‘Don’t be silly, there’s plenty of time. You’re not working until tonight, right?’
George nods.
‘How’s it going at the pub?’ I ask, trying to relax into small-talk territory as I pull out a chair for Emilie.
‘I need a wee,’ Emilie declares, derailing the conversation.
‘Come on, then.’ Mum holds out her hand.
I smile after them, then glance at George to let him know I’m still waiting on an answer.
‘Fine.’ He leans against the wall and folds his arms as I get on with making the tea.
‘Are your colleagues nice?’ I’m fishing.
‘Nat’s cool,’ he replies.
A slithery feeling coils into my gut. I remembered her name after I left the pub the last time. I used to know her as Natalie, but George is obviously familiar enough with her to use a nickname.
‘You realise we went to school with her?’ I keep my voice sounding casual as I pour boiling water into the teapot.
He nods. ‘Her sister Amanda was in our year.’
‘That’s right. You’ve got a good memory.’
‘I didn’t remember. Nat reminded me,’ he admits.
I put everything onto a tray and take it to the table, nodding at the chair opposite.
‘I like that your parents still have the same table,’ he says.
We both wince simultaneously at the mistake. There’s no plural anymore.
‘Do you still take sugar?’ I ask.
‘One.’
I pour milk into our cups.
‘Are you happy to be home?’ he asks. ‘Do you still call it home?’
I think about this. ‘I do, although it hasn’t really been home since I was eighteen. Our flat in London felt like home when Theo was with us, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been happy there. Yes, I am glad to be back.’
Seconds tick by.
‘Your mam told me about your prison visits,’ George says quietly.
I flinch before dully replying: ‘He doesn’t want to see me anymore. Apparently, he finds it too hard,’ I elaborate, bitterness creeping into my tone.
‘Oh, he finds it hard?’ George’s eyes spark with anger, and I remember the time Dad took him to visit his own father in jail. He was even more introverted than usual when he returned.
‘Going there has been difficult for me too.’ I reach for the teapot.
‘Let me,’ George says.
Our fingers brush and I yank my hand away, feeling as though I’ve been electrocuted.
How can this be happening again?
When George left all those years ago, it was as though he’d ripped a hole in my heart. Theo helped to fill it, but not completely. And now I’m wearing a Theo-shaped hole and I know it’ll kill me to lose any more of myself. George has the ability to break me. And I’m already so fractured.
He’s still staring at me, his hand gripping the teapot, but failing to pour. I’m looking anywhere but at him.
‘Leah,’ he whispers, putting the teapot back down on the tray.
I break a bit more at hearing him say my name.
‘I miss him,’ I confide. ‘But I’m also still so angry at him.’
‘I get it,’ he replies, and I believe him. If anyone understands what I’m going through, it’s George.
At this realisation, my walls come tumbling down. ‘Why didn’t he listen to me? If he hadn’t walked out that door…’ My anger loses steam and I feel deflated all of a sudden. ‘Theo always had to do things his way.’ George doesn’t speak and I find myself continuing: ‘I just want to talk to him, tell him about Emilie and all the small things, stuff that’s so easy to forget, like how she collected those feathers earlier. It’s another moment that he’s missed out on.’
The sound of the toilet flushing travels down the hallway.
I reach for the teapot and George goes to take over again.
‘No.’ I shake my head at him and begin to pour. ‘I need the distraction.’
Chapter 12 Then
I’m at the dining room table on Saturday afternoon, doing homework, when Dad and the others return from the market.
I hear Dad knocking on the study door.
‘Are you there, son?’ he asks.
‘Yep?’ George calls back.
‘I thought we might go to the tree nursery?’
Silence.
‘It won’t take long,’ Dad adds.
I peer around the door frame to see him standing there, patiently staring at George’s door.
‘Can we go tomorrow?’ George replies at last.
‘It’s closed tomorrow. Are you all right?’
There’s another lengthy pause before the door handle turns and the door opens. I swiftly retreat as I hear George tell him, ‘I’m fine, I’m in the middle of something.’
‘Can I help?’
‘No, I’m writing a letter. Any chance you can go without me?’
‘Er, I suppose I could. Is there any tree in particular that you would like?’
‘No, happy for you to choose.’
‘Unless we go sometime this week after school?’ Dad asks hopefully.
‘I really don’t mind,’ George replies.
‘Okay, then.’
The door clicks shut again.
‘Dad,’ I whisper.
He pokes his head around the living room doorway. ‘Oh, hello, love, I didn’t know you were there.’
‘Get him a silver birch,’ I say softly.
‘A silver birch tree?’
I nod. ‘We went for a walk earlier. He likes them.’
‘Right you are.’ He hesitates. ‘Don’t suppose you want to come with me?’
‘Just you and me?’
He nods brightly.
I close up my textbook with a smile. ‘Sure.’
Better make the most of a rare opportunity.
* * *
We all attend the tree ceremony on Sunday afternoon, several hours later than planned because of delays caused by one thing or another. First no one can rally George, then Joanne kicks off because she can’t find her hairbrush, and then Preston falls off the quad bike. The dozy git shouldn’t have been on it in the first place – Jamie was using it to do some work around the farm – so Dad has to give him a proper talking to because his actions put not only him, but everyone at risk. Who knows what social services would have done if he’d been badly hurt. Thankfully he wasn’t.
Dad insists we all go straight after lunch, but it’s clear that George’s heart isn’t in it as we trudge down to the lower paddock. I watch for his reaction when we reach the small silver birch sapling sitting front and centre of the others. He stands and stares, then looks at me, his lips quirking up at the corners. ‘Was this you?’
‘Leah picked it out,’ Dad replies on my behalf.
George reaches down, picks up the shovel lying on the grass, and begins to dig.
* * *
The first thing I do when I wake up on Monday morning is check my phone to see if Becky has texted. She was feeling ill all weekend and she didn’t think she’d be in today. There’s no message to confirm either way, so I send her a quick one, saying I hope she’s better and knowing that, if she doesn’t reply, she’s likely still in bed.