A Christmas Gift Page 8

  He was served quickly this time. He dropped back into his seat and slid her glass of wine across the table to her before taking a gulp from his fruit juice, waving away her attempt to pay for the round. It seemed that all his attention was focused on telling his story now he’d begun. He rested his elbows on the table and leant closer. ‘I made that Christmas card at lunch times in the art room. I wanted to show you what your friendship meant to me.’

  ‘Why did you sign it “Rich”, not “Joe”?’ she asked, frowning as she tried to put herself in his place.

  He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Would you have known who Joe was?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Because you hadn’t told me. I don’t understand why even the teachers called you Rich.’

  The hint of a smile flashed in his eyes. ‘I brought that on myself with silly boy bravado. When I first joined Bettsbrough Comp my form teacher called me John, as I was on the register as John Joseph Garrit. I said I was called Joe and he got me a form to fill out to tell the school what I wanted to be known as. Bettsbrough Comp was trying to be forward-thinking over that kind of thing. But I was sitting with my Shitland mates when I completed the form and one of them snatched it off me and in the box “What would you like everyone to call you?” he wrote in my nickname, “Rich”. Everyone thought it was hilarious. We all laughed. So I handed it in like that.’ Slowly, he sat back, folding his arms as if putting up a barrier. ‘The deputy head called me in.’

  ‘Mr Jenson,’ she supplied.

  He nodded. ‘He gave me this little talk about it being up to me what I was known as in school, but my medical letters and exam entries would always be in my full name. And if I ever went on a school trip abroad my proper name would be on the passport.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘I was too busy thinking that as I didn’t have lunch money the passport question was unlikely to arise to take the opportunity to say “I don’t want to be Rich, I want to be Joe,” let alone sussing out that this was a perfect time to let someone in authority know that it said Blackthorn on my birth certificate.

  ‘Letting my proper identity slip away – it was all part of the powerlessness I felt back then. I was different to the other kids – but the Shitland rat pack shared more experiences with me than the rest of you. A gang … you have a love/hate relationship with it. Sometimes it’s your best friend and sometimes it’s a tyrant. The gang pushed me into doing shit I didn’t want to do, just as Garrit did. I identified with the other members, though, and let them influence me.’

  ‘And you were standing with the gang when I came up to thank you for the card …’ Georgine broke in, the scene suddenly shockingly clear.

  He nodded. ‘I’d slipped it into your bag at the end of art, the last lesson in the afternoon. You were meant to open it on your way home on the school bus. You weren’t meant to turn around and gallop back to find me to thank me, showing everybody the card.’

  She screwed up her eyes in pain at viewing the scene from a new perspective. ‘It was so pretty. You probably thought it made you look soft. So you said it wasn’t from you, snatched it off me and ripped it up.’

  ‘I had to,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I didn’t care for myself but a lot of us in Shitland would wake up on Christmas morning to nothing. It made us angry at the rich kids who had nice parents to supply a sack of presents. Those guys in the gang would’ve enjoyed ridiculing you; and considered it a victory if they could have made you cry. Some of them had even begun to look specifically for rich kids to bully out of their money and designer kit. And there was you, wearing your gold watch, with Nike trainers in your school bag, pointing out that we were friends! I’d already told them we weren’t really friends but just happened to be in the same lessons because I was terrified they’d start pressuring me to steal your stuff. Acting like a moron and denying any knowledge of the card was the best way to protect you.’

  ‘Wow,’ she breathed. It had never once occurred to her that their friendship could have made things uncomfortable for him.

  Then he lightened his morose expression with a comical eye-roll. ‘I can’t imagine why people visit psychologists to confess all the stuff that festers inside them. It’s plain awkward.’

  She found herself half laughing, though her heart ached to see that even now he mocked himself as a defence mechanism. ‘Stop if you want. We were fourteen—’

  But he shook his head. ‘Let me get it over with. I wanted to apologise. I thought I’d be able to talk to you at the Christmas party that night. I waited outside for you all evening. But you didn’t turn up.’

  She felt her cheeks burn. ‘You’d shredded my feelings. I told my mum I felt ill so I didn’t have to go. And then …’ She breathed in deeply, surprised that she still remembered the hurt so clearly after two decades. ‘You just vanished.’

  Chapter Ten

  He smiled. And it wasn’t any of the strained, bitter, wry or self-deprecating smiles of the last hour. It was a proper smile that warmed his eyes and softened the hard line of his mouth.

  ‘It was the most amazing, unbelievable thing,’ he replied obliquely. ‘At the time, I didn’t much care who or what I left behind, just so long as I could escape my crap life. It was only when I reached my twenties that I began to wonder how it played out for others, and to have a couple of regrets.’

  Georgine was impatient to have two decades worth of curiosity satisfied. ‘But where did you go? Nobody seemed to know. The teachers said you’d changed schools. Your mates said Garrit had killed you and hidden the body.’

  He tipped his head back and laughed. ‘I never knew that! It was more like a fairy tale than a horror story. I came home from the Christmas party and my Uncle Shaun was waiting for me. I didn’t even know he existed, but there he was – my real father’s brother. Garrit was looking smug. Mum and Chrissy seemed bewildered. To cut a long story short, Shaun had chanced across someone Dad had known at uni and stayed in touch with after. She’d asked what had happened to me after Dad drowned. Once Shaun got over the shock of discovering he had a mystery nephew, he set people on trying to find me.

  ‘Mum making me use Garrit instead of Blackthorn turned out to be a giant waste of effort,’ he continued wryly, ‘because she’d kept her name of Deborah Leonard and Shaun simply had her traced, reasoning that I was likely to be in the same place. He turned up, took one look at the conditions I existed in and said he wanted to take me away to live with him in Surrey. Money changed hands, which accounted for Garrit’s good mood, but I didn’t care. It’s amazing when you think of it but I didn’t hesitate for a nanosecond. Didn’t question a thing. I didn’t even ask if we ought to do things in a more official way. It was a Christmas miracle and I just went up to my room and grabbed the few things I wanted. Shaun said, “Leave the rest. We’ll get you sorted with new clothes.” I suddenly identified with Cinderella.’ Joe rocked back in his chair, eyes glowing at the memory.

  He went on. ‘Shaun’s wife, Louise, took me in as if I was all she needed to make her life complete, saying she’d been too busy to have kids so loved it that Shaun had brought her a readymade one. They’d discussed the possibility of giving me a home before Shaun had ever turned up at Garrit’s house, of course, but at the time I didn’t make that connection. I just thought they’d taken one look at me and wanted me. I can’t tell you …’ His voice caught.

  Georgine couldn’t speak either. Her throat felt as if it had been closed with a drawstring.

  Joe took several seconds, sipping his drink and fastening his gaze on a notice advertising a Christmas Tree Festival until his voice returned. ‘It was like I’d stepped into someone else’s life – someone like you, with adults who cared about meals and clothes and haircuts and school trips and presents.’

  It wasn’t the right time to explain that the life he painted had only lasted for her until she was nineteen. ‘I’m so glad,’ she murmured instead, realising that every last vestige of wariness towards him had melted away now she knew the truth. ‘Thank you for explaining. It’s an a
stonishing story.’

  The door opened to admit a group of six people, laughing and chattering as they made for the dining area, pulling off the coats and scarves they’d worn as a defence against the wintry evening. A couple detached themselves, a woman with dark curls and a fairer man, and made a beeline for Georgine, who hopped up to accept their hugs and make introductions.

  ‘These are my friends, Alexia and Ben—’

  ‘And I’m Joe,’ Joe put in with a smile. ‘I’m doing a bit of work at Acting Instrumental, giving Georgine a hand.’

  ‘How fab. Great to meet you.’ Alexia sent Georgine a less-than-subtle approving look.

  Feeling herself blush, Georgine hurriedly steered Alexia into a conversation about how the Angel Community Café was doing now it was approaching its first year of existence, exclaiming over the deliciousness of the cake Melanie had gifted to them, explaining to Joe how Alexia had led the team that last year transformed the café from a neglected old pub.

  When Alexia and Ben moved off to catch up with their party, Georgine turned back to discover Joe had somehow conjured up cups brimming with delicious coffee while she’d been chatting.

  Once more he waved away her offer of payment. ‘I want to tell you a bit more of my story, if you don’t mind. There’s a reason.’

  Although she was surprised, as she’d thought he’d finished and spilling his history had looked as much fun as having fillings without anaesthetic, she nodded. ‘Of course. Go ahead.’

  ‘I became Joe Blackthorn, the name I all at once felt entitled to.’

  ‘Your birthright,’ she agreed, sniffing appreciatively as she picked up her cup and coffee-fragranced steam rose to tantalise her taste buds. Tubb had recently installed a frothy coffee machine behind the bar, presumably so he didn’t lose more customers than he must to the Angel Community Café.

  He inclined his head. ‘Sean got me into a decent school. I learned a bit about fitting in, partly because of Oggie, as I mentioned. After school, I went to a music college.’ He raised a finger. ‘I forgot to tell you, Shaun’s a musician and a music producer. He was the keys man with a couple of bands and I loved the world he moved in.’

  ‘Oggie said you’d been a roadie and a drum tech.’ She sipped her coffee, savouring the rich flavour. Was it her imagination, or did Joe’s expression suddenly close down?

  He took his time opening a sachet of brown sugar and stirring the contents into his drink. Then he looked up and smiled and she thought she must have been imagining things. ‘Musicians tend to take personal recommendations for that kind of position and, through Shaun, I was nicely placed. He was able to get me the kind of work experience the other students could only dream about. I’d made loads of contacts by the time I needed a full-time job.’

  ‘Which bands have you worked with?’ Georgine had very early lost sight of the glittering career in musical theatre she’d once dreamed of and loved to hear about how others made their way.

  Joe looked guarded. ‘Crew for big name-bands draw journalists like flies to honey if they go around boasting about who they’ve worked for.’

  ‘Disappointing!’ Georgine joked. ‘I thought you could get me lots of autographs to auction on specialist sites.’

  He grinned. ‘You’ve just highlighted another reason that a band’s crew don’t talk about their work.’

  She wrinkled her nose at him. ‘How über uncool of me. But what brings you to Acting Instrumental? Are you tired of the high life?’

  Something flickered in his eyes. ‘I can’t tell you how much I want a more low-key and peaceful existence. At least for a while.’

  ‘Oh.’ Georgine was taken aback by his obvious relief. ‘So why are you telling me all this if you can’t actually tell me anything?’

  ‘Because …’ He paused, brow creased in concentration, ‘the most immediate thing cropped up as you introduced me to your friends. Alexia went to our school, didn’t she?’

  Georgine shrugged defensively. ‘Not in our year, but just about everyone in Middledip who was a teenager at the same time went to Bettsbrough Comp.’

  ‘Of course. And you didn’t know whether to introduce me as Joe or remind her that she might have known me as Rich Garrit.’ His voice dropped as he said the final two words.

  ‘Oh.’ Georgine began to see where he might be going with this. ‘You’d prefer not?’

  He dragged in a deep breath, letting it out only slowly. ‘I would infinitely prefer not. I’ve tried my utmost to leave behind the sad kid Rich Garrit used to be and all the old humiliations. I can’t emphasise that enough. When I first went to live with Shaun and Louise they said, “We can’t change the past but let’s get you the very best future we can.” I only shared the story with you because of you recognising me.’ He gave a faint smile. ‘And because of the long-overdue apology.’

  She frowned as she turned his words over. ‘There seems a big flaw in your story. Why the hell have you come back to the area?’

  He gave a half laugh. ‘That’s actually the other thing I wanted to tell you. Again, though, I have to ask for your discretion.’

  ‘Hm,’ she mused doubtfully. ‘I suppose that depends what it is.’

  ‘It’s nothing that will hurt anybody else,’ he put in. ‘I know you guys in education are always wary about anything that might affect safeguarding the students. It’s simply that it makes sense of what I’m doing back in the area that I thought I’d left forever.’

  He paused, frowning. ‘Mum’s still local. She and Garrit split up eventually and once I could emotionally afford to forgive her and financially afford to be generous, I began to help her out. She lives in a flat in Bettsbrough and seems content with a quiet life. What I totally don’t want is Garrit crawling out of the woodwork. It’s not that I’m scared of him,’ he added quickly. ‘The undernourished kid he used to shove around is all grown up and can adequately defend himself. But I don’t want to see him, and I really don’t want to jeopardise the better life I have by grabbing the creep by the throat and banging his head against the wall until his brain splats out. I’m pretty sure prison food wouldn’t suit me.’

  ‘Wow, fierce!’ Georgine sat further into her chair, taken aback by the icy anger in his voice. ‘OK, I understand. I won’t say a word.’

  As if trying to bring himself back to the present, Joe glanced around the pub. Then he lowered his voice. ‘What I’m leading up to is … I own Acting Instrumental.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Georgine stared at him, confused. ‘How can you own Acting Instrumental?’ Did he mean ‘own’ in the sense of stamping his personality on it? Judges on The X Factor irritated her with proclamations such as ‘You need to really own that song’ when they wanted the contestant to throw themselves into a performance.

  A nearby couple paused their conversation as if they’d like to know the answer to her question. Georgine waited until they’d resumed their chat then dropped her voice. ‘Sorry. But what on earth do you mean?’

  He leant on the table, bringing their heads closer together and making it harder for anyone to overhear. ‘I only own the property, obviously. Oggie had this ambition to begin a further education institution dedicated to the performing arts. When education became compulsory for sixteen to eighteen year olds and all kinds of further education places started springing up to cater to the kids whose strengths are vocational, he saw his opportunity. I wanted an investment, so I bought the property and had the new block built, with help from the bank. He implemented Acting Instrumental. We share the philosophy of not turning a student away for not having already gained qualifications. It’s about their futures, not the past.’

  Stunned, Georgine just stared. Joe looked perfectly serious but it was hard for her to grasp that this wasn’t a joke. ‘Oggie’s only ever spoken of “the landlord” in the vaguest of terms. It’s way above my pay grade to get mixed up in leases and tenancies and things, but I suppose I thought the landlord would be a property investment company or something.’ T
hat it would be not only an individual but the one she’d known when he existed below the poverty line was almost too much to take in. ‘You call it an investment but I see what you’ve described as pretty philanthropic. Whatever band you worked for must have paid you pretty damned well.’

  He shrugged off her comments. ‘I’ve developed a few minor properties along the way, which all made money. What I want to emphasise is how much I value being at Acting Instrumental right now, working with musicians and performers of the future instead of coping with the egos of the stars of the moment. When someone I thought I could trust disappointed me in a big way, I wanted to do something more –’ he circled his hand as if he could scoop the words he wanted from the air ‘– more worthwhile. Less superficial, but, at the same time, where less rested on my shoulders. Maybe helping kids to realise their vocation in the areas that I found success somehow reassures me that I’m never going back to being Rich Garrit.’

  He returned to the subject of his landlord status. ‘When I was looking for a suitable property the agent found several likely prospects. When she said one was just outside Middledip I had an emotional reaction. I used to imagine living here. Every kid from the village seemed to have a nice home.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Georgine acknowledged. ‘Middledip’s lovely and safe and property’s sought after. I could have bought somewhere bigger in Bettsbrough, but I didn’t want to live anywhere but Middledip.’

  He nodded as if he wouldn’t have expected anything else. ‘Once I saw that the property looked a sensible investment I went for it. I’m not sure what a psychologist would make of my desire to enter, in some way, a world that used to be closed to me.’

  ‘It seems perfectly understandable.’ Georgine took a moment to try to see The Three Fishes through his eyes, the exposed stone walls and wooden beams, the solidly middle-class clientele. ‘When I first arrived you were looking around and smiling,’ she ventured. ‘Were you enjoying being part of that “world”, as you called it?’