Chapter 21 Freya
FREYA
“Hi, is that Freya?” asks a voice I vaguely recognize.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind me calling you, but Jane at Unicorn gave me your number. She was sure it would be okay, but I don’t want to get her into trouble.” There’s a pause, as if giving me time to summon a response.
“Of course not,” I say, not wanting whoever it is to feel any more awkward than they do already.
“It’s just that I wanted to say how lovely it was to meet you the other day. Harry hasn’t stopped talking about you and asking when he might see you again.…”
The penny drops. “Maria.”
She laughs. “Oh yes, sorry, I should have said.…”
I picture the unassuming woman at the other end of the phone. Her kind eyes, peppered with an abject sadness that her gorgeous little boy has so many hurdles ahead of him, none of which she, as his mother, can jump for him. The helplessness must be suffocating.
“How are you? How’s Harry?”
“He’s doing okay. We’re just at the hospital … the routine stuff, scans, checking his meds…”
“I bet he’s got the nurses wrapped around his little finger,” I say, knowing firsthand how impossible it is not to fall in love with his cheeky smile and nonsensical chatter.
I can hear her smiling. “His fan club is certainly on the rise.”
“And I assume Mr. Toggs is there, too,” I ask, referring to the cuddly dog that Harry won’t let out of his sight.
“Of course,” says Maria.
“Have you heard anything more from America?”
She sighs. “We’ve got a Zoom meeting with the medical team this afternoon, but it all seems a bit pointless.”
I want to tell her that we’re trying to find a way to help her, that I’m banging Harry’s drum louder than I think I’ve ever done before. But with so many children and so few resources, it’s an impossible task to choose one over another.
“It almost makes it more painful to have these meetings and hear what they might be able to do, knowing that we can’t afford it anyway.”
“I’m talking to the team,” I say, wanting to give her a ray of hope.
“That’s very kind of you, but anyway, I just wanted to say hello and thank you for listening the other day and letting me cry on your shoulder.”
She’s using the term figuratively, because she’d been stalwart in her conversations with me, having promised herself that she would never cry in front of Harry. “He will only ever see me smiling,” she’d said.
I’d commended her bravery, but I’d wondered since how agonizing it must be to paint on a smile from the moment she woke up to the moment she put Harry to bed.
“And I know it’s very unprofessional, but now you’ve got my number, if you ever fancy a coffee…”
“Or a playdate with Harry,” I add.
“Or that,” she says, laughing. “Just text or give me a call.”
“I will,” I say, meaning it, because I can’t let this one go.
“Who’s Harry?” says Charlie, coming up behind me in the kitchen and making me jump. I hadn’t even seen him come in.
“Hey,” I bluster, hating his innate ability to make me feel guilty when I haven’t done anything wrong. “He’s that boy I told you about.”
“Oh, right.”
“How was the lunchtime shift?” I ask.
“Quiet.” He takes a knife to the sharpening block and swipes it through, once, twice, three times. He slides the blade across his fingernail, to check if it’s still blunt. When it doesn’t catch, he swipes again.
“That councillor woman came in … Catherine somebody. Apparently she’s looking like a good bet for the next mayor.”
“Be great to get her on your side. Did she like it?”
“I don’t think so,” he says, his jawline tensing. “She sent the scallops back.”
“Oh,” I murmur, knowing how much that would have hurt.
His nostrils flare. “The problem is, with people like that, they’ve got the power to make or break you.”
“I assume you went out of your way to put it right,” I say, tiptoeing my way around his fragile ego.
He slices the knife through an apple. “I offered to give her table the starters for free, but it seemed she wasn’t expecting to pay for it anyway.”
“So they had the whole meal for free?” I ask incredulously.
“What choice did I have? They’re running a bloody protection racket, swanning around town as if they own the place, blackmailing business owners and establishments to give them what they want.
” He snorts. “And us muppets comply, knowing that if we don’t, they could shut us down in the blink of an eye. ”
I go to him and wrap my arms around his waist. “I wouldn’t let her do that to you,” I say. “I’ve got your back.”
His hands go onto my shoulders, and I flinch when I see he’s still holding the knife. “And I’ve got yours,” he says.