The house in Port Moody was ramshackle, the exterior in need of a coat of paint and the interior was a mess of furniture of all different styles, books and magazines in piles and over spilling all the available shelves. The wooden floors had hand woven rag rugs, the walls were all neutral tones but covered with photos and art. Alex was wearing Tom's spare coat, cold and shivery, still not 100% by the after effects of his major blood loss. Here promised to be a not so temporary home. Evie had assured her grandson's friend if it took adoption for Alex to feel safe and secure, then in four months he'd officially be Alexander Blantyre, she had always wanted more children and had fostered several over the years since Grace had left home. Tom was already calling the ex-spy Uncle Al. Alex wondered on the fact that Evie took everything in her stride and his prolonged silences were not uneasy or strained, viewed as defiance as they had been on San Francisco, the woman seemed to be cope with silence, understanding the need for space. Alex was now sharing a room with Tom. In the spring, the basement would be cleared out to give both boys their own rooms. Then Evie could get her guest room back.
As the small rucksack was unpacked Tom asked "what are you worried about? I'll be here as there is no way in hell I'd ever move back in with mom and Dad is 2000 miles away with wife No 2 and his picture perfect new family. You, Evie and me are a new family unit: crazy old hippy woman and two troublemakers. Next week you are back at school, another milestone, you will have to take placement tests. I did. No worries though I'm a bright but average student who should try harder. I bet you get on all the sports teams. Hell, the hockey team need new blood as we got slaughtered in the school league last year. You play hockey, don't you?"
It had been a while since ice hockey had been one of Alex's hobbies. When he was 10/11 he had played for a junior team in Berlin. Alex had missed it when he initially moved to London but had soon got fully into football. "I can skate pretty well and have played as a defender."
"Right, so in Alex-speak I guess pretty well is better than average. Didn't you describe your snowboarding skills as "OKish". You rock on a board, man. That lesson you gave us guys last year kick started my own love of snow. I board regularly now. You can join me at the weekend. You can borrow my spare board and clothes. Lucky we're similar sizes. Try my boots on now."
Alex sat down on the bed and then flopped backwards. "Later Big Guy, I'm shattered."
"I'll leave you to sleep. If you need me I'll be in the den catching up on my gazillion overdue assignments."
Alex did not sleep but used the solitude to recount the way his life had done a complete U-turn since Sunday. Today was only Wednesday. Four days at Vancouver General with the hospital bill already paid by Dieter Sprintz. There had been a initial custody hearing at 9:30 on Monday, one the Pleasures had not attended. He had not asked about them either. They were now only communicating through his government appointed representative. He still had to process the fact he had tried to kill himself. It smarted that he had failed so spectacularly. Dropping the knife for Christ's sake. Next time, if there was a next time, just slit your throat do not start with your wrists. He had moved on from that pit of despair, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't still thinking about killing himself, he would if MI6 or the CIA turned up and started their games again. Plan C was definitely still on the to do list. His shrink will love that. His new Canadian psychologist, Daniel, who seemed to be very keyed in, proving that the spooks in Ottawa were more open with the information that MI6 had manipulated a teenager to work as an operative. With that happy thought, the teenage ex-spy was lulled to sleep by the traffic noise
….
In the lull of the afternoon, Evie escaped into her studio. A cast concrete structure with flat roof built in the back garden. Inside were half finished canvases and several large sculptures, all in need of recycling. She pulled out the nearest large canvas and started to cover-over the unfinished project with white. She was in the mood to paint, a family portrait. She had sketched and painted Grace over a hundred times. Now she was going to start a series recording her two boys, who in the blink of her eye would be grown and living their own lives. She had already decided to get Alex back from his dark and lonely self imposed exile to connect with his friends. Cassian was visiting at the weekend with his mother and she had already invited Dieter and James Sprintz for Christmas. Her house would be alive with a riot of boys, just what Alex needed.
She would bring both boys over tonight to start a sketch or two and to take a series of record photographs. Digital cameras and computers were the wonder and fabulous tool for artists. Rather than emerge herself in video or performance art, Evie Blantyre was sticking to what she knew. She would try and get all the boys from Point Blanc to sit for her. The dull work of preparing her canvas was just the soothing work she needed. She finished and cleaned off the large six inch brush in the double sink. She loved this ugly building with north light roof. It had originally been a garage for a car enthusiast. Now heated by a solar panels and underfloor heating and a wood burning stove in the corner. Finally she would create again.
…..
"Wakey, wakey, Alex! Dinner time. Oh, by the way, I kind of forgot to tell you; Gran's a vegan. No meat allowed in the house. We can eat whatever we like outside but its tofu and soya bean heaven here. Its her version of non-meat pie tonight, potato and aduki bean. Its not too shabby. Homemade ice pops for desert, last one down does the clearing up." With that Tom was out of the door and down the stairs before Alex had even sat up.
…..
After three days of non-stop meetings and interviews from breakfast to midnight, Grace Blantyre-McMorin was finally catching up on her correspondence before flying back to Vancouver. Five messages from Tom, three from her mother and one hundred and fifteen other urgent emails and phone messages. She opened the latest message from Tom.
'Dear Mom… Yet again, I need to talk and you never answer. Just forget it, you and me are over. Fuck Grans attempts at conciliation. My weekends are now my own. Have a good life, Grace. I may be your biggest mistake, but you can just forget about me now. Your only child, Tom.'
The chief executive of a multinational media empire had always put work first. She had a sinking feeling that it would take a lot of work and deep commitment to reconnect with Tom. She then read the earlier messages to try and find out what she had missed that was so important.
…..
Liz Pleasure had been in a foul mood since Monday. That Canadian Judge had assessed her and Edward's parenting skills as poor. The anger masked her underlying sense of failure that they had misread Alex's problems completely; not surprising as the boy hardly spoke except yes or no to direct questions. He'd run away, attempted suicide and caused a major incident on the Canadian border. She sat in her bedroom with her very old fashioned stationery set and began to write to Ms. Durant to explain the fact they were in a no win situation because of Mrs. Jones. This woman was spilling details, the Official Secret's Act be damned. Alex had not been right since their holiday in Cornwall last year.