Chapter 6 #2
His aftershave is overpowering, and not in a nice way. The peppery musk hits the back of my throat, making me desperate to clear it. His suit is crisp and tailored, but there’s just something smarmy about him.
His blue eyes are slightly too small. He has that high school jock look about him that he hasn’t quite let go of. Something that may have worked for him ten years ago, but now looks tired and sad. A man desperately holding onto a past long gone.
“Foster family.”
He pulls back; his eyes widen. “No shit!”
“Shit.” I smile politely.
“Well, Jesus. He never mentioned you, not once.” That doesn’t surprise me. I’m in the part of his life that he has tried to bury, and failed at doing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you would like to make your way to your tables,” a voice booms over the loudspeaker, and the jock stands up.
“It was so nice to meet you…” He holds out his hand, which I take, shaking it.
“Lucy.”
“Richard. Lovely to meet you. I had best find my table. Ah ha, here’s the man of the moment. Owen.” He claps him on his back as Owen joins us. “You never mentioned this little firecracker you had hidden.”
Owen looks at me and I smile politely, the mask still in place.
“I was just telling Richard how I knew you. From the foster placement. A lifetime ago.”
He nods.
“Lucy could be perfect for what we were talking about earlier, a face like hers and—”
“Richard,” Owen interrupts, his tone firm. “No. We aren’t having this conversation now. That isn’t what we are about here.”
Richard holds his hands up and claps Owen on the back, laughing. “I know, I know. But come on, she’s stunning.”
“I’m sorry?” I shake my head. Did I hear that right? It’s my turn to frown; I’m not a piece of meat. Owen places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. I glance up, and his eyes flick to my hand.
I’ve picked up the knife that was next to my hand subconsciously. I mean, it’s only a butter knife. But I could still kill him with it. I drop it and nod my head down, trying desperately to hide my smirk.
“Well, you two enjoy your dinner. I’m really looking forward to learning more about Lucy at our next catch-up, Owen.” He sticks his hand out, and Owen reluctantly takes it.
“What a bellend,” he mutters as he pulls the chair out next to me and sits down. “A butter knife, really? At least wait for the steak knife to come out.”
“You’d be surprised what you can do with a butter knife. Just the right angle, the thickness of it would work perfectly to scoop out one of the fucktard’s wandering eyeballs.”
Owen laughs. “That’s savage. What happened to the little girl with the teddy bear?”
“She’s long gone.”
People join us at the table, but we are completely oblivious to anything that is going on around us.
“You’re now some high flying…security detail?”
I shrug. “Girl’s gotta eat. So, tell me, when’s your big speech?” I change the subject, peering behind Owen and smiling at the person who has pulled out their chair to join us at the table.
“You’ve got really good at deflecting questions and changing the subject. You ever thought about becoming a politician?”
“Nah. I’m too corrupt for that…but hang on a minute…”
“Lucy,” he warns quietly.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Why do I feel you’re judging me whenever you look at me?”
“Not judging,” he replies, repeating the exact thing I just did and nodding to whoever the hell is behind me. “Just trying to figure you out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out. I’m an open book.” I lean back in the chair and allow the server who has appeared to my right to fill up my water.
“You’re a copy of Oh Là Là in a Sports Almanac cover.”
“Back to the Future reference. How cute.” I smirk. It was one of our favourite films as kids.
“Red or white?” the server asks.
“Can I have some sparkling water, please?” I respond.
“Red, please,” Owen replies, and we wait patiently for our drinks to be filled up.
“Owen.” A women’s voice interrupts our awkward silence, and he pulls his scrutinising gaze from me, thank fuck, looking to the lady a few seats down. “You must share with us how you two met? Honestly, that reunion was so lovely.”
I peer round Owen and smile.
Oh Jesus. This is going to be exhausting. On goes the mask again, the coy smile, the tucking the hair behind my ear. The little glances. The giggles.
The fucking giggles.
If this assignment doesn’t kill me, all this fake smiling may just about finish me off.
Owen starts to respond, and I only partially listen as my thoughts drift off.
How sometimes I wished things had been different. What if he hadn’t left me? What if we had left together? So many what ifs.
“Are you okay?” His hand is warm on my thigh. He pulls it away as I glance down where his skin touches my bare leg from the slit in my dress.
“Yes, sorry. Did you say something?”
“No, but Juliette asked you a question.” He smiles politely. “Juliette, this Lucy. Lucy, this is Juliette and her husband, David.”
Juliette leans over and shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you.” I drop her hand, taking a sip of my water for something to do.
“Owen has told us so much about his foster care experiences, but never mentioned you, Lucy.”
Surprise, surprise.
“I was only young, but Owen looked after me.” That wasn’t a lie.
There’s one thing I’ve learnt in this business, is that lies are easier if they are closer to the truth.
You’re less likely to be caught out. Bending a slight part of the story is easier than making the full thing up.
“We didn’t have the best of times, did we, Owen? But we had each other, and we made do.”
“I think it makes the evening more special,” Juliette says, her smile wide.
“How so?” I ask.
“Well, we are here raising money for the Foster Foundation. Its very existence is to make sure support exists for both the families and children who provide foster care or find themselves in it.”
“Whether that be financial, emotional support, a helpline,” Owen adds, and my eyes widen in surprise.
“Not all foster families have what they need or are equipped for just how challenging the children can be. Although help exists, government cuts have salami sliced the services so much so that people fall through the gaps.”
I nod, because I’ve experienced it firsthand. We both have. My ability to say anything seems to have disappeared.
“The helpline?” I whisper, a slight frog in my throat.
“It’s just that,” Juliette pipes up again. “It’s a 24/7 helpdesk that is there to provide support. Although the helpline isn’t just for foster families, it’s for anyone who needs it. Think Citizens Advice, but focused primarily on family support.”
“That’s…” I’m speechless. I look at Owen, my eyes piercing into his. “Amazing.”
Why am I so surprised?
Maybe it’s because I’ve completely tarnished him with the brush of a politician. But this, this is the kind, caring Owen that I know and love. No, not love, loved, and knew.
“Isn’t it?” David adds. “I met Owen at an event, and we both unfortunately have some bad experiences with the services in this country. And looking at your reaction, Lucy, it would seem we all have that in common. We got talking and decided to start something. We had no idea how much it was needed, and now with Owen onboard and making the waves he is, well, it’s a real opportunity. ”
“For what?”
“For change,” Juliette says. “Tonight is the start of it all.” She grins. “Starting with Owen’s big speech.”
Our conversation is interrupted as the first course is delivered. The servers place beautifully plated food that looks more like a piece of artwork in front of each guest.
“Foie gras with rhubarb and duck breast,” the server introduces. “Bon appetit.” I glance down at the food and take my first bite, which melts in my mouth. A small moan escapes my lips and has Owen grinning at me.
“Always a sucker for a meal.”
“Have you tasted the duck?” I ask, taking another bite. He smiles, and something dips in my stomach. Something I choose to ignore.
The table seems nice enough. You have Juliette, or Jules as she likes to be called, and Dave who is now busy talking to the couple next to them. To my right is another couple, who, listening to their hushed whispers, appear to be having a slight domestic.
“I don’t understand why she is here, Liam. I’ve told you to—”
“So, how do you guys know Owen?” I interrupt the argument as more and more side eyes were aimed their way.
I may be a cold-hearted bitch, but this is a big deal for Owen.
Whatever tonight’s big thing is—and well, as weird as it sounds—I don’t want anything to ruin it. Including these two bickering fools.
Our plates are removed, so I place my hand out to the lady who is sitting next to me. She shakes it, her partner frowning.
“Lucy. Nice to meet you.” I smile politely.
“I’m Sarah. I work with Owen.” Sarah tucks her hair behind her ear, watching the man stand up, excusing himself from the table. “Oh yeah? In politics, too?”
“Kind of, I work with Juliette. I’m Owen’s financial accountant. Liam is my plus one, but God knows why I brought him. Annoying twat.”
I giggle, and she does, too.
“So, I heard you grew up with Owen. I bet you have some brilliant stories and embarrassing ones at that.”
“Don’t even think about,” Owen interrupts, his voice close to my ear. I glance over my shoulder to find his body angled close. I turn back to Sarah, grinning. “Has he ever told you about his favourite glove?”
“Glove?”
Owen’s hand comes over my mouth, and I try to bat him away. “Cookie, don’t you even dare,” he says, and although I can’t see him, I can hear the laughter in his voice.
“Oh God, I have to know now. Look at you. You’re terrified.” Sarah’s eyes crinkle as she scoots chairs and joins me in battling Owen’s arm away. “Was it his wanking glove?”
“No!” I exclaim, laughing even more. “But that would have been funny. It’s quite heartbreaking, really. He must have been about thirteen, and we had just watched Castaway. You know, the one with Tom Hanks, where he gets stranded on an island.”
“With Wilson?”
“Oh God,” Owen groans from behind me, and I laugh again. His head in his hands as he continues to groan. “This is so embarrassing. Why are you here again?”
“Yes, that’s the one,” I continue, ignoring his pleas. “Well, Owen loved that film. Loved Tom Hanks.”
“Loves Tom Hanks. He’s a phenomenal actor,” he adds from behind me.
“Yes, yes, loves Tom Hanks. Anyway, he found an old gardening glove in the shed one day, and decided to make his own version of Wilson. He wasn’t quite willing to waste a perfect football, but figured a glove would suffice.
I heard him rummaging in my room in my craft box.
I had one of those cabin beds when I was young, so I could see from the top without him realising I was awake. ”
Sarah is smirking at me, listening intently as she takes a sip of her drink.
“He picked out two googly eyes and fastened them to the fingers, drew a big smiley face on the leather palm. What did you call it?”
“Mr McGlove’in,” Owen mutters from behind his hands.
Sarah falls about in her seat, laughing her head off. I grin and sit back, letting Owen feel the stare and laughs from her firsthand.
“Come on, you. I’m taking you to dance before you spill anymore secrets.” Owen stands and puts his hand out to me.
“But pudding,” I pout, taking the napkin that had been resting on my lap and throwing it onto the empty table.
“Will be a while. We have time to mingle and dance before it comes out.”
I drop my clutch bag on the table. “Can you keep an eye on it?”
“Sure,” Sarah replies, filling up her glass of wine, watching us both. I place my hand in his and let him lead me through the tables.
We are stopped a few times where Owen says hello, shakes hands, and makes very brief introductions. He seems to know everyone and remembers everyone’s name. I do my usual: smile politely, nod, listen intently.
But honestly, I’m not really listening. I’m too busy noticing the way my hand feels in Owen’s, how when he isn’t holding my hand, he is navigating me through the crowd with his hand on the small of my back.
Regardless of the position, I’m aware of the heat, how it radiates, and how I can feel it all the way to my core.
Because no matter how many years have passed, there’s something that Owen has always made me feel, and still makes me feel.
He makes me feel cherished.
He makes me feel protected.
He makes me feel safe.