‘Spence,’ I say firmly. ‘I can do it. You just—’ I nod towards the table ‘—sit down.’ His eyes meet mine for a second, before he nods and stands.
I clear up the broken glass with a dustpan and brush and tip it into the bin. Spence leans back in his chair, topping up his glass and taking a long sip as I join him. I take out a bowl and tip a couple of packets of crisps in, sliding it onto the table.
I reach across, taking his hand in mine. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing. Bad day, that’s all.’ He sits still for a moment, eyes on our hands. His thumb strokes mine briefly before he pulls it away, reaching for the glass again.
‘Eat,’ I instruct. He meets my eyes, then reluctantly takes a few crisps, jaw working as though he can take his anger out on a few handfuls of Walkers cheese and onion. His eyes are somewhere off in the distance. ‘Why did the school call? Is she OK?’
He swallows, tips his glass forwards then circles the liquid. ‘Yeah. No. Christ… I don’t know, Al.’ He glances over to the kitchen door, gets up and closes it. ‘She got into it with one of the girls at school.’ He takes in my concerned expression. ‘Nothing that bad,’ he rushes on. ‘From what I can gather, she just stuck up for herself.’
‘Well, that’s a good thing, right?’
‘Yeah, but apparently, she was very emotional after. Hence the phone call and early pick up.’
He rubs the crease between his eyebrows, the same gesture that he’s always done when he’s trying to keep it together. We sit quietly, only the whir of the dishwasher breaking the silence.
‘So,’ he changes the subject, pouring some wine into my glass. ‘Found your old man yet?’
I tilt my head, assessing him. A look passes between us, a look that says he doesn’t want to talk about his own problems for a while.
‘No, not yet. I’ve posted on a few nostalgia websites to see if I can track him down, but nothing yet. But I think I’ve found his surname.’
He crooks a questioning eyebrow.
‘Jones.’
Spence snorts.
‘I know,’ I say with a groan, but a smile pulls at my mouth. ‘He’s not making it easy.’
He swills his glass again, eyes on the blood red liquid. ‘So you’re still determined to find him then? Yourdreamman?’
I don’t miss the sarcasm there. Spence is quiet, the muscle in his jaw ticking. He looks up to the ceiling as Georgia’s feet stride across the landing and into the bathroom.
‘Do you want me to go and talk to her?’ I ask. He leans back and lets out a long breath. ‘No, not yet. She needs some space.’
The room feels too warm. The rain is heavy outside, streaming down the windows. I pull off my jacket, my T-shirt still damp. Spence’s eyes glance fleetingly at my action. I cross my arms and lean an elbow on the table, reaching for a crisp.
We’re quiet again, his knuckles white around the stem of his glass.
‘Talk to me. What else is going on, and don’t say nothing, I know you too well.’
The rain hammers against the windows. I don’t know what I’m expecting him to say, but it’s definitely not?—
‘Heather.’ The word falls from his mouth but it’s like he’s just taken a pin out of a grenade.
‘Heather?’
‘We’ve… been in touch. She wants to see Georgia.’
Old anger floods through my system at the girl who left my best friend, seventeen and alone, taking care of a newborn while she pissed off to the other side of the world.
‘Why? Why after all this time? I mean, it’s kind of out of the blue…’
Spence’s jaw ticks.
‘Oh.’ I lean back, reaching for my own glass. ‘It’s not out of the blue?’
