I thought about him shrinking into that wall on Monday. Remembered how long five months of lunchtimes, break times and group work could feel when you were ten.
‘Maybe we could invite Lucas and Erik for tea sometimes?’
‘I used to go there. They live in Hatherstone Hall – it’s way bigger than this house so it’s more fun. But you don’t have a car, and they can’t get here because their mum and dad work at the hall.’
‘Right.’ I crossed a big red line through the dream fridge and replaced it with a car battery. ‘This might not mean anything, but I didn’t really have any friends at school either. Or right up to when I moved here, to be honest.’
‘Why not?’
‘Lots of reasons. I didn’t like myself, so I tried to hide away so people didn’t get to know me and find out what a loser I was. And after I left school I was ill. For a long time. I didn’t really get a chance to make any friends. All I’m saying is, I know that hearing other kids talking about parties and clubs and stuff like that and not being a part of it hurts, even when they’re idiots. So, if ever you want to let off steam, or need a few rules bent to make things easier, I’m here.’
‘I’m okay.’ He went back to the picture. ‘I don’t need friends.’
‘Maybe not. You’re a strong, resourceful young man, with a family who love you. But most people find friends make life even better. I wish I’d had some sooner now I’ve found out for myself. If you want help with that, let me know.’
I left the room, my heart a little lighter at having connected with Dawson at last.
As I closed the door behind me he muttered, ‘You could leave, so we can have a nanny with a car.Thatwould help.’
I didn’t leave. Instead I got back to cleaning up, chasing, buttoning, laughing and winging it for three hours, four days a week. It remained utterly exhausting, but not in a way I was used to – this was a satisfied, happy, job-well-done sort of tired.
I had decided the best way to take care of the Cameron kids was to emulate their parents, and do the exact opposite of the way my own had done it. So I loved them. I loved them with my time and attention, my praise and encouragement, my care and my boundaries. It turned out I’d been storing up a lot of love over the years. Letting some of it out was easier than I thought.
And if sloppy kisses and muddy hugs, diagrams of futuristic weaponry and fun facts about lichen were anything to go by, I was mostly loved in return. And, hey, four out of five ain’t bad.
In between, I spent long hours hacking at and digging up the brambles and undergrowth round the back of the house. I uncovered a chicken-coop buried in the undergrowth, and pondered a half-hearted idea about a vegetable patch. Maybe a beehive. After a couple of days I found the remains of the boundary fence to my land. The garden wasn’t huge, but I didn’t need it to be – I had the whole forest on my doorstep.
In the evenings, still chilly as March blew in, I continued working inside the house. Although in desperate need of some fresh paint, the kitchen was more or less straight now. At the back of the pantry, I found my first real treasure, hidden behind a broken ironing board and covered in dead woodlice: a slow cooker. I bleached, scrubbed and rinsed it several times, then raced to the shop to buy the ingredients for a chicken casserole.
The fragrance of that casserole wafting through the house, as I searched through the pockets of thirteen handbags, was the best darn smell in the world: thyme, leeks, fresh protein and hope.
I declined dinner at the Camerons’ that evening, whizzing home to eat my own home-cooked food. I ate so much I had to un-pop two buttons on my jeans.
Then I had to strain them closed again when I looked at the remaining food and realised I had nowhere to store it, so had better find an alternative location.
Mack opened the door looking like a lumberjack in a thick checked shirt. He wrinkled his brow, which I translated as, ‘Hi, Jenny, great to see you! Come on in!’
So I did. At least I tried, until he shifted to block my entrance. That pushing-your-way-into-someone-else’s-house manoeuvre was trickier than it looked.
‘I made some casserole, and had loads left over. I thought you might want it.’
He looked at the slow-cooker pot, wrapped in a tea towel. ‘Did you find that in the Hoard?’
‘It’s been rigorously cleaned. Multiple times.’
‘Have you eaten from it?’ He peered at me.
‘Yes! It’s clean!’
‘Why are you bringing me leftovers?’
‘What, apart from it being a nice thing to do?’
‘You don’t have enough to be giving food away,’ he said.
I took a deep breath, wishing I had a hand free to push my glasses back up. ‘I’m not giving it away, I’m repaying a minute morsel of the debt I owe you.’
‘What debt? I lent you that stuff.’
