George tapped gently on his parents’bedroom door, half hoping his mother would say she didn’t want to do Christmas. As Owen had gone downstairs, George had realised that there was a strong possibility his dad was going to ruin everything, no matter what they did. The moment he explained to Millie about his father and what had happened to the kid who’d attacked them at the end of summer, that would be it. Christmas and everything else he hoped for would crumble into ruin.
‘Mum? Can I come in?’
‘Yes, Georgie love.’
He pushed the door open, wishing his mum would stop calling him Georgie. It made him feel like he was ten years old again. It was embarrassing enough in front of Owen–but in front of Millie! He reminded himself that wasn’t the worst of his concerns and looked across the room at his mother.
Sally Halcyon was sitting on the edge of her bed, still in her dressing gown, hair all over the place, no make-up on. A bruise on her cheek. She looked much older than the forty years to which she reluctantly admitted.
‘Mum, Owen’s gone to make some tea.’
‘Has he?’ She looked up at George, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. ‘Owen’s a good boy. You both are.’ She blew her nose loudly into an already raggedly damp tissue. ‘I’m sorry about your dad, George.’
‘Me too.’ George stopped short of asking about the bruise on her face but moved to hold her in his arms. He knew in his heart of hearts the police hadn’t hit her. ‘I don’t know how you’ve put up with him all these years, Mum.’
‘Neither do I. The fact is I wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for you, my lovely boy.’ Curling her fingers through George’s hair, she made it stand up in ginger spikes. ‘My little Steiff teddy bear,’ she murmured.
‘Not so little now, mum.’
‘No, no, you’re not. You’re growing into a fine young man. I am very proud of you, Georgie.’
‘Thanks mum.’ George didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
‘It’s true… you are so much better than could be expected, given… everything.’ She paused, troubled green eyes travelling his face. ‘I’ve never told you this. Perhaps I shouldn’t now, but it’s best you know the truth. You were an accident. I didn’t want to get pregnant by Chas.’
George shook his head; not sure he wanted his mum to continue.
She did. ‘I didn’t want to marry your dad,’ she said, her soft hand moving slowly down George’s face. ‘It just… happened.’ She fell silent and stared bleakly across the room before going on. ‘I wouldn’t get rid of you.’
‘You’re catholic.’
Still not looking at George, she answered, ‘Yes. So, I married Charles, the most infamous and despicable man in the neighbourhood. It broke my dad. But my mother understood. She knew the reason.’
George wanted her to stop. He didn’t want to know he was an unwanted accident.
Sally went on. ‘Chas got what he wanted, or he thought he did. A son and heir.’
‘Mum…’ George began, wanting to stop her, not wanting to hear anymore.
‘Shush, lovie.’ She turned to him again. ‘Don’t upset yourself. It worked out in the end.’
Puzzled, George frowned.
‘Chas didn’t get what he wanted after all. He’s just too stupid to realise. But I got the best son a mother could have. I want you to know that I’m not sorry. You’ve made it worthwhile.’
‘Mum, I wish you’d said. We could’ve left him. I’d have been fine being a single parent kid.’
‘It was too late, my love.’ Sally attempted a smile as she stroked George’s face again. ‘He’d have not let it happen, Georgie. He’d have fetched me back to have you. Your dad loves you. I know you don’t believe that. But he does. You’re his future… the continuation of the Halcyon name.’
George grunted. ‘He’s going to be bitterly disappointed in the end, mum. Because I will never take on the business.’
‘I know that. And that is onlyone of the reasons I am so very proud of you.’ Sally patted his hand and changed the subject. ‘Is Owen shocked by the police raid?’
‘A bit, but not much. I told him about Dad’s work the other day.’
‘Good. Best thing to do.’ Sally stood, pulling her dressing gown tight around her and moved to her dressing table. She peered at herself in the mirror. ‘I look a state!’ Flinching, she ran her fingertips over the bruise, then picked up her hairbrush and dragged it through her matted red curls.
‘Mum?’ George shifted on the edge of the bed.
