Chapter Thirteen

It was the coldest day they'd had for a while, Jack reflected idly, turning up the heater in his car as high as it would go, and zipping his jacket up. It was the first day in three months that he was going back to the family home in Oxford, and he reflected on the long motorway drive, that really he ought to have caught the train. He chewed his lip thoughtfully, and then stopped himself. It was a nervous habit that his sister, Florence, was bound to tell him off for.

It was for Florence that he was travelling home.

"Hello, Jack? I'm in trouble… If…" she'd sighed on the other end of the phone then. "If you could manage to come home, even just for a day, I'd really appreciate it."

The message had been left on his phone the previous evening, and so when he'd received it the very next morning, there he was, driving at breakneck speed down the motorway to get back to his twin sister. She hadn't said more than that, but whatever it was, it must be serious. Flo wasn't prone to exaggeration.

Not for the first time, he wished that he'd explained to Simon before leaving so abruptly. It wasn't that he feared that his older brother would wonder at his disappearance for his safety – he had always been rather flighty – but that he ought to know their sister was having some kind of crisis, and he was returning for that. He wanted Simon to know that he wasn't returning as some kind of desertion of him, and he hadn't just upped and left him and Harry that morning for a minor reason.

It was too late now, he chided himself sometime later, swerving off the motorway, and nearly missing the turn all together. He couldn't phone Simon before he got to the house, having ingeniously let his phone battery die, and once he was home, he would be preoccupied with whatever had upset Flo. Simon would just have to understand, he thought, and besides, he was so busy with Harry and the tangle that came with him, he might not even notice his absence.

Even as his whole life changed, the house never did. The driveway was just as long as it had always felt as a child, the gates just as forbidding. The house itself was the huge mansion that his school friends had always coveted – far too large for the three who lived there now, and their assorted help. The gardens were as pristine as ever, and the surly old gardener, Mr Wise, was still pottering around, with a glare for anyone who dared to walk on the grass. Even now, at the ripe old age of eighty-two, the old man could still put the fear of God in him.

He pulled up sharply, nearly smashing the front of his car into a stone fountain at the very front of the house. He felt the disapproving looks of the housekeeper and the butler inside. No sooner had he pulled the keys from the engine and stepped out of the car, and Benson had appeared beside him, hand extended for his car keys.

"Thank you," Jack said, placing the keys into his palm, and as an after thought, "Good to see you again."

The old butler looked surprised for a moment, before hiding the expression, and taking his car to the garages around the side.

"Good morning, Master Jack," Betty said once he reached the house. Her tone was disapproving, as it had always been, and the way she said his name reminded him suddenly of Harry's cheery 'Hello, Mr Jack'. Somehow, Little Whinging was becoming more of a home to him with Simon and Harry, than his own family estate.

He was lead through the maze of passages, which he had so loved as a child, until they reached the smaller and brighter drawing room on the first floor. The door opened, and he barely had time to take anything in when he was nearly bowled over.

"Florence! What the devil…? Oh, Jack my boy, good to see you again." His father's voice was another unchanged factor in his entire life. Brisk, gruff, but filled with kindness when used in their presence that was never heard elsewhere.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you!" Flo cried, when she finally pulled away from him. "Though I'm glad you got my message, I didn't mean for you to appear before lunch the today. It could have waited."

A snort came from the large desk near the window. Their father. "Yes, another seven months or so, I imagine."

His sister bit her lip. "Let's take a walk around the gardens, shall we?"

Sure enough, they received a dark look from Mr Wise when they passed him by, slipping into the more secluded section of the gardens, where flowers and shrubbery grew higher and more wildly than the areas closer to the house.

"I'm pregnant."

Jack felt his jaw slacken. "Well that's…"

"—and David's left me."

Florence was still speaking, but it was as if most of the world had been drained of colour and feeling. All Jack knew was his own rage.

A hard shove in his chest brought him back to the real world, where his sister was looking at him with tear-filled eyes. "I knew I should have gone to Simon first."

Jack sneered. "You'll never get him back in this house."

"Not even for me?" she asked quietly. Jack did not reply, honestly not knowing whether or not Simon would ever voluntarily set foot over the threshold ever again, for any reason.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, his voice more subdued than the anger he felt.

"I don't know."

"I think you should get rid of it," Jack told her. "You're nineteen, a student, and you're alone. You've your career and the rest of your life to think of. You can't let a mistake like this ruin the rest of your life!"

Florence looked down at their feet, tracing their outline in the grass. "I know. Logically, I suspect that's the thing to do. I've got plans for my life, that don't include raising a child alone… but when I found out I was pregnant, I was happy…"

Jack opened his mouth to interrupt, but she held up a hand to forestall him. "I just thought… well, maybe this is the way it's meant to be. I've got David, and I'll have his baby, and I can do my degree during my pregnancy, and part-time when the baby arrives… and I can still be everything that I want to be, with this little boy or girl in my life as well."

Silence descended upon them.

"The only thing that's changed is that now I don't have David, and all I can think to myself is, why should this child not have a chance at life just because one man has left mine?"

"It's just a few cells that you and Dave threw together during one foolish night," Jack cried. "I know it will be a baby at some point, but this is your life we're talking about! Why don't you just wait until the time is right… when you're with someone you want to be with for the rest of your life, and you've established yourself as your own person first… You've never even lived outside the walls of this house! How could you raise a child!"

The tears trailed down her cheeks at his outburst, and instantly, Jack felt like if he could have done any injury to himself to take this burden from his sister, he would do.

"What do Mum and Dad say about this?" he asked her.

"Dad thinks abortion is one of the great evils of the world…" she snorted then. "He would do, being a man, wouldn't he? But Mum – she says she can understand where I'm coming from with my thoughts, and whatever decision I make… she said she'd fully support me."

Their reactions were what Jack would have guessed. Their mother had always been understanding, especially of her only daughter, and their father had always been strict and of his own mind in all matters.

"You should speak to Simon," Jack finally offered, seeing that there was nothing he could do to remedy the situation in any capacity except offer his opinion, as he already had done.

"Why? What can he say that no one else has?" she asked, sullenly.

"He can tell you what he thinks is right for you… and he's always been good at putting a new spin on things, you know that." Jack paused then. "Besides… he is a teacher, he spends a lot of time with young children, and he's—he's kind of looking after a child himself at the moment."

Florence turned to him and frowned. Her wavy blonde hair twirled around her in confusion like she was experiencing, the wind twisting her as her thoughts did. "He's looking after a child? What on earth are you talking about, Jack?"

Jack pulled his jacket around him. It was always cold here. "Why don't we go back up to the house and I'll tell you all about it there. I'm sure Mum and Dad are dying to hear about their evil son, after all."

He offered her his arm, and together they walked back up to the house.

"I'm not sure I understand you, Jack," his mother said, a frown creasing her brow. They had exhausted all the usual topics of conversation over the last hour or so, and had continued to talk of Jack's degree and his current life over lunch. It couldn't be helped that at some point, Simon's name and life cropped up.

"He's… uh, well this is going to sound a little strange," Jack said, breaking off and looking around at his family nervously. After all, Simon might not even want them to know of his plight to save Harry.

"Oh do spit it out," his father said, with a long suffering sigh. Though both Florence and their mother, Hillary, appeared interested in his brother's life, their father still wanted any mention of his eldest child to be over as quickly as possible. His brows were furrowed, and behind his moustache, his mouth turned downwards in disapproval.

"Well, one of the young children he teaches, Harry, he's got this dreadful family… I mean, you wouldn't believe how poorly they treat him –" his voice rose at the thought of what the young boy might have been subjected to right at that moment. "—he's always covered in bruises, and he's scared to go home! Oh, and get this, he's this tiny, thin little kid, and he lives with his cousin who's the same age, and he's this huge, overfed whale of a boy!"

"Why does he live with his cousin?" Florence asked, breaking Jack's tirade, and flustering him in the process.

Jack blinked a few times. For a strange moment, he'd completely forgotten himself, and had lost control in front of his family. His controlled, cool family. For the first time, he took in the expressions of the assembled Glasses. His father's brows had furrowed further, and he seemed a little more irritated than he had been upon the mention of Simon's name. Their mother held her expression in her usual neutrality but he could see through to the genuine interest she had in both her sons, and a certain perplexedness at Jack's passion for the subject matter. And then there was Florence, ah Flo, upon whom he could always depend! She was smiling faintly, and waiting for him to continue, with that air of patience she'd always had. She did not judge him, or Simon, and appeared, if anything, vaguely amused by his ravings. It was unlike him.

"So," Florence repeated, "why does he live with his cousin?"

"He's an orphan," Jack said simply. He saw from the corner of his eye, his mother's hand go to her chest. There was nothing like orphaned children to stir the pity of Hillary Glass. "His parents died in a car crash when he was a baby, and he was left with an unwilling aunt and uncle. The way his aunt talks about him though, you'd think he were a criminal, not a sweet little boy."

"So this is Simon's project, is it? Saving little orphans from their own families, projecting his wish to have been saved from here as a child onto others now!" his father barked harshly. Jack winced as if struck. Perhaps telling them of Simon's doings had been a mistake.

"George!" Hillary snapped suddenly. "That's enough. You know perfectly well why Simon left. Don't start belittling his life because you're still sore about that."

Jack and Florence openly gaped at the spectacle of their mother defying their father, and continued to do so after George had slammed the door behind him, scattering the papers from his desk across the room.

"I'm sorry that you had to see that," their mother said quietly. "Jack, tell me more of Simon, please."

Jack did. He told them of the day he first met Harry in Little Whingeing, and of Simon's frustration with social services, the social worker Claire and her visits, his impressions of Harry's character, and the relationship dynamic he had observed between Harry and Simon.

"It's strange," Jack said thoughtfully, after all had lapsed into silence. "It's an awful business, and when you see Harry, sometimes it feels pretty harrowing, but it's transformed Simon. It's like he's not been so alive since…"

"Since Caroline died." Florence finished where her brother did not, pushing images of a poor, frail young woman from her mind.

"It's purpose," Jack said, "the purpose of doing something with his life. He can't stand doing nothing with himself. I think maybe in the beginning, Harry was a mystery to be solved, and then he was someone to save."

"And now?" Hillary asked.

"Now, he's a young boy he cares about, and he's frustrated because he can't do enough to help him." Jack finished, resting his head on his hand, and looking wistfully outside.

"And what of you?" Florence asked, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Me?"

"You seem quite embroiled in this yourself," their mother remarked, "enough to give unguarded speeches in front of your father and upset him."

He blew his hair from his eyes and looked at them. Upon seeing no condemnation, he replied, "It's hard not to get involved. Simon talks about this 'Harry' and you kind of think 'Oh well, poor kid, hope his fortune changes', and then you meet him, and he's a sweet little boy, and when you think of him scared and hurt, it makes you feel sick inside. You ought to meet him."

The last sentence was tacked onto his short speech at such short notice, it surprised even Jack. Both women smiled at the idea however.

"I'd like to meet him," Florence said, "and it would be lovely to see Simon. I've got some things to talk over with him so perhaps you might let Simon know that I'll be at his on New Years Day?"

Jack nodded dumbly. Florence did not often leave the house further than a five mile radius.

"And I'll be staying a few days, tell him," she added.

"But how will you get to Surrey?" their mother asked her.

"I'll get the train."

"I'll drive you."

Hillary blinked and smiled. "Thank you for your offer, Jack."

Florence also smiled, and mouthed a quick 'thank you'.

"Will you be staying tonight?" Hillary asked hopefully.

Jack thought of his father upstairs, enraged that not only one son had left him, but his other appeared to be going the same way. He imagined the strained dinner conversation, and breakfast the next day. He envisioned a reconciliation with his father, in which he defended himself and Simon with such eloquence that they were forgiven their sins and welcomed back into the fold, faults and all. He saw more clearly, his father refusing to listen and throwing him from the house, Florence appearing anxious, and her hand resting upon her stomach. The latter was the more likely scenario, and he wouldn't cause any more discord than he had already. Sometimes, there was no reasoning with George Glass, and there was no choice but to walk away. He understood his brother better then than he ever had.

"No, in fact I was just going to have another cup of tea, and be on my way," he replied eventually. Neither woman showed any sign of surprise.

He bid his mother and sister goodbye, welcoming them warmly to Surrey if they so wished it, and showed himself out. He walked the grand hallways as if it were the most natural thing in the world, instead of an oddly uncomfortable experience.

When he reached the front doorway, he came across his sister once more, clambouring out of a concealed doorway.

She cursed softly when she saw him, a smile gracing her features. "I was supposed to be standing nonchalantly at the door when you arrived," she explained. She was slightly out of breath.

"You're not as quick through those old passages as you used to be," he joked, thinking of their childhood adventures behind the grandeur.

She stepped closer to him and took his hand in hers, squeezing it warmly. "I just wanted to tell you that it's good to see you alive and with purpose again, too."

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then she was gone, disappearing into the passageway more nimbly and gracefully than she'd left it. He frowned at her words, playing them back in his head.

At the door, his keys were handed to him by a forgettable member of staff. His car was already in front of the house. He reflected when he sat down inside, how simultaneously relieving and distressing it was to leave his family home.

Pushing all thoughts of home from his mind as best he could, he thought instead of Simon back at his house, with Harry. In the last few days, Harry had spent any time he had available at Simon's house, a place that Jack was quickly beginning to think of as home. It felt natural to be there with the two of them, like some kind of dysfunctional family, and he anticipated returning to them.

He pressed his foot down on the accelerator, still feeling a thrill of pleasure at the sound the car made on the gravel driveway. Jack turned for one last look at the house, and for a moment, he thought he saw his sister in one of the upper windows, smiling down at him. When he glanced back again, however, he couldn't be sure if she had ever been there at all.

That was one good thing that had come of his journey, at least; he had persuaded Florence to leave their home and come many a mile to Little Whingeing to visit their brother. She had never been so far from their home, and indeed, he didn't think she'd gone any further than the confines of the gardens in several years now – all her friends from the village came to the house to visit her. One by one, they were dropping away to see to their own lives, she had said. It was long since the time she needed to start her own life, and Jack was sure that Simon would be able to help her on her way.