‘He could have got killed out there but you haven’t put your arms around him. All you could think of was apologising to me. As though I matter, beside him.’
She checked herself. Out of the corner of her eye she’d glimpsed Philip Hale approaching.
‘Why don’t I take Joey to my office, so that you can get on with your business?’ she said quickly.
‘Thank you.’
She faced the child. ‘Come along. And we’ll take these.’ She took the tray with the milk and biscuits, and they went out together.
Luckily Gina found her office empty, which would give her time to talk to Joey and ease his distress.
‘I’m Gina,’ she said at last, placing herself where he could see her. ‘What’s your name?’
She already knew that he was called Joey, but she wanted him to tell her himself. That would start them communicating.
He looked at her, then away. After a moment he looked back.
‘Don’t you want to tell me?’
He took a deep breath and made a noise that sounded like, ‘Oooeeey!’
‘Joey? That’s fine. My name is Gina.’ He frowned, so she said it again. He tried, not very successfully, to say the word.
‘Look,’ she said, holding up her hand.
Slowly she made the sign for G, then I. She wondered if he understood finger-spelling, but his eyes brightened, and she finished the word.
‘Gina,’ she said.
He tried to say it. It came out badly but she smiled encouragement, and spelt it again with her fingers. Joey watched intently, then repeated her movements exactly.
‘Well done,’ she said, spelling the two words.
He tried to follow her and got it right on the second try.
‘Have something to eat now, and we’ll try again later,’ she said.
Now that he’d calmed down, she could study him better, and she saw sadness, as if the weight of the world was crushing him.
She ventured to try a longer sentence. ‘Are you enjoying your biscuits?’
He nodded, tried to say something and choked on a crumb. She patted him on the back and they laughed together.
Then it was his turn. He tried to speak some words which Gina almost understood. Some signalling back and forth revealed the meaning: You must eat biscuits, too.
After that the conversation was fast and furious. A light came into the child’s face. He communicated as if he’d never managed it before.
‘I’m deaf, too,’ she told him. ‘I can hear now, but I know what it’s like. Nobody understands.’
He nodded and, eyes wide, repeated with his fingers, Nobody understands.
‘You’re very clever,’ Gina told him, her fingers working fast.
Joey simply stared. Gina said it again and indicated for him to spell the words too. But instead of doing so he made a single sound.
‘Eeee?’ he said.
Something stuck in Gina’s throat. Instinctively she knew the meaning of that pathetic question.
‘Yes, darling, you,’ she said. ‘You’re very clever. You really are.’
This time he didn’t try to answer, but simply shook his head forlornly. Gina couldn’t bear that sight. She put her arms about him and hugged him to her. He hugged her back, clutching her so fiercely that she gasped.
I’m a stranger, she thought. Yet the poor little soul clings to me.
She closed her eyes and held on to him tightly, trying to convey comfort and safety in a way he could understand. When she opened her eyes again, Carson Page was standing in the doorway, watching them with an expression from which all emotion had been carefully wiped.
‘It’s time for us to go,’ he said.
Reluctantly Gina tried to release herself from the little boy’s arms, but Joey tightened his grip and wailed.
‘All right,’ she said quickly. She turned his face to her and said slowly, ‘Don’t worry. I’m here.’
She didn’t know what had made her say that in defiance of his father, but at that moment she would have done anything for this little boy.
‘I’m taking him home,’ Carson said firmly.
Gina faced Joey. ‘Home,’ she said.
But the child shook his head wildly. And when his father took hold of him, he began to thrash about, trying to fight him off.
‘Come along,’ Carson said firmly, tightening his grip.
‘Let him go!’ Gina rose to face him.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said, let him go. You’ve no right to treat him like this.’
‘Are you out of your mind?’
‘I’m asking you to be gentle with him—’
‘I make every effort to do so, but I will not tolerate tantrums.’
At the word ‘tantrums’, Gina wanted to bang her head against the wall—or preferably bang his head against the wall. Was there any way of getting through to this man?
‘He’s not having a tantrum,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘He’s lonely and frightened. Are you such a monster that you can’t tell the difference?’
Carson stared at her, thunderstruck by the force of her attack. She was amazed at it herself. Her nature was normally placid, but Joey’s suffering had brought old fears and miseries to the surface, destroying her control. For a moment she was a child again, lashing out at a cruel world that didn’t care enough to understand.
Then she saw Philip Hale in the doorway and her heart sank.
‘You will collect your things, Miss Tennison, and leave immediately,’ Mr Hale said, in a voice that contained a hint of triumph.
‘No,’ Carson said at once. ‘I owe Miss Tennison a debt, and I can’t allow her to lose her job.’
Philip Hale’s face was a picture. The desire not to offend a valuable client warred with indignation at Carson’s imperious way of declaring what he would and wouldn’t allow. While he was struggling Carson went on without waiting for a reply.
‘Miss Tennison, I thank you for saving my son, and—’ for the first time he seemed to falter ‘—and for the understanding you have shown him. You’re a credit to your employers, and I shall be writing to the senior partners to say so.’ He emphasised ‘senior’ very slightly. Philip Hale noticed and his eyes narrowed.
Gina let out a slow breath, more confused than she’d ever been. He was brusque, harsh and arrogant, but he was also fair.
Carson reached out to Joey. All the fight seemed to have drained out of the child, and he took his father’s hand without protest. But he was weeping with a kind of resigned despair that broke Gina’s heart.
She watched as father and son walked out and headed for the front door. They got halfway. Then Carson stopped and looked down at the child who, by now, was wiping his face. He put his fingers under the boy’s chin, and lifted it, looking urgently into his eyes. Then, more gently than Gina would have believed possible, he took out a handkerchief and dried the little boy’s tears. He looked back at her. For the first time he seemed unsure of himself.
‘You’d better come with us,’ he said. ‘I mean—if you can spare the time.’