‘Yes,’ I squeak, standing back to give him access.
‘Is she up for visitors? I have tea.’
‘Take me dancing, George!’ Nan yells from behind me, making George grin.
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ George slips in, his grin widening when his eyes find her, all neat and tidy in her bed. ‘You look spectacular, Josephine.’
I’m surprised not to hear a scoff or sarcastic retort. ‘Thank you, George.’ Nan taps the bedside table in a signal for him to set the tray down, which he does promptly and carefully. ‘Let’s see if his tea is up to scratch.’
‘No one makes tea like you, Josephine,’ George says happily, popping a sugar into each teacup.
I observe them for a few moments as I hover at the doorway, smiling when I catch Nan smack the back of George’s hand and George laugh delightedly. He’s happy to have her home, and though she’ll never admit it, she’s as equally happy with George back under her roof. The role reversal may bring on more bickering than usual between the two of them.
‘I’ll be downstairs,’ I say, backing out of the room, but neither acknowledges my announcement and Nan continues to give George precise instructions as he attempts to make the tea to Nan’s standards. He’s attempting in vain. No one makes tea like Nan.
Leaving them to their comedy act, I take off down the stairs, relieved to be out of Nan’s radar, soon finding myself in the kitchen, where Miller is leaning against the worktop and Gregory is slumped in a chair. Both men look at me as I enter. I’m under close scrutiny, but while I’m uncomfortable, it’s a relief not to find them at each other’s throat. That relief soon fades when I take all of the anxious vibes being thrown my way and conclude why Miller and Gregory look so apprehensive.
Miller’s told him about my mum. Every defence mechanism loads, locks, and gets ready to fire at whoever decides to hit me with their thoughts first, but after a long painful silence and neither man has spoken, I take the situation into my own hands.
And bury my head a little farther.
‘She’s settled and George is with her.’ I head for the sink and plunge my hands into the soapy water. ‘She seems quite bright, but she needs to stay in bed for a week or so.’ I wash and place the few dirty mugs on the drainer and then swirl my hands around in the sink, vainly trying to locate something else to wash. ‘She’s going to be hard work.’
‘Olivia?’ Miller’s footsteps approach behind me. My eyes close and I give up blindly grappling in the water for nothing. ‘I think you’re done.’ He takes my hands from the sink and starts to dry them with a tea towel, but I shrug him off and grab a dishcloth.
‘I should wipe the table down.’ I slap the sopping material on the table, making Gregory shift back. I don’t miss the cautious look he tosses over my shoulder in Miller’s direction. ‘I need to keep the house spic-and-span.’ My hand works furiously across the pristine wood, wiping up a mess that isn’t even there. ‘She’ll only moan or try to clean up herself.’
Strong hands wrap around my wrists and hold them still. ‘Enough.’
My eyes climb his bespoke suit, up his neck, and onto his shadowed jaw. Blue eyes are sinking into me. Sympathetic eyes. I don’t need sympathy. I need to be allowed to get on with things.
‘I’m not ready,’ I whisper, swallowing down the lump forming in my throat, my eyes begging him to let me be.
‘And I don’t want to expose you to more pain.’ He pries the cloth from my hand, folding it neatly, while I silently thank him and breathe in some composure. ‘I’m staying here tonight, so I’ll need to pop home and collect some things.’
‘OK,’ I agree, busying myself by brushing down the front of my sundress.
‘Yeah, I should be going,’ Gregory pipes up, standing and putting his hand out to Miller, who accepts immediately, nodding sharply. It’s a silent message – something to reassure my best friend.
Their polite exchange at any other time would be so satisfying to see. Not now, though. Now it’s like they’ve teamed up as a last resort . . . to deal with the fragile waif. I can’t help the wave of resentment I feel. This is just a show. They’re not being courteous because they know it’s what I would really love, for them both to be friendly and actually like each other. They’re acting like this for fear of tipping me over the edge.
Gregory approaches and pulls me into a hug that I struggle to return. I suddenly really do feel fragile. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, baby girl.’
I nod and break out of his hold. ‘I’ll see you out.’
‘OK.’ His reply is drawn out, and he moves to the kitchen door, raising his hand to Miller in goodbye.
I don’t see Miller’s response, or whether any more exchanges are passed because I’m halfway up the hallway.
‘She’s a firecracker!’ George laughs, and I look up to see him plodding down the stairs. ‘But exhausted. I’ve left her to have a kip.’