I leave my room and creep past his, wincing with every creak of my footsteps on the stairs.
‘Good morning,’ Mum says warmly when I appear in the kitchen. ‘You’re up early. I thought you were having a lie-in?’
‘You can go back to bed if you like?’
‘No, I’m up now. Did George stay over?’ she calls through to me as I go to say hello to Emilie. She’s watching telly.
‘He did,’ I call back, giving Emilie a kiss on her forehead. ‘There was a ridiculous delay for a taxi so it made sense.’
‘First Jamie and Dani and now George,’ she says with pleasure as I wander back into the kitchen and pull up a chair, thanking her for the cup of tea she’s poured from the pot. ‘It’s lovely having a full house again. It’s like having my kids back.’
I smile at her as she comes to sit down beside me.
‘I’ve actually been wondering,’ she says.
Uh-oh. I know that scheming look.
‘Did you hear George saying he needs to find somewhere else to live?’
I nod and slurp my tea. I heard him mention it on Saturday night when we were at the pub, although I was distracted with a wired Emilie at the time.
‘How would you feel about him taking Jamie’s room? His old room?’
I gawp at her.
‘I know you don’t want a boarder,’ she says quickly. ‘But it’s George. He’s not just anyone, and I thought it would be a way to get past this issue he has with being paid. Something to give him in return.’
I get up and hunt out some Paracetamol, my mind spinning.
‘Not on an empty stomach,’ Mum reprimands me. ‘Pop some toast in. I’ll do you a fry-up when George comes down.’
We both freeze at the sound of doors opening and closing upstairs. He’s awake! My heart begins to gallop.
‘Think about it,’ she whispers. ‘But wouldn’t it be nice to have a man about the house again?’
I snort. ‘You’re so old-fashioned.’
‘Well, I would like it,’ she mutters. ‘I’m very fond of George. Aren’t you?’
I nod, carving through the loaf of bread on the chopping board and trying to steel myself against the sucker-punch of grief I feel every single time I do this.
Making toast always reminds me of Dad these days. He somehow managed to slice the bread to exactly the right thickness, every time. I guess he had enough practice, over the years, with all those breakfasts he used to do. What I wouldn’t give to come downstairs and still see him standing here at the counter…
‘He’s so different to how he was.’ Mum is still talking about George.
‘I don’t think he’s that different,’ I argue.
‘Oh, he is.’ She dismisses my comment. ‘He’s much more mellow. I hope he sticks around.’
My insides lurch at the thought of him walking out of our lives again. It’s a distinct possibility.
‘You’d better hope a job comes up at Forestry England in North Yorkshire then.’
‘Surely something will sooner rather than later. He can’t enjoy being stuck inside. Do you think he’d go back to work on an estate?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know, you’d have to ask him.’
‘I will.’ Mum hesitates, then opens her mouth, and closes it again.
‘Spit it out,’ I say with a laugh as my toast pops up.
‘Nothing. I don’t mean for George,’ she continues over the sound of me buttering. ‘But I heard Bartholomew is retiring.’
‘Morning,’ George says from the doorway.
I jump. With the noise of my knife scraping, and us talking, I didn’t hear him come down the stairs.
‘Good morning!’ Mum says brightly, getting up to make him a cup of tea.
I carry on buttering my toast with the single-mindedness of a lunatic. I can’t look at him.
‘Did I hear you say Bart is retiring?’ George asks.
Turns out I can look at him after all, and holy hell, he’s even more attractive with day-old stubble. His white T-shirt is creased and looks slept-in and his hair is sexily dishevelled. I want to run my fingers through it.
His attention is focused on Mum.
‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘They’ll be looking for a new groundskeeper. But I’m sure you’re not interested,’ she adds hastily, with a worried glance in my direction.
‘Hell, no. I couldn’t work for people like that.’
He acknowledges my look of relief with a small smile before accepting the tea from Mum.
I don’t think I’m the only one finding it difficult to maintain eye contact this morning.
‘Do you see much of them?’ he asks either or both of us.
He sounds rough.
‘No. Theo disowned them years ago,’ I reply, popping a couple of Paracetamol out and offering the packet to George. He takes it with a grateful thanks.
I prefer to say Theo disowned his family rather than the other way around. The fact is, Theo’s father and brother stopped speaking to him when he went to art college. He got into the RCA, which was an achievement in itself, and then Theo’s dad refused to help with his tuition.
So Theo sold his grandfather’s carriage clock – an antique that had been in the family for years. It was Theo’s to sell – his father’s father had left it to him in his will – but Edwin and Acton considered it an unforgivable act.
Perhaps if he’d gone on to become a world-renowned artist who they could boast about to their friends, they would’ve felt differently. But instead Theo used his degree to become a secondary school Art teacher, a job he thrived at.
‘They don’t have a relationship with Emilie?’ George asks, leaning against the counter and raising his cup to his lips.
I shake my head.
‘Right, fry-up!’ Mum claps her hands.
‘Please don’t go to any hassle,’ he says. ‘I should get going.’
‘You stay right where you are,’ Mum commands.
‘In that case, how about I bring in the eggs?’
‘Oh, that’s a good idea,’ Mum agrees. ‘Why don’t you take Emilie with you. Get her away from the TV.’
I stiffen, but George doesn’t seem fazed by the suggestion.
‘Want to come and collect the hen eggs with me, Emilie?’ he asks from the living room doorway. ‘We’ll see if we can find some more feathers for your cushion too.’
‘Okay,’ she agrees quite happily, getting to her feet.
My heart contracts as I watch her take his hand and trot after him out the door.
‘She reminds me of you… She’s lovely.’
Mum smiles at me when they’ve gone. ‘He would make a wonderful boarder,’ she says. ‘Promise me you’ll think about it.’
I doubt I’ll do anything else.
* * *
I hear my mobile phone ringing as George is preparing to leave. I’ve taken Emilie to the toilet so I call out to Mum to ask her to answer it.
‘It’s Sally!’ she calls back.
‘Can you take a message?’
I will Emilie to hurry up so I can find out why my lawyer is calling me at this time on a Monday morning.