Fault (Define Book 3) Page 4

  Too dramatic?

  Too true?

  IT TURNED OUT THAT Lauren already knew, thanks to a phone call from the ever-helpful Mrs Jenkins. And she was cool about it.

  “Now everybody, I’m going to ask you to leave us to work in private today. These are closed rehearsals for next month’s show and we don’t want to spoil the surprise, do we?” The shouts of agreement from the kids meant that the parents had no choice but to comply and make their way out to the coffee shop in the foyer. I mouthed my thanks to Lauren and took my group over to the stage.

  The next few hours flew by. I was again the person I used to be.

  Over lunch, Lauren allowed me to steer the conversation, not asking any questions which might require more information than I was willing to offer. Before I left, a brief hug and the reminder that I only needed to ask for help were the only signs of any preferential treatment.

  Riding to Noah’s house, I was thankful that I didn’t have to return to the hostel yet. It wasn’t much of a choice when the only options were watching fifteen-year-old boys play shooter games or sitting in your room, trying to write a letter begging your mum to get in touch.

  Noah opened the door before I’d even put the kickstand in place. I shook out my helmet-hair and smoothed down my Stagestars black tee shirt. Should I have changed? Made more of an effort? Why would it matter?

  “Hi.” He seemed genuinely glad to see me.

  “Hi.” I mirrored his grin. “Are you going to let me in, or am I eating on the drive?”

  “Oh God, sorry.” He stepped back, cheeks tinged with embarrassment. “I hope you like curry.”

  I followed him in, admiring the way his black tee shirt clung to the line of his shoulders.

  “Umm, what would you say if I said no?” I asked, taking in the spicy warmth coming from the kitchen.

  “Oh,” he started, “I could make you a sandwich? Cheese on toast? It’s no trouble.”

  “I’m just kidding, Noah. Curry sounds great.” I couldn’t remember the last time someone had wanted so much to please me. Or was it pity? “What can I do to help?”

  “Can you lay the trays? Dad’s is the blue one.” I set up the three lap trays that made up for the lack of a dining table while Noah served up bowls of curry and rice. I placed Max’s adapted bowl on his tray, alongside his special cutlery and a sippy cup of water.

  “Hang on, let me get him sorted first,” Noah said, leading the way. I watched as he helped Max to straighten up in his chair before pulling the table across his lap. I looked away as he covered Max’s front with a large tartan bib, a strangely intimate moment between them. “Ready?” Max nodded, and Noah took the blue tray from me. “There you go.” Max smiled and picked up his spoon, eyes glued to the television screen.

  The three of us ate in an easy silence, Noah and I next to each other on the sofa. It was just so calm, so somebody-else’s normal.

  “Where did you learn to cook?” The food was delicious and obviously homemade.

  “I picked up how to make things like this from Dad, and when we were on holidays. I’m not really faithful to one country. This is India meets Thailand. But, more generally, cooking dinner together just became something we did most days when he got in from work. Well, until I got too old to want to spend most of my time with my old man, anyway.” The almost discernible note of sadness told me how much he wished they were still able to do those things.

  “Well, it’s fantastic. I’m impressed.”

  “You wait until you taste my chow mein.” He grinned at me as I wondered if I’d ever get the chance.

  “You cooked, so I’ll clean up,” I said as I stood up and held a hand out for his now-redundant tray.

  “But you’re our guest,” he quickly countered, ready to follow me out. “You okay, Dad? No need to hurry. We’re just going to start tidying up.” Max gave his familiar lopsided smile.

  It didn’t take long to sort the kitchen and soon we were stood side by side, momentarily awkward while waiting for the kettle to boil, until Noah broke the silence.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  I braced myself for a question about what had happened. “Isn’t it meant to be a bad sign when someone asks permission before asking a question?”

  “Maybe,” he admitted. “But it’s more a personal question than anything.”

  I was intrigued. “Go for it.”

  “Why are you staying at a hostel? I mean, I’m guessing your house isn’t an option right now, but why a hostel? I thought you were staying with a friend?”

  “I was, but that was only for the first couple of nights. It’s only Josh’s friend really, and they didn’t have enough room for me to stay longer.” My shrug was an attempt at suggesting I was less bothered about being separated from Josh than I was.

  “But why the hostel? Isn’t there anywhere else? It can’t be a nice place to live.”

  “It’s not, but I don’t have a choice. It will all change next week, anyway.” As I explained my limited options to him, I could see his face fill with concern. No, more than that. Anger.

  “It just doesn’t seem right. I pay my taxes in the belief that people like you will be taken care of.”

  “People like me?” I took a step away from Noah.

  “I don’t mean it like that! People who need some support, whose lives have taken a turn for the unexpected. I’m just digging myself a deeper hole here, aren’t I? What I’m trying to say is that it makes me angry to think someone like you is struggling to even find a roof over their head. It’s not your fault you’re in the position you’ve found yourself in.” I silently disagreed with him but let him carry on. “Turning eighteen shouldn’t make a difference. You still need somewhere safe to stay.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir here, Noah. But that’s how it is and I can’t ignore that. I have some appointments lined up with landlords at the start of the week. Hopefully one of them will be okay.” I added milk to the drinks and handed him his coffee. “Anyway, this isn’t getting any of your work done. You go on upstairs. I can sort Max.”

  Grateful that he took the cue and disappeared, I made my way back to the lounge.

  Noah reappeared at nine thirty, obviously mindful of my curfew. Max was watching the news, as always, and I was reading on my phone.

  “See you soon, Max.” I gave him a peck on the cheek before picking up my things. “Let me know when you need me next,” I said to Noah as I opened the front door.

  “How about Tuesday?”

  “I thought the deadline was Monday?

  “It is, but I work in the office on Mondays so will pick up next week’s work. We’re a copywriter short so there’s as much work as I’m willing to take on at the moment. Dad goes to a day centre on Mondays,” he added, picking up on my confused expression. He amazed me yet again with the way his life was shaped around his dad’s needs.

  “Okay, I’ll see you Tuesday. Usual time?”

  “What about earlier? You can eat with us again. Text me a time.”

  “Will do. See you Tuesday.”

  Noah watched me put my helmet on, move my scooter off the gravel drive and start it up. He was still watching as I rode away.

  Noah: I forgot to pay you again! *feeling very embarrassed*

  I laughed when I saw his message. For someone in such desperate need of money, I was also amazed that I hadn’t thought about it myself. I sat on my bed and considered my reply. I felt bad taking money from Noah. All I had to do was keep Max company and check he made his way to and from the bathroom safely. In return, I had gained a hostel-free evening and a great meal. And friendship.

  Me: Tonight I took payment in the form of curry :-)

  Noah: That’s not happening! Where’s the hostel? I could drop the money off when I take Dad out tomorrow.

  My insides shuddered at the idea of him seeing me here after our earlier conversation about my living arrangements.

  Me: I’m not around tomorrow. Don’t worry about it, you can g
ive it to me on Tuesday. I’m OK until then.

  With having dinner at the Jacksons’ the following day, and one of my supermarket vouchers in my purse, I knew I could just about get through.

  Noah: If you’re sure. Sorry. Please don’t think this is just a scam to get free Dad-care!

  Me: Ha ha! The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but now that you’ve planted the seed… maybe I should ask for payment up front in the future?! :-)

  Noah: That might not be a bad idea based on my track record! You sure you’re OK waiting for it?

  Me: YES!

  Noah: NO NEED TO SHOUT!

  Me: Ha ha!

  There was no need to carry on texting, but I didn’t want it to stop.

  Noah: No telling off tonight, then?

  Me: No. They were more concerned about the bag of weed they found in the kitchen!?

  Noah: Please tell me it wasn’t yours!? *insert winking face if you want but I hate emojis*

  Me: NO IT WASN’T! And yes, that was me shouting! How can you be anti-emoji?!

  Noah: It’s an English grad thing… and years of Dad lamenting the impact of texting on language.

  Me: It’s a gd job he ain’t my m8 then, innit?

  Noah: Very funny! The fact that you still punctuated that correctly gives me hope that all is not lost. I think he would class you as a friend. He’s always in a good mood when I say you’re coming round.

  Me: Ah, that’s sweet. I like him too :-)

  Noah: But that smiley means I can never show him the message!

  Me: I’d better go. I want to write to Mum before I go to bed.

  Noah: OK. See you Tuesday.

  Me: :-)

  Putting my phone on charge, I smiled at what a good day it had been. Watching Noah with Max earlier had made me realise that I had been trying too hard with the letter. I just needed to keep it simple.

  Mum,

  I miss you and would really like to speak to you. Can you give me a call or send me a VO form?

  Josh and I are doing fine.

  I love you,

  Gracie x

  AFTER FILLING UP ON roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, I looked across the table to Josh. He’d barely said a word all lunch.

  “I have a letter to post. Fancy a walk to the postbox?”

  He didn’t even look at me in response. “Nah. We’re going to play footy at the park in a bit.” He clearly hadn’t understood the implied message that I wanted to talk to him. Alone.

  “That’s okay. We won’t be long. It’ll only be a few minutes.”

  “For God’s sake, Grace, I said no! Come on, Callum.” He scraped his chair backwards and stormed out alone, Callum knowing better than to leave in the face of Beth’s death stare. I wanted to cry.

  “I’ll come with you. I could do with some fresh air,” Beth said, standing up. “Callum, you clear the table. Amie, it’s your turn to load the dishwasher. No arguments.” Beth walked away from the table and the rest of the family all did as they were told. “Come on, Grace. Let’s go.”

  I took the letter out of my bag and followed her out, as keen as everyone else, other than Josh, to stay in her good books. “I’m sorry that Josh was so rude, especially after all you’re doing for him.” As angry as I was that we couldn’t live together, I did appreciate that Beth and Chris were saving him from staying in a hostel, or worse.

  “He’s finding it hard, you know. Try not to take it personally. I don’t. I just wish your mum would get in touch. I think that’s what’s upsetting him the most.”

  “Me too,” I admitted. It hurt more than the memories of what that bastard had tried to do to me.

  “Give her time. Your uncle Tim hasn’t heard anything either and he’s trying to sort out what’s going to happen to the house.”

  “The house? What do you mean? Could I move back in there?” Hope bubbled at the idea of going home.

  “I don’t think that’s the plan, love. Jim has agreed to take over the tenancy until your mum gets out. Which is good because it means all her—your—things can stay there. But it’s not right for you or Josh to go back and live with him.”

  I agreed with her, even if it meant that my accommodation choices were even more limited.

  I posted the letter and made small talk with Beth until we got back to the house. She paused before opening the front door.

  “When we go in, I’m going to have a word with Josh about his behaviour, okay? It’s better for me to be the bad cop here.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to make things difficult.”

  “Grace, I’m used to living with teenagers and their moods. Trust me, I can ride it out. What I don’t want is awkwardness between you and Josh. You need each other. He just doesn’t always remember it.”

  “Thank you.” I tried to inject as much sincerity as I could into my words.

  Beth was well-skilled at dealing with teenage boys. By the time I left their house, Josh had apologised and we had plans to go out for lunch the following weekend. His disappointed face when I’d told him that I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday, was enough to make me relent. I could fake happiness for a couple of hours. For his sake.

  SITTING NEXT TO HIM, I wondered how to tell Dad about my plan.

  It was at these sorts of times that I wished he could still talk, still help me to reach decisions. A part of me thought I should wait until I knew if it was definitely going to happen, but that wouldn’t have been right. He’d always consulted me before making the big decisions that affected us both.

  We’d moved house when I was fifteen, having spent my life until then in the same small cottage. He said we could afford somewhere bigger and that he wanted a study with more room for his books. Throughout the whole process, he treated me as an equal, showing me dozens of pictures and listening to my opinions on viewings. We had decided on a modern detached house overlooking a farm, right on the edge of town. I got a bigger bedroom and he got his study. We both had more space, less overlapping of our lives. Looking back, I’m not sure that was such a good thing.

  However, the choice of house turned out to be a good one for a reason we could never have anticipated. After his stroke, managing the stairs was out of the question and it had been easy to convert the dining room and downstairs cloakroom into an accessible bedroom and adjoining wet-room. I’d also built a wall of shelves in there to house his precious books, even though he rarely read them anymore, the struggle to turn pages making him frustrated at how much his life had been reduced.

  But this decision could impact on him just as much as me. The idea came to me when I watched her get cutlery out. Crazy, isn’t it, how such a mundane act can take on such significance? But she looked so comfortable, so much at home. That was when I realised we could give her just that: a home. I didn’t do any work that night, just spent those hours upstairs researching what options she had, something someone might have failed to tell her about. I came up with nothing. Well, nothing other than this.

  I picked up the remote control and switched the television off. Dad looked up at me, confused. “I want to ask you something,” I started, strangely nervous, but then I remembered what Grace had said about that being a crap starting point. “It’s nothing to worry about, but I want your opinion on something, okay?”

  Dad smiled and made himself more comfortable in his chair, knowing this wasn’t going to be brief.

  “Can you remember when Bob told us about Andrea being arrested? About Josh and Grace staying with some friends?” He nodded. “Well, it turns out that Grace has to live in a hostel for homeless teenagers.” I could see the cogs of his brain processing this information, the reporter in him still formulating questions that would have to go unasked. “And next week, when she turns eighteen, she has to move into a bed and breakfast unless she can find somewhere else to rent.” He nodded again, possibly guessing where this was going. “I thought that we could rent her a room here. There are two spare rooms upstairs, so it’s not like we don’t have the space.”
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  Dad brought his hand up and rubbed his thumb and forefingers together.

  I realised he was trying to gesture money. “What? How much rent will I charge her? I was thinking of saying she could stay in return for some sitting and helping out with the chores. We don’t need her money. What do you think?”

  His smile was all the answer I needed. When he put his hand up, waiting for me to high-five him, I could have cried; it was a long-forgotten gesture from my childhood, given out of pride at one of my achievements. I smacked his hand before hugging him.

  “Now we just have to convince Grace.”

  AFTER OUR DAILY shuffle around the block, Dad was shattered and asleep in his chair. I knew I should take advantage of the time to get some work done, but my mind was too distracted. For some reason I hadn’t yet worked out, it mattered that Grace said yes. I had to do everything in my power to persuade her.

  I had decided that the best room to offer her was the study; I didn’t want her to feel weird about taking over Dad’s old room. I moved the desk and filing cabinet out and took down the last bits and pieces from the shelves. Once I’d given it a good clean, I tried to look at the room objectively, wondering if it would appeal to an eighteen-year-old girl. The room itself was a decent size and looked out over the farm, but the dark grey venetian blinds and light grey walls didn’t exactly cry out femininity. I reminded myself to wait for her answer before I redecorated.

  The throaty putt-putt of the scooter’s engine told me Grace had arrived just as I finished prepping for dinner. I opened the front door in time to watch her toss her head upside down and shake out the auburn waves that had been flattened under her helmet.

  And just like that I was rock-hard. I couldn’t remember being so surprised by my bodily reaction since my teenage years, when pretty much any movement of any woman could make me look for the nearest object capable of concealing the tent in my lap. But Grace? The other night I’d noticed how pretty she had become, but now, admiring the curved lines of her body as she stretched, pretty was no longer sufficient. Was I walking around her blindfolded until now? Or had something changed?