Chapter 32
Friday 29th November, 2024
The Pear Tree, Crockenhill, London
The quote from Angel's favourite book by David Almond, Skellig, rattles around in his brain. It was the closing line of Zola's tribute and although he almost choked on his tears, he knows Zola would've been proud of the family - her family.
Worn out from slogging a treasure filled backpack around Dartmouth Hill Park all day, Greta lies sleeping peacefully in Kit's lap. Harriet strokes her mousey-blonde hair, yearning for snuggles but resisting the urge to disturb her much needed kip - she looks too peaceful to move, and if this family needs anything right now, it's peace.
Kit's right arm is numb from the weight of Greta and her bag full of stones, and his Pepsi is now unappetisingly flat, so if he isn't crushed to death then he's probably going to die of thirst.
Stassi: I wonder what she's dreaming about?
Harriet: Maybe a Tonie Box. She's put one on her list for Santa.
Josie: Building sandcastles in Greece. It's all she talked about this afternoon.
Kit: More fucking stones, probably.
Kit realises he's spoken his private thoughts when the room erupts into fits of silly giggling. Even Angel chuckles, sat upright against the door of The Pear Tree, and it takes all of Kit's core strength not to jiggle Greta around in his lap.
She makes a muffled noise and fidgets for a moment - the room's giggles are silenced as breaths are held in anticipation, until she purrs, settled in slumber once again.
Harriet: I'm going to need to disturb her at some point. She can't go to sleep in her jeans.
Faye suggests reducing the number of disturbances by pushing the twin beds together in one of the bedrooms upstairs, so that Greta can sleep inbetween the two of them.
Harriet: Two of who?
Josie: You and that whopping moron.
Josie looks at Kit and sticks her middle finger up in his direction. She relaxes her face muscles - it's not quite a smile, but it's definitely not a life-threatening scowl, either.
Kit: Home, sweet home.
To Harriet's surprise, and slight dismay, it is Kit who objects.
Kit: She hasn't got her pajamas, and it's too cold for her to sleep without any on.
Angel: I'll drive over to The Ditch and pick a pair up.
Stassi: You've had too much to drink.
Angel: I'm a better drunk driver than you are sober. Must I remind you of that time you drove over Zola's suitcase?
Stassi: I don't know what she was so upset about, I did all of her ironing in the process!
Once again, the O'Hare's and Kit evolve into muted chuckling; they've run out of tears to cry.
Angel tells them he won't be long and let's himself outside.
Barely ten minutes have passed between the sound of Angel's Mercedes leaving, and the sound of Maura's second-hand Punto arriving. Gus reluctantly follows her into The Pear Tree but smiles on politely anyway, and Scooch sniffs at his new surroundings. Tail wagging in excitement, he sticks his nose to the ground and follows the trail of a familiar scent which stops at Kit.
Kit: Ciao Scooch. Ciao papà.
Harriet jumps up to show Gus which room he can reside in.
Harriet: Seguimi...
Both Kit and Gus exchange amused glances.
Harriet: Did I not pronounce that right? I've been practising with DeepL.
Kit: Perfetto.
Kit winks at Harriet and Josie makes a retching sound.
Josie: Fucking gross.
Stassi informs Maura that Angel has driven over to The Ditch to fetch Greta's pajamas, and Maura contemplates driving across, herself - it's probably better that they talk privately first. Right?
Stassi nods in agreement, presenting a Glock 17.
Stassi: No one walks out of this building without one.
Maura wraps her hands around the pistol and shivers at the cold, hard steel in her hand. She stuffs it in her coat pocket before kissing Kit on the top of his head on her way out.
Angel see's a pair of pink Disney Princess pajamas in the Mount Everest sized washing pile - they're creased but they pass the sniff test, so he chucks them over his shoulder. Half-smiling, half-tearing up, he pictures Zola rattling a box of Fairy Non-Bio Washing Capsules from beyond the grave.
Angel: We really are falling apart without you Zola.
He bows his head as he passes her empty bedroom before shuffling downstairs.
YOU ARE READING
Trestle
Mystery / Thriller**SMUT warning** Following the death of his racketeer father, Angel is left to manage the O'Hare family's rugged affairs. He vows to worship his girls and protect them from the threat of poverty, sin, and dangerous men like himself. But when debts c...
