Ashlee takes a careful step onto the plank bridge and holds out her hand to Jamie. He helps guide her across to the island.
When Ashlee and Nia arrived five months ago under an emergency court order, they were supposed to stay only until a long-term placement could be found. My parents’ focus was on teenagers, but over the course of several long sleepless nights, Mum formed a bond with the little girls and asked to keep them until they could be adopted. She’s so hands-on with them that she no longer has much time for Joanne, Preston and Jamie – and now George.
Let alone me.
But I’m not resentful. Looking at Ashlee and seeing how far she’s come, I feel only a sense of pride. My mum has worked wonders with her, and we’ve all played a part.
George has ventured into the stream and is watching the water surge over his boots, washing away some of the mud from the higher paddock. He glances up and catches me staring, but doesn’t look away. A strange feeling flutters inside me. And then he stomps.
Water splashes up towards me, the chickens all around us squawk and flee in a cacophony of panic and I squeal in shock as my jeans are drenched from my knees to my thighs.
‘You git!’ I yell, going after him.
He strides into deeper water, the sound of his laughter doing lovely things to my stomach. I scoop up ice-cold liquid and send it hurtling towards him, cracking up when he flinches and yelps. All too late I remember that Ashlee doesn’t cope well with chaos, but to my delight, when I glance at her, she’s beaming.
Water hits the side of my face, shock wiping my smile clean off it. I’m still staring at Ashlee, dumbstruck. Then she lets out a squeal and flops over at her waist into full-on belly laughter.
Jamie and I lose it. I catch George smiling, before he abruptly frowns and wades off in the other direction.
My amusement wanes.
‘Want to go see if your tree has grown?’ Jamie asks Ashlee.
‘Yeah!’
We head out past the coop to the lower paddock where the male alpacas are grazing. The land falls away again to the right of their paddock and there’s a short, steep stretch of long grass to navigate before reaching the young wood we’ve created around a central oak tree. There are almost two dozen trees now, each one symbolising the life of a child who has come to live here.
Ashlee runs down the hill towards her sapling, shouting over her shoulder. ‘This one’s mine!’
She must be saying it for George’s benefit because Jamie and I know, of course.
‘What is it?’ George asks Jamie and me as we follow at a more contained pace.
‘An oak,’ Jamie replies. ‘Nia’s got the same.’
‘Mighty oaks from little acorns grow,’ George says drily.
My hackles rise at the sarcasm in his voice, but Jamie chuckles good-naturedly. He points out his tree. ‘I’ve gone for walnut cos I like nuts, but you can choose what you like: peach, pear, anything.’
‘I’m not doing a bloody tree ceremony,’ George snaps.
‘Ah, come on, fella,’ Jamie chides. ‘I know it seems a bit odd, but it makes them dead happy.’
‘Why is it my job to make them happy?’ George retorts.
I shoot a quick look at Ashlee, but she’s wandering between the trees, oblivious to his raised voice.
‘They only do it to make themselves feel good; a reminder of how many kids they’ve tried to save,’ George continues. ‘It’s egotistical.’
‘That’s not it at all.’ I sound defensive, but Jamie merely shakes his head, dismissing George’s comment. ‘There is a point,’ I state. ‘It’s about being a part of something that’s lasting, something permanent. You can come back in the future and see how much your tree has grown.’
‘Or you can stick around and watch it grow,’ Jamie gently interjects. ‘Every kid who comes to live here gets a tree, whether they’re staying for weeks or years. There are no exceptions. You can choose, or Carrie and Ivan will choose one for you. Either way, you have a place here. We don’t know your story, lad, and we’re not asking you to tell us, but if you end up going back to your mam or your dad or whoever and it all goes tits up again, Carrie and Ivan will do what they can to bring you back to the farm instead of letting you get bounced around the system again. They hate that so many kids get moved on.’
George blinks, and I realise he’s holding back tears. He stalks away from us a few paces, leaving us rooted to the spot. Jamie and I share a mutual look of concern.
It’s not as though we haven’t heard others complain about the tree ceremony, but I don’t think either of us expected him to show emotion following his outburst.
‘What about you?’ George asks me out of the blue. ‘Which one’s yours?’
‘I don’t have one.’
‘I thought you said every kid…?’
‘Leah is Carrie and Ivan’s bio,’ Jamie enlightens him.
George turns around to stare at me properly. ‘Are you? I wouldn’t have guessed.’
I shrug. ‘My parents try to treat us all the same.’
Mum and Dad believe every child deserves to be loved unconditionally – they don’t agree with labelling. When asked by ignorant strangers, ‘Which child belongs to you?’ they reply, ‘They all do.’
George stares at me for a long moment before glowering and averting his gaze.
I have a feeling he wouldn’t have said any of that stuff about my parents if he’d known I wasn’t in a similar situation to everyone else here.
My heart sinks at the realisation. I doubt he’ll ever be as relaxed around me again.
Chapter 5 Now
After leaving George standing in the middle of the room at my father’s funeral reception, I go off in search of Emilie. She’s no longer with my mum, but has instead wandered off to an adjoining room where she’s sitting on the floor, building a tower out of brightly coloured plastic blocks. Her face is fixed in concentration, so she doesn’t see the blond boy toddling over to her until it’s too late. He sends her blocks flying, delighting in the act, then regards her with surprise when she squeals at him with righteous indignation.
‘Hey you.’ I kneel beside her on the grubby carpet, hoping to avoid World War Three. ‘It’s okay, I can help you build it again.’
She gives the toddler a look of furious distrust and I follow her gaze, studying him. He seems familiar. Who does he belong to? And then I remember the picture I was sent last autumn, and the year before that, shortly after he was born. I search for my friend and spy her in a nearby huddle.
‘Becky!’ I exclaim, getting to my feet.
She glances over at me and a moment later I’m being squeezed half to death. ‘Oh my God, Lee, I’m so sorry about your dad.’
‘Thanks.’ My voice is muffled against her shoulder.
She withdraws to look at me. ‘I wanted to come to the service, but Robin’s away for work so there was no one to look after Hayden. We headed straight here – I was about to hunt you out. Emilie, you’ve grown so big!’
While Becky fusses over Emilie, I crouch down beside Hayden, scarcely able to believe that the last time I saw him he was a tiny baby.