sparks

29 - London

***

We're met at the small disclosed end of some airport by Trevor, who waits for George on the runway itself.

I stand back as George steps down the stairs, and accepts Trevors oustretched arms waiting for the hug. I can see them talking, but I remain stood back.

After a minute or two, Trevors eyes raise to me, a few metres away. George stays stood with his back to me, staring out across the sunny runway.

"Dream?" he questions, making sure he's gotten my name right. The italian in his accent is still as prominent as ever.

"Yeah, Dream" I nod. "It's nice to see you again."

He walks from George over to me, and lifts an arm up to squeeze my shoulder. "I'm sorry it is under such grave circumstances" he says quietly, "how are you holding up?"

He addresses me like I'm another one of Audreys sons, like I've known her all my life. Like we're old time friends. He treats me like he's treating George.

"Still a little shocked" I answer. I never know how to answer questions like that. I didn't know when my own mom died, and I still don't know now. "I can hardly believe it. How are you?"

He loosens his hand on my shoulder, and instead reaches for his back pocket, taking out a cigarette.

I watch him light it, I watch him move around to stand beside me as I lean against the stair pole thats pressed up against the jet.

Smoke floats through the air, but once it gets high enough, the wind whips it away. The sun is blistering, but the cold is desperate.

Classic January.

"I'm devastated" he answers finally. "I had known Audrey ever since I became Franks assistant fourty odd years ago. She was one of the best women I've ever known."

***

Georges house.

It's where he wants to stay, and it's where we're staying. He had told me he'd be more then willing to book me into a hotel if I didn't want to encounter his father, but I wasn't about to leave him alone with that one.

We drive with Trevor, in the same car we'd drove to the Rome house in. George lives in Westminster, which from what I've seen, is expensive.

His house is victorian, the inside interior is gothic victorian, and I'm afraid to touch anything.

I'm afraid to even walk around, I follow behind George as he leads me down polished wooden floors, past big brown carved doors, hanging paintings and so many other sorts of things.

Everything looks so, rich.

Our shoes squeak a little as we move down yet another hallway. Trevor stops when we reach the bottom of a large, curled carpeted staircase. Then George pauses, so I do, too.

"Is he home?" George asks.

"He will be, soon" Trevor answers. "Would you like me to stay?"

George shakes his head, with a small, brief smile. There are men who have caught up behind us now, placing Georges suitcase and my duffel on the floor as they wait for what they're instructed to do with them.

"Upstairs" Trevor nods at them. They both move by us, and walk silently up the stairs. "Are you sure, George?"

"Yeah, it'll be okay" George coughs, nodding, and diverting his glance. I see his fingers shuffling.

"If you are sure, George" he says, after a short second. "I won't be far, only in town. Your clothes will be here for tomorrow morning, there is no dinner arrangements for tonight, but if you want food dropped in, I can have that done."