I’ve tried to make conversation with him, but from the second he steps off the bus to the second he steps back on again, he gives me one-word answers and keeps to himself. I have to keep reminding myself that I’ve literally done nothing wrong.
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when things changed between us. Was it when he lost his temper in the lane and screamed? Or did he start to pull away before that? My mind keeps returning to the moment in Art when he saw Theo’s portrait of me. Is he embarrassed or jealous? Either way, I hope he gets over it soon.
I really wanted to speak to him tonight. When we got home from school, Dad pulled him aside to say that his new social worker had managed to arrange a visit with Sophie. Mum told me that much while they were in the study, talking it through. George went out for a walk afterwards and only came back in time for dinner, disappearing into his room straight after. Jamie told me he was listening to music with his headphones on. I could picture it: eyes closed, totally introverted and shut off from the world and everyone in it.
I’m feeling a bit pissed off about it now, but only because I’m frustrated. I care about him and I want to help.
With a huff, I throw my covers off my bed. It’s almost one a.m. and I feel wide awake. We’ve got a Maths test tomorrow so I could really do without being an insomniac right now. I decide to go to the bathroom – more for the want of something to do than because I need to. I open the door to the sound of the stairs creaking and look to see that George and Jamie’s bedroom door is slightly ajar.
I find George in the living room, sitting sideways on the sofa and staring out of the big picture window. The heavy curtains are wide open to the stormy night beyond.
‘Hi.’ I speak up over the sound of the rain.
George jumps and turns to look at me in the doorway.
‘Sorry,’ I apologise for scaring him. ‘I heard you come downstairs. Couldn’t sleep. You?’
‘Same.’
I quietly close the door behind me and go to sit at the other end of the sofa. He looks awkward, pulling his knees up to his chest. He’s wearing pyjamas, but they’re effectively shorts and a T-shirt, so it’s not a big deal. I feel underdressed in comparison. I’m also wearing pyjama shorts, but my top is a vest and I have no bra on underneath. I mimic his body position, hugging my knees to my chest. No way am I leaving now to go upstairs and get my dressing gown.
‘Are you okay?’
He nods and returns his gaze to the window. It’s so dark, we can barely make out the raindrops streaking the glass.
‘I should probably go back to bed.’
‘Please talk to me,’ I say. ‘I feel like you’re avoiding me.’
‘No, I’m not,’ he snaps, scowling at me. ‘It’s not all about you, you know.’
I don’t even try to mask my hurt.
His expression creases into contrition. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ he whispers.
‘Talk to me,’ I plead, my nose prickling as I stretch my hand across the top of the sofa cushion towards him.
He lets out a long heavy sigh and stares at the basket next to the other sofa containing our scarves in progress.
‘Have you got a date for a meeting with Sophie?’ I ask.
He nods. ‘Wednesday the twenty-third of June. Your dad says I can have the day off school.’
‘That’s good.’ It’s still the week after next, but at least there’s a date in the diary.
He looks weary. He looks sad.
‘Isn’t it?’ I ask.
He shrugs.
‘George,’ I implore.
He blinks quickly. I move my hand to his bare knee and he jolts. His skin is warm.
‘Her social worker doesn’t think it’s a great idea,’ he reveals slowly.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask with a frown.
‘Sophie’s social worker,’ he explains. ‘She said Sophie is about to be adopted by a “truly lovely couple”,’ he says bitterly, adding, ‘Apparently she’s doing really well.’ There’s no bitterness when he says this last part – he simply sounds matter-of-fact. He blinks again, rapidly. ‘She thinks that seeing me might upset her.’
‘Well, tough,’ I snap crossly. ‘They should have let her see you sooner, then.’
He lets out a small laugh. ‘She’s more important than I am, Leah.’
‘Bullshit!’ I erupt. ‘You’re both important. This is bollocks, George. You need to be able to say goodbye to her.’
He buries his face against his knees and emits a stricken sob.
My heart contracts. We were foot to foot, but now we’re knee to knee and I move even closer until the lower half of our legs are pressed together. I take his face between my hands. His shoulders are heaving and in a far-off part of my brain I register how unexpectedly soft his hair is.
‘I don’t want to say goodbye.’ He lifts his head to stare at me, his expression distraught. ‘She’s my sister. I looked after her for three years. She’s mine!’
I brush the tears from his cheeks. ‘I know. It’s so unfair.’ His tears keep on spilling from his dark eyes, and he continues to look right at me as I wipe them away.
My heart is overwhelmed with compassion for him. I want to take his pain away, would do anything to dispel some of his hurt. The most powerful urge to kiss him overcomes me. In the moments that follow, I picture myself doing it, imagine myself pushing his knees apart and sliding over him, our chests flush against each other as our lips connect. And then reality hits and I recoil, shocked to my core that I almost did something that could propel him out of my life for good.
Abruptly George jumps up from the sofa. He stares down at me, breathing heavily, and then he stalks from the room without a word.
My heart hammers in my chest as I listen to his footfall on the stairs, but I stay on the sofa for a good half an hour longer, reeling from the thoughtlessness that almost led me down a path to losing him.
* * *
George and I barely speak at all after that; we don’t even make eye contact. If distance is what he wants, distance is what he gets because I’m terrified that my parents or Jamie or Joanne might suspect that my feelings for him go further than friendship. Even at school, I avoid him, hoping that I might be able to gradually shift my frame of mind to a platonic place.
I’m unable to get the thought from my head that the compassion that I experienced, the emotion that made my heart feel as though it was going to burst… It felt a lot like love.
But while my relationship with George is on dangerous ground, my friendship with Theo couldn’t be easier. He makes me laugh like no one else can.
Becky is off ill again when George goes to see Sophie at her foster home in Leeds, so it’s only Theo and me together at school that day. On the bus on the way home he asks me if I’m okay.
‘I’m worried about George,’ I reply. ‘He’s been really stressed about this meeting.’
‘What time’s he coming home?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Want me to come over for a bit?’
I smile at him. ‘You just want to see a baby alpaca.’
He nods, grinning. ‘I totally want to see a baby alpaca. Are you going to deny me?’