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“I believe she’s made all the necessary arrangements, but if you feel incapable of caring for him, then perhaps we need to ring—”
“No, never mind,” Laurel had said hastily. The last thing she wanted to do was get child protection services involved. “I just wanted some information.” Which she hadn’t received, naturally.
“Well?” she asked Zac now. “Do you have anything to say about all this?”
Shrug. Of course.
Laurel took a deep breath as she rested her hands on the steering wheel. “You set fire to the chemistry lab, Zac?” she stated, a faint question mark in her tone; the headmaster had informed her of his crime before she’d so much as sat down, but it still seemed unbelievable, even for Zac.
Another shrug. “We were just messing around.”
“You could have put someone in serious danger, or worse. You could have been charged with a crime—” Thankfully, the school, as well as the harried teacher who had put out
the fire, had chosen not to press any charges.
Zac blew out another breath, this time one of annoyance. “It was a joke.”
“Some joke.” Laurel shook her head, knowing she was hitting all the wrong notes with her nephew, as she seemed to have done since she’d come to London. She’d been intending to try so hard, and at first she had, but this was one situation where a smile and a determined attitude just wasn’t going to work. But what was?
Briefly Laurel closed her eyes. I can’t do this. She’d been trying not to say that since the beginning, but the drumbeat of defeat inside her head was becoming louder and louder. I can’t do this. I really can’t do this.
And yet she had to, because what other choice was there? She only had two and a half weeks to go. Even if she felt like a failure for not bonding with her nephew, she’d still manage to keep him fed, clothed, and alive. Hopefully. Maybe that was all she could expect from this situation…even if it made her feel like a failure, and worse, it made her feel sad. She wanted more for Zac. She wanted more for her relationship with him.
Although, Laurel reflected rather grimly, she could hardly swan off the second Abby came out of rehab, if she came out of rehab then, although perhaps Abby would want her to go. She’d certainly never seemed to want her around, in the last twenty-odd years. Laurel pushed away that bitter thought, because the last thing she needed right now was to remember all that old hurt.
Right now, she had to focus on Zac. She just wished she could manage it better, that they could get along instead of all this sullen silence and hostility, punctuated by sneers, insults, and eye rolls. And what was she supposed to do about his education? School broke up this week for Christmas, so at least she didn’t have to think about it until after the new year, and Abby would be back soon after that. Maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with it at all.
With a sigh, Laurel started the car and began navigating it out of the school car park, while Zac sat oblivious next to her, absorbed in his phone.
That was another thing she had no idea about, Laurel reflected as she drove the massive SUV down London’s streets, wincing every time a car veered too close. Phones. Did Zac have screen time rules? Should she take his phone away at night? She’d suggested it, rather tentatively, the first night, and Zac hadn’t even deigned to reply. Laurel had left it, as she had so many other things to deal with.
The trouble was, she thought, far from the first time, was that she had no sense of authority with her nephew; they’d had no relationship before ten days ago, and they still had no relationship as far as she could tell, despite her initial, admittedly rather paltry, efforts.
Besides that, she had no idea how long this whole surreal limbo was going to last. In a little less than three weeks, would Abby stroll back into her flat and take up her life as if she had been on an extended holiday? Laurel didn’t know, because she didn’t know Abby.
From sleeping in the same bed and plaiting each other’s hair—well, Abby plaiting hers, at least—they’d become these strangers who could barely manage to keep the chitchat going for half an hour, and who both felt a treacherous relief when they said goodbye.
It saddened Laurel too much to think about it, and so she generally didn’t…which meant she’d stopped trying with Abby a while ago, and the visits and phone calls, already sporadic, had become more and more infrequent as well as strained.
Laurel pulled into the underground car park of the high-end luxury building where her sister had a glamorous, if rather sterile, flat in South London. Laurel hated its bland, empty rooms, the cream leather furniture all looking like it shouldn’t ever be touched never mind sat on, the highlights of chrome and glass so stark and unfriendly.
She didn’t know how her sister had managed to raise a child in that place, although there was very little evidence that she actually had. No toys, no photos, no crayoned pictures on the fridge, although admittedly Zac was fourteen and not five, so perhaps the days of homemade drawings were long gone. Judging by her nephew’s current behaviour, they most certainly were.
Still, it was a far cry from Laurel’s cosy terraced cottage back in York, crammed with junk she liked to think of as antiques, the overstuffed sofa covered with colourful knitted throws, the walls lined with paintings she picked up in charity shops and car boot sales.
With a pang, Laurel pushed away thoughts of the home she missed with a fierce ache. She’d asked Helen to water her plants and take care of her cat. Helen had been most obliging, and sent Laurel away with assurances that everything would be looked after, and she knew it would be. She just wanted to be the one to look after it.
She wanted to be home, not in this awful, elegant flat with a fourteen-year-old boy who acted as if he either hated or couldn’t care less about her, and who, Laurel thought now, was capable of setting a room on fire. No joke.
To spend Christmas, her absolutely favourite time of year, in such a place felt awful, impossible. She didn’t want to do it. She couldn’t.
“Zac, this can’t go on.” She hadn’t realised the words were out of her mouth until she said them, standing in her sister’s sleek galley kitchen while Zac walked away from her towards her bedroom, eyes glued to his iPhone’s screen. He kept walking as if she hadn’t spoken. “Zac.”
Still nothing. After ten days of this kind of behaviour, Laurel was used to it, but for once she had no more patience or understanding to draw on, and she strode forward, clamping one hand on his shoulder. “Zac, listen to me.”
He jerked away from her, causing her hand to fly up, and she took a stumbling step backward, staring at him in surprise even though she supposed, considering his actions today, she shouldn’t be.
“Zac,” she said again, trying to keep her voice even, “this can’t go on.”
