Page 8 of Tears of Gold

A smile grows on my face as I watch him root through the bag and then pull out some pale-blue striped grandad pyjamas. “Oh no, no. I will never look at you the same again.”

He chuckles, and I’m glad to see his grief lessen, even if it’s just for a brief moment.

“Wait. You haven’t seen the full effect yet.” He tugs on the top and buttons it up. “Now, what do you think?”

I snort. “Surprisingly still as sexy as hell.”

“Here you go.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a navy pair and throws them to where I’m sitting on the bed.

With a grin, I snatch them up. “Okay. Grandad pyjamas it is.” I pull them up, rolling them over at the waistband to make them short enough and tighter around my waist, and then I swiftly button the top. “Okay?”

“Surprisingly still as sexy as hell.”

I grab his hand. “Let's go eat. I’m going to pass out if I don’t get food soon.” The look he shoots me is troubled. “I’m just peckish. Here, look.” I grab my packet of cigarettes off the chest of drawers. “These will help.”

At the door he pauses, his eyes scanning my face. “Together?”

I nod. Just once. “Forever.”

I just wish my thudding heart was as brave as my brain speaking the words.

I slide my hand in his and we go out to face whatever day two of life without Peter has in store.

Three

Lunch is as awkward as breakfast. No one is really eating, apart from me. The quiche is surprisingly delicious. And I don’t usually like quiche.

Tabitha is still crying. Lewis is scowling and looking so awkward I think he’d rather be anywhere else. Every time he tries to make a break for freedom, she grabs his hand tighter and holds him close.

I’ve got a bad feeling.

“Has someone called your dad?” I ask. The spoon Jennifer has been using to stir her coffee for the last ten minutes hits the saucer.

Eli meets my questioning gaze. “I don’t know.” He’s unsure, turning his attention towards his mum. “Mother, did you let Dad know about Peter?”

She swallows hard. “No need.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but she holds up her hand.

“No. I won’t discuss it.”

The crust of the mouthful of quiche I’m chewing gets stuck in my throat. I swallow hard and open my mouth, but Eli shoots me a look.

This is ridiculous. So Peter’s dad isn’t going to know he’s dead? I mean, I know he left years ago, but still. Peter is his son.

“We will need to contact Peter’s friends as well, won’t we? I don’t mind helping with that. Do you have access to an address book, or his contacts I can use?”

Silence.

Connie—I’m such a mental nana—clears her throat. “That’s generous of you, Faith.” She makes it sound like it’s the most ungenerous thing I could offer. I’m Ebenezer Scrooge on Christmas Eve. “But that won’t be necessary.”

“Have you told them already?” I frown. I know for a fact it took us around five days to talk to all Al’s friends, and that was split between myself, Dan, and Abi. Although obviously our call time was hindered by vodka and sporadic crying.

“It won’t be necessary. Everything will be taken care of.” She cuts me off without a second glance and Jennifer plasters a fake smile on her face. The woman in tears yesterday seems to be evaporating under the watchful eye of her own mother.

It’s fucked-up shit. Even for me.

“So.” Jennifer claps her hands as though she’s about to open the local village fete. “Elijah, I see you have been keeping some secrets, if Faith’s new piece of jewellery is anything to go by.”