by Kate Blair
Dad pauses for a long time. “That’s your decision. You’re nearly an adult.”
“Will Alison be around?”
“Yes. In fact, I want her to move in.”
She wasn’t only interested in being the prime minister’s wife, then. Maybe I’ve made some mistakes myself. Maybe I’ve got her wrong. She was nice to me when I was sick, and she saved me from Piers. But it won’t be just Dad and me in the flat anymore.
An idea occurs to me.
“I’ll move back home on one condition,” I say. “And it’ll require you and Galen to agree.”
Galen snaps his head around. “Me?”
“Yes. To my father fostering Tig so she doesn’t have to go back to the home. Only until you become Tig’s legal guardian.”
My father opens his mouth, but I’m not finished. I turn to him.
“And Galen can come and visit her any time he likes.”
That’s struck my father silent. Galen is quiet too, staring at Dad from across the bed. He must know this is the best thing for his sister. But I doubt he likes the idea.
“You’d be there, Talia?” Galen says. “Looking after Tig?”
“Of course, when she’s not at school. Along with Dad, Alison, and you.”
A deep breath. “Then I guess it’s okay. For my sister’s sake.”
“Dad?”
My father is staring at Galen, and I can almost read his mind. He’d have to let this criminal into his home. He’d have to trust him not to hurt us like Thomas Bryce did.
I wonder if Dad can do that.
“She’s Rebecca’s age, Dad. And the homes are awful.”
It’s a long time before he answers. “Okay. But only for the girl’s sake, and yours, Talia.”
I lean back on my pillows. My heart flips at the idea of Galen’s visits. And our beautiful flat wouldn’t seem hollow anymore, filled with Tig’s laughter.
“Shake on it,” I say.
“What?” Galen asks.
“You heard me.”
Dad and Galen look at each other. To my surprise, it’s Dad who reaches out first, across my bed. Galen hesitates, then puts his arm out, and his palm hits Dad’s. A little too hard. But they shake. I stare at their interlocked hands.
It’ll take a lot to make this work, but they’ll come to respect each other.
Probably.
Galen was right. There’s so much to be done — in the Barbican and everywhere else. I have to get people to listen, to open their minds. To change.
But if I can get my father and Galen to shake hands, I can do anything.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
So many people helped me at different times, and I’m sure I’ve forgotten some people I should be thanking. So I’ll start off by apologizing to them. Sorry. I should have kept a proper list all along, but I wasn’t sure this day would come.
Special thanks to the following people.
Barry Jowett & the amazing team at DCB/Cormorant for making this book real, for their enthusiasm, editing, a wonderful cover, promotion, all of it. It’s a lot of work to get a book out, and I really appreciate them taking a chance on my story.
My teachers. Especially Ibi Kaslik, Elizabeth Ruth, Rob Weston and Anne Lauren Carter.
My fellow Kidcritters for the constant support, advice and crits. You made rewriting fun, and improved this book immeasurably. Particular thanks to Valerie Sherrard. This book would not be here without your help.
The wonderful Beta readers of my writing: Pier Van Tijn, Lena Coakley, Jo Hope, Tanis Rideout and my Mum for their time and helpful feedback.
Rebecca Swift and The Literary Consultancy in the UK, who championed my writing by featuring me in their showcase, trying to get me an agent, and short-listing me for their Pen Factor competition. They also gave me great feedback on my work.
CANSCAIP, who have been a great source of inspiration, particularly the Packaging Your Imagination conference each year. Jacqueline Guest gave me excellent advice and plenty of encouragement in her role as the CANSCAIP Writer in Residence. The monthly meetings have been a lovely opportunity to mingle with authors and emerging writers. Seeing other people get published around me made it all seem possible.
The Blairs — my wonderful in-laws, for their kindness and support in everything.
My mum, who encouraged my writing from a very early age, and my father and my sister, who were all subjected to countless drafts of my work long before I had anything readable. Jo, Mum and Dad, I am sorry for all the terrible writing I put you through.
My final thanks must go to my fantastic husband, Matt. Without his help, I’d have no time to write, or wonderful children to distract me from it.
