‘Yep.’
‘Spence has told me all about the letters and Mick?’
‘Mike.’
‘Mike. That’s right.’ She pulls down the cuffs of her white blouse.
‘He’ll be back soon,’ she repeats. She’s nervous. I take in the way she’s looking around, the healthy lunch. Spence is right. She’s trying.
‘I imagine this must be strange. Me. Being here?’ Her voice is gentle, slightly shaky.
‘A bit,’ I say honestly.
She nods, finger tapping against her cup. ‘Alice?’
‘Hmm?’
‘I want to thank you.’ She lets out a long breath. ‘I know how much a part of Georgia’s life you’ve been, after I… well…’
‘Ran off and left them?’ I prompt, but I add a smile to soften my meaning. She presses her lips together.
‘Well. Yes.’
‘You don’t have to thank me. She’s a great kid.’
‘Isn’t she?’ Her eyes light up. ‘I know that I can’t take any credit whatsoever, but—’ she lets out a long gasp of air ‘—she really is special, isn’t she?’
Something softens inside as she pulls her cuffs down again. ‘So clever and funny… And her laugh?’ The corners of her mouth crinkle. ‘It just kills me.’
‘She gets it from Spence.’
‘Really? He says she gets that from you.’
We’re quiet, just the sound of the TV coming from Georgia’s room.
‘Would you like something to eat?’ She gets up before I have chance to answer. ‘I bought these from the deli down the road… and I have some fresh ham, tomatoes?’
‘I’m fine. But thanks though,’ I add, seeing the way she’s wringing her hands together. She’s really trying, and he’s right, she’s not the same stuck-up popular girl she once was. ‘Actually, yeah… that would be great.’ I stand and make my way over, reaching for the butter. My eyes land on the brown paper bag.
‘Where did you say you got these from?’
‘Oh, Smiths – it’s all organic, vegan…’ She trails off. Vegan. My heart starts hammering in my ears as I pull the bag towards me, eyes scanning the ingredients.
I bolt from the room. ‘Georgia!’ I shout, taking the stairs two at a time.
‘Alice? What’s wrong?’ Heather races after me.
‘Vegan foods often use a nut milk substitute in the?—’
I throw the door open. Georgia’s on the floor, the plate next to her.
‘It’s OK, honey, just hold on.’
‘I can’t breathe…’ Her hands are pulling at her throat.
‘Heather! EpiPen!’
‘I-I checked, they said?—’
