There, I said it.
I had to, or it would have bugged me all day.
He stops. I can see the clear line of tension across his shoulders.
He stands there for so long that I think he isn’t going to say anything.
“Parkour,” he says without turning around.
Parkour?
Then, he walks away without another word.
The moment he’s out of sight, I get my phone out of my pocket, bring up Google, type in parkour, and hit Search.
Eleven
Turns out that parkour—or freerunning, as it’s also called—is the art of moving rapidly through an area, usually an urban area. The traceur, which is the correct term for a person who practices parkour, moves around or over obstacles by running, jumping, and climbing them.
I got all that off the Internet.
After I finished reading up on it, I was feeling kind of fascinated. I saw there was a whole bunch of videos online. But I didn’t want Kas to catch me on my phone, so I had to wait until I left work.
The moment I was out of there, I was back on Google, and I watched videos the whole walk to the station and on the train journey home.
I can’t believe that Kas does parkour. Not because he’s not fit—because he clearly is—but because…well, it’s really cool, and he’s such an uptight, miserable bugger.
But, clearly, there’s this whole other side to him that I know nothing about.
And it kind of makes me curious.
I didn’t see Kas for the rest of the day. When he came down from his shower, he holed himself up in his office, and I left him to it.
I knocked on his door at four to let him know that I was leaving, and he barked at me from the other side, so I hightailed it out of there.
And, now, I’m home, and I’m awaiting Anne’s arrival.
I’m all showered and ready, wearing my best mum clothes. I’ve gone for a calf-length powder-blue dress. It’s an old dress, but it’s nice, respectable. It has capped sleeves and a cute belt around the waist. My hair is tied back in a braid. I also put on a light dusting of makeup.
I’m good to go.
Cece is working until eight, so I’ve got the place to myself.
The good biscuits are set out on a plate on the coffee table in the living room. Tea is in the pot, and coffee is in the carafe on a tray. Cups are ready along with milk in a jug and sugar cubes in the pot.
I’m ready to show Anne that I’ve changed.
Even though I haven’t changed. Not really. Deep down, I’m the same person I’ve always been. Just a little less trusting than I used to be.
But Anne sees what she’s read on paper. She sees me as a thief and ex-con. A woman who kept the fact that her mother had run off and abandoned her kids a secret.
Social Services doesn’t see the good in my reasons. They don’t care that I worked my arse off to keep a roof over Jesse’s head and to put food in his belly. That, every single day, I made sure he knew how much he was loved.
Social Services doesn’t care about any of that.
All they see is a liar. A thief. And a criminal.
All because of Jason.
But I’m not going to go there. Today is going to be a good day.
I’m not going to think about that piece of shit.
I’m going to get Jesse back.
I’m going to show Anne the real Daisy—the responsible, reliable Daisy, who loves her brother like he’s her own kid. He is my kid. And I will do anything for him.
The doorbell rings, and a tremor of nerves runs through me. Standing from the sofa, I smooth my trembling hands down my dress and walk to the front door.
Pulling open the door, I see a woman on the other side. Looks to be in her fifties. Plump. Shoulder-length curly black hair. Kind face.
“Anne?” I’ve spoken to Anne many times on the phone, but I have never actually met her in person.
“Yes. And you must be Daisy. You and Jesse have the exact same eye color. Lovely.” She smiles.
Jesse and I both have amber eyes with flecks of hazel in them. In certain lights, it looks almost gold. It’s a fairly unusual eye color, one that we inherited from our dad.
It’s one of the things that I actually like about myself.
“Come in.” I smile, stepping back to let her in.
I shut the door and lead her straight into the living room. She takes a seat on the sofa, putting her huge bag on the floor next to her. I take a seat in the armchair across from her.
“Lovely place you have here.”
“Would you like a tour?” I offer.
“Tea first, if that’s okay.” She smiles. “I haven’t had a cuppa since lunch, and I’m dying for one.”
Smiling, I reach over and pour tea in a cup. “Milk and sugar?”
“Just milk, please.”
I pour the milk in, stir with the teaspoon, and hand it over to her. I pour myself a coffee, adding milk.
“Help yourself to biscuits,” I tell her.
She sips her tea. “Oh, lovely cup of tea,” she tells me.
I’ve always been told I make good tea even though I never drink it myself. I don’t know what I do when it comes to making tea that makes it taste so good. I guess I just have the tea touch.
I smile and sip my own coffee.
She puts her cup down on the table and reaches into her bag, pulling out a green folder. It has Jesse’s name on the front.
My heart beats just that little bit faster.
“So, how have you been finding things since you got out?” Anne asks me.
“Really good.” I smile, putting my own cup down on the table. “It’s nice, not having to shower with twenty other women.” Oh God, did I actually just say that? “I mean, it’s fine. Like I never left. Of course, it was a little strange at first—you know, being free—but living with Cece has really helped. She’s such a rock for me. And starting my new job, of course, has helped.” Stop talking. Stop talking now.