‘His wolfhound’s ribs stuck out too. But no way Treacle was being starved, not the way Gabe loved him.’
‘This is different.’
She sighed heavily, tilted her head to the side the way she always did when thinking how to put something.
‘I know this move has been hard on you, that leaving what you know behind feels unfair. But one day I hope you’ll understand it was for the best, that I was thinking as much about your needs as my own. In the meantime, you’ve just got to try and make a go of things. Okay?’
‘I can make a go of things and still know what Des Banister is.’
I ground my toe into the dirt, bit my lip to keep the tears in. My mother crouched down, took my hands in hers.
‘We don’t know Des. We don’t know what he’s been through in his life, what drives him.’
‘So?’
‘So, you can’t judge a person till you’ve walked in their shoes.’
I thought about the clompy army boots Des wore with his ugly camouflage trousers. The way I’d seen him kick over a homeless girl’s money cup outside the station.
‘I don’t need to wear that guy’s shoes to know what sort of person he is.’
‘Okay, so you don’t like him. But that doesn’t mean London’s all bad. I can think of plenty of things that are better here.’
‘No Grandad bribing me to be quiet in church?’
She laughed.
‘Since when have you minded Junior Mints, missy? No, I was thinking of the weather. Do you have any idea how cold it is in Massachusetts right now?’
‘Pretty cold, I guess.’
‘Pretty cold? Snap your fingers off freezing, more like.’
She grabbed my hands, pretended to bite them. Nang.
‘And it’s nice being able to walk places, don’t you think?’
I shrugged, unwilling to concede the point, though she did have one. Back home, you couldn’t get anywhere without driving. ‘The local high street’ was a completely new concept for me.
But that was precisely the problem. This wasn’t home. Everyone talked like Prince Charles. When I asked for jelly on my toast, they looked at me as if I was nuts. And literally nowhere stocked Lucky Charms.
‘I hate Weetabix,’ I told my mother. ‘It tastes like straw.’
‘How would you know?’ she teased, looking up from the Post-it note she was writing on.
There were quotations tacked up all over the apartment. Inspirational messages, she called them. Wise words. Maybe deep down she missed Nanna G.
‘What’s that one say?’ I asked.
‘The only person who can define you, is you.’
‘How about the dictionary?’ I asked, proud of myself.
She shook her head.
‘No book. Just you.’
Nanna G would have likely brought up the Bible at this point, but I wasn’t about to risk reminding my mother she still hadn’t enrolled me in Sunday School. Instead, I played the pragmatist.
‘The only person who can define you, is you. That’s actually pretty good.’
And it was. Though ‘Beware wolves dressed as sheep’ would have served us rather better.