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“Don’t you want to take your coat off, Soph? Stay for a little,” he said, suddenly assailed by images of her leaving. He wasn’t ready for that.
“I will in a minute. But first, I have some things to say. Including this.” She handed him the envelope.
To The Honourable Jeremy Orton.
“Sorry they had to use your proper name,” said Sophia. “It’s a formal thing.”
Jay opened the envelope dubiously. Formal things were generally never good. He scanned it quickly, not making much sense of what he was reading.
“I’m being offered a youth mentorship role? At Lifeline? What’s that, some charity?”
“One my mother is on the board of. They help young people who are out of education and work and who have started to get into trouble. Anti-social behaviour, that sort of thing.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And I’m being referred, am I?”
“Of course not. Your job is to help talk to young people, mentor them, get them to value themselves and try to make something of their lives.”
“Job? My job?”
“Voluntary, of course. The charity won’t pay you.”
He stared at the letter, then at Sophia, who was biting her lip and looking at the floor.
“You need something to do, Jay,” she said. “You need a purpose. And you’ll be so good at this. You can talk to anyone. Everyone likes you.”
“Your mother doesn’t.”
“Young people like you.”
“I suspect these young people are more likely to beat me up for being a posh twat.”
“Well, I suspect that will do you good.”
He gave her a sharp look. She was still biting her lip, but the corners were twitching as she fought a smile.
Jay shook his head. Him, a mentor? She must be mad.
“Come on, Jay. You know it’s a good idea. You can invite them to Rakely, let them have a swim, show them how to shoot clay. Imagine how much your father would hate it.”
Jay laughed. “You know me too well, Soph.”
She laughed too, and then she took a small step closer to him.
“You haven’t asked me yet,” she said.
Jay put down the letter. “Asked you what?”
“The question you asked last time I came here.”
Jay racked his brain. What question? He could only think of…Oh. But she couldn’t mean that.
Could she?
He studied her downturned face, the faint flush on her cheeks, the fingers playing nervously with the belt of her coat.
“Clements, the only question I can think of is…”
“Yes?”
