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Kate beamed at him. ‘It’s lovely there, isn’t it?’ she said, as though all that had happened this morning was that he’d gone for a little stroll before breakfast. ‘I had a good look round it the other day, when I took Portia riding. I should have taken Sam and Jake; they would have loved it.’
‘Loved what, Mum?’ Sam trotted downstairs to see what all the fuss was about, closely followed by Jake and Izzie. ‘Hiya, Ron.’
Izzie was taking her time coming down the stairs, as she had Pepe in her arms. But Jake didn’t hold back. He took one look at Ron and hurtled towards him. With a resigned sigh, Ron held his arms open and waited for the inevitable impact.
‘Oomph!’ he cried as Jake cannoned into him, and it wasn’t just because Jake had thrown himself into his embrace: Jake was pummelling him with both fists, and sobbing loudly.
‘I hate you!’ the boy yelled, and Ron took a step back.
‘It’s OK, Jake,’ he said. ‘I’m not staying. I don’t want to get between your mum and your dad.’ Ron had assumed his reception mightn’t be enthusiastic, but he hadn’t been expecting such open hostility, and it shocked and upset him. He tried to back away, but the boy grabbed hold of one of the straps of his Bergen and clung on.
Jake wailed, ‘No!’ and pummelled Ron even harder.
‘Ow!’ Ron cried, trying to catch the boy’s flying fists before either he or Jake got hurt.
‘If you leave again, I’ll never speak to you!’ Jake cried, and collapsed against Ron’s rather bruised chest. Blimey, that kid could pack a punch.
His arms wrapped around the boy and he held him close. ‘I thought you said you hated me,’ Ron said.
‘I did.’
‘You don’t now?’ Despite himself, Ron was amused.
‘I thought you were gone for good.’
‘As you can see, I’m back,’ Ron said, ruffling Jake’s hair. ‘For the moment,’ he added. He mightn’t be staying – it all depended on Beverley, who had an unreadable expression on her face.
Ron spied more movement from inside the house and he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry when he saw Annabelle at the foot of the stairs. She was biting her lip and her arms were folded across her chest. From her body language, he guessed she wasn’t pleased to see him.
He nodded slowly in acknowledgement, his eyes not leaving hers. At least he knew where he stood, and fresh pain tore through him even though he’d been expecting it. She’d made her choice, and it wasn’t him. He hadn’t honestly thought it would be.
Brett walked towards him, and when he got close enough he clapped Ron on the shoulder. ‘Good to have you back, mate,’ he said. ‘We missed you.’
‘I wasn’t gone long,’ Ron said, with a small smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes. Jake moved away, sniffling loudly and wiping his nose on the hem of his T-shirt, and Ron watched him go to his mum.
She put her arm around her son, and Ron was glad they seemed to have resolved their differences. Jake was clearly happy about returning to Australia. It didn’t explain the lad’s odd behaviour, though, but hey-ho, Ron knew nothing about kids and the way their minds worked.
Kate demanded, ‘Are you going to stand out here all day, or are you coming inside? I don’t know about you, but I could do with a cup of tea.’ She caught hold of his elbow and Ron stumbled forward, his legs wooden, his brain turned to mush.
Not wanting to presume anything, he looked at Beverley. ‘Do you want me to come in?’ he asked her.
‘Why on earth wouldn’t I?’ Beverley replied crossly. ‘Get your arse in there and get the kettle on. Between you and that damn dog, I feel quite unwell. I need a cup of tea, a sit down, and a chocolate biscuit.’
That certainly told him. He still wasn’t sure whether Beverley would actually want him to go back to Brighton with her, but at least she hadn’t told him to bugger off.
He tried not to look at Annabelle as he was ushered inside, but he was acutely aware of her eyes boring into him, and as he drew near, he felt he should say something.
‘I, just…’ he stuttered as he slipped his Bergen off his back and dropped it near the front door.
‘I hope you’re not going to leave it there,’ Helen declared, and he looked up at the top of the stairs to see her coming down them as regally as a queen, one hand on the balustrade as she gracefully glided down several steps.
‘What else should I do with it?’ he asked hesitantly.
‘Put it in your bedroom of course,’ Helen commanded, and once more he looked to Beverley for confirmation, wondering whether Troy was going to sleep on the sofa again tonight or whether there had been a further re-jigging of the sleeping arrangements.
‘Go on,’ Beverley said crossly, pointing down the hall. ‘And don’t be long. I’ve got something to tell you.’
Oh, God, he thought, here it comes. She’s going to tell me that she doesn’t want me to live with her anymore. He wouldn’t blame her; after all, he had been thinking the exact same thing himself right up until about an hour or so ago.
