the right haircut. If he hadn’t had the right accent to begin with, well, he’d soon changed that. He’d claimed the name on his birth certificate, but chosen to be Joe instead of Johnjoe, which his mother had called him, another way of disassociating himself from what he’d used to be.
He still remembered the pleasure and relief of blending in.
Freed of the expectation of clowning, he’d worked at the subjects he liked, such as music and art. Oggie had noticed him spending break times alone and got him painting scenery for school plays. He’d made friends.
It was to Oggie that he’d admitted his uncle was teaching him piano and drums. Oggie who talked to Shaun about weekend sessions at a local stage school; Oggie who’d arranged extra music lessons so Joe got the GCSE he needed for a place at music college. There he’d got together with Billy, Liam, Nathan and Raf and his life had changed again …
‘If you’re going to stay here, you’re going to encounter Georgine a lot,’ Oggie said, jerking Joe back to the present. ‘She’s at the heart of Acting Instrumental. We did talk about the possibility, even probability, of you meeting your past head-on if you came.’
‘Yeah.’ Joe drummed his fingertips on his leg. ‘I could have coped with anyone better than her.’
Oggie grunted. ‘Perhaps you should consider how you’ll feel if she remembers you. It might be easier if you remind her first. Get it over with.’
‘Yeah.’ He tried to envisage it. Those green eyes had gazed at him with zero recognition, as if Rich Garrit had never existed, which made him both glad and sorry. ‘It could be a tactical lack of memory on her part. We parted on bad terms.’
Because he’d acted like a moron on the last day of term before Christmas. Made her the object of ridicule because he knew that baring his young heart in front of the Shitland gang would have set her up for cruel teasing. But the hurt in her eyes had sent him home hating himself, vowing to apologise at the school Christmas party that evening.
But Georgine hadn’t shown up. He’d waited outside because he didn’t have the entrance money – or anything to wear or a gift for the Secret Santa.
Eventually, he’d trailed home to find waiting for him an uncle he hadn’t known he had, ready to transform his life.
Joe’s Christmas miracle, fairy godfather and Secret Santa rolled into one. He’d gone to live with Shaun in Surrey and rarely looked back.
When he did, it was to think about Georgine France.
At lunchtime, Georgine knew she had to let life outside Acting Instrumental intrude, so held back from the rush to the cafeteria. Zipping herself into her jacket, which was an inadequate defence against the sharp wind unless you were running, she slipped outside. She rounded the jut of the big rehearsal room to huddle behind the main building. The garden there was frequented mostly in summer sunshine when the grassy area held more attraction.
She hunched her shoulders against the wind blowing from Siberia, took a deep breath and rang Aidan, knowing that the man who answered would be a lot different to the one she’d met a couple of years ago on a rare visit to a nightclub with Blair. She’d been attracted to his happy-go-lucky nature, maybe because she felt she always had to be so sensible and together. Unfortunately, the happy-go-luckyness later proved to be hugely dependent on the ‘happy’ part. When the going got tough Aidan had retreated into bad moods and deception. He’d even begun taking money from her purse with the excuse that ‘couples share’. When she discovered he’d been unable to pay his share of the household bills and had continually lied that he had savings to cover them, it was the last straw. It was months since she’d called time on their relationship and asked him to move out of her house, yet still she was suffering the repercussions of being involved with him.
He answered, ‘’Lo, Georgine.’ His voice was just as smooth and deep as it had been when it used to curl her toes, but he also sounded down and defeated.
He wasn’t the only one having a hard time. She dived in. ‘Please sort your debts out. I had collection agents knocking at the door while I was eating my porridge this morning.’
‘No money,’ he replied listlessly.
‘Well, tell them that! You’ve been gone for three months. Stop them coming to my house or give me an address I can pass on.’ She waited. ‘Aidan?’ She checked her phone screen and glared at it. Call ended.
She counted slowly to ten, annoyed with herself for venting. Since being made redundant from his job as a commercial executive for a huge car manufacturer Aidan didn’t really handle anger.
After three minutes of pacing and huddling into her jacket, Georgine rang back. ‘Look, Ade,’ she said, pouring syrup on her voice. ‘I understand you got in a muddle with money and didn’t feel you could tell me.’
‘Because you’re funny with money. I was protecting you,’ he put in morosely.
Georgine closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sky. ‘OK, because I’m scared of financial pressure.’
‘Yet you give Blair money. And your dad.’
Her nails dug into her palms. ‘You know I feel an obligation.’
‘Yeah, I know the whole sad story, even if I don’t understand it.’
Georgine refused to let herself be sidetracked into explaining yet again why she helped her dad and sister, but didn’t have a pot of gold handy for Aidan. ‘I understand that, in law, I’m as liable as you are for the unpaid utility bills, even if those were your agreed responsibility. I sold the jewellery you gave me to offset some, and the rest I’m paying off as I can manage it. But I can’t cover whatever other liabilities you took on unbeknownst to me while you lived at my place, even if I wanted to. So please contact the organisations concerned and tell them not to come knocking at the door of 27 Top Farm Road. Explain you no longer live there.’
Aidan sighed. ‘But you can tell them.’
Revulsion shivered through her. ‘I don’t want to speak to debt collectors! It’s your responsibility …’ She recognised the futility of talking to Aidan about responsibility and changed tack. ‘I’m only asking you to stop them turning up at my door.’
‘There are websites that tell you what to do when that happens,’ he said with irritating calm. ‘They say don’t panic. Don’t let them in; complain to their company if they intimidate you.’
‘I don’t want to talk to them to find out which company they’re from! And I can’t help panicking.’ If she clenched her eyes shut any harder she’d bring on a migraine. Her voice rose, despite her best efforts. ‘If I lose my house because of you—’
He sighed. ‘Did I ever ask to use the house as security? No. Then how can you lose it because of me?’
Sleepless nights worrying through all the worst possible outcomes had provided the answer to this one. ‘If I can’t meet my mortgage because I’m catching up on all the bills you left unpaid! Or I miss a catch-up payment and the utility company takes me to court.’
It
