“I know.”
“Well, I’m in Tesco. It’s dinnertime, and I can’t be bothered to go home and I have a late diabetic clinic, so I popped out for a sandwich.”
“Oh.” I had no words. All the words were fighting with my sensible side, wanting to get out when I knew I shouldn’t.
“If I was closer, I would have brought you some milk. I’d even have made you a cup of tea.”
“I don’t think you would have had the time because I think I would have jumped you the minute you walked through the door.”
How he laughed was truly the highlight of my day, despite me cringing in my fancy dress shoes.
“I wish I could see you. What’s up with that? Why don’t you use WhatsApp like normal people?”
“I’m low tech and old school,” I grumped, despite still smiling.
“We need to change that; you said you have fibre broadband? Use it! I want to be able to see you.”
“Well. You’ve got a plane ticket to Glasgow with your name on it?”
Now, I was crossing the line.Fox. Get a grip!
“Is that an invite?” he said slowly. Like he was carefully choosing his words.
“Maybe?” I admitted, wanting to put my head in the sink and attempt to drown myself. Not smart. Not clever. Far too soon. Ridiculous…on a grand scale.
“Fox.”
“Noah,” I responded. He sounded like he was telling me off. Well. I was the headteacher, and my voice was way sterner.
“Don’t… I…” Here it was. His stutter. The frustration was clear, even over the phone. Now he would hang up on me and run away. I could read him like a book. Maybe.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I reminded him. “Just…”
“I’m still here.”
“Good.”
“I need to pay for my stuff and get back to the clinic. Sorry.”
“Okay. Will you ring me later?”
“Yes. What made you want to have a cup of tea?”
What kind of question was that? Apparently one that made me sit down on my little sofa, with the teabag still in my hand, Bailey Butcher’s file on my lap and zero regard for his diabetic clinic. Then, somehow, I told him the story of a kid who was dumped at boarding school because he was an annoyance and a burden and swore he would never ever do that to his own kids. Yet here I was.
And Noah? Noah listened in silence as I then paced the room and ranted and shouted and cried. Because I was an idiot. And because this kid was called Bailey, and it had just cracked my chest right open again because fucking Thomas had hurt me and he’d fucked with someone else and this kid was pretty much me, minus social services, and I couldn’t deal.
Also, the kid was… And I hated it. I hated that there was nothing I could do, and I couldn’t save people and kids got dropped off at weird schools with nothing but a dirty tracksuit on their backs, and nobody had washed the kid’s hair in probably weeks and that goddamn woman? Just driving off?
“It’s okay, Fox. Get it all out.” That’s all he said, standing in some supermarket down south. And he took the time, and he listened. Because I simply couldn’t stop talking.
He probably had no idea how much that meant to me.
Chapter 17
Noah
Irang him again in the evening, when I was finally tucked up in bed. T-shirt on. Boxers clean. Not that it mattered. I also had a…printout of the daily flights from Gatwick to Glasgow.
