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CHAPTERFIFTEEN
It took George longer than he expected to complete his shopping. Oxford Street had been crowded, and he had to hang around in the jeweller’s shop waiting to be served. The way the staff ignored him but kept a wary eye on him, watching like they expected him to do a smash and grab, annoyed him. Were his genes showing? Surprising, he supposed, they’d tolerated his presence long enough for one assistant to decide to serve him. What the hell? He didn’t care. Not now. He’d got his shopping and now he was home.
‘Georgie, love!’ Sally Halcyon flung her arms wide. ‘Come here, my lovely.’
He dumped his rucksack by the kitchen door and walked willingly into his mother’s open arms. She had a grip to rival a Sumo wrestler, but George didn’t mind. It was great to see her, to feel her–he’d missed her more than he realised. He loved his mum.
Breathlessly, he emerged from near suffocation and shrugged himself back into order, grinning at the smart little woman in front of him in her neat dress and frilly apron.
‘Hello, Mum.’
She looked great. You could rely on his mum to dress up for every occasion, even the vacuuming.
She leant back to inspect him. ‘You look tired, lovie. Have you been overdoing things?’
‘No more than usual. Is Dad in?’
‘In the sitting room, watching telly.’ She smoothed down her dress and went back to rolling pastry.
‘What are you making?’
‘Mince pies.’ She nodded towards the draining board. ‘The sausage rolls are cooling over there.’
‘Great. Can I have one?’
‘Help yourself.’
George ate one in two bites and picked up another. ‘Delicious,’ he said, licking the crumbs of flaky pastry from his lips and savouring the flavour. ‘I missed your cooking, Mum.’
She gave him a girlish grin and picked up a cutter to slice out frilly edged circles of pastry.
George went back to his rucksack, squatted to rummage in his shopping and, taking care not to expose the gifts he had bought for his mum and dad, he said, ‘I want to show you something.’
‘What’s that, love?’ Sally dropped the pastry circles into their spaces on the baking tray and tapped each one down to fit.
‘This.’ He held out an open jewellery box containing a delicate gold necklace with a single creamy teardrop pearl pendant. ‘It’s for Millie,’ he said, just in case his mother thought he’d bought it for her.
‘Ooh, that’s lovely.’
‘You think so?’
‘She’s a lucky girl.’ Sally picked up the fine chain, regarding it thoughtfully. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘Goldsmith on Oxford Street. They had some matching earrings, but I couldn’t afford to buy them as well. Do you think Millie will like the pendant?’
‘I’m sure she will.’ Sally returned to her mince pie tray and scooped mincemeat into the pastry shells. ‘I saw Millie yesterday. She told me she’s looking forward to you coming home.’
‘Did she?’ George couldn’t hide his delight. ‘Can I go see her tonight–would you mind if I went out?’
‘Of course not. You’re a grown man now and with your own lady friend. You don’t have to ask my permission. Now, upstairs with you. Unpack your stuff and wash the travel grime off. As soon as I have these mince pies in the oven, I’ll make some tea and sandwiches. Your dad ate earlier, but I don’t suppose he’ll say no to a couple of ham sandwiches.’
George snatched two more sausage rolls and headed out of the kitchen. It took only a couple of minutes for him to run to his bedroom, dump the rucksack and pad downstairs to the sitting room, leaving a tiny trail of pastry crumbs in his wake.
‘What’re you watching, Dad?’
‘Racing. Ascot.’ Chas Halcyon waved his can of Guinness at the massive screen.
‘Mum’s making some sandwiches.’
