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CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
Returning with bin bags and boxes, George and Millie stopped off first in Owen’s room, where Owen was standing by the bookshelf in moody silence.
Millie handed him two cardboard boxes, sturdy enough for his books, saying, ‘Here we are.’ She looked at the shelves. ‘You’ve got a lot of books. Perhaps you’ll need another box.’
‘Here.’ George gave an extra box to Owen. ‘There’s a few more left in that little lean-to at the side of the kitchen.’
‘Thanks, these three should be enough.’
‘What would you like us to do?’ Millie asked, looking around Owen’s tidy room. She added, ‘At least your mum kept your bedroom nice.’
‘She never touched it.’ Owen said and abruptly walked away.
‘Oh.’ Startled by his response, Millie glanced to George for help.
George leant close to Millie and whispered, ‘This was his doing.’ Indicating the room with a sweep of his eyes and adding grimly, ‘not a loving mother’s care.’
Owen reached up for a suitcase stored on top of his wardrobe and started packing clothes into the case, while Millie and George, uncertain what to do next, looked at the room. A neatly made bed, pillow plumped up, duvet smooth. The bookshelf contents set out in what appeared to be a system. Paperbacks together… thrillers at one end, sci-fi at the other. Literature, including Shakespeare and poetry, mostly tattered hardbacks all on a shelf of their own. Millie and George looked at each other and shared some silent words. George knew Millie understood, as he did now, Owen’s desperately lonely childhood.
Millie moved closer to the bookshelf. ‘Have you read all these?’ she asked, reading some titles.
‘Yes, a few more than once,’ Owen replied, his head inside the wardrobe.
George said, ‘I told you Millie, Owen’s a bookworm. Come on, let’s take this other box and the bin bags to Mum, see if she needs our help and give Owen a bit of space.’
George and Milliefound Sally sitting on the floor in Elizabeth Kingsley’s bedroom, holding a crumpled piece of paper in one hand and what looked like a bank cheque in the other.
‘Hey, Mum. Are you all right?’ George squatted down beside her.
‘Yes, Georgie, love.’ Sally nodded, adding, ‘I will be.’
‘You sure? You’ve gone dreadfully pale; you look like you’ve had a shock.’
‘Well, you might say I have.’ Sally glanced at the open door, then whispered, ‘Where’s Owen?’
‘In his room, sorting out the clothes he wants to take. Shouldn’t take too long, he’s got more books that clothes.’
Sally shook her head. ‘Shut the door, will you, Millie?’
Millie quietly pushed the door closed, then joined George with his mother, all three of them sitting on the bedroom floor.
‘I found this letter,’ Sally began. ‘A cheque fell out of it. So, I looked at the letter to see what it said. After all, a thousand-pound cheque doesn’t come in the post every day and it might need to be sent back to the sender. You never know, it could have been a Christmas present, and Owen’s mother sort of gave up Christmas gifts this year.’
‘She did indeed,’ Millie murmured, not hiding her disapproval.
‘Anyway, I don’t think it was a Christmas present.’ Sally glanced at the door as if she expected Owen to burst in at any moment. ‘I read the letter. I…’ she stopped and gripped George and Millie each by a wrist. ‘You must not tell Owen about this. Whatever else happens, he must not know about this.’
‘Why?’ Millie asked.
‘Because I think Owen’s mother had a lover, and the cheque is from him.’
‘What?’ George said, springing up.
‘Shush, keep your voice down.’ Sally stuffed the cheque and the letter into her pocket. ‘That poor lonely, unloved boy has had enough to deal with. The last thing he wants is to know his mother was too busy with a lover to even bother putting food in the house for his return at Christmas.’
‘I’m in total agreement with you.’ Millie said, squeezing Sally’s shoulder and looking at George as if defying him to argue before she added, ‘He’s suffered enough.’
‘All right, Mum, Millie. You know best, but what do we do with the cheque?’
