All That Is Lost Between Us (7 page)

Yet despite all her efforts to look her best, the next time she saw him she was wearing fancy dress. He had come into the Cosy Corner Cafe one lunchtime the week after they'd first met, while she was covering a lunch shift. It was a casual job she'd taken on over the past couple of summers which saw Susan Arnold ring her when she was short-staffed. The worst thing about it was the French maid's uniform – the little white apron that tied around her waist and the old-fashioned frilly hat covering her hair – which on Sophia's first visit she had pronounced ‘stripper with shower cap', and fallen about laughing. Susan insisted it had to be worn, however, so the tourists would feel they were somewhere authentic – as though a visit to the Lake District was also a trip back in time to the generalised era called ‘quaint'. Since the tourism industry was their bread and butter, the locals would do almost anything to help it thrive, even though these sightseers sometimes seemed to possess brain cells akin to the local sheep population, always clogging up roads or getting themselves into entirely avoidable scrapes on the hillsides.

Georgia had glanced up from rearranging sandwiches when the cow bell jangled over the door, and the sight of Leo was so unexpected she didn't place him straightaway – wearing jumper and jeans rather than T-shirt and running shorts. When it clicked she instinctively turned away and gripped the counter in front of the coffee machine. He couldn't see her like this.

‘Hello?' he said.

She was trapped. Slowly, she turned around.

‘A cheese roll to take away, please.' He was inspecting the change in his hand and then pointed to the deli counter, and for a moment she thought she might get away with it if she kept quiet. She gripped the roll with a pair of tongs and slid it into a paper bag, setting it in front of him. But he looked up as he handed the money over, then he did a double take and his smile widened.

‘Hello again,' he said. ‘How's the running going?'

He had paid no attention to her costume, and she relaxed. ‘Good,' she answered. ‘And what about you?' She hesitated. ‘I haven't seen you lately.'

He collected his roll from the counter. ‘No, I've found another route.'

‘Ah, that explains it, then.' She turned away quickly in case her face displayed her disappointment, and pretended to busy herself wiping down chopping boards. She waited for the bells at the door to chime, to signal he was gone, but when they didn't she slowly looked up again, to find him still there, still watching her, still smiling.

‘Would you like to come running with me one morning? It doesn't seem right to keep such a beautiful place to myself.'

The question took her by surprise and she could feel herself blushing.
He's not asking you out
.
It's only a run
.

‘Okay, yes, that would be great. Fine. I'd love to.' She stopped, fearing she was gabbling.

He kept smiling. Something inside her was fizzing, melting, she was finding it hard to stand still. She gripped the formica top to stop herself from swaying.

‘Great, I'll meet you at Tarn Hows – do you know where that is?'

She laughed. ‘Everyone from round here knows Tarn Hows – it's such a beautiful lake. I can see why you're taken with it – the scenery is stunning, and the run is nice and flat too, which is pretty unusual here.'

He grinned back. ‘You're right, it's made a change from the woodland tracks. So, is tomorrow any good? I can pick you up if that helps?'

‘No, that's okay, I can get there,' she said quickly. The thought of him in the vicinity of the family had far too much potential for embarrassment. ‘I know where it is. I'll meet you tomorrow – what time?'

‘Is half-past seven too early? In the car park?'

‘No, that's good,' she said, alarmed at a strange croak in her voice, but he didn't seem to have noticed. Instead he had whipped out his phone.

‘What's your number?' He keyed in the digits as she recited them. ‘I'll text you mine.' He was moving away now. ‘So, I'll see you tomorrow.' He waved his brown paper bag at her as he opened the door.

She remembered the rest of that afternoon well. She had spent most of it slopping tea into saucers and asking people to repeat their orders. She had watched the clock, telling herself that in seventeen, sixteen, fifteen hours she would be running alongside Leo. And she had checked and rechecked the message that popped up on her phone just before closing time, which simply read,
Here's my number. See you tomorrow.

•  •  •

It has only been a couple of months since that day, and yet when Georgia thinks back it is as though she is watching a different person, one entirely unaware of the calamitous course she was set upon. She drags herself back to the present and out of bed. She's had enough of reminiscing for now, even though often she cannot help herself. She tiptoes to the bathroom, praying the rest of the household are still asleep. She doesn't want to see anyone yet, but once she is in the little room she realises that she can't face a shower this morning – she doesn't want to re-examine her bruises too closely. Instead, she quickly splashes water over various parts of her body, drying off and putting her dressing-gown back on. She listens for any sounds outside, half-expecting her mother to be waiting for her in the corridor, but she can't hear anything.

She hurries back to her bedroom and pulls on her school uniform. She is planning to make some toast and eat it while she walks, then get to school early and maybe head for the library. It is bad enough trying to avoid her mother at home, but Georgia feels particularly unlucky that she has to dodge her all day at school too. Only one other girl has a parent working at the school – whenever they see each other they exchange sympathetic glances.

Georgia begins to collect things to make breakfast, still thinking about her mum. One of Sophia and Georgia's favourite topics is moaning about their mothers. While her dad and Uncle Liam are happy to let the girls get on with things, their mothers seem to form a continual blockade to their decisions – always asking questions, always wanting to know more. It is infuriating.

By the kettle she sees a note in Zac's scrawly handwriting. He's gone to school already, which is weird; normally their mother has to drag him out of bed. She remembers how pale he was when they got home and wonders how the night's events have affected him. She will find him today and make sure he is okay. She can look after Zac, at least. She feels a burst of energy now the day has a bit more purpose, something to distract her from the burgeoning dread of what may come.

While making her toast she hears footsteps on the stairs, but moments later it is her dad who peers around the door in his dressing-gown. Her father isn't normally up before she leaves, and today he comes straight across to her and sweeps her into a hug, which makes her want to cry, which in turn makes her angry when she is trying so hard to be brave and get on with things.

‘I'm sorry I wasn't here last night,' he says, moving her back gently so he can look at her, catching her elbow and making her wince. He notices her expression straightaway. ‘Can I see the damage?'

Silently she pulls up the arm of her school jumper and he grimaces. ‘Looks painful. How are you feeling this morning? Do you want to talk about it?'

She shrugs. ‘Not really.' But then catches his eye. ‘How's Sophia, have you heard anything?'

The fear and shake is clear in her voice. Her father puts a hand on her shoulder and comes close, waiting until she looks at him. When she meets his eyes they are full of sympathy. ‘She's broken her leg, but she's stable, honey,' he says, his gaze steady. ‘She'll be okay. I'm going to get dressed and go to the hospital. You can come with me if you like – no one expects you to go to school today.'

Georgia conjures the scene in her mind: Sophia lying pale and inert in her hospital bed, Uncle Liam and Auntie Helene's shocked, distraught faces. The thought terrifies her. ‘No thanks, but can you do me a favour – let me know how she is as soon as you see her? I just don't think I can bear it today . . . I'm sorry.'

She stalls, wanting to explain the irrational feeling of guilt that keeps sweeping over her when she thinks of Sophia, but unable to find the right words.

Her dad pats her shoulder. ‘Of course I will. You've got nothing to be sorry about.' He pauses. ‘How much did you see last night? Did you notice the colour of the car, or get a look at the number plates?'

Georgia shakes her head. ‘No. It's infuriating, but it all happened so fast. The car was light-coloured, I think, but when I turned around I was dazzled by headlights, and then we were all on the ground and it was gone.'

Her dad nods, looking thoughtful. When she doesn't say any more he indicates her clothes. ‘Are you sure you want to go to school?'

Georgia nods emphatically. In fact, she isn't at all sure she wants to go to school today, but the thought of hanging around at home with nothing to do feels a whole lot worse.

‘Shall I give you a lift on my way, then? I'll see if Zac wants one too.'

‘Yes please – but Zac's gone already.' She holds out the note.

Her dad takes it. She watches one of his eyebrows twitch as he reads it.

It's hard to stand still; every time Georgia stops moving her head feels full of sloshing water, making her dizzy. She wants to get away before her mother can intervene. ‘Can we get going?'

‘Right-o. I'll go and get dressed.' And he disappears up the stairs.

Georgia had meant to ask if her mother was awake, but he is gone too quickly. She finishes making her toast and takes it upstairs to eat in her room so she can try to avoid any more conversations. One bite and she feels sick; there's no way she can eat it. She grabs her school bag and picks up the plate, listening to her mum and dad murmuring in the next room. She suspects they are talking about her, but their voices are too soft to make out. As she heads back towards the stairs, her parents' door swings open and her father appears, still speaking over his shoulder. ‘For Christ's sake, Anya, just give her some space, will you. She can always come home.' He sees Georgia on the stairs and his demeanour shifts. ‘You ready?'

She nods.

‘Come on, then.'

He follows her downstairs and she heads into the kitchen, throwing her uneaten toast in the bin and putting the plate in the sink. In the hallway, her father is collecting his keys from the bowl on the side table and pulling his coat off the hook. As he opens the door she hears footsteps padding quickly along the upstairs landing, but neither of them stops. Georgia pulls the door shut and is halfway along the path when it reopens, and her mum shouts her name.

Reluctantly, she turns around. Her mother stands on the doorstep, her hair sticking up at all angles, hugging her dressing-gown tight around her body, her feet bare. ‘I really don't think you should go to school, love.'

Georgia stares her down, sure she can see traces of annoyance in her mother's face, though she is trying to convert them to sympathy.

‘You could stay here and watch a movie or something. I could bring you some comfort food at lunchtime – the biggest slab of chocolate I can find.'

Georgia isn't sure why she wants to object when part of her thinks that sounds really good, yet she is already shaking her head. ‘I'll be fine. Like Dad said, I can always come home later.' She makes an effort to keep her voice steady and neutral, knowing instinctively that her mother will hone in on any sign of weakness to back up her argument. When will her mother understand that she isn't a child any more?

Her mother takes a long, hard look at her. ‘Well, I'll be there shortly. If you change your mind, come and find me, okay?' Her hands stray to her hips as they always do when she is trying to make a point. ‘My mobile will be on all day.'

They hold one another's gaze. As usual, Georgia can see her mother trying to figure her out, wondering how much she dare say. And as always happens, Georgia summons her most impassive expression before she turns away, determined not to let her mother read her or break her down. Nowadays there are things she doesn't ever want her mother to know.

G
eorgia is quiet as they drive. Callum takes his time, hoping she might begin to talk, but the distance between home and school is so short that they are there in less than ten minutes.

‘Thanks, Dad.' She leans over and kisses him on the cheek, then climbs out of the car.

‘Phone me if you need anything,' he calls after her. ‘Don't stay here if you don't want to.'

In reply, she turns to give him a brief wave, but then keeps walking. Callum waits, watching her stride up the hill. Despite all he had said to Anya, suddenly this feels like the wrong decision. He can't bring himself to turn the car around and drive away. He wants to get out and call after her, to keep her close to him. That's Anya's tactic, he reminds himself, and it obviously doesn't work. Georgia is almost an adult now. He is determined to respect her decision.

Georgia reaches the security gates and stops to scan her card ID, then moves beyond sight. Fairbridge takes no chances with their students' safety, but it always makes Callum morose, watching the kids disappear behind those barriers, locked away from the world. It is so different from his experience of secondary school, catching the bus there and back, exploring the fields and town at lunchtime. But back then the whole world was a playground, filled with heady excitement. He had never thought of life as dangerous until he had children. He hadn't expected that parenthood would come coupled with an amorphous sensation of helplessness, of controls that lay permanently just beyond his grasp.

How can he be the father of such a grown-up young woman? He will never forget the first time he held Georgia, her body fitting snug against his palms as she screwed up her face under the harsh hospital lights, already indignant at the intrusion of the world. He could well recall those fierce promises he made on that night, to that baby he can still see faintly in the solemn girl he's just said goodbye to. He is afraid he has failed to live up to them.