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Chapter Seventeen
Hope sat silently, legs crossed as best as she was able given the fact that she was sitting on a chair designed for a six year old. At least Fay and Allen Buxton weren’t any more comfortable. Allen looked as though he was folded in half.
But both were sitting and listening eagerly to Ava tell them about Clara’s progress and art with the look that parents always had on parents’ evening, one of puzzled bemusement and pride that they’d created something with a life of its own.
Hope, however, had more important things to worry about than Clara’s ability to paint fine detail (above average) or maths skills (dubious at best).
Because try as she might, she couldn’t forget the fact that she was pretty sure that she and Ava Stanford had almost kissed in the stationery cupboard yesterday at morning break.
Pretty sure because even though it hadn’t actually happened, she’d seen Ava’s head tilt in a way that nearly always came before a kiss and because, perhaps, now that she was thinking about it, she sort of, might have, maybe, wanted it to happen.
Who was she to deny biology? That heart-pumping, knickers-twisting, belly-warming feeling could only be one thing, and she was a grown woman, she knew exactly what it was.
Then, obviously, Ava spoiled it all by, well, by being Ava.
Couple that with the fact that despite trying extremely hard to stay awake she’d fallen asleep by midnight last night, by which point her mother had still not come home.
Okay, so Caz was firmly in her bed this morning, but still.
Apparently the date had gone well.
She was trying hard not to be uncomfortable about the fact that her mother was dating for what felt like the first time. Caz deserved happiness, just like anyone else. Hope couldn’t help but feel a little edgy about it though, mostly because try as she might she couldn’t shake the feeling that Caz had put her entire love life on hold for her, Hope.
So she was responsible for her mother’s abstinence.
Presumed abstinence.
It wasn’t a nice feeling at all. She wanted her mother to be happy and as much as she’d enjoyed growing up with Caz’s undivided attention she didn’t think that she’d have minded a step-father. Or even an occasional male visitor.
Caz had taken that decision out of her hands, however, by turning herself into a nun for so many years, leaving Hope feeling now like she was somehow responsible.
A feeling that she didn’t want Alice to have.
Which led her all the way back to the stationery cupboard and yesterday morning.
There was something there, Hope knew that. Some kind of magnetic something, that thing that drew together people who really shouldn’t be together, that thing that drew a fine line between wanting to slap someone silly and wanting to screw their brains out.
Ava Stanford undoubtedly walked that line.
The only problem was, Hope didn’t know which side of the line she was currently falling on, given that she changed her mind every millisecond and jumped back and forth over the line like it was some kind of demented skipping rope.
“Clara has fine reading skills,” Ava was saying. “She’s at least a grade above the class average, so there’s something to be proud of.”
“Oh, we’ve read to her since she was a wee one,” Allen Buxton said proudly.
“Even before that,” said Fay. “When she was in my belly we read her books.”
“You… you read to a fetus?” Ava asked, disbelievingly.
Fay Buxton blushed. “The books said we should.”
“I’m not sure I’d credit that with your daughter’s current reading skills,” said Ava. “However, she is certainly a good reader. Which is more than I can say for her math skills.”
The problem with Ava, Hope had finally figured out, was that she was a closed book. Alright, she was also occasionally rude, far too forthright, and lacked diplomacy. But mostly it was the book thing.
It was like she was protecting herself, building a shell around herself so that nobody could see the squishiness inside.
Which was a shame because Hope rather liked squishy people. Or at least people that could hold down a conversation for more than two minutes without turning it into an argument. People who could show emotions other than irritation.
