tea. ‘To Victor. To Phoebe. To Jo.’
I swallowed and lifted my mug. ‘To Ginny. Thank you for our bonus son.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Three months later, at the start of spring, we decided it was a fitting time to have a party to welcome Victor into the family officially. We were still finding our way, often falling down unexpected rabbit holes but there was at least a sense that we were all trying. Contrary to my expectations, Phoebe had kept up with her rugby and it had become the thing that she and Victor bonded over. And bless that boy for his generosity, he was free with his praise and advice and each time I saw my prickly daughter unfurl a little more. We were yet to be bowled over by a stratospheric surge in her grades but neither did I dread the phone ringing during the school day any more or feel the urge to riffle through her bedroom checking for a secret stash of drugs. After such a turbulent year, just like the snowdrops pushing through the soil, Phoebe was showing green shoots of maturity. She still flew off the handle, often shouted about us thinking the worst of her but calmed down more quickly and even apologised occasionally for being out of order. Victor had found a decent group of lads to hang out with, who seemed to accept Phoebe as part of the package whenever they bundled into our sitting room to watch sport. Being banished to the kitchen was a small price to pay for hearing their easy laughter bouncing around our home. From what Jasmine told me, Phoebe’s camaraderie with this in-crowd had given her a boost among her peers and she certainly seemed more settled at school.
Phoebe, in turn, was helping Victor shape his slot in our family. Just occasionally he’d join in with her when she was teasing me and that little show of solidarity and confidence from him made my heart squeeze. And miss Ginny. I wished I could tell her that she didn’t need to worry.
With everything starting to come into bloom in the village, it felt like the right time for the beginning of a new chapter. Despite my determination to look forwards, I still didn’t want to invite Faye and Lee and Patrick agreed, saying, ‘They can stay at home and watch re-runs of The Black and White Minstrel Show. Arseholes.’
Either I was more like Ginny than I realised or I’d somehow absorbed her attitudes through the ether. I’d always considered myself a non-faller-outer with people, limping along in unhealthy relationships, smoothing and straightening to avoid the embarrassment of facing facts: that the people I associated with weren’t very nice – or were only nice if I accepted their behaviour without question. Ginny had always been a ‘three strikes and you’re out’ sort of woman. She wasn’t given to stand up rows but could also face down anyone who’d wronged her with ‘I’m not sure that’s something a real friend would do’ without fidgeting or doing that pretend-forgive laugh I always did, which allowed someone to get away with being a shit. Late in life, as she was always urging me to do, I was becoming quite comfortable with stating a fact and letting the other person fiddle-fart around, trying to excuse themselves. And how liberating it was. Gloriously, arm-flingingly, bra-discardingly liberating.
So after a long half-term of Faye suddenly seeming to find something hilarious the second I was within earshot or shouting, ‘Let’s catch up very soon!’ across the school car park to every random mother, caretaker and netball court spider, it was a surprise when she walked up to me and said, ‘Can I have a word?’
‘Sure.’
‘I actually need to thank Patrick for telling me about Georgia’s addiction to Adderall, among other things.’ She looked at the ground. ‘We’ve got her some help, you know, a counsellor.’
‘I’m really pleased to hear that. I hope it helps her.’ Friendly, warm with absolutely no interest in catching the olive branch.
Faye tried again, leaning forwards in an almost conspiratorial whisper. ‘I gather it’s common knowledge now that Victor is Patrick’s son.’
‘Is it?’ And right there was my inner Ginny. That fantastically neutral tone of voice that ping-ponged back to the speaker the intent of their words.
‘Well, I mean, lots of people seem to know about it.’
‘Good. That’s the way it should be.’
I was having to keep my nerve, not default to former Jo, the fixer of all social interaction. I was just weakening