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6
That afternoon, Gus pulled into the parking area outside the gates to Heritage View and, on foot, he and Abigail ventured towards where they could see Hazel outside the stable block. She hadn’t spotted them yet, she was bent over, picking out a horse’s hooves, and Gus did his best not to admire her lean figure in jodhpurs and a T-shirt that hugged the rest of her shape. He’d noticed her toned arms and upright posture earlier when she stopped to talk to him on the street and part of him had felt amused that she’d seen him in a lot fewer clothes already, so he shouldn’t feel too guilty.
Gus got his mind back on track when she turned around and saw them, even though he had a feeling he could watch Hazel all day. She’d told him earlier that her refusal to teach Abigail wasn’t a personal thing against his daughter, but he was struggling with what to believe. It broke his heart a little to even consider that someone who didn’t really know his daughter all that well might see her as different. Or was he being paranoid? Was he looking for things that weren’t there? He knew he’d done that when the accident first happened, assuming everyone was staring and about to say something inappropriate. Joan had had a quiet word with him and told him Abigail would learn from example. If he reacted badly, she’d do the same, and so he’d dug deep to try to teach Abigail coping skills. But it wasn’t always easy when his protective guard went up.
Watching Abigail now, and Hazel for that matter, the two seemed to have a natural rapport, already discussing the horse Hazel was grooming: its habits, its foibles. Abigail was fitting in easily and he should be happy about that because it wasn’t necessarily a given for anyone, let alone a girl who’d had a tough time over the last few years.
It had been mostly smooth sailing with school so far too, with Abigail making friends easily enough and even having a couple of girls in her class asking to meet up this morning at the local ice-creamery. Unfortunately, Abigail’s request had triggered an argument because yes, of course she could go, but she didn’t like it one bit that he wanted to take her there and meet her afterwards.
‘I thought you said we moved here so you wouldn’t have to drive me everywhere,’ she’d said to him, sitting at the kitchen table eating her toast.
She had a point. But she was also being rude. ‘Don’t talk to me like that, and you’re ten, not fifteen.’
‘So I have another five years before I can get an ice-cream with my friends?’ Her bottom lip had trembled the way it always did when she got wound up.
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’ They had plenty of time before Denby’s arrival and meeting up with friends was what he’d wanted; after all, that was the whole reason for having her start school before the summer holidays. And it would give Abigail something to do other than checking her watch every five minutes, counting down the hours until her horse got here.
Gus pulled out the chair next to his daughter. ‘It’s not that I don’t want you to have friends or freedom,’ he told her as they sat in the kitchen that almost looked normal now there weren’t so many boxes littered around. He’d even managed to get a shopping delivery late last night and fill the cupboards with all the extras you forgot you needed along the way – salt and pepper, vinegar, flour, stock cubes, Worcestershire sauce, pasta. Next on the to-do list had to be sorting his own bedroom, or the boxes he stepped around to get into bed would be in danger of feeling like a part of the fixtures and fittings, and he’d never do it.
‘Then why won’t you let me go there on my own? It isn’t far.’
‘No, it isn’t.’ His mind shot back to the night of the art class, the way those kids had been talking to her because she was different. His fists clenched whenever he thought about it, and they were doing the same thing now. ‘I worry about you.’
‘Because of my face.’ Tears coursed down her cheeks now.
His heart broke that that was the first thing she put it down to. He pulled her to him and held on tight. Joan had told Gus that sooner or later, he had to let her have some independence, and it was part of the reason she’d been okay with them heading this way. Joan would miss them, but she knew it was time Gus and his daughter moved forwards together without hiding behind the routine they’d all too easily fallen into, Abigail only going to and from the stables, home and school, not having any extra-curricular interests that got her meeting other people, not even a riding stables where she was with kids her own age. And, Jean observed, Gus had done the same thing since his marriage ended. He’d closed himself off unless it was being available for Abigail and, while that was admirable, she’d told him, he had to think of himself as well. He deserved happiness as much as his daughter. But it wasn’t easy to remember that or act on it. Not when he wanted to be here for Abigail 110 per cent.
Gus put his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face up towards his. ‘Your face is beautiful.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘You are beautiful both inside and out. You are a remarkable young lady with a bright future ahead of her. It’s a parent’s job to worry about their child, we can’t help it. I worry about everything, from whether you’ve cleaned your teeth properly to whether you look both ways when you cross the road.’ He couldn’t bear the thought of mean people targeting his daughter, but at the same time, he couldn’t bear it that he might be the cause of her upset if she assumed the only thing he worried about was her differences.
He let out a breath. ‘You know what, you’re right. You couldn’t go anywhere without me where we used to live, and now we are here in a new place, a beautiful little village, you need a bit more independence.’ She looked at him hopefully as he smiled. ‘Do you have enough money?’
‘I can go, really?’ She sniffed away a tear. ‘Can I walk on my own?’
He wasn’t sure where he got the strength from to say yes, but he treasured the way she flung her arms around him and the smile on her face in full beam, despite the scar tugging at one side of her lip and not letting it go up all the way. ‘But I’m picking you up so we can go and meet Denby. We can’t be late.’
‘We won’t be.’
‘And you have the phone with you at all times, call or text me if you need me.’
‘I will, Dad.’
And after he gave her the allotted time she’d need to be ready, he listened as she told him all about Sonia and Jilly, the girls in her class, how Sonia had joined the choir and Jilly did gymnastics.
At the door to the house, his heart broke just a little as he watched his little girl go, sparkly purse over one shoulder, to the end of the path and turn left to make her way into the village. It was safe, he’d seen plenty of kids doing it and it reassured him that she had a phone with her in case of emergencies. It was the reason he’d bought it for her, so she could message or call him whenever she needed.
Gus couldn’t rest at home with Abigail out of the house in the village and after he’d checked his phone umpteen times, he jumped into the car long before he needed to for Denby’s arrival. He parked up by the tearooms on The Street. He wouldn’t do this every time, but he just wanted to make sure Abigail had got to the ice-creamery okay, and after a quick dash across the road, where he surreptitiously checked she was indeed inside with a couple of girls her age, he went back over and into the tearooms.
While Gus enjoyed the French toast he’d ordered, he checked his phone another couple of times, made sure he hadn’t accidentally put it on silent.
‘A watched pot never boils,’ said a voice over his shoulder. The polite lady who had served him at the counter introduced herself as Etna, the owner, and her kitchen sidekick floated past, announcing she was Patricia, it was good to meet him, but she had a few more people to serve before she could say a proper hello.
‘A watched pot?’ he asked Etna, who wore a sunshine-yellow, linen top and light make-up.
Clearly hot from the heat of the kitchen, she briefly patted her grey hair. ‘You’re staring at your phone like it should ring any second.’
‘Oh, that.’ Guilty.
‘Do you want it to ring?’
