Page 81 of The Betrothal

For those hours, the world outside didn’t exist. With the exception of Seb, who called into the workshop. Regularly.

If I were a betting woman, I’d have guessed he wanted to spend the day with us, but that Ben wouldn’t have let him put a single finger on anything we were working on.

The thought had me feeling special, as though he trusted me.

It also had me chuckling.

Seb would probably be feeling a little sore that we were spending the day out here together. Ben must have known that too, because every time Seb found an excuse to ‘pop in’ he stopped what we were doing and we gave him our undivided attention. Ben had even started giving me a little conspiratorial smile each time we heard the telltale signs of him coming to check on us.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think about getting you some gloves. Is your jumper covered too?” Ben examined the deep staining on my fingers and palm as soon as the back door of the cottage was closed and the icy winds were sealed outside.

“If I learned to put the paint on the frame instead of anywhere else, then there wouldn’t be an issue,” I laughed. “It’ll come off, plus the jumper is black, so anyone close enough to see the stains is either far too close or is one of you or Seb.”

He blushed lightly at that. “I hope so.” My hand was still encased in his, but he was no longer examining it. He was steadily searching my eyes. “Now that the windows are done, Alex can go to the manor.”

“Yeah?” If I hadn’t been so excited at the thought of Alex being out of the house, I would have been a little embarrassed by how thrilled I sounded.

“Yep, with the incoming gales the windows need fixing…” He sounded as pleased as I did. “He’ll be gone for days.”

Did Ben just wiggle his eyebrows at me? I beamed at him.

Ben tucked our shoes away and herded me into the lounge, where the fire crackled and the TV still rolled in the background. The line for breaking news didn’t have anything relating to me, for which I was grateful. Instead, the screen was filled with an image of a tank on a battlefield with the letters NSCTA stamped over it. The rolling updates read:

‘The National Service Care Transition Act – is the government abandoning its duty of care to the children in the system?’

Alex and Seb sat whispering urgently, their mood nowhere near as high-spirited as ours.

Alex looked livid, an expression that I now knew covered a multitude of actual emotions.

Seb, however, looked concerned. Deeply, deeply concerned.

Alex rushed to turn off the TV, startled to see us there. He frowned at Ben, who remained staring at the screen even after it had turned black.

“Benji,” Seb started. “We need to have a little chat.”

“Right.” Ben folded himself into a seat, pulling me down with him and entwining our hands. The constant contact from him was a brief distraction from the tension radiating from the others, that now emanated from him too.

“There’s been an announcement, and we realise it is something that might sit uncomfortably with you, and we would rather discuss it together than risk you finding out another way.” Alex paused before clapping Seb supportively on the back. “We’re here with you to work through this together. Okay?”

Ben waited.

“Even though Alex reached out to family, those associated and so on, there’s been very little anyone could do to stall or influence the direction of this,” Seb continued, but I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Just tell me.” Ben’s fingers flexed against mine, tightening.

“There have been some changes announced to the care system, Benji. And we think you will find them uncomfortable. Plenty of people are saying exactly what we are. We need you to know this isn’t a reflection of how people feel. Okay?” Seb was beating around the bush on this one.

I watched Ben, waiting to see how he might react to Seb’s words, but he didn’t react at all.

“It’s called the National Service Care Transition Act,” Alex interjected tentatively. “It’s a plan for people in the system to move primarily into military service when they are past the care system age limit.”

“They’re forcing those in care straight into the armed forces?” Ben’s voice was cool.

“Unless they have an alternative, such as apprenticeships or internships, basically any other scheme,” Seb replied, moving to sit on the edge of his seat. I could sense he wanted to come to Ben’s side.

Ben was quiet, his skin paling, his chin dropped so he stared at our hands. All the playfulness of the workshop now leached from him.

“Their legal obligation ends, so they funnel them into forced labour? Filling the ranks with people who have no-one else.” Ben sounded entirely detached, staring through our hands, through the floor.