That doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“Drinks at eight thirty. Try not to be late.”
Thanks, Dad.
“Mmhmm.” I hang up, biting my tongue to prevent a pithy response. Even if the train arrives on time, I’ll be ten minutes late. I hastily tap out a text and send it to Niall.
When I get to the clinic it’s mayhem. The lobby is full of kids, shouting out questions at a harassed-looking Niall. His face lights up when he sees me walk into the room. Smiling, he takes a step forward and reaches for my hand. “You’re here.”
“Of course I am. And the bus is outside,” I say.
A look of relief washes over him. Does he even know what he’s let himself in for? We may have limited this expedition to ten children—mostly so we can all fit in one minibus—but that’s still a lot of bodies to be following around one very large art gallery.
He gives the impression he hasn’t had a lot to do with children. Looks on them as mini-adults. Which is great when you’re in the classroom; it makes them feel mature and liked, and that’s why they respond to him so well. But when we’re out in public, in the middle of a gallery that he has associations with… not quite so good.
“Let’s go. Come on, everybody.” Niall heads for the door and they all follow him. Cameron Gibbs pushes everybody out of the way and runs toward the bus, calling dibs on the back seat. There are a few stragglers who hang back with me, afraid of the older boys and their over-eagerness.
Allegra folds her hand around mine. “Shall we go?”
“Sure, lead the way.”
Predictably, there’s a pile-up in the minibus as everybody fights for seats. I end up having to pull Cameron Gibbs off another boy. His hand has already curled into a pretty sizeable fist. I whisper in his ear that I’m watching him, and he rolls his eyes at me.
Cameron has one of those unfortunate faces. A thin, almost mean mouth which, combined with a heavy brow and narrow eyes, serves to make him look like a thug in training. He could be the sweetest kid in the world—which he isn’t—and still he’d be the first to get into trouble. Dragged to the headmaster’s room after a fight, or up in front of a magistrate after a robbery. A usual suspect waiting to happen.
Now he’s growing into his looks. On the cusp of puberty, he’s developing an air of menace about him. I’m unsure how much of it is bluster and how much is malevolence, but he’s changing in front of my eyes. Whenever he’s around there’s an edge to the atmosphere. I hate that I can’t stop him from growing up this way.
After everybody’s sat down, I grab the only seat left—next to Niall. He looks up from his phone and smiles warmly at me.
“You’re good at that.”
“Shouting at kids?”
“No, you’re good at dealing with them. You know what to say and how to say it. I can tell they trust you.”
Farther back in the minibus, Cameron is still glowering. While we were having words somebody else stole his seat. He’s not happy about it at all.
“Some of them do,” I say.
“Are you planning to have kids of your own?” he asks. His blue eyes stare right at me. It’s the kind of easy question anybody might ask.
“No.” If I left it at that, maybe all would be well. But I’m me, and I find the need to fill in the blanks. I never could stand silence. “Simon doesn’t want any more children.”
His brows rise up. “That doesn’t seem fair if you want some. A bit selfish.”
My reply is crisp. Blunt. “He told me he didn’t want any before we got married.” I agreed to it, too. Back then, children weren’t even on my radar. The world still felt like a nightmare place. Bringing children into it would be a selfish act. But now… I’m not sure I feel the same way.
Simon does, though. That’s why I could never tell him about my volte-face. I’d be breaking our agreement.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “You’d make a fantastic ma.”
The fire in my stomach burns out, replaced by a huge lump in my throat. I try not to choke up, but it’s hard when I’m being comforted by the man who’s stirred everything up. We’re sitting close, his thigh warm against mine, his upper arm pressed into my bicep. Any anger I felt a moment ago has dissipated with his kind words, until all I’m left with is longing. It would be so easy to turn to him, to bury my head in his shoulder and let him hug me until everything else disappeared.
I never did choose easy. Perhaps it’s for the best.
Niall and I imploded like a dying star, burning brightly one moment then fading into blackness the next. That sort of excitement, emotional highs and lows, may be something to live for when you’re a teenager. Now, though, I should long for comfort, for steadiness, for Simon.
I need to keep reminding myself of that.