‘If she wants. He doesn’t live in Bigley, though.’ Ugh. I sounded like a sulky teenager.
He shrugged. ‘On second thoughts, it’s probably wiser to leave it be. If word gets out that I’m playing matchmaker, half the village will be knocking on my door. And knowing this village, not only the single half, either.’
‘So why did you ask, then?’
He smiled into his drink, eyes carefully avoiding mine. ‘Because I’m guessing this friend possibly wants to be more than a friend, but you might need a little prompting in finding out whether you want that, too.’
‘What? Is Millie even interested?’
He laughed. ‘Millie is very interested. But shall we both agree she’s not the only one?’
I was very interested in Jonah. I was fascinated to discover what had happened to him since our goodbye broke my heart. How the angry, withdrawn teenager had become someone who caught the eye of people like Millie. I still didn’t know anything about his job, what he liked to do, whether he still loved fantasy books or liked to cook.
I was interested in whether he’d got the tattoo he’d planned, a jackal pacing across his pec.
And if so, I wanted to see that tattoo. Not to mention how disconcertingly interested I was in what it would feel like to trace my fingers over what was once smooth, olive skin.
After the conversation with Dad, by the time Jonah knocked on my door on Tuesday evening, I was maddeningly interested in whether he’d been thinking this much about me.
‘Hey.’ He stepped inside, glancing around with admiration at the deep aqua hallway, the gleaming floor and artfully arranged items on the newly polished cabinet containing all our shoes. ‘Nice place.’
‘Don’t get your hopes up. I’m working on one room at a time, and so far this room is it.’
I led him into the kitchen, which, while both clean and reasonably tidy, thanks to an hour racing up and down the stairs hiding boxes of random clutter, followed by another one scrubbing, was still a dingy disgrace rather than the stunning space it could be. The only thing going for it was that it wasn’t as bad as the living room. It was also a slightly more businesslike environment to be carrying out a private antenatal class with a distractingly attractive man.
‘How’s Ellis?’ I asked as I made us both a drink. It was still sweltering, but I needed the familiarity of a warm mug to wrap my hands around.
‘Still getting a bit dizzy, but the iron tablets should hopefully help. If she remembers to take them.’
‘Okay.’ I brought our drinks over and positioned myself around the corner of the table from where he was sitting. ‘How is she really?’
Jonah had dropped her off a few minutes late for the Bloomers session yesterday, but after the first couple of hours she’d claimed a midwife appointment and left on the back of a moped, arms wrapped around someone who hadn’t bothered with a helmet, let alone offered his pregnant girlfriend one.
None of the local community midwives would schedule a Monday morning appointment for a Baby Bloomer. The clinic nearest to Hatherstone, where Ellis lived, was Thursdays.
I suspected her ghostly pallor and stringy hair were due to more than iron deficiency. The way her sunken eyes darted across the cabin as she chewed on the scrappy remains of yellow fingernails sent a coil of fear slithering through my guts.
Jonah hunched over his tea, face a blank mask. I’d forgotten how he did this – went completely still, like a small animal playing dead to avoid a predator.
‘She’s…’ He tailed off, as if realising the futility of trying to lie, despite having spent most of his childhood pretending things were fine when the reality was appalling. I shifted my chair a little closer to the table and leant forwards, keeping my voice gentle.
‘I saw her yesterday. She reeked of weed. Nicky sat her by an open window to prevent the other mums from getting high off the fumes.’
‘No.’ He glanced up, and there was fear warring with denial in his eyes. ‘Damon must have been smoking around her. Or someone else in his house. She stayed there Sunday night.’
‘She came in your car, so you must have smelled it. Jonah, you’ve been around enough weed to know this was not second-hand smoke.’
He shifted back, arms folding as his jaw clenched and unclenched while he fought with the truth.
‘It’s not your fault,’ I said, softly.
‘Then whose is it?’ he asked, eyes burning into mine. ‘I’m her brother. The only adult left in our family. It’s my job to take care of her. To protect her from scum like Damon.’
‘She’s also an adult. You can’t control her. If you need to blame someone, blame your mum. Or the broken social care system that let her down over the past nineteen years. If youreally want to go down that road, blame me.’ I had to stop, my voice cracking. ‘I’m the reason my parents couldn’t adopt her. If she’d stayed with you and Billy, everything would have been different.’
He dropped his gaze. ‘In that case, we’re back to blaming me. We both know that was my fault.’
‘No.’ I shook my head, adamant. ‘You were a vulnerable child, going through the worst experience of your life. You had no idea how these things worked. I knew full well what would happen if we got caught, and I did it anyway.’
