She turned to the women, who were all looking at the little boy, and automatically started to explain. What she didn’t expect, however, was the look on their faces. There was no judgement there, just amusement. Marlene was even laughing a little as he made his way around the plate, getting every little bit of cream cheese frosting off it and into his mouth.
‘Sorry, he has a thing about dirt, but he will always lick his plate clean when there is cake involved.’
Xander finished and put the plate down on the counter.
‘I’m autistic – we don’t like change, but we love cake!’
Lucy’s eyes bulged. Marlene looked just as shocked. Xander’s autism wasn’t something they hid, but Xander himself never referred to it. Maybe time apart from home was going to be worth all the grief she would get when she went back. It wasn’t anything to hide after all, so why had they?
‘Well,’ Grace said, getting up and heading for where Amanda had stashed her needle. She was shaking like she was having knitting withdrawal symptoms, which she probably was. ‘I’m impressed, Xander.’ She located the needle, and punched the air triumphantly. ‘I’m a little jealous too. I would love to enjoy cake as much as you do!’
The ladies all laughed, and Lucy found herself laughing along too. Xander bounced out of the shop all smiles and sugar highs, and it made her heart soar. She was started to really like these ladies. Aunt Marlene was right, a change was as good as a rest.
Sam’s first morning in Westfield was uneventful. Waking up in the cottage he was renting, he listened to the quiet of his surroundings. It had been a long while since he had lived with his adoptive mother in her full and noisy house, but he still found himself missing the noise of little feet on the stairs, music battling for supremacy in different rooms, the heartwarming belly laughs of his mother as one of the children made her laugh. Even in his flat in London, he would be awoken by the sound of the streets outside his window, the sound of the fire engines starting up in the middle of the night. He rented near to the station, so that when things got bad he could be called in. There in six and a half minutes from the time the call came in to him walking into the fire station. He liked to be near.
He stretched out his arms in front of him, working out the kinks from sleeping on the unfamiliar and rather hard mattress in the master bedroom. It was a cosy cottage, homely and clean, with some nice touches throughout. Milk and bread and other essentials were in the fridge and cupboards when he had finally come in last night, and he was only connected to one other cottage, seemingly occupied judging from the lights that were in the window when he had arrived. No car though, so he couldn’t get a read on who was staying there. Still, he couldn’t see them receiving many night call-outs, so he shouldn’t be a nuisance. He was used to making himself smaller around people by now. Sometimes in life, he had to, despite what his mother taught him. He needed to fit in, or at least fly under the radar. At least for now. Toe the line.
Westfield Fire Station was a feeder station, as well as catering for the residents of Westfield. They often helped out on call-outs in Harrogate and other surrounding areas. Little villages mainly, dotted around the vast green fields and forests of the area. It sure made a difference from the concrete jungle he was used to, but it had great value all the same. This wasn’t an easy job, by any means. He had not come here for an easy ride, job wise. True, he had his own agenda, but the job and the guys at the house were great. It had felt welcoming from the first moment he had worked in there, all those months ago. Filling a staff need and looking for answers.
Heading downstairs a short while later, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants, he made himself a coffee using the complimentary sachets and made a mental note to get some shopping in after his shift, or at least book an online delivery. Back home, he would place the same order week after week, to be delivered the same day. Convenient, but, tasting the coffee in his mug, he realised that change perhaps wasn’t such a bad thing. He opened up the patio doors in the kitchen, standing just outside the door, his bare feet feeling the cool of the neatly decked seating area outside. A barbecue stood in the corner, covered up and tucked away from the elements, with a large seat on the other. Perfect for family holidays, he was sure. Lucky for him that this had been available. The thought of living in a hotel had filled him with dread, but a holiday cottage? He hadn’t been keen when the chief suggested it, picturing plaid and crocheted doilies, but he actually rather liked living in a house. It felt homely, in an odd way. He was busy looking out at the countryside that stretched out beyond the garden borders when he heard a noise to his left.
Sitting on one of the chairs, wrapped in a teal fluffy robe that he recognised from his own welcome pack, was the girl from the train. He opened his mouth to say hello, but then she started talking.
‘I know you’re not happy I left, but we needed to get away. Don’t you get that?’
She was sitting side on from him, twirling a piece of lavender in her free hand, and he found himself taking a step back, closer to his porch. He could slip back through the patio doors, but he found himself hesitating. She sounded upset, and he had a feeling that this was something to do with why she was here. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He had come to find answers, and perhaps she had escaped whatever she had to find her own.
She stood suddenly, dragging her fingers through her unkempt morning hair and sticking the lavender behind her ear. The movement made Sam yearn to lean in and smell the fragrance that it left there, near her hair.
‘No, you can’t speak to him, he’s asleep! I’m not waking him up for you to interrogate him like you normally do! We are here on holiday, he needs this. So do I, come to think of it. I asked you to come away with us, for us to sort things out, but you couldn’t do it. What do you want us to do, hang around at home for you all summer whilst we wait for you to grace us with your presence?’
Her head snapped back, the phone suddenly thrust forward in her hand. She forked it vigorously before speaking into it again. The sprig fell from her ear and landed on the stone slabs under her feet.
‘Iain, I don’t give a shitting shite about your shirts! Is that really what you care about?’ She flumped back down on the seat, shaking her head. She was angry. Even a stranger could tell that.
‘I know I don’t talk like that, but you pushed me, Iain.’ She sighed heavily, and her voice cracked a little when she spoke again. ‘I’m just trying to help my son.’
Whatever the caller said didn’t help. In fact, she started to cry softly.
‘Iain, you know where we are. I shouldn’t have changed my number, but you …’ A sob escaped, and her hand flew up to her mouth. ‘You know what you did, Iain. I just can’t spend all summer living like that. He can’t cope and, to be honest, neither can I any more.’
Sam decided he had heard more than enough. Turning to go back into the house, he didn’t see a ceramic blue plant pot there, a topiary tree potted in it, and ended up kicking it with his bare foot.
‘Arggh!’ He tried to trap his pain in his mouth, but it squeaked out. He immediately looked to his right, to see if she had heard. Funny that, how a human’s first reaction after kicking a ceramic pot and being ‘punched’ in the scrotum by a ball-shaped tree is to look around to see if anyone was a witness to their failure. She had heard. She was up out of her seat, looking right at him. The phone was still to her ear, and after a moment of panic crossing her features, she narrowed her eyes and made a shushing sound with her finger.
‘Iain, I have to go, okay? Xander is waking up.’ She flinched, nibbling her bottom lip as though considering something. ‘I’ll ask him to call you, yes. I have to go.’
She ended the call and put her hands on her hips.
‘Earwig much?’
Sam