in my resolve when she said, ‘He’s actually quite a nice boy. He’s been very kind to Georgia.’
I leaned in. ‘She’s really lucky to have him. He’s gorgeous, generous-spirited and non-judgemental. Actually quite nice. Anyway, I must go.’
And I walked away, leaving her guppying in the car park, a small tinge of nostalgia for the good times we’d had together but mostly a strong rush of satisfaction that I had, as Ginny would say, discovered, before I wasted another ten years of my life, that she wasn’t worth expending any energy on, actually.
Yet two days before we did our ‘family extension’ party at the local pub, Victor sidled into the kitchen. ‘Jo, can I ask something?’
I stopped stirring my pasta sauce. ‘Yep. Fire away,’ I said, sending up a brief prayer for a ‘Where are my rugby boots?’ rather than an unforeseen drama. Though since the news filtered out that Patrick was Victor’s dad, there’d been a flurry of people in the village making an obvious effort to distance themselves from any suggestion that they’d ever thought Victor had anything to do with drugs. I’d got much better at looking them in the eye and saying, ‘Some people are so small-minded, aren’t they? So depressing in this day and age.’
Phoebe was even more forthright, saying, ‘That sounds racist’ not just to my mum, but anyone she came across. She also put her stubbornness to good use by not feeling the need to nod understandingly when they blustered out an explanation. And one of the things I’d worried about so much – that she didn’t care what anyone thought of her – had become a source of huge pride.
I put my wooden spoon down and smiled at Victor who was fidgeting about. He looked so like Ginny used to when she was trying to persuade me to go out when I was already in my pyjamas. ‘Could you invite Georgia’s parents to the party?’
‘Faye and Lee?’ We both knew I was buying myself time.
‘It’s just that I think they kind of realise they were a bit harsh on me and most of the village is coming. It’s difficult for Georgia if we leave them out.’
‘That would be a hugely generous gesture on your part.’ It never ceased to amaze me how kind Victor was, when he could have been forgiven for lashing out at the world.
He smiled. ‘Following your example, Jo.’ He made a heart with his index fingers and thumbs. ‘You’ve given me back a family.’
That was the thing with teenagers. I went through life thinking they had the emotional savvy of a walnut and then they had a little burst of brilliance that looked shockingly like wisdom. Or maturity at least.
For the first time since the funeral, I hugged him. Not the same as hugging Phoebe because I was acutely aware of body part positioning and of rounding my back so I didn’t accidentally press my boobs into his chest. But there was comfort and warmth in the gesture and I found myself wanting to load him up with love, to fill in the crevasses of grief. In that brief embrace sat the knowledge I’d so often overlooked in my life: if I just stopped, put aside my big fat opinions about how a child should look/behave/speak, it was possible to learn so much from them, governed by instinct as they were.
‘I’ll talk to Patrick.’ From being the bloke who’d usually taken the path of least resistance, I loved him for the ferocious way he’d defended our family, me included. What we’d lost in acquaintances who’d dared to comment unfavourably on our unusual circumstances, we’d gained in faith in each other. I’d even heard him describe me as the ‘lynchpin that kept it all together’, which seemed a bit excessive as I mainly felt I was blundering through, crossing my fingers for the best.
As I suspected, the tables had turned and Patrick, usually way more forgiving than me, shook his head. ‘Jog on. Racist cow. I’m not watching Faye trough down sausage rolls I’ve paid for.’
I giggled. ‘Would it make you feel better if I pay for her sausage rolls?’
He pulled me into his arms. ‘Now you’re going to tell me that we need to be the grown-ups?’
I leaned my head back so I could look at him. ‘He doesn’t often ask for much.’ It was odd how Patrick not leaping to give his son what he wanted seemed to energise me to fight Victor’s corner. Though to be