Fully English

CHAPTER 37

Panic sets in immediately when I hang up the phone and return to George's room – so rife that it stains my expression and he immediately jumps to his feet with fiery eyes.

"I need to go home," I say ghostly as I reach for my belongings.

George grabs a jumper from his closet as well as his keys. "Where do you live? I'll drive you."

"Not home," I say. "Home."

Without clarification, he can see I am referring to my London home but it doesn't stall him. Instead he shrugs and continues dressing himself.

"I'll drive you," he says again. "Come on."

He leads the way to the corridor but I am stuck in the middle of his room, apprehensive whether I should take this ride or ask Reece to take me home. Maybe I should abandon going back to London altogether. If whatever was happening was serious, surely mother would forewarned me on the phone instead of dramatically hanging up. Or maybe that dramatic disconnect was a sign that she was in grave danger. Time could be of the essence and I was standing here as absent-minded as can be pondering on my ride when it stood just metres away from me.

"You're high."

"Barely," George insists.

I look at him disconcertedly knowing full well that he is my only home. So why was I refuting his gesture?

At this moment, Otis bounds up the stairs two at a time and pauses to watch our encounter. He says nothing but from the look he is giving me, I know that he knows that something is up. There was no placation that everything would be alright because I was about to be thrown a bombshell that was going to explode in my face.

"You goin' somewhere?" Otis leers to the two of us.

"Yeah," George says, extends a hand my way. "Don't expect us back tonight."

I stare at his pale fingers and clasp them with my own before letting him gently coax me down the stairs and guide me to put my coat on. Like a child, I let him push my arms through their sleeves and zip and button my coat so I am covered before bracing me for the cold with a neck scarf.

In silence, he switches on the car from outside and I let him guide me into the passenger side before going around to the driver seat and starting the ignition. We reverse and then we are off – our icy breaths fogging up the car as we drive through West Lincoln's quiet and cold streets. George turns on the heating and I feel a slumber coming on, perhaps because of the weed from earlier. Every muscle in my body is itching to sleep but I pry my eyes open until they water.

"Are you tired?"

The low hum of George's voice is doing no favours in me fighting sleep – it is croaky and thin like he too wants to fall asleep.

"No," I lie, reach for the heating to decrease it a few notches. The colder it was, the less likely I was to feel comfortable enough to sleep.

"You can nap if you want."

Within seconds of the car growing colder, I can see the colour in his cheeks and tips of his ears redden. Every few seconds, he grips the steering wheel tighter as if by stretching his skin, he is alerting his brain to stay awake. According to his SAT NAV, we have been driving for over 2 hours and are now just under an hour away.

"I don't want to sleep, I'd rather stay up with you."

My hand slides to his thigh and I rub it to inspire warmth in my fingers and his body. The road ahead is quiet and dim but we are drawing to our exit on the motorway so I know it's not long now. Soon we will be in familiar territory and I realise we have not discussed what he will do after we reach my house; it isn't polite that I tell him to split after driving me all the way home.