‘Fanks.’
‘Fink noffing of it.’
Curtis laughed as he chewed. ‘Good banter, Dad.’
Feeling cheered by the applause, Ronan took the other chair and returned to the subject of the family next door. ‘I saw them go out a while ago. Probably to visit Alister in the hospital.’
‘Are we eating with them tonight?’
Ronan tried to get a handle on Curtis’s feelings. ‘Would you like to?’
Shrug.
Unhelpful.
When the toast was no more than a track of crumbs across the table Ronan tried again. ‘Is anything bothering you, Curtis?’
Curtis looked mildly alarmed as he gulped down the last mouthfuls of milk. ‘No.’
‘Are we spending too much time with the family next door?’
Shrug. ‘No. Jordan’s cool. Natasha’s OK. Leah makes good cake.’ And, quite definitely, Curtis blushed.
Worry wormed into Ronan’s stomach. Were Curtis’s pink cheeks because he had caught sight of his dad and Leah glued together, last night? Or … surely not …? He took a fortifying draught of beer to help him tackle a horrifying thought. ‘Do you … do you, you know, like Leah?’ It made his stomach feel as if he’d just dropped into an air pocket to think that he and his newly-a-teenager son might have feelings for the same woman.
Yet, there had been that ‘MILF’ remark. Had Ronan been wrong to put that down to Curtis simply feeling, and expressing in basic terms, a thirteen-year-old’s indiscriminate lust for any attractive female?
But Curtis was turning aghast eyes his way. ‘What are you on?’ he blurted. ‘She’s, like, thirty or something.’
‘Thirty-five,’ Ronan said, repeating what Michele had told him. ‘Sorry.’ He felt awkward. But also relieved. He tried a laugh. ‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just that when you first saw her you said she was hot–’
‘I was winding you up!’
‘And you were quiet last night–’
Curtis stumbled to his feet, clattered his glass and plate in the sink and strode through the door. ‘I’m going on my laptop.’
Upstairs, Curtis threw himself on his unmade bed. It was proper gross when adults stuck their noses in. Curtis was so not going to share with his dad that he’d been quiet last night because of Natasha crying for her mum, her face all pink and blubbery. He hadn’t wanted to leave without finding out if she was OK but his dad had said it was time to give the family their privacy.
To calm himself, he opened his laptop and went to one of his favourite sites, where the women wore sultry smiles and little else, immediately absorbed as he flicked from image to image. The sun moved round to look into his room and he had to get up and throw open the window.
Which was the moment his dad chose to knock and stroll in. ‘Curtis–’ His gaze landed directly on the machine temporarily abandoned in the middle of Curtis’s bed.
‘Dad,’ Curtis breathed in horror. ‘This sucks! What about my privacy?’
Ronan blinked. ‘Oh … sorry. Um, that’s a funny screen saver.’
Crimson, Curtis snatched up the laptop and slammed it shut on the image of a giggling woman with no top on. ‘It’s … it’s an educational site.’
‘Looks it,’ said his dad, drily. ‘We’ll, um, talk later.’
Curtis cursed, every inch of his skin hot and sweaty as the door closed. Dads were so crap.
Then, to his horror, the door swung back open and his dad returned, pained apprehension warring with determination in his face. He untangled a segment of the bedclothes so he could sit on a corner of the bed. ‘Actually, we need to talk about this now. I haven’t quite got used to you not being a little boy and I didn’t respect your privacy. I’m sorry, because I want you to be able to trust me – but I expect to be able to trust you, too. Curiosity about sex is normal but pornography sites are skewed and often exploitative, rather than being about what happens between a loving couple.’
The words turned to babble in Curtis’s ears. His dad was giving him ‘a talk’! He’d even paused to do that eyebrows-raised waiting-for-a-reply thing.
Burning with dismay, Curtis hurriedly shoved his laptop aside. ‘I won’t look any more.’
‘That’s great.’ But, inexorably, his dad slid the laptop into his own hands and reopened it. He tapped away while Curtis waited anxiously. After several minutes his dad returned the machine along with a level look. ‘I’ve made myself an admin and you a standard user and I downloaded software that allows me to block adult websites. This way, there can’t be any accidents.’
Outrage bloomed hot in Curtis’s chest. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me! It’s my laptop!’
‘But my rules, mate. Porn sites are prone to computer viruses so making them inaccessible will protect your machine, too. Phone, now, please.’
Curtis slung his handset onto the quilt, glowering as his dad frowned over selecting and downloading a suitable app.
‘There we go.’ He handed back the phone, then came over totally dad-like and asked Curtis a list of cringe-making questions about whether he’d been frightened by anything he’d seen – yeah, right – or had anything he’d like to ask, now things were out in the open … so to speak.
‘No!’ Curtis kept his gaze fixed unhappily on his laptop, which somehow felt less precious, as if he’d been diminished in its eyes by having his status ignominiously reduced to standard user.
‘Any time you want to talk …’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Curtis knew his dad was providing him with time to bring forth any concerns but he refused to look up. The more silent he remained, the quicker his dad would go.
Finally, his dad said, ‘OK, sorry to intrude,’ which he so wasn’t, and closed the door carefully behind him as he left.
‘Bit late to think of privacy now, right?’ Curtis hissed at the closed door.
Dropping into his bedroom chair, Ronan closed his eyes, a short-of-sleep headache developing to keep company the ever-present throbbing in his shoulder. Had that cheesy line about a screen saver really come out of his mouth? Had he said any of the right things to Curtis? Had Curtis noticed that Ronan’s initial reaction had been to pretend it wasn’t happening? Opening his eyes again he drew his own laptop from its place beside his bed and repeated the safeguarding just in case Curtis hit on the idea of utilising it instead to further his ‘education’.
That accomplished, he went to a parents’ site to check out the articles on what to do if you caught your kid viewing porn. It was reassuring to find that he’d ticked some boxes. Relieved that he may not have made a total botch of things, he turned to his email account.
To: Selina Worrall he tapped in, with the now familiar moment of noticing that she’d abandoned Shea and taken Darren’s name, even though not actually married.
From: Ronan Shea
Subject: Keeping current
Hi Selina,
I’d appreciate a quick chat on Facetime or Skype when you have a moment. Would tomorrow evening work for you?
R
He tried to be conscientious about sharing anything that concerned Curtis in the hope that Selina would return the favour. Broadly speaking, this worked, except where Selina was pretty certain Ronan would disagree, such as facial piercings.
Clicking send, he moved on to check his inbox. A sender leaped out at him. Swiftly, he opened the email dated the previous day, 11th August.
To: Ronan Shea
From: Henry Brook [Buzz Sightseer]
Subject: Update request
Ronan,
I’m aware your next meeting with your orthopaedic surgeon isn’t scheduled until September but if you’d update me on your state of health, it would help me gain a sense of progress being made (if any).
As I expected, the insurance company is asking a lot of questions about your incident on 3 July now that the Air Accidents Investigation Branch’s report’s available.
You’ll appreciate that there are financial ramifications from this unfortunate in
cident. These cannot be overlooked.
Henry
What the hell? Ronan stared at the email in shock. Buzz Sightseer might be Henry’s business but Ronan had always been a huge part of it – though little trace of what he thought was his friendship with Henry filtered through this stilted, faintly admonishing communication. He’d given hundreds of unpaid hours supporting Henry through the start-up and establishing operational strategy. In exchange, Ronan had been given the title of chief pilot and directly employed, rather than working on a self-employed basis as did the other pilots.
Henry had all too obviously switched to ‘let’s do this by the book’. Grimly, Ronan hit reply.
From: Ronan Shea
To: Henry Brook [Buzz Sightseer]
Subject: Re: Update request
Henry,
Health situation is as we were told to expect – while healing, I’m performing physio as directed. You’re correct re: my next scheduled meeting with the orthopaedic surgeon. As you’re already aware, that’s when I anticipate the surgeon OKing me to request my AME to pass me fit to fly.
Thank you for the information re: the insurance company. How would they process the claim without asking questions? Isn’t it the insurance company’s function to mitigate the financial ramifications, via the claim?
Ronan
He scanned through the remainder of his inbox but Henry’s email felt like a red flag. Something had changed … and not for the better. Henry had been quiet lately but that hadn’t felt out of the ordinary. Ronan’s absence from the hangar was bound to drop more work on Henry’s shoulders and as they weren’t currently living in the same town there would have been no point to Fancy a drink after work? calls.
So far as Ronan was concerned, his sick leave was merely an interruption to normal life.
Wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?
For the first time he felt uneasy that he’d chosen to spend his sick leave so out of touch with his job in aviation.
Chapter Nine
Next morning, Jordan loped into the kitchen, yanked open the fridge so that everything rattled, and pulled out two bottles of a peach fizzy drink the kids had fallen in love with. ‘Curtis is coming round.’ He added a handful of chocolate bars to his haul.
Gently, Leah relieved him of one bottle and all the chocolate bars. ‘You’ve only just had breakfast.’
‘But Curtis is coming.’
‘I expect he’s only just had breakfast, too.’
A rap at the kitchen door and Jordan abandoned the battle in favour of opening it.
Curtis shuffled in, wearing so much tin he looked as if he should be put out for recycling. ‘Hey. Dad’s here to talk to you.’
Leah turned, her arms still full of Mars Bars and fizzy drink. Ronan was standing just inside the door, all tanned skin and tight black T-shirt. He raised an eyebrow at the booty in her arms.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Kids.’
‘That’s what they all say.’ He stepped properly into the room as Jordan and Curtis vanished upstairs. ‘Do you have plans? The Sunday market in Muntsheim brings out Curtis’s inner magpie. Fancy bringing Natasha and Jordan? Then, if you’re planning to visit the hospital we can take the tram into Strasbourg and have lunch beforehand.’ He took a quick peep out into the hall, eased the door quietly closed and lowered his mouth hotly to hers.
Unable to do much but let herself be kissed, her arms still being occupied with fizzy drink and chocolate, Leah had to grab a gap between kisses to make a breathless reply. ‘That would be great. The kids are squabbly, probably because their mum’s still away. At least with Alister they can see him and that he’s brighter, shaved and in his own PJs.’
She rose up on tiptoes to nuzzle his jaw. ‘Your phone number would be useful, by the way.’ When the kids had vanished to their rooms last night Leah had gone to bed wishing she could call or text Ronan. She hadn’t felt she could just rock up to his door. Curtis would be around and she was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to leave Natasha and Jordan alone late in the evening. She’d concluded, groaning, that she’d enjoyed more freedom when she’d been a teen herself: sneaking out had practically been her duty and, as the youngest, she hadn’t been obliged to set a good example.
‘Definitely.’ Ronan wedged his foot against the kitchen door while he pulled her closer and kissed her harder and she let her head tilt slowly as his lips moved on along her jaw to the sensitive skin below her ear.
Footsteps began to thump on the stairs, voices raised in teenage-normal cacophony. Ronan, sighing, released the door and shifted himself around the other side of the kitchen table in three long strides. Leah got busy restoring the drink and chocolate to the fridge.
The door flew back on its hinges. ‘Curtis says there’s this market full of cool stuff. Can we go?’ demanded Natasha.
Hot on her heels, Jordan looked equally eager. ‘You can get big baked things called bretzels and eat them with cheese.’
‘Sounds perfect.’ Leah shut the fridge. ‘But you can’t possibly be hungry, Jordan. And you’d both better put your sunscreen on, it looks baking out there.’ Then she winced. She sounded exactly like a mother.
The market was held at La Place de la Liberté in Muntsheim, transformed by stalls under green-striped awnings. A couple of snack vans lurked on the far side, as if hoping to escape the notice of the owners of Café des Trois Cigognes. Delicious-smelling bretzels were much in evidence, hanging up temptingly on the snack vans. Shoppers chattered as they pushed shopping trolleys past the fountains and around the stalls.
Leah took a cursory tour of the stalls to buy fruit to stow in a cool bag in the back of The Pig. Holiday money obviously burning holes in the pockets of Jordan and Natasha, she then bent what she hoped was a Deputy Parent-type respect-inspiring gaze on them. ‘Find me when you’ve finished shopping. I’m going to sit out of the sun under a parasol at that café over there to see how many cups of espresso I can drink. Stay in the market square, OK?’
‘Same for you, Curtis,’ Ronan added.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, totally.’ Curtis moved off shoulder-to-shoulder with Jordan.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Natasha supplemented happily, trotting after their departing backs.
At the café Leah and Ronan secured an outside table. Leah turned her face to the sun, taking the time to smell the flowers – literally, as there were frothy tubs of them all around the square – until a waiter arrived with a tray and the fragrance of strong coffee took over.
Ronan had fallen quiet, she realised, staring across the market as if not seeing it. Leah picked up her pretty pale blue cup. ‘Something up?’
The smile he turned on her was rueful. ‘Little bit. I’m worried for my career and Curtis is looking at porn.’
She felt her eyebrows fly up. ‘Porn? Isn’t he a bit young?’
Ronan heaved a sigh. ‘If I were Curtis I’d say, “Duh!” and smack myself in the head. Of course he’s too young in the sense that porn is bad for the developing mind and a poor view of the joys of sex but, self-evidently, not too young in terms of enjoying it. Or, it turns out, to sulk that I’m not giving him the privacy to enjoy it. He’s currently punishing me with teenage insolence and eye-rolling.’
Leah felt her shoulders begin to bunch. Yet another potential challenge to add her guardianship list. ‘Wow. Do you think that Jordan could be doing the same?’
‘Who knows?’ Ronan threw his arms wide in exasperation, then winced and rubbed his shoulder. ‘There’s software you can install to stop him viewing adult sites. I can show you. But why should it only be Jordan?’
She groaned, itching her elbow beneath its dressing where a scab was now forming. ‘I suppose I think of Natasha still as a little girl but you’re right. I’ll have to install it on her phone, too. I’d better ask Alister’s permission, though.’ Leah sipped her coffee, which suddenly didn’t seem quite so delicious, and fell to watching a young man who stood on a corner of the square making balloon animals, gathering a crowd of children who gig
gled as he held up a yellow-balloon rabbit. Leah felt a surge of panic at all the trouble teenagers could get into and yearned for Michele to stop throwing up so she could come and be responsible for her own kids.
Then the rest of Ronan’s remark filtered back to her. ‘Career worries? Are they more or less important than your Curtis worries?’
Ronan curled one eyebrow. ‘Nothing’s more important than Curtis, but the career worries are significant. My employer’s attitude’s bothering me.’
Leah tried to get a handle on what was carving the frown on Ronan’s forehead. ‘Over your accident?’
He took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. ‘It wasn’t an “accident”. It was an incident, which I dealt with. When a helicopter’s engine fails mid-flight you have to be proactive. You can’t park in mid-air.’
Alarm jolted through Leah. ‘Yikes. Is that the situation you had to deal with?’
Grimly, he nodded. ‘One of our helicopters had been to the maintenance company for a hundred-hours check and my boss, Henry, asked me to fly it back to base, performing a test flight en-route. Eight minutes in, the RPM dropped and I got flashing lights and alarms – the whole emergency thing. To put it technically, the rotors weren’t being driven at a level that would sustain normal flight.’
‘So you crashed?’
He chuckled as if he found her dismay genuinely funny and proceeded to sketch her a technical explanation that she half understood. ‘It sounds scary but any half-decent pilot will get down without undue damage to pilot or machine.’ He used his hand to demonstrate the flight path. ‘What I couldn’t judge from the air was that the ground was sodden. The skids dug in and …’ He flipped his hand.
Leah found herself clutching her heart. ‘And you broke your collarbone?
‘Yes, harness injury. Farm workers from the next field got the ambulance while I phoned base, then I went off to hospital and had a fixation device inserted, a bit like the operation Alister’s waiting for but on a different body part. Getting an “unfit letter” from the AME – Aviation Medical Examiner – was a pretty sobering moment and until now, I’ve considered that my biggest issue.’
Just for the Holidays Page 12