‘No, for you. Well, both of you, I suppose, but you, seeing as she’s not here.’
I laugh lightly and take them. ‘Thank you.’
‘Sorry, that came out wrong. I was thinking of you when I bought them.’
I glance at him, feeling my stomach flip.
He gets Mum’s car keys out of his pocket. ‘These are for your mam. I have a couple more things too.’
He lifts a box of chocolates out of the bag, plus a bottle of Prosecco, a bottle of red wine and a six-pack of Theakston’s.
‘We’re going to be mashed!’ I exclaim.
He laughs. ‘I wasn’t expecting us to drink it all tonight.’
‘Oh, we are definitely making a hole in this stuff. I told you, I want to see you drunk.’
He looks around. ‘Is Emilie in bed?’
I nod. ‘She went down half an hour ago. Hopefully she’ll stay that way till morning. Which of these magnificent beverages will you start with?’
‘I’ll have a bitter,’ he says. ‘You?’
‘Prosecco, all the way.’
He opens the bottle and deftly fills a flute for me, judging the bubbles so they don’t spill over.
‘You are very good at that, you know,’ I say. ‘Are you sure you haven’t been working behind a bar all these years?’
He lifts an eyebrow at me.
‘I suppose you’re used to pouring Prosecco for Annie.’
Did I really say that?
‘And your other girlfriends, no doubt.’
And that?!
He laughs quietly. ‘There haven’t been too many of those. No one serious, in any case. What about you?’
‘There’s only been Theo for me.’
He reaches for a bottle of Theakston’s, cracking it open.
Did I imagine him flinching?
‘You want a glass?’
‘No, this is grand.’ He lifts it to knock against mine.
‘Cheers. Let’s go through to the living room. Dinner won’t be long. I hope you like Italian.’
‘I do.’
George is wearing dark-grey trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, hanging loose over another white T-shirt underneath.
I wonder what his tattoos look like in winter – do they stand out more against paler skin? Right now, he’s honey-coloured, tanned from spending time outdoors.
I lift my knees up onto the sofa so I can face him. It’s a warm night, so my feet are bare – earlier I painted my toenails in coral pink polish and now I realise the colour unintentionally matches the T-shirt knotted at my waist. I’m wearing skinny black jeans.
George looks around the room, his eyes coming to a rest on the basket of yarn by the fireplace.
‘Remember how I taught you to knit?’
He smiles and nods. ‘I never did finish that scarf.’
‘I finished it for you.’
‘Did you?’
‘Yeah. I think there were more tears in it than fibre at one point. I still have it in a box somewhere.’
His brow creases and his fingers flex. I have a funny feeling he’d like to reach out and touch me, but I laugh lightly before he can act on it.
‘So much for going to the festival. Becky managed to go. She went with Martin. Do you remember him?’
‘Yeah, they started going out before I left.’
‘They were together for a couple of months, but broke up at the end of summer. Straight after the festival, actually.’
‘That’ll teach her for not inviting you.’
‘Oh, she invited me,’ I reply flippantly. ‘But I was in no mood to go without you and Theo.’
Martin calling things off with Becky was what brought us back together in the end. She realised she did need her best friend after all. Comforting her took my mind off my own heartache. We were close again by the end of September.
We chat for a while and then I go to put the pasta on.
George gets up from the sofa and joins me in the kitchen. ‘It smells amazing.’
‘It’s Theo’s aunt’s recipe,’ I disclose automatically.
‘Oh, right.’ He sounds surprised.
‘Did you know Theo’s mother was Italian?’ I decide to continue on this course.
‘No?’
‘Neither did I. His aunt was his mother’s sister. Claudia. Theo got on well with her. She taught him how to cook, in fact.’
And he, in turn, taught me, once we were living together.
‘I’m still reeling from the fact that he went to Italy,’ he says.
‘He liked it there, despite how much he hated to leave this place.’
‘So you two stayed in touch? Well, obviously you did.’
I nod. ‘We wrote and spoke on the phone. He came home for the longer school holidays so we’d see each other then.’
‘Shall I open the bottle of red?’
‘Go for it. I might stick with Prosecco.’
He sorts out our drinks while I drain the tagliatelle. We carry everything through to the dining table.
‘This room feels so empty,’ George says as we sit down. ‘Didn’t we have nine people around this table at one point?’
I think aloud: ‘Mum, Dad, you, me, Jamie, Joanne, Preston, Ashlee and Nia. Yep, nine.’
‘Do you ever hear from any of them?’
I nod and pick up my fork. ‘Preston returned to us, unfortunately. I mean “unfortunately” for him, not us. His mum went back into rehab.’ I twirl some pasta around my fork, already regretting the messy food choice. ‘Did you know Dani is his sister?’
‘No!’
‘Yeah.’ I smile at his surprise. ‘She came back with him the second time. She was seventeen, so we only had her briefly. Preston went to live with her eventually. He runs a doughnut stall these days which he takes to various markets around North Yorkshire. He always did love going to Masham with Dad.’
I sigh and George gives me a sad smile.
‘Joanne went on to become a social worker,’ I reveal.
His eyebrows jump up.
‘And then she quit and became a primary school teacher.’
‘Ah.’
‘She got married and divorced and married again, and now she and her second husband are expecting their first baby together. He seems nice. We went to their wedding last year in Wales.’
‘Is that where they live?’
I nod.
‘What about Ashlee and Nia?’
I shake my head and pick up my napkin. ‘Their father was eventually caught and convicted for the murder of their mother so at least we knew he was no longer a threat to them.’ I pause before asking, ‘Are you in contact with your dad?’
‘No. As you once said, just because he’s got some of the same cells as me, doesn’t make him worth my time. I decided enough was enough and stopped all contact. I’m sad you’ve never heard from Ashlee and Nia, though.’
‘Me too. I still hold out hope that one day they’ll look through their Life Story books and decide to get in touch. It’s hard to believe that Ashlee is eighteen now.’
‘Or that Sophie is nineteen.’
‘You really never got any leads on her?’
‘No.’
‘It’s probably a stupid question, but have you looked for her on Facebook?’