‘I spoke to your dad about Sophie,’ George says.
‘What did he say?’
‘He reckons he’ll be able to organise a meeting.’
‘That’s brilliant!’
‘Yeah. I hope she’s okay. I dread to think what she’s been going through after my experiences.’
‘It’s easier to place younger kids,’ I reassure him. ‘Her social worker probably had more options. Nicer options.’
‘I wish she could’ve come here with me.’
‘I wish she could’ve too.’
‘I wondered if, maybe, when Ashlee and Nia leave – if Ashlee is adopted too – whether your parents might agree to take her.’ He says all of this stutteringly, his voice full of uncertainty.
‘That would be amazing,’ I effuse.
He looks at me, his expression brightening with hope. ‘Do you reckon it could happen?’
‘I don’t see why not. I’ll ask my parents too, if you like.’
His relief is palpable and I feel a twinge of panic. I don’t want to get his hopes up.
But why wouldn’t my mum and dad take Sophie too?
I try to think of something else to say, some way to change the subject, but all I can think is that I’m cold. The rain has dampened my jeans and jumper. George is wearing black jeans and another band T-shirt – Pulp this time. His arms are bare, but I can’t see any goosebumps.
‘Aren’t you cold?’ I ask.
‘No, I’m all right.’ He glances at me. ‘Are you?’
‘A bit.’
‘Come over here, then.’ He jerks his head to indicate that I should edge closer, but he doesn’t move himself.
I slide along the bench until we’re almost, but not quite, touching. We’re near enough that I can feel the body heat flowing from his skin.
‘Have you seen Pulp live?’ I ask with a nod at his T-shirt.
‘Yeah, at the Leeds Festival last year.’
‘Brill! I’ve never been to a festival.’
‘No?’
‘I’ve never even been to a gig.’
He looks surprised.
‘Becky wants to go to Leeds this year, but my parents think I’m too young.’
‘Jamie could take you? We went with my friend’s older brother and a bunch of his mates. Or your parents could? I can imagine your dad, having a bit of a boogie.’
I laugh and he smiles.
‘My parents don’t have a lot of spare time.’
He gives me a sympathetic look, which is completely unexpected.
‘But Jamie might be up for it,’ I say with renewed hope. ‘Who else did you see?’
George comes to life as he talks about music: Muse, The Strokes, the White Stripes, the Dandy Warhols… He has a lovely voice, all warm and deep, and right now he’s more animated than I’ve ever seen him. I’ve edged further away so I can look at his face.
‘Honestly, it was the best weekend of my life,’ he says.
‘Maybe we could go this summer?’ I say with sudden excitement. ‘You, me, Becky, Theo and Jamie?’
He nods, but he’s lost some of his earlier energy, and I feel a little crushed at the realisation that he probably believes that his best memories are behind him, before his mother died, while he still had his sister, a permanent home and friends he’d grown up with. I can’t imagine how it must have felt to be ripped away from it all.
‘Do you miss your friends?’ I ask as my enthusiasm for our last topic wanes.
He hesitates before nodding. ‘I was part of a big group, though. I wasn’t really close to anyone in particular. I’d say we were mates rather than friends. I haven’t spoken to anyone in a while.’
‘Oh. So you don’t have a best mate?’
‘Nope.’
‘Maybe I can be your best mate,’ I say jovially, elbowing his ribs. ‘Theo and me. And Becky, when she’s better.’ I say Becky’s name a bit reluctantly and feel a familiar pang of guilt.
Becky will like George and Theo, when she gets to know them, but I don’t love the thought of that happening. She’s so self-assured and funny – much more popular than me and always has been. I haven’t minded. I love her and I love feeling warm under the glow of her affection. But sometimes, if I’m being honest, I feel overshadowed by her. Her personality is so sunshiny and attractive that I can’t help but feel smaller in comparison.
With Theo and George, I don’t feel small. I’m kind of enjoying having them to myself for a bit.
‘Yeah, maybe.’ George gives me a smile and I edge back in towards his body heat.
We fall silent. The rain is still coming down, but it’s not as heavy. I’m strangely reluctant to leave our tiny shelter.
‘Have you ever had a girlfriend?’ I ask out of the blue.
‘Not proper ones. We didn’t kiss or anything. I’m not sure they really count. Have you?’ he asks. ‘Had a boyfriend, I mean.’
‘No. Becky fancies Martin.’ My stomach drops. ‘Oh, shit,’ I gasp. ‘Please don’t tell anyone. I can’t believe I just told you that!’
George laughs under his breath. ‘I won’t.’
I’m genuinely shocked that I’ve broken her confidence. Why did I tell him? Did I want him to think that she’s unavailable?
He nudges my knee with his. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘I feel so bad.’
‘I can tell.’ He leans against me, giving me what is supposed to be a gentle arm bump, but he doesn’t fully move back to his starting position afterwards. The whole left-hand side of my arm is now brushing against his.
I don’t move away either.
We fall silent, and I start to become aware of the clean-linen smell of him, his musky deodorant, his warm skin. The air around us begins to feel charged and I can’t stop thinking about the place where his bare arm is touching mine. Is he as aware of it as I am? Where we were comfortably talking before, now I can’t think of a single thing to say.
I hear him swallow.
Jamie appears in the jagged opening and we jerk apart. ‘What are you dozy buggers doing, squirrelled away in there?’ he asks with a grin.
‘It was raining,’ I exclaim, jumping to my feet and heading outside.
‘I know. Joanne and I got soaked. It’s stopped now, thankfully.’
The four of us make our way back to my parents together, but my head is only half on our conversation. The other half can’t stop thinking about how it felt to be with George alone in the grotto.
Chapter 15 Now
It’s close to eleven by the time George has dropped Becky home after our night out at the pub. She and I did stay for dessert. We were determined to end the evening on a high note.
‘Thanks for this,’ I say to George when we’re back on the lane leading to our farm. ‘You didn’t have to.’
‘I wanted to.’
We reach the farm and he begins to swing into a parking spot.
‘Stop!’ I cry as his headlights sweep over the lower paddock.
He slams on his brakes and we both jolt forward.
‘What?’ he gasps.