CRAIG
CRAIG
"Oh, Craig, am I glad to see you!"
Judy looks uncharacteristically harried when she opens the Farmhouse's front door to me, a potato in one hand and a peeler in the other. She's dressed in her scrubs, ready for work, but her braids are yet to be tamed, and her face is without its usual bright flourish of makeup. Still, she flashes a smile no less inviting than I've come to expect from her as she steps aside and motions me in.
"Are you okay?" I ask, passing by her.
"Just one of those days, honey. Everything all at once, you know?" She shuts the door at my back. "But it's all the better now for your exceptional timing!"
"Uh…" Okay , that's not perplexing. "Is Bas home?"
"Come on through and wait, why don't you? He shouldn't be much longer."
It would seem that I don't have a choice. Or I'm not spared the time to make one, at any rate. No sooner has Judy taken my jacket and hung it on the rack than she's bustling away from me into the depths of the warren. I dart a deliberating glance at the door before I sigh and trail after her, my instincts on high alert.
The twists and turns and clutter don't daunt me anymore. In fact, I might even admit to becoming somewhat fond of the Rabbit Hole's quirks. There are still numerous doors and passageways that remain an utter mystery. But I'm able to navigate my way to the most frequented rooms well enough.
And this is fortunate, really, because Judy's already back in the kitchen and busily peeling spuds over the sink by the time I catch her up. "Just give me a minute," she calls over her shoulder.
Dobby springs from his basket to greet me, tail wagging as he sniffs around my legs. I bend to give his ears a scratch, only for him to repel my hand with an admonishing grunt. "Whoops," I chuckle. "My bad, mutt. I should know better by—"
"I think he likes you." The intrusion of an entirely unfamiliar female voice knocks me sideways. "Craig, right?"
Sliding my gaze to the redhead sitting at the kitchen table, Dobby is abruptly forgotten. My stomach flips over itself as instant recognition hits.
Sebastian's mum grins at me. "Well, hello there, Handsome."
I'm gawking like a moron, I know I am, and my face is feeling unreasonably hot.
True to her word, Judy drops a final handful of potato chunks into the slow cooker and turns her back to the counter with a sigh. "Craig, honey," she trips me to my senses. Wiping her hands on a tea towel, she moves to pull out a chair across the table from the woman whose name I realise I've never been told. "Come. Sit down."
At the flash of her smile and a distinct lack of anything else I can fathom to do with myself, I heed the instruction. And Dobby follows on my heel to settle on the floor beside me.
"Hey," I recover my voice at last. "Hi."
Mrs Davis leans forward. "You have the bluest eyes I'm sure I've ever seen."
"Uh, thanks." I lean back, and I don't fail to notice that Judy isn't joining us. Instead, she's now quick-stepping away.
"My apologies," she says, pausing at the door. "But I really do need to get myself sorted. I'm running dangerously close to being late." Her soft gaze is almost pleading, fixed on me. "You're alright to keep Theresa company until Sebastian gets home, aren't you?"
And, yep , there it is. That right there is what my gut has been warning me about. Sneak that she is, I've been played all-too-readily into a trap.
"Of course he is!" Theresa is prompt to reply. "No need to delay any longer on my account, Judy, love. Craig and I will get along just dandy."
My response is somewhere between a shrug and a nod. Because two pairs of expectant eyes are staring at me, and really, what other option do I have at this point?
"Wonderful!" Judy claps her hands, the relief on her face immediate. "Please don't think me rude. If I could stay, I would."
"You're fine," I manage to smile. "It's fine." Dobby huffs like he's not fooled.
The thing is, though, I don't even know if Sebastian wants to see me. It has been three days since he barged out on me at Derek's, and I only have Ashleigh's word that he'll be willing to hear me out. For our face-to-face to occur in the presence of his mum is a mighty far stretch from ideal. I'm hard-pushed to guess who he's likely to be most disturbed to see.
It's within a minute of Judy leaving us alone that Theresa's interrogation begins. And within the next minute, I'm thoroughly cursing my inability to say no.
"You know my son well, Craig?" She asks first.
Unprepared, I take a little too long to answer, and so, lacing her fingers around her crossed knees, her head tilting in a curious study, she rephrases.
"You're his friend?"
The wording is not an improvement. "Yeah. I mean, I guess."
"You spend a lot of time here, though, from what Judy's told me — with him?"
"I help out on the farm."
"Why?"
"Because he asked me."
"Oh? That's interesting. He trusts you, then?"
"He just appreciates the free labour," I shrug, feeling the lie as it rolls off my tongue.
"Sebastian's not the easiest person to get close to, is he?"
"We have that in common."
"I see," she nods, and a tiny frown pinches her brow as she finally leans back in her chair. "Yes, you've certainly got no less of a wall around you."
There isn’t a question there. I take the opportunity to breathe, but my respite is brief. And if I'd thought the nature of her interview to be nothing beyond simple teasing, what she follows with changes the game.
Theresa Davis' blithe smile is a well-practised illusion; I catch on too late. "Does my son ever talk to you about me, Craig?"
"He, uh… he has done, yeah." I'm not sure I quite manage to cover my wince. "A bit."
"Nothing good, I imagine, huh?"
"Not bad, either. Just—"
"He doesn't really talk to me about much of anything anymore."
Once again, that's not a question, and I welcome another breather. It is, however, impossible not to register the eerie echo of Alex's grievance with me. "Bas worries about you," I hear myself blurt.
A slight quiver to her lips finally gives her away. "I know he does, but he needn't." Her voice shakes a little, too. "And he doesn't need to get so mad at me all the time, either."
Then, all of a sudden, she's on her feet. Dobby startles at the brisk scrape of her chair, hightailing it back to his basket as I watch her cross by me to the slow cooker. Lifting the lid on whatever Judy's prepared, she grabs a wooden spoon from the ceramic pot nearby and gives it a hearty stir.
"Why didn't you come, Mrs Davis?" My question is out the instant I think it.
It takes a long moment for Theresa to still. "I'm Mrs Pearce, actually. Davis is my maiden name." She sounds back in control. "I'd prefer you to call me Ree, though."
"On your birthday," I hold my nerve. "Your son was expecting you. He wanted you here. It really hurt him when you didn't show."
She returns to her stirring. "It's been forever since I had Judy's beef stew!"
"I'll be sure to keep you some." Judy's reappearance in the doorway whips us both around. "You too, Craig, of course." She's looking wholly her usual self now — like flustered isn't a word she even knows. "Everything okay in here?"
"Yes, absolutely. Yes." Spoon still clutched in her hand and dripping on the floor, Theresa's smile beams full force. "I couldn't ask for more delightful company."
I don't miss the knowing glance Judy flashes my way. "Don't be giving the boy too hard a time of it, mind, Theresa. We'd all be most upset if you scared him off."
"Oh, such little faith! The boy is not so easy to scare."
"Any word from Bastian?" I'm swift to interject.
"He should have been back an hour ago," Judy replies with a slight shake of her head. "But the traffic out of Exeter can be a nightmare at this time. You feel free to help yourself to anything you want while you wait, though. I'm certain he can't be too far off now."
This time, once she's bidden us farewell and excused herself, silence reigns.
Theresa deposits the spoon in the sink with the potato peelings. She replaces the lid on the stew before eventually surrendering to rejoin me at the table. She stares at me as I stare at her for a long while, her legs crossed and her hands cradling her knees. And for all that I don't know about this woman, I understand well enough how it feels to keep an emotion like guilt on lockdown.
It's no surprise to me when she cracks, breaking eye contact to glance up at the clock. "Clark will be wondering where on earth I've got to," she says, getting back to her feet and fussing a hand over her black linen dress. "My son has most likely spotted my car and decided to hide around the corner until I leave."
I stand, too, as she starts toward the back door. Dobby's immediately alert, jumping from his basket and circling me. "I'll go," I offer. "You should stay. He'll want to see—"
"No, no." She unhooks a long beige coat from the peg, folding it over her arm. "If you could just…" Lips pressing tight, her sigh is heavy. "Could you, please, just tell him I was here? And that I miss him, and that I'm sorry? I'm so very sorry I keep letting him down."
"Sure." My throat constricts around the word, so I nod instead.
And yet…
Yet, as Theresa lifts a hand for the door latch, I impulsively reach mine out to grab hold of her wrist. "Wait."
A flicker of panic crosses her face. "Craig?"
"One moment." I'm quick to release her and step back. "Wait for one more moment, okay? There's something for you I have to go find real quick."
"What?"
I don't hang around to explain, though. There's just something that feels wrong about letting her leave like this — without any reassurance that Sebastian cares. Abandoning her to Dobby's watch, I speed from the kitchen to the lounge. Heading directly for the little glass cabinet beneath the painting, it takes me only a minute to crouch down and retrieve what I'm after from inside. Exactly where I knew it would be. And then, I'm turning around and hurrying back…
Goddamnit!
…to a deserted kitchen and an open back door.
She didn't wait. But she can't have got far.
"Hey!" It only takes me turning the corner of the house to catch her up. "Here. For you."
Theresa doesn't stop until I obstruct her path. Her eyes drop to the pretty little box with its pretty little bow I'm holding out to her. But she makes no attempt to accept it, and all pretence of good cheer has left her face. "I know what it is, Craig," she says. "I told Sebastian I didn't want a birthday gift."
"He put a lot of thought and heart into it."
"Of course he did." She shakes her head and looks away. "Because that's who he is. He always puts the whole of himself into everything. And this is why I couldn't spend my birthday with him."
The hand clutching the box drops to my side.
"Because I'm selfish," she continues. "I couldn't deal with seeing him try so hard for me, not after last year, and I should never have agreed to come. It's not a day to celebrate anymore. It's nothing more than a marker of the years I age ever older than my twin. A day of cake and flowers and memories of Kye. Spent here, in this place he made a life I wasn’t a part of."
I watch a tear roll down her cheek, and I step out of her way.
“I can hear how that sounds, believe me, and I’m not excusing myself. I love my son, Craig, and I truly am sorry.”
Sebastian's gift is slipped into her coat pocket as she moves on by.