Читать книгу The Complete #LoveLondon Collection - Nikki Moore - Страница 11

Now

Leo Miller still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up standing alone on Primrose Hill on the most romantic day of the year, both hoping and dreading his Valentine would show up. The girl he’d thought would be a friend but had turned out to be so much more. The girl he owed the truth to, instead of the version she thought she knew.

If she came.

He stood at the top of the panoramic park, the London skyline sandwiched between a bright blue sky and leafy trees. Rolling green grass flowed below him, intersected by numerous paths lined with Victorian-looking lamps. He could make out all the main landmarks in the distance, no longer needing the long, narrow metal plaque on the circular brow of the hill to read the city. He’d brought too many classes here over the last five years to show them the glorious sights of their capital. He knew this skyline off by heart.

Left to right was the spire of St Mark’s Church, the high-rise, closely huddled towers of Canary Wharf, the dark curved outline of The Gherkin and lower, crouching St Paul’s Cathedral, the soaring sharp-edged Shard. Further over was the pinnacle of the BT Tower (plumper at the top), the rounded upper half of the London Eye wheel then over to Westminster and the Houses of Parliament, Crystal Palace Tower and smaller, tucked away on the edge, Westminster Cathedral.

Shoving his freezing hands into his coat pockets, he shivered in the crisp February sunshine. It was a beautiful Saturday, though cold, and gusts of wind shook the last of the leaves that had somehow survived autumn and winter from the trees. Hard to believe it would be spring soon. Happy, noisy families with pushchairs and plump, eager toddlers on reins panted their way up the concrete paths, and dog walkers rambled across the amazingly healthy green grass, some of them throwing tennis balls for their canine friends. A couple wandered past hand in hand, bundled up in scarves and woolly hats but not looking like they felt the frigid temperature at all, too wrapped up in each other. Cars zipped past, making their way in and out of Camden Town. At the bottom of the hill was Primrose Hill Bridge, spanning Regent’s Canal. If she didn’t come he’d walk down there, take a tube to Oxford Street and distract himself by trekking around the shops.

He checked his watch. Five to twelve. He’d asked to meet at noon, but had wanted to get here early.

As bitter as the weather was, he’d prepared a mini-hamper filled with champagne and gourmet foods, had thought they could sit on one of the benches and share a feast and the view, the backdrop they’d met against. It was probably a crazy idea given the near sub-zero temperatures but he’d thought it would be romantic and had limited the madness by also bringing a rucksack stuffed with two blankets, some hand warmers, and two bobble hats as well as panda ear-muffs for comedy value. He’d once joked he’d need to wear them to block out her constant chatter, a tongue-in-cheek comment given how hard it could be to get her to open up. Still, with time and patience, he’d got to know her over the past four weeks.

And when you dug under that shy, sometimes fragile exterior, once she forgot what had happened to her, how she now looked or thought she looked, her smile could light up the whole park. You could see shades of the intelligent, outgoing girl she’d been before and would be again. Since that first meeting he’d known what she needed, apart from a friend. To see and believe that although she might never be the same person as before the accident, she’d become someone stronger and more capable because of what she’d been through. And that whatever she might think or feel, she was still attractive to the opposite sex; love wasn’t something that was forever out of reach if she didn’t want it to be. Hopefully he’d been showing her those things over the last month. What he hadn’t realised until it was too late was that she’d been unwittingly showing him something along the way too. How to fall in love.

Shit. Double Shit.

He would never forgive himself if the challenge his friends had set for him – to find a date for Valentine’s Day and finally get a love life – had ruined what little self-confidence she’d built, as well as their friendship. Because if being friends was the only thing he could have of her, he would accept it in a heartbeat.

Swivelling around, searching the numerous paths for her tall figure, he blew out a long, slow breath. He was the only single person here without a dog. On Valentine’s Day. Talk about sad. Ironic too. All those years with no-one he’d wanted to spend it with, so wasn’t bothered by covering for colleagues who wanted to leave early, and now there was someone, and the day cupid was famous for was actually on a weekend…and she wasn’t here.

The question was, would she be? A few more minutes and he would know.

Before

Georgiana Dunn yelped as a wriggling weight landed on her chest, wrenching her from the foggy doze she’d been having cocooned in her duvet. Instinctively bringing both hands up to protect her face, her fingers encountered the scarring around what used to be her right eye. She flinched, placing her hands against the covers instead.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she muttered to herself. ‘You should be used to it by now.’ It wasn’t as if the damage could be forgotten during the day either because the itchy, annoying eye patch she wore dug lines into her forehead and cheekbone. It also did a crap job of covering the scar running from her cheekbone down towards her mouth.

Something sharp pressed into her shoulder and thudded on her stomach, driving the air from her lungs.

‘Eurgh, oof’ she grunted, pushing upwards against the duvet in search of escape. What had been a comfortable nest a moment before now felt like a hot, suffocating tomb. Flexing her legs, the muscle in her upper right thigh protested, the one under the wound that always felt hot and achy even though it’d been four months since the accident and should have healed completely by now.

Accident. Disaster. Trauma. That’s what the doctors, nurses, surgeons and physiotherapists had taken turns calling it. To her it would always just be the worst day of her life. Who would have thought that someone else’s unexpected heart attack at the wheel could change her world so radically?

Feet drumming against the mattress, lifting her head, her long plait somehow wrapped around her neck. She sucked in a panicky breath and with a grunt of effort managed to flip down the duvet, freeing herself from the hair noose at the same time.

‘Thank God!’ Her relieved exclamation muffled a thud somewhere near the end of the bed. Fresh air and sunlight hit her and she winced, turning toward the wall. Then she bolted upright, wondering what had been on top of her. She twisted her head back and forth to see as much as the bed as possible, but there was nothing there other than a rumpled purple throw.

‘Good morning, darling,’ her mum sang brightly.

‘Jeez!’ George jumped, hand clutching her chest as she swung her head around to a spot a few feet from her bed. ‘You almost gave me a heart attack. Why are you on the floor? Praying for patience?’ she joked, sweeping aside the covers and swinging her feet down to the thick dark grey carpet. It reminded her of brewing storm clouds, the complete opposite of the sunny wooden laminate floor in her childhood bedroom, which they’d left two weeks before. However hesitant she’d been about moving initially, she had to admit that although she missed their old place, the en-suite bathroom here was fab because there was no need to stumble to the other end of the house in the middle of the night.

‘Well? What are you doing?’ George prompted her mum. ‘It’s not like you to be so quiet.’ She smiled to take the edge off the comment.

‘As much as I may soon have to pray for patience,’ Stella said, sinking back on her knees, ‘if you insist on staying in so much, no, that’s not my current activity.’ She fussed with some kind of round, quilted cushion. ‘I was leaving you a gift.’

‘Another one?’ George sighed. ‘Mum, you don’t have to keep bringing me things. I’ll be fine. I just need more time, that’s all. It’s sweet, but presents aren’t going to miraculously cheer me up.’ It made her feel cared for, but didn’t change how she felt about herself. She didn’t know if anything ever would. The new therapist kept telling her she needed more time, and to focus on the positives. She was trying her best, she really was, but it wasn’t just the physical scars she had to contend with. There were emotional ones too.

‘Mmmmm.’ Stella made a non-committal sound and dropped her head to plump up the cushion.

George knew she’d hurt her mum, and bit her lip. Well, at least she hadn’t shouted like in the weeks after first being released from hospital. Those had been dark days, and she’d been to some dark places. She’d just been so unbelievably angry all the time at the unfairness of it all. Some days that rage still surfaced, but she’d learned to get a better handle on her emotions, to stop striking out at those around her.

She smiled sadly. It wasn’t that long ago she’d attended lectures and gone out shopping with friends to blow her student loan.

It was Saturday today. On a Saturday at uni she’d have studied in the library in the morning and worked in the bar from lunchtime onwards before dancing and drinking the night away in a club, tossing her hair over her shoulder before turning to see how many guys were checking her out.

That might be only a handful of months past, but in reality it felt like forever since she’d laughed and grinned and had fun like a normal twenty-one year old. But she wasn’t normal any more, nothing was. The injury in her thigh made her limp when it was cold or rainy (which was most of the time given it was winter in Britain), her right eye was gone and her face was scarred.

She was slowly accepting that none of those things were insurmountable, that it could have been a lot worse, but a lot had changed. Now one of her most prized possessions, rather than her extensive clothes collection, was the large round spa-bath in the en-suite. She could hide her new, strange body under a layer of bubbles in a bath, rather than being confronted by her scars in a shower. Getting naked was definitely on her list of least favourite things to do these days. Still, at least a month ago she’d been able to take attending physio off the list. They’d said it was up to her now, and she’d been doing her daily stretching and muscle strengthening exercises like a good girl.

‘Mum?’ she said softly, focusing her thoughts, ‘Please stop buying me things. You really don’t need to.’

‘But they can’t hurt, can they?’ Stella replied. There was something in her tone that made George wonder if it made her mum feel better to buy presents for her. ‘Especially this one,’ Stella added. Making a funny clucking noise under her breath, she lifted something and shifted nearer on her knees, before depositing it in her daughter’s tartan pyjama-clad lap.

George peered down one-eyed at the warm, furry body wriggling around on her thighs. A yipping sound was directed at her face. She closed her eye, groaning. ‘Please Mum, please say you didn’t get me a guide dog after everything I said?’ Leaning over, she carefully deposited the small black and white splotched puppy on the floor. It immediately rolled onto its back and started squirming around on the carpet, paws pumping blissfully in the air.

Stella smoothed her low ponytail down. ‘Yes, he’s yours,’ she glanced down at the puppy. ‘He could be useful to you, but-,’

‘Yes, if I want to look like even more of a freak,’ George replied in an undertone, watching as the animal abandoned its army manoeuvres and started chasing its tail, spinning in tireless circles.

‘You’re not a freak.’ Her mum’s cheeks went pink. ‘And he’s not a guide dog. They’re usually different breeds, about a year old and fully trained. He’s just a normal Springer Spaniel puppy because you made it clear you wouldn’t accept a guide dog.’ She smoothed her ponytail again. ‘You can train him yourself. They’re usually quick to learn, and enthusiastic. It’ll give you something to do now you’re on the road to recovery but not back at uni. Walking him will keep you fit and get some fresh air into you. Besides, he’ll keep you company when I start my new teaching job next week. Spaniels like to be around people. They’re social dogs.’

‘I’m glad someone feels social.’ George responded, but despite her best intentions found herself sinking down to the floor to stroke the puppy’s downy neck. She smiled. Who could resist? Puppies were so cute. They had such big soulful eyes and little pink tongues. And a lot about her might have changed, but she could feel her heart melting already.

‘I know you’d rather be left alone to hide away from the world.’ Stella said. ‘But it’s not good for you.’

‘Hang on. I’ve come a long way since those weeks when I was holed up in bed all day.’ She switched to stroking the puppy's back, smiling when he turned to lick her hand. The arguments between them had been heated, especially since she’d refused to shower for days on end, or come out of her room to eat with her parents, or see friends or family. It’d taken her dad intervening and suggesting they move to London to make a fresh start to pull her out of herself. Normally taciturn and unwilling to get between his wife and daughter, it was like his daughter’s crisis had finally given him words. ‘I’ve been out since we moved here, Mum,’ she defended, uncurling her legs to stretch her leg out, ‘trying to learn the streets.’

‘Twice,’ Stella answered, ‘barely qualifies.’

George flushed. So what if she mostly stayed in watching TV or, when she got bored of that, watching passers-by from the living room window? It was perfectly normal to look at people sweeping up and down the leafy London street or dashing to bus-stops, and wonder who they were and where they were going. Wasn’t it? And it wasn’t creepy at all that she had a favourite; a tall guy with shaggy brown hair who was always smiling, no matter what the time of day was, no matter what the horrible weather was doing. He looked nice. Open and relaxed. She wished she felt how he looked. It had been pretty embarrassing though when he’d glanced sideways one evening and caught her gawping. He’d grinned wickedly and she’d let out a squeak and slid to the floor under the window. From then on she hid behind the net curtains when she dared to people-watch.

‘Once a week isn’t enough, darling,’ her mum interrupted her musings.

‘It’s hard. Everyone stares,’ George admitted reluctantly. Initially she’d been scared of moving to London; scared at the thought of leaving everything and everyone she knew behind, at the familiar becoming unfamiliar, but in the end realised that being back home in her old life wasn’t helping. That in a funny way, starting over might make things easier. But it was more difficult than she’d expected.

‘I’m sure not everybody does. Besides, London is a very big place; there are a lot of faces in it with their own stories.’

‘You’re probably right. But it’s still hard. Give me some credit for leaving the house, especially when you know how I feel about this,’ George pointed to her face.

‘All right, thank you for trying.’ Her mum shook her head, ‘But you’re still a gorgeous girl Georgiana, and anyone of any value will see past the physical damage.’

George hugged her arms around her waist, staring at her unvarnished toenails. ‘Whatever you say.’

There was a small tense silence before they both looked over at the puppy, who was now tugging on the edge of the duvet cover with a row of tiny, pointed teeth. His ears were pricked up and his tail was wagging. George smiled and switched her attention to her mum. ‘I’m sorry this has all been so disruptive for you.’

Her mum sighed. ‘Darling, don’t apologise. Yes, we’ve both been cast back into roles we thought we’d left behind – you know I came to terms with you leaving home over two years ago, taking the promotion as Head of English, starting the OU course, but it’s fine. Life throws things at you sometimes that you have to deal with, and we’re dealing with it. I’m excited about my new job. Your dad got that transfer. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish I’d made you leave straight after dinner that evening, or insisted you stay an extra night, anything to stop you being on that same strip of road with that poor lorry driver –,’ her voice broke and she stifled a sob, ‘but there’s no use torturing ourselves with things that can’t be changed.’

George bit her lip, tears scorching her eyes. She’d not once been able to cry for herself over the last few months, but somehow her mum’s pain almost undid her. ‘I know that, Mum. It’ll be okay.’

‘It will.’ Stella nodded and pointed at the puppy, who’d managed to tear a small hole in the bedding through shaking his head and wiggling his body, splayed paws digging into the carpet. ‘So he’s staying. Enjoy him, have fun with him. But he’s your responsibility, so promise you won’t keep him in all the time.’ She clambered to her feet, gazing down at her daughter, who’d slid back to rest against the side of the bed. ‘You’ll take him for walks, won’t you?’

George rolled her eye. She knew when she was beaten. ‘When I’m ready.’

‘Georgiana…’

‘Yes, okay, I will, I promise.’

‘Good. I’m going to go and finish unpacking. You should try and do some of yours too. Your bedroom’s a mess.’ Stella raised an eyebrow pointedly and swept from the room, clicking the door quietly shut behind her.

George sat on the carpet, face burning. How did her mum still have the ability to make her feel like a child, when she’d been an adult for over three years? She felt seven years-old again, having just been told off for touching one of her mum’s prized ornaments or getting sticky chocolate fingers all over her dad’s extensive record collection. She’d planned to empty all the boxes and put everything away, it was just hard to summon the motivation or energy these days. Sighing, she swivelled her head around to find the puppy, and ran a hand down his back. His fur was so incredibly soft. He yipped and turned to look at her. ‘Looks like we’re stuck with each other,’ she chuckled, ‘but please, just give me a few more days before we venture out, okay?’ She tapped him gently on the nose, ‘A week would be perfect.’

She didn’t get seven days, nowhere near.

Because she was feeding him the puppy took an immediate shine to her, following her around adoringly, getting under her feet and tripping her up more than once. Her bruises, despite the plush carpets, had actually multiplied since his appearance because he wasn’t quick enough to get out of her way when she turned around. And without one eye, she had one hell of a blind spot. She smiled at her own joke. Maybe she was making progress.

'Mum, the puppy’s going to kill me at this rate.’ She complained over dinner on the Monday night after his arrival. ‘I’ve fallen over him three times just this afternoon. And he yip-yaps at me every time I sit down. Can’t you or Dad take him for a while so I can have a break? Or better still, take him for a walk?’ she looked at her dad hopefully, noticing how he’d coordinated his glasses frames with his tie. ‘Nice match today, Dad.’

‘Sorry darling,’ her mum said firmly as Warren opened his mouth. ‘We’re both working full-time now and are tired in the evening, whereas you’re here all day. He loves you, just accept it. And stop trying to sweet-talk your dad into helping you.’

‘The puppy doesn’t love me,’ George said drily, ‘I feed him. There’s a difference.’

‘Not to dogs,’ her dad replied, smoothing his thinning brown hair off his forehead. His blue eyes were amused behind his glasses.

‘I guess not,’ she agreed. She bet his socks were odd again. It was a peculiarity; every work day he dressed so carefully, coordinating his suits, ties, glasses and cufflinks, but for some reason he never wore a matching pair of socks. ‘So what’s it today? Green and blue? Purple and grey?’

Her dad shook his head.

‘Wait.’ George licked a finger and stuck it in the air, like she was testing the direction of the wind. ‘One red, one blue?’

‘Bingo,’ he nodded.

Stella tutted, grabbing George’s finger to get her attention. ‘Stop trying to change the subject.’ She looked at her daughter sternly. ‘Have you walked him yet?’

George wiggled her finger out of her mum’s grasp, pushing the plate of lasagne and garlic bread aside. ‘No.’

‘He’s had all his jabs and is old enough. Springer Spaniels need plenty of exercise. Just don’t let him off the lead until he knows the area better. We don’t want him getting lost.’

‘He’s okay going out in the garden. Just give me a few more days.’

‘The garden will do for some things,’ her mum replied, ‘but he needs to stay active. Dogs need to be walked, especially his breed. They’re full of energy.’

‘You’re telling me,’ George said, unable to believe how restless the puppy was during the day.

‘If he gets bored he might get destructive,’ her mum warned.

‘Okay, I hear you.’ She didn’t want to admit that the two trips out she’d taken since the move here had made her so self-conscious she was dreading leaving the house again. ‘Thanks for dinner.’ As she slid her chair back to clear her plate and cutlery away there was a yelp. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sakes.’ She turned in a circle and bent over, straightening up with the puppy in her arms. ‘You silly thing.’ She smoothed his paw with gentle fingers. ‘I keep telling you, we’re not stuck together. You can use your bed sometimes you know.’

She glanced up to find her parents watching her with bemused expressions. ‘I’ll take him out soon.’ As soon as she was brave enough.

On Tuesday morning the puppy kept bringing her things. She was lying on her bed reading in her dressing gown when he appeared at her side, front paws up on the mattress with one of her socks in his mouth. He’d stolen it from the laundry basket. It was kind of sweet; his little furry face was so earnest and he seemed so proud of himself, that she took it from him and patted his head. Mistake. What followed was a systematic flow of belongings including more underwear and a pair of pyjamas from the laundry basket, a battered old teddy from a pile in the corner that she’d kept for sentimental value and some of her old uni textbooks. When he carried on with his task for the next half an hour she regretted the moment of weakness as she ended up buried under a pile of stuff.

‘All right, quit it. Now it’s just annoying.’ She stood, sighing heavily as she looked at the bed and then around the room. Her mum was right, it was a tip. Ignoring her command to stop fetching, the puppy spun around in a circle searching for something else to grab. When he couldn’t find anything, he started scrabbling at the wall. ‘Okay, come on you.’ After letting him out for a few minutes while she made herself a hot chocolate, she brought him back in, settled him on his bed with a doggy biscuit and had a quick bath. After dressing in black jeans and a navy hoody and tying her hair up in a knot, forgoing the eye patch as she was alone in the house, she started unpacking a stack of boxes from the corner of the room. It took her longer due to her injuries, but by the end of the morning there was a definite sense of achievement welling up inside her as her belongings were tucked away in various homes and there was a sense of order to the room. Buttons even cooperated, watching contentedly as she went back and forth, opening drawers and stacking books and DVDs on shelves. Making a quick cheese sandwich and taking it into the lounge, she stood eating it at the window, peeking round the edge of the net curtains. It was just after one o’ clock. The woman two doors down would be getting back from nursery with her twin toddler girls soon and smiling guy might mooch along too. It wasn’t every day but at least twice a week he walked past, then back again half an hour or so later. She assumed he worked locally and went home for lunch. Just as she was thinking it, he appeared, brown hair hanging in his eyes and hands tucked away in his coat pockets. Looking across the front wall at the house, he pulled one hand free and gave her a cheerful wave.

‘Bugger!’ she muttered. Caught out again. She wanted to hide but ducking away twice would be even more embarrassing than being busted in the first place so she gave him a feeble wave in return before oh so casually moving away to sit down on the sofa.

Buttons, lying on the rug in front of the TV, gave her a pointed look and rested his chin on his front paws.

‘What?’ she said defensively.

Pricking his ears up, he let his tongue loll out of his mouth. She swore he was laughing at her.

‘Oh, shut up,’ she retorted, picking up the remote.

She couldn’t settle after that, and bored with TV, and reading, started to get cabin fever. Buttons was restless too, pacing up and down on the rug, whining, spinning in circles. Muttering a rude word, she put him out in the garden and scrubbed the marble-effect worktops in the kitchen, clenching her teeth, feeling tight and knotty.

She needed someone to talk to. Juliette had always been a good listener and supportive, a friend bound to her by a shared childhood. Going to her room she dug around in her knicker drawer for her mobile phone. She hadn’t turned it on in weeks, since before the move. She’d wanted time to settle into the new house before contacting people. It was a surprise when the screen lit up and there were hundreds of pending messages on Whatsapp, numerous voicemails and texts and loads of alerts on Facebook.

As she dialled Juliette’s number, she pictured her friend’s girl-next-door beauty, the blue eyes and long brown hair. The ringtone sounded. She held her breath.

‘Hi, it’s me.’

‘Oh my God! Hello stranger! It’s so good to hear your voice. I thought you’d dropped off the side of the planet,’ Juliette said, a smile in her voice.

‘Not quite,’ George answered quietly, ‘but I made it to London okay.’

‘I know, Hun.’

‘You do?’ George looked out of her ground floor window, narrowing her eyes. Where was he? After a moment she caught sight of a small shape zipping back and forth at the bottom of the garden.

‘Your mum let me know. Hang on, I’m just going somewhere private.’ The sound of movement and a door opening and closing filled the static space. ‘Okay.’

‘It wasn’t you.’ George said quickly, ‘I wanted to get comfortable here before I got in touch with people. There was a lot of change going on.’ She gulped, ‘I feel guilty now. I’m sorry. I should have called sooner.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Juliette laughed, ‘And don’t be silly. It’s not as if we didn’t see each other before you left. I’m always happy to be at the end of a phone. But I’d love to come and see you. I want to know what you’ve been up to.’

George laughed drily, thinking of the people-watching. ‘Not much, believe me.’

‘Right. No men on the horizon then?’

‘No.’ A picture of smiling guy flashed through her head. No chance. He wasn’t her usual type, and she wasn’t ready for anything right now. ‘Definitely not.’ She reiterated. ‘That’s the last thing on my mind.’

‘Shame,’ Juliette cleared her throat. ‘So was there a reason you called today?’

‘Mum bought me a puppy and he’s driving me mad,’ George blurted, before laughing at how ridiculous it sounded. When Juliette giggled too, George realised how good it was to feel genuine humour again.

‘So what have you called him?’ Juliette asked. ‘And what’s he doing to drive you barking, ha ha, pun fully intended?’

‘Buttons.’

‘How come?’

‘Because when he’s not tripping me over I think he’s as cute as one.’ She rabbited on, feeling a little like her old self again. This. She could do this. True friendship, the kind where you could pick up where you left off, as if no days had passed since you’d last spoken. ‘He jumps up and spins around loads,’ she explained, ‘is always right on my heels and every time he wags his tail he knocks three things over. His worst habit though is that whenever I turn in his general direction, he launches himself at me. Literally. One minute I’m minding my own business, the next I’m spread-eagled with a smelly, panting puppy filling my mouth with fur.’

‘Aww, I think he sounds cute,’ Juliette chuckled. ‘Come on, it’s not that bad. He’s a baby, he just needs to learn.’

‘Now you sound like my mum,’ George accused lightly, ‘are you sure she didn’t coach you for this conversation? She wants me to train him too.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Juliette replied, ‘although if she’d called me for a coaching session, I’d have been hard pressed to say no. Your Mum is pretty impressive sometimes. Especially when it comes to you.’

‘You mean full on. Like a steam roller. Or a high-speed runaway train.’

‘She wants what’s best for you,’ Juliette said loyally. ‘She loves you.’

‘But she’s so obstinate and –,’ George stopped, feeling mean. Her mum was ridiculously stubborn at times, but you couldn’t question her motives. ‘Actually, you’re right,’ she agreed, focusing on her hands, which were gripping the windowsill. When had she bitten her fingernails down so much they were red and sore? She’d always taken such pride in her lovely oval nails.

‘Of course I’m right. And she’s got that stern teacher thing going on.’ Juliette added. ‘Remember that time she talked us through behaviour management strategies?’

‘Do I ever.’ George sniggered, ‘We were like, what, twelve? You looked so bored. But the worst thing was, I found it really interesting.’

‘I know. It wasn’t long after that you started talking about wanting to be a teacher when we grew up.’

‘Yeah, I’d forgotten that.’ George smiled sadly, thinking about how much she’d loved her English degree and the planned PGCE - post-graduate certificate in education - her tutor had said he’d support her in the application for. She’d been so full of excitement and aspirations. It seemed she had a lot to be thankful to her mum for. Not that she could imagine pursuing her dream of being a teacher at the moment.

‘Oh, crap.’ Juliette muttered, ‘I’m sorry, Hun, but I have to go. I’m late for a meeting. I got that promotion, and they kind of need the chair of the meeting present to go ahead with it. Oh, and next time we speak ask me about Jon.’

‘You’ve got a new boyfriend, as well as the promotion? That’s fantastic, well done! And yes, of course I want to hear all about him.’

Juliette had worked for a corporate bank since leaving college and had talked about climbing the career ladder whenever they went out for drinks. George gulped, feeling ashamed. She had no clue about what had been happening in her friend’s life recently, whereas Juliette had always been there for her; hugging George after disagreements with her mum; comforting George when her first boyfriend dumped her; visiting George at uni once a month like clockwork to help drive away homesickness in the first few terms. Friendship was a two-sided coin and she wasn’t pulling the weight her end.

‘I’ll let you go for now,’ George said, ‘but I’m calling you in the next few days so we can sort out you visiting one weekend.’

‘Try and stop me. Phone me soon.’

‘I will,’ George answered fiercely.

‘Fab. Oh, and Miss Dunn?’

‘Yes?’

‘Train that puppy, why don’t you? I don’t want him peeing all over me when I come visit.’

George laughed. ‘Fair enough, will do. Take care.’

Staring out the window after ringing off, she hissed a swear word upon spotting Buttons happily digging a hole in the lawn. Her parents and Juliette were right. The dog needed training. Tucking her phone in her pocket to check the rest of the messages later, she went out to the garden, pulling the puppy out of the hole and dusting soil off his damp nose. ‘No, Buttons! Naughty dog. You don’t dig holes!’ It might be her cousin’s house that they were renting, and Matt was probably too loaded to care about a teensy hole at the bottom of the garden of the fourth property he owned, but her parents would care, and Buttons couldn’t go around being so wilfully destructive.

The puppy sat down and tilted his head to gaze up at her. She knelt to look into his face, and saw a woeful expression staring back. Yapping, he looked over at the fence, looked at her, faced the fence again.

‘Oh, for f–,’ she bit back the obscenity, ‘heaven’s sakes. Okay. You win.’

They were waiting in the hallway when her mum came in from work, George holding Buttons on his lead, pink oval tongue panting and tail wagging frantically against the ceramic floor tiles.

‘Everything okay, darling?’ Stella asked, pausing in the act of shrugging out of her lilac winter coat, face alight with hope.

‘I don’t want to go alone,’ George bit her lip, nerves churning her stomach in grotty, oily circles.

Her mum sucked in a breath, eyes growing wet. ‘Primrose Hill is only five minutes away. I’ll walk with you today. After that, you go on your own.’

‘But –,’

‘A guide dog may have given you the same freedom of movement as everyone else, but someone,’ she emphasised, ‘was dead set against it, so it’s you and Buttons now. Come on,’ Stella tugged her coat back on, re-buttoned and belted it, ‘I’ll write your father a note while you wrap up. It’s cold outside.’

‘It is January,’ George replied as she pulled on a green anorak and yanked the fur-trimmed hood as far up as possible. She repositioned her eye patch then shook her head so her dark hair fell forward in waves to cover her face.

Turning around, her mum threw her a sharp look. ‘I don’t know how you’re going to see anything like that. You need to pin your hair back and have your hood down so you’ve got maximum visibility.’

‘Do you want me to leave the house or not?’

‘Have it your way,’ Stella shrugged, opening the door and gesturing her daughter to go first so she could lock up.

George hesitated, chewing her lip, hands going clammy. Before full blown anxiety could hit though, Buttons, sensing freedom, had pitched forward eagerly onto the front path, giving George no choice but to be tugged out of the house or fall over. ‘Woah!’ He was surprisingly strong for a twelve week old puppy, but she guessed that was what a mixture of desire and determination could do. Give you strength you didn’t know you had.

‘Are you all right?’ her mum called, quickly locking the door and shoving the key in her pocket as she raced down the path to catch up with them.

‘Yes,’ George panted. ‘Oi, Buttons!’ she tugged on the lead to remind the puppy she was there. ‘Slow down, and remember who’s in charge.’

‘Never let them get their head in front of your knee,’ her mum advised, slipping a pair of gloves on. ‘You need to lead, not the other way around.’

‘Okay,’ George said, pulling the dog up and making sure they were in line with each other.

The three of them stepped onto the pavement and turned right, Stella walking on her daughter’s left so George was in the middle of the group, with Buttons nearer the wall.

Cars whizzed past and pedestrians stepped around them, George turning her head back and forth to look out for any obstacles. While she hoped no-one could see her face, her mum was right. Between the hood, her flowing hair and the eye patch, she could barely see. Inhaling sharply, she pushed the hood down, talking to her mum to take her mind off how scary this was for her. ‘Where did you learn that?’ she asked. ‘About leading? We’ve never had a dog.’

‘Internet,’ Stella’s hand hovered by her daughter’s elbow as a red letter box came up on the right, but as if he knew something, Buttons walked around it, his shoulder against George’s knee to steer her away from it.

‘Clever doggy,’ Stella exclaimed.

George glanced at her suspiciously, ‘Are you sure he’s not a guide dog? Or trained in some way?’

‘Not as far as I know,’ her mum replied. ‘He’s just got good instincts.’

‘Hmmmm,’ George agreed dubiously, lifting her head towards a street light. She had to admit it was refreshing being out and about, much more than she’d imagined. Nothing disastrous had happened and no-one was staring at her in the early evening darkness. Perhaps this wasn’t so bad.

She regretted the thought a few minutes later when upon reaching Primrose Hill, Buttons got overexcited about the wide open green space and other dogs and tore off with George hanging onto his lead. She tripped over and smashed her knee on the concrete path. Wincing, she rolled over onto her bum, clutching her leg, the puppy’s lead somehow still wrapped around her right hand.

‘Stupid dog!’ George gritted her teeth against the stinging pain, her jeans ripped open to reveal an oozing gash on her knee.

‘Are you all right, darling?’ her mum dropped into a crouch beside her, grabbing Buttons’ lead. ‘Here, I’ll take him. How bad is it?’ Stella’s face was clenched and white.

‘Just a cut and probably a bruise,’ George got up carefully, not wanting her mum to worry, and was reaching for the puppy’s lead when a guy came running over.

‘Are you okay?’ he panted. ‘I saw you fall. Do you need any help?’

George automatically dropped her chin to her chest. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ She got an impression of tousled brown hair before hiding her face. It was smiling guy. Shit, this was so embarrassing.

‘Fine usually means exactly the opposite,’ he answered drily, smiling at her.

George stepped towards her mum, yanking up her hood.

‘You fell pretty heavily. It must have hurt,’ he insisted. ‘Can I help? I could give you a piggy-back or something. I don’t live far from here.’ The raised eyebrow and grin he gave her, which she caught from the corner of her eye, communicated that he knew she knew that. He recognised her.

‘No, thanks. I’d rather walk,’ she said curtly, turning away, cheeks burning. Fabulous. Caught gawking at him twice, and then she fell over in front of him too. And his concern just made it so much worse.

Her mum leaned in, speaking quietly. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right to walk home, darling?’

‘Yes,’ she hissed. ‘Please just– just get rid of him.’ It came out louder than she’d intended, and she backed away, even more embarrassed, stumbling over her own feet. This was getting worse with every passing minute.

‘I’m sorry,’ she heard her mum say to him, ‘my daughter was in an accident and now she finds it hard to talk to people.’

George sucked in a breath. Go Mum, sharing all my secrets. Yay.

‘Thank you very much for the offer,’ her mum added, ‘but we’ll manage.’

‘Sure,’ he agreed easily, ‘I’ll leave you to it then. It was nice to meet you both properly.’

Was it George’s imagination or did he emphasise the word properly?

‘Properly?’ Stella picked up on the intonation too.

‘I think we’re quite local to each other. I’ve seen your daughter around.’

‘Really?’ Stella frowned, looking at George, questions in her eyes.

George stared down at her feet. Thanks, smiling guy. Set the Spanish Inquisition on me, why don’t you?

‘I see.’ Stella murmured. ‘It’s nice to meet you too. And thank you again for coming over, it was very kind.’

‘No problem. See you around.’ Nodding, he walked off briskly towards the brow of the hill.

‘What a nice young man,’ Stella said pointedly, rejoining George and handing over Buttons’ lead. ‘Where did you meet each other?’

‘We didn’t.’ George wrapped the lead around her right hand, shaking her head at the puppy, who was trying to dance away from them. She drew him towards her. Her knee was stinging like crazy. There’d been enough drama for one day.

‘Oh,’ Stella pulled a puzzled expression. ‘Well, I think he likes you.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ George swung away and started towards one of the park entrances. ‘Come on, let’s go home.’

Despite the fated first trip out, George walked Buttons the following day. Even with her nerve-tightening self-consciousness, she enjoyed stretching her legs and being out in public again. As long as she had her hair down and could pull her hood up if she felt the need to, the anxiety stayed at bay.

Over the course of the next week, she upped it to two walks a day; one in the morning and one in the evening, and she and Buttons fell into a rhythm, walking the same route every time. The puppy largely behaved himself and by the fourth day she was able to let him off his lead for short periods of time. By the sixth day he was coming back on recall, as long as she kept a supply of Bonio’s in her pocket. Because it was damp and her thigh ached, she stuck to the lower, flatter paths around the base of the hill at first.

She kept wondering if she’d run into smiling guy, and wasn’t sure what she’d do if she did, but never saw him. And instead of people-watching now, twitching the curtains, she spent her days in the house or back garden training Buttons.

‘Come on,’ she clicked her fingers at him on the Tuesday of the second week, and pointed to the top of the hill. ‘Let’s give it a go.’ He turned to face the right way, barked once and set off up the path ahead of her, free from the lead. George followed with a wry grin. She could swear he was more person than canine. She wiped the back of her arm across her forehead as she panted up the hill. It was late morning and the sun had climbed in the sky, beaming its rays down. After days of driving rain, it was unseasonably mild. George was building up a light sweat under her long sleeved top and hoody, so she stopped and drew the top layer off, tying it around her waist, and adjusted her eye patch before setting off again. When she reached the brow of the hill, she inhaled deeply, swivelling her head from side to side to see the London skyline. It was amazing.

Dropping to her knees on the concrete circular area, she hugged the dog. ‘Good boy,’ she muttered into his fur. He licked her cheek in response in one long sandpapery rasp, then his body quivered and he lurched forward as the chattering of people filled the air.

George’s fingers caught in his collar as she straightened up, trying to stop him running off. ‘Stop!’ she cried, but he was already moving and had too much momentum and speed. She couldn’t pull him back or untwist her fingers. She was being yanked toward the edge of the concrete area, towards some kind of lip she had a nasty feeling she was going to trip over. With only one eye, her depth perception was skewed.

‘Shit!’ she squeaked, careening towards the edge.

A pair of warm hands grabbed her around the waist and lifted her slightly as she fell forward, her hand freeing at the last minute from the puppy’s collar, and she tumbled down onto the cold grassy slope, her saviour next to her.

‘Careful, you don’t want to roll down the hill. You might never get a chance to tell me your name,’ a deep, familiar voice joked.

‘Bloody dog!’ Flustered, George sat up and shot Buttons a filthy look while she gathered her composure.

‘I think he was excited by the children,’ smiling guy rolled closer and picked a leaf out of her wavy hair. ‘Are you okay?’

Glancing over her left shoulder she saw a group of milling children and several stressed-looking adults trying to wrangle them into some kind of order. He was probably right. Buttons did seem to get excited by clusters of people, especially the type who might give him attention.

Turning back to her rescuer, she straightened her eye patch with trembling fingers. It had been a long time since she’d been so close to a guy. Close enough to feel the heat of his broad shoulder and a muscular thigh against hers. Don’t humiliate yourself. ‘Uh-huh,’ she mumbled, pulling her hair forward around her face. It would probably be rude to pull her hood up mid-conversation. It would also be weird given how sunny it was. ‘I mean, yes, thank you.’

‘Good.’ He leapt to his feet. ‘Did you come to see the skyline?’ he asked as if she hadn’t just been embarrassed in front of goodness knew how many people.

‘Not really,’ she said awkwardly. If she talked to people they’d look at her. And if they did that…she ran a finger along the puckered skin of her scar.

Ignoring the gesture, he grabbed George’s other hand, hauling her up easily. ‘Lark, Emily,’ he called.

George twisted around and narrowed her eye. Two little heads popped up from among the group of children. The pair started to make their way over to them, one a blond boy of about eight who reminded George of the milky-bar kid, except with a white cane. He was smiling, totally at ease with the stick. The girl next to him was grinning, signing something with her hands at George’s rescuer. Smiling guy signed something back, moving his mouth at the same time.

He turned back to George. ‘Hi, I’m Leo.’ He held out a large hand.

After a brief hesitation George took it. He’d just saved her from probable injury, so it would be rude not to shake his hand. ‘Georgiana,’ she whispered. What she didn’t expect was the soothing heat of his palm, or how the texture of it against her own made something in her tummy quiver. Oh. A blush started to climb her throat. No, no, no.

‘Nice name. Good to meet you.’ He said as the children arrived next him and he directed them to stroke and make a fuss over Buttons, who’d panted over to George in search of a treat.

George drew a couple of biscuits out of her pocket and gave them to the black and white puppy as Leo crouched down and placed his hand on the boy’s to show him where the animal was sat. Buttons obediently lay down and started crunching away at his snack while the kids petted him. He looked thrilled with the combination.

‘So, are you getting out more nowadays?’ Leo gazed up at her. ‘Instead of drooling over me through your lounge window?’

It was so cheeky, a loud, ‘You wish!’ burst out.

He grinned and straightened up, several inches taller than her. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist.’ A light breeze blew his tousled brown hair into bracken coloured eyes. ‘Look, I’m a teacher at St. Michael’s, one of the local schools. Why don’t you tag along?’ He turned to someone, and nodded before turning back. ‘I’m going to do the skyline.’ He looked down as the little girl abandoned lavishing attention on Buttons, and signed something at him. Nodding, he signed something back. ‘I agree,’ Leo said out loud. ‘She says you’re pretty,’ he explained.

George shook her head automatically and drew her hair around her face. ‘No,’ she denied, gulping. ‘I need to go.’ Bending over to hide her anger and confusion, she clipped Buttons’ lead onto his collar and started walking away. ‘Bye,’ she called over one shoulder.

‘I’m sorry. We weren’t trying to offend you,’ Leo hollered. ‘Stay for the skyline talk. You might enjoy it.’

‘Not today,’ she yelled, picking up the pace, breaking into a jog as she went down the hill. It was things like this that made her reluctant to go out.

She’d come too far to slide back into a black hole again, so she and Buttons carried on with their daily excursions. And the next time she saw Leo, on a walk she’d deliberately changed to late afternoon in order to try and avoid him (epic fail), the first thing he did was apologise.

‘Hi, Georgiana,’ he walked right up to her, touching her elbow as she stood halfway up the hill watching Buttons swoop across the grass in diagonal streaks chasing a bird, ears flapping.

She jerked her arm away from him.

‘I’m sorry if I upset you the other day,’ Leo said, dropping his hand and stepping back to give her space. ‘I was just translating. I wasn’t trying to hit on you. It’s genuinely what Emily said.’

Well, that was clear. He hadn’t been flirting with her. He was just being his pupil’s mouthpiece.

‘I thought it was Lark who was blind, not Emily,’ she flung back, hurt. ‘Didn’t she see the state of this?’ She pointed at her scar. Sucking in a shaky breath, she immediately felt awful for what she’d said about the children. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t worry about it. You are pretty though,’ he frowned.

‘I don’t need pity,’ George blinked, thinking furiously of the way she was going to get out of this conversation.

‘No pity. I’m just being honest. It’s the way I’m built. I’m also used to dealing with parents of children with special educational needs, where we have open conversations about their child’s challenges and the support they require to maximise their opportunities. So I say what I think. I’m sorry if that upsets you.’

‘Uh-huh.’ She nodded, pulling her hair forward.

He grinned, ‘Careful, I may have to get ear protectors or ear muffs to block out your constant chatter. I’m not sure I can stand it.’

Despite herself, George smiled.

‘No, don’t smile. The straight-faced look goes much better with the cool eye patch. Like a brooding, sexy, girl pirate.’

‘Are you for real?’ she blurted, looking around for Buttons. It might be a good idea to leave. Leo was either mocking her or flirting with her and she wasn’t sure how to handle either.

‘Buttons. Buttons!’ Darkness was falling and she couldn’t see him. She rattled the biscuit bag in her pocket and called the puppy again.

‘Last time I checked, I was real,’ Leo said, falling into step with her as she started up the hill, hoping for a better view from the top ‘And don’t get defensive. We’re just chatting. I come here for a walk most evenings to unwind after work. So, you’re here and I’m here. Hey, why don’t we do the skyline this time?’

‘Why?’

‘Why not?’

George expelled a long sigh. Might as well get it over with, she got the feeling he would just keep asking every time he saw her otherwise. When she got to the top of the hill, Buttons was waiting for her expectantly; the expression on his face seeming to say what took you so long? Shaking her head at him, she gave him a chew and hooked him back onto the lead. Leo moved up beside her when she was done, turning her to face the City and slowly describing the different buildings from left to right. She did nothing but nod along as he spoke, conscious of the warmth of his arm against hers as he pointed things out, and the fresh scent of his aftershave. When he finished, she took a deep, shaky breath, staring at the view as twilight descended. ‘Thanks.’

‘My pleasure.’

After a few minutes of companionable silence, he spun around to study her profile. ‘So, what’s your story?’

She shrugged. She didn’t want to talk about horrible things. She wanted to enjoy the beauty of the night, the lights of the city twinkling as the light of day faded.

‘Do you ever say more than five words in one go?’ he asked.

She shrugged again.

This time he laughed. ‘Ok-ay. Well that’s fine, I can do enough talking for both of us. I was born in Holborn to Cathy and Chris Miller on 10th March 1988.’ The dry crisp tone was in the style of an old fashioned BBC presenter. ‘A rather small baby, I shot up at the age of seven, when I discovered a hereto unknown brand of sweetcorn known as Green Giant, eating it every day with my greens, convinced I could make it to six foot five at least.’ He glanced down wryly, ‘And believe me, I was very disappointed when I stopped growing at seventeen and had only reached six foot one. I started walking and talking very early.’ He grinned, getting into the swing of it. ‘At my three year health visitor check, my Mum –’

‘All right!’ she shook her head. ‘Stop, please. I’ll tell you just to shut you up. I don’t know why you want to know anyway.’

‘Maybe I enjoy your company.’

She snorted.

‘Or maybe it’s because I’ve always had a weakness for surly, impatient brunettes with eye-patch complexes.’

She gaped and burst into giggles. She wasn’t offended. In fact, he was really the only person who didn’t ignore the scars and patch, or look away, or fumble conversations. He had the gall to joke about it. It made her slightly uncomfortable, but it was also honest and real.

‘I was on my way back to uni on a Sunday evening in late September. My car got hit by a lorry. The driver had a heart attack at the wheel.’ She stared out at the distant skyline, describing the events of that horrific night in short, sharp sentences. She did not want to cry in public. ‘He didn’t make it, because of his heart…’ she gulped. ‘It wasn’t his fault.’

‘Wow,’ Leo stated. ‘That really sucks.’

George let out a disbelieving laugh. ‘Are you serious?’

‘It’s tragic and awful and unfair,’ he said gently. ‘But the only way I can think of to summarise it is, it sucks. I bet you’ve used some much stronger words.’

‘In the beginning,’ she shared, ‘the f-word featured a lot, but lately I’ve been going with, it blows.’

‘We’ve both been watching too many American TV shows,’ he decided, shifting closer. ‘Do you remember it? The accident?’

She took in a long, shaky breath, squaring her shoulders. ‘I have flashbacks sometimes,’ she whispered. She hadn’t admitted that to anyone but her therapist, and hadn’t wanted to burden her parents, but there was something about Leo, his easy manner and non-judgemental ways that made it easier. Perhaps it was the fact they barely knew each other, so had no emotional investment in one another that made it possible for her to share. ‘I remember the dark motorway lit only by my headlights. The rain thrashing down against my windscreen so that I had my wipers on the highest speed.’

‘Anything else?’

‘No.’ She winced. Time to go home.

‘Nothing about the crash itself?’

‘I-,’ she hesitated, ‘I can’t.’

‘But it might help.’

‘Respect my feelings, okay?’ she turned to leave.

‘Of course,’ he agreed easily. ‘So are you still at uni?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not ready.’ She pointed to the patch again. ‘Look at me.’

His eyes ran over her face as if he didn’t see anything of concern. ‘So, what do you do?’

‘Nothing, at the moment.’ She hugged her arms across her body.

‘You know, Georgiana, if the kids I teach can have meaningful lives, then so can you. We don’t think about their disabilities as limitations, we think of them as challenges and opportunities. We don’t look at what they can’t achieve. We consider everything they can achieve. You’re no different.’

Her mouth dropped open. ‘I have to go,’ she said abruptly, feeling reprimanded. Tears were scorching the back of her eyes. ‘Bye.’ Tugging on Buttons’ lead she walked briskly towards home, not giving Leo a chance to respond.

When George saw Leo ducking into the local corner shop a few days later, she didn’t mean to stop. She definitely didn’t mean to linger until he came out, but somehow her feet wouldn’t move.

It was getting on for dinner time, and she’d just taken Buttons for a stroll on Primrose Hill. There’d not been a single trace of disappointment that Leo wasn’t there. None at all. Why would she want to see him when she’d made such an idiot of herself, running off like that, just because he’d called her on something? She’d been cross with him for the rest of the night and some of the next morning, but once she’d cooled down, she could see he had a point. She was as physically recovered as she was ever going to be. So, what was she going to do now?

It was something she’d mused over as she strolled through the park, the lamps along the paths doing a good job of lighting the way. The fresh air had felt cleansing, healthy. She’d puffed her way up and down the hill but wasn’t as tired as previous times. Her mum had been right; this was good for her. After an initial curious glance at her eye-patch and scar, most people looked away. They didn’t gawp or stare. She was feeling better getting out of the house regularly. As a teenager she’d never been the type to loll around in her room reading books or watching TV. Instead she’d been with her friends in town or at the beach or watching scary films in a large gang around someone’s house, sharing bottles of lemonade and tubes of Pringles. Her stomach growled at the thought and she wondered what Leo was buying. Just as she peered into the shop window, Buttons sniffing the door frame, he appeared, holding a blue carrier bag filled with a carton of milk and various bits she couldn’t make out.