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Trevor nods, a knowing smile on his face. “We do anything for those in our care, don’t we.”
“We do.”
A comfortable silence settles between us. I can’t believe how easy it is to talk to him, to open up, even after what happened in the barn. It’s confusing too.
“So what will it take for you to move into the en suite bedroom?” I find myself asking.
With a huff, Trevor runs his hand over his face. There’s dirt under his nails. I wonder if his big paws are ever truly clean. “You had to go there,” he mutters.
“You’re making me talk like a washing machine, it’s only fair that you spill too.”
He’s quiet for a long time. “I have no problem taking over their room, I don’t believe in ghosts or anything. But…” His chest expands on a big intake of air, stretching his shirt over his muscles. “When I moved Dad into care, I couldn’t walk past his room without this searing pain in my gut, knowing that I’d moved him out of the room he had shared with Mum. The room where he cared for her when she was sick, where he felt closest to her. I took that away from him.” His eyes find mine. The pain in them bleeds my heart. His voice is husky when he says, “I’ve never told anyone that. What are you doing to me, Jamie, making me open up like this?”
My pulse beats faster. I want to tell him that he shouldn’t feel the guilt… and that he has the same effect on me.
“Adam fell asleep before the end of the book.”
I sit up straight and clear my throat. “Thank you,” I stutter and smile at Julie who appeared through the door.
She’s changed. The baggy t-shirt she wore earlier is replaced by a tighter one. And her lips are glossy. She places two bowls on the table – crisps and chocolate, the diet of heroes – and sits on the other sofa.
“Jamie suggested we could do glamping,” Trevor tells Julie around a mouthful of crisps.
“You mean those plastic domes?”
“Yeah, well it doesn’t have to be that fancy,” I explain, reaching for a piece of chocolate. “There are a lot of different types.”
She brings out her phone and with the speed that only teenagers possess, soon she has a bunch of images of glamping pods on her screen.
“Oh, these have converted an old gipsy wagon.” Her face reflects pure excitement as she turns to her brother. “We could do up Glenda.”
“Glenda?” I ask.
“Glenda is an old shepherd’s hut, on wheels,” Julie explains. “We used it as a playhouse when we were younger.”
“A shepherd’s hut? You could probably charge more for staying in it, since it will have a unique flair. I assume it would have to be renovated, though?”
“Could you do it up, Trevor?”
He leans back in his seat, his fingers tapping the armrests, eying his sister, then me. “It’s watertight, so I don’t see why not.”
Julie jumps up and squeals, doing a little dance. Trevor laughs, and in his eyes, I see the same love and devotion that I know is reflected in my eyes when I make Adam happy. I’d do anything to hear Adam’s laugh, and I know Trevor would do anything to make his sister happy.
8
Night Visitor
My eyes flutter open in the dark but slowly drift closed again. The bed is so soft and warm, so much warmer than the plastic pump-up bed that seems to always have a chilly, stickiness to it, no matter how many layers I put between it and my skin.
I sigh contentedly. The two glasses of whiskey probably help with the heaviness of my eyelids. We drank companionably while the three of us discussed what needed to be done to Glenda. The internet gave no limit of ideas and with the old farm as a treasure trove, the siblings are certain they’ll have the material, paint, upholstery and historic artifacts needed to create a unique space. I made a projection on the back of an envelope of income versus expenditure on cleaning and other overheads. Trevor mumbled that he could really use my accountancy skills for everything on the farm, not only Glenda. He admitted he was never great in school, and I got the impression that Julie has done the books for the farm the last years.
The image of the big man’s cheeks tinting as he admitted his lack of education is behind my eyelids as my thoughts start swimming back to oblivion, but there it is again, the sound that woke me in the first place.
The quiet squeak of the door.
My eyes shoot open. I left it ajar so I could hear Adam if he was to wake during the night, but the shadow coming closer is way too big to be my son. I hold my breath, heart thumping. The mattress dips. Gentle pulling of the duvet as someone crawls under it.
“Jamie,” is whispered in the silence.
