collecting dreamcatcher that hung from the end of my curtain pole.
“Yeah, because I didn’t want them dying in vain. It’s macabre.” I glared at him. “Boys will be… brutal,” I muttered, half-grateful that it was pheasants, not foxes, as I would’ve struggled to make something from them. The thought of eating game, or any meat for that matter, turned my stomach.
“I’ll be back around noon. I’ve got the fire going, so chuck another log on when you’re up.”
“Have fun murdering those innocent creatures,” I called after him.
“Yeah, yeah, we will,” he chuckled. I smiled at the sound, the faintest hint of happiness. I hadn’t heard him laugh properly since before Mum died. He wore his grief like armour, sealing everything in, and everything out.
Even on cheerful occasions like Christmas, sadness lingered in the air. Dad’s grief was a constant, blinking in the background like the fairy lights strung around the fireplace. Impossible to miss, but completely ignored, because we didn’t talk about Mum, lest something crack open and pour out. No one wants to clean up a sticky mess, especially not at Christmastime. So Dad held it together for me, and I him; both hoping that our wounds would magically heal themselves. But the more I studied the subject, the more I realised this strategy would be as effective as cooking a turkey without putting the oven on.
I cupped my hands around my mug of tea, and once again my mind returned to Francesca and the last night of term; the night I’d lost something but gained everything. I yearned for her touch, to stare into her eyes and to be ravished by her hunger. I couldn’t shake the thought of her alone in her sorry little dorm room, starved for affection, with nothing but her moody music for company. I’d left her. I’d let her down when she needed me. But how was I supposed to know she wasn’t going home? I swallowed my guilt with a gulp of tea.
I settled back under the duvet with Margaret Atwood,who’d I’d joyfully found in my Christmas stocking. Time easily melted away in Atwood’s words, but before I’d had the chance to become completely absorbed, there was a knock at the door. Perhaps Dad had forgotten something, including his keys.
With a sigh, I placed my book face down and open, careful not to crack the spine. I loathed it when people cracked the spines.Monsters.
I padded through the lounge in my bunny slippers, still clad in my plaid pyjamas, with the bottoms tucked into woolly socks. The fire crackled in the hearth, red-hot embers glowing as the flames died out because I’d forgotten to put another log on. I’d get it going again, make another cuppa and then settle back down with Margaret for a while…
A gust of bitter air rushed in as I opened the door to Jeremy, standing tall in tweed with a half-grin cocked on his face.
“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be out murdering things with our fathers?”
He ducked under the lintel to step inside. “I gave it a miss.”
“Oh! Well, why are you dressed like that?”
Jeremy’s smile faltered, and he looked down at his tweed ensemble. “I was going to go, but then… I got a phone call.”
I looked at him blankly as he rocked on his heels, as if he was trying to contain whatever was trying to fizz up out of him. “How fast can you get dressed?”
“What — why? I’m not planning to go anywhere.” Igestured to my bedclothes.
