Chapter 22
Fox
Monday seemed like a blur, where I tried to behave normally when all I wanted to do was cry.
My bed was still a tangled mess of sheets, a pillow still on the floor.
It was far too obvious, the way he’d left my life in disarray.
The living room, the one I always kept in a pristine state?
Everything was in the wrong place, the cushions stacked on a chair, next to where we’d snuggled on the sofa.
Even the cups he’d left in the sink had made me choke up.
He’d left me on Sunday, before lunch, walked out the door and refused to let me take him down to his rental car.
Goodbyes didn’t work for either of us, so…
he’d kissed me without any words and left, and I’d been numb ever since.
Hence I’d fled to my office, hoping today would miraculously be Thursday when the cleaners would come and turn the place back into something I recognised.
I didn’t voice that out loud, instead tapped away at my computer, hoping Mr Terrence could leave me be for a while and busy himself with the exam schedules and ringing the school nurse for Mr Odesango, who once again had managed to get an allergic reaction to the school washing powder.
And I had phone calls to make.
And a shopping trip to plan. And all I wanted to do was get in my car and drive to the airport and go to some village near Brighton and find Noah Fairweather and drag him back here.
“We’ve got an issue.” Mr Terrence. Solid bloke. Fixer of…issues.
“Yes?” I said, hoping my voice sounded light and breezy. I felt like I was choking on stupid tears. On the verge of an inevitable breakdown.
“Butcher damaged his door. Removed his name plaque with a screwdriver, and replaced it with…marker pen.”
“What?” I said. I wasn’t quite following.
“He removed the plaque and scribbled on the door. Gave himself a new name.”
Okay. I could see what was coming here.
“And that is?”
“He wants to be known as Bailey Fairweather. Not sure of the connection there.”
Okay. Time to be honest. Rein things in.
Oh fuck. Fucking hell on a motorbike or whatever.
“Mr Fairweather is my current partner. Bailey met him over the weekend when we walked the dogs.” Half-truths. Enough of them. “He must have made an impression.”
“Well.” Terrence smiled. “Not quite the story Butcher went with, but whatever. I think words might have to be had.”
“I’m on it, Terrence. Trust me.”
“The board has requested a meeting this week. Thursday morning.”
“I’m aware.” I was. And I was still putting off ringing Aberdeen Social Services because, What the actual fuck, Bailey Butcher?
Also, I needed to get a grip. And a cup of tea. And stop this ridiculous pining.
I was pining. There was no denying it. I needed him and wanted him, and he wasn’t here and it hurt my head more than I wanted to admit. And here was Emma bringing me a fresh cup of tea and with a side of demands.
“Have you rung? And what’s up with the sudden demand for tea? Mrs Cook is most confused down there.”
“Phone call is next on my list. And now... I like tea.”
“Okay… Fine. Assembly was a mess, Riley. You need to get a grip.”
“It wasn’t pristine, I know that. There’s a lot going on.”
“Yes, and the board meeting on Thursday is making me nervous. I had a phone call from Baronetess Daniels, and that never bodes well.”
“I see.” I agreed with her. Baronetess Daniels was a pain at the best of times, and I wasn’t looking forward to once again getting a dressing-down from her with regard to her beliefs.
She’d vetoed my appointment as had her now late husband, and if it wasn’t for her owning most of the land we were occupying, I would have…
I had no legs to stand on here, apart from my own.
And I had held my head up high for the past ten years and survived everything she and her board of cronies had thrown at me. So far.
So I took a sip of tea and made that phone call.
A few hours later, I was pacing around the retail park in Oban, with a kid who had no idea what he was allowed to wear or choose and who’d burst into tears when I tried to buy him trainers.
Talk about emotional toll, and to be honest?
I should demand more pay and more time off, and perhaps Baronetess Daniels could get off her high horse for once and come in and spend some time with these boys before she got herself wound up with morals and the lower classes infiltrating today’s noble youth.
I shuddered, pacing the floor outside the men’s changing rooms, hoping he’d calmed down enough to at least try on some trousers and shirts.
We’d managed to pick out slippers so far.
The floor got cold. And that gravel was hell on your feet.
“Sorry,” he snivelled, coming back out with his arms full of clothes, as I gave his hair a little ruffle. A bit of human affection. Fuck, I should have sent Emma; she’d have been way better at this than I was.
“Nothing to be sorry about. We’re just getting clothes that fit you. You’re still growing, and I know what you’re wearing is the outfit you feel the most comfortable in, but it’s worn and torn. And a little bit too small for you. All the highland air has made you grow.”
“I grew fine in Aberdeen.”
“You never told me, how did you end up in Aberdeen?” Deflect, deflect, deflect. Make him talk to me. The whole point of this little outing, because I was still rattled from the earlier phone call. And I could see now that a lot of what came out of Bailey Butcher’s mouth kind of…made sense.
He grinned, but it wasn’t a happy one. “Another boyfriend. Dickhead called Mark. Got Mum back on smack again, and then…”
“It’s all right.”
“It’s not. Mum’s in prison. Life sentence.”
“Not your fault.”
“I’m not stupid, Fox.”
“You shouldn’t call me that. I’m Mr Riley. Your headmaster.”
“You’re not at work now, dude.”
“Bailey.”
“Seriously? I’m going to start calling you Dad now, just for that.”
“Bai…” Oh. Yeah. He had me there. Manipulative little shit.
“If you want things to be nice and smooth here, you follow the rules.” That was a threat. And he just smiled.
“I’m following every rule here. I’m walking nicely, not running off, being polite, and I don’t need the toilet, thank you very much.”
It took a few seconds, but I got it. He’d done this before. Been out with strangers who demanded his obedience and were terrified he’d run off. A bit like me.
“Do you want to go and have dinner? With me?”
“Like a date?” He grinned. “Told you. Not gay. Not interested in dudes.”
He was far too young to have conversations like this.
“You have a girlfriend?” I snuck in.
“Noooo!” He actually blushed. A first.
“Lots of time for that later. Girls, or boys or whatever. They will break your heart and mess you around, but once in a while, there will be a good one.”
“Like Mr Fairweather.”
“Yes.”
“What’s his first name?”
“Noah.” I was treading water here. Giving away too much.
“Fox and Noah. That will do for parents.”
His name was at the tip of my tongue again. Wanting to tell him off, when he was actually…kind of funny. Taking this thing he had in his head and running with it. A bit like me.
“Why do you think I would make a good dad? For you? And do you like pizza? There’s a place over here…”
“Can we have something else? Mum always got pizza. Can’t stand it. Is there an Indian?”
“You like curry?”
“I really like those flat breads. Paratha.”
“I like those too. The Taj on George Street. That okay?”
“I wouldn’t know. Never been here before.”
“They do good paratha.”
“Fine.”
Fine?
I let him breathe, paid up and returned to the car, but once we were parked up and sat at a table in the restaurant? I put it back to him.
“Why do you think I’d make a good dad?”
“You bought me good stuff. Not big brands, nothing fancy, but you let me choose. That’s good. I hate when people just give me stuff to wear, and it’s like old and smells funny. I hate it.”
“I understand. But that doesn’t explain it. I’ve never been a dad.”
“You’ve got like hundreds of kids up there, at the school. You dad just fine.”
“I dad?”
“Yeah, You do the, like, telling-off thing, but you’re not mean.”
“I hope not.”
“Look. Some dads… Well. I’ve not got much experience; I have no idea who my real dad is, Mum didn’t know either. But all her boyfriends? Some of them tried to dad, and they were shit at it.”
“I see.” Fuck. A man of few words here, but this conversation was a little overwhelming.
He ordered for himself, asking politely if his choices were okay. Just a paratha and some rice. A little bit of rice. Not a whole portion.
I hated it. Hated that he thought that was all he was worth, when I was sat here, trying to decide if ordering two different curries was over the top.
“Do you like chicken?”
“I do.” He rubbed his nose. “Look, I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“You’re no trouble.”
“See? That’s what a good dad says. The shit ones don’t actually give a shit or tell you to piss off.”
“I’ll never tell you to do that.”
Shit. Here I was, making promises I had no right to make. Playing right into his little hands.
“The people who said they were going to adopt me? The first day…when I moved in with them, the guy took me down to the barbers and told them to shave my head. Just in case I had nits or somethin’.
I think I would have known if I had nits.
Had them all the time when I was little, and Mum could never afford to treat it.
Got taken in by socials and cleaned up, and then I was back with Mum again and they’d come back.
It was shitty because I really liked my hair.
Then suddenly I was bald and ugly, and the guy just laughed. ”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. I was too. They were nice when I first met them, but it…it wasn’t good. I wasn’t what they wanted, and they weren’t… They tried, but…”
“It’s not your fault. As you said, you can’t just take two people and put them together and tell them they have to be best friends. It doesn’t work like that.”
“I don’t want to cut my hair.”