Summary: "It is dangerous to confuse children with angels." - David Fyfe
Author's Notes: I've been writing this for two years and finally have a first chapter I like. Please be constructive with your criticism - I know it's not perfect, and needs to improve, so tell me what you like and don't like. Thanks ahead of time! Enjoy!
It was the first time anything exciting happened in Jacoby, and Roger Cleary was late.
The Cleary's were always late, actually, it was a time honored (pardon the pun) tradition. They would be almost ready to leave when Roger's mother would call down from upstairs, "I hate my hair!" and Roger would sink into one of their ratty old sofas and know they were doomed to tardiness. His little brother, Henry, who was eight and, being such, obnoxious, would then pester Ginger Cleary through the bathroom door until she came out, more-so to shut Henry up than out of satisfaction for her own appearance.
Roger, who could create a satellite out of the junk in his garage and launch it into orbit, admittedly didn't understand women, and therefore didn't understand his mother's need for physical beauty. Ginger Cleary had been rather pretty once, but after taking care of two boys on her own for six years in a small, dilapidated house, she had grown worn and tired, with wrinkles on her forehead and dark circles under her eyes. Still, Roger thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world and, because he was prone to telling any female anything that would make them smile, he told her so. Mrs. Cleary did smile, and grabbed her coat, and they were off, although still definitely late.
As they walked down the street (no one drove in Jacoby), Henry fiddled with his tie and moaned that it was choking him. Roger rolled his eyes, pushed his brother's hand away from his neck, and quickened his pace. There was rarely a need for dressing up in their small town, and Henry wasn't used to it. Roger rather liked it – he had been told he cleaned up quite well, although he was getting a little too tall for his dress pants.
"Your socks are showing a bit," said his mother in the tense voice she got when she was reminded of what little funds were at her disposal. "You'll need new ones soon."
"Only in a couple years, Mom," Roger assured her, and grinned sideways at her. "Or a couple inches, whichever comes first."
Mrs. Cleary smiled wearily and grabbed Henry's hand to keep him from tugging off the buttons on his sleeve. "At this rate it'll be the inches. You're getting almost as tall as your father."
Roger's usually jovial face darkened for a split second before he could force it back into cheerfulness. His father, Arthur Cleary, had died six years ago in a car accident, and Roger didn't like to think about him. Unfortunately, Mrs. Cleary loved to talk about her husband, especially around Henry, who was not really old enough to remember him. Roger let her have her memories, but couldn't help but get abnormally silent when they were mentioned.
It didn't help that both Roger and Henry looked remarkably like their father, especially when they smiled. They both had hair so light blond that it was almost white and unnaturally pale blue eyes that looked almost as though they were blind. Roger had fuller lips than Henry, and Henry had a pointed nose and freckles, but other than that, put an eight-year-old Roger next to Henry, and one would be hard pressed to tell them apart. Roger hated looking in the mirror every day and being reminded of his father's smile, his father's eyes, his father's everything, not that there was very much he could do about it. For that reason, Roger generally avoided mirrors.
The only thing physically that Roger had received from his mother were his hands – worn, strong, sturdy hands, hands that had seen work and weren't afraid of facing more. Roger had played with the veins and bones of his mother's hand from his perch on her lap when he was young, and she, being a nurse, would whisper to him as he touched, "Those are my metacarpals… those are my phalanges…"
Roger had memorized his mother's hands, and so he knew that his were the same, and he was proud.
"Look, Mama! It's all lit up!" Henry exclaimed, pointing to the old Llewellyn House that had just come into view. The house had always been there on that wooded hill, overlooking the town, always more benign than menacing. Leo had always said it looked like it was keeping watch over the town, a personification that Roger scoffed at. He was never one for poeticism.
The house had always been empty, until a week ago when a moving crew had been spotted importing furniture into its door. That was when a new young face had been spotted about town, shopping at the old Berry grocery store for holiday supplies (it was only a month until Christmas). The man, whom Roger had yet to meet, had introduced himself as Mr. Gabriel Llewellyn, great-great-however-many-greats-grandson of the original builder of the house. Soon after their arrival, every resident of Jacoby had been mailed an invitation to a Winter Solstice Party (formal attire only).
Of course, no one would miss this party, the Llewellyn family being something of a town legend after the only son had run away with his new wife sometime in the early 1900s. Even Roger, who was not really one for legends, appreciated the significance of the reemergence of the Llewellyn heir to the town history, and besides, he was rather excited to see his supposedly radiant young wife.
The house was now covered in elegant white Christmas lights on all the trim, and a warm, welcoming light was emitted from the doorway every time one of the ever arriving guests was admitted. Roger could vaguely make out the shapes of people in the windows and as they drew closer to the foot of the driveway, more late comers could be seen climbing the hill. The Cleary's joined them in their trek, Henry jabbering happily about the "pretty Christmas lights," Mrs. Cleary listening politely, and Roger rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth. Roger liked the brisk cool winter air, but still longed for the warmth that was sure to be in the Llewellyn House.
Soon they reached the top of the hill and climbed onto the wrap-around porch to ring the doorbell. Roger let Henry do it, as the boy was practically hopping in anticipation. In a swift moment, the door was swung open by a man Roger had never seen before.
The man was tall with broad shoulders but and oddly sleek build. His hair was various shades of red and brown mixed into an almost hypnotizing blend, like the highlights of a fire. His eyes were warm cherry brown and flickered with happiness at their arrival, as if overjoyed to find more guests at his door. He had an almost genderless face – being both feminine with a slender nose and plump lips and masculine with a proud jaw and depth behind his eyes. He looked both old and young at the same time, like an eternal child, and as his eyes passed over the three awaiting guests, they lingered upon Roger, who felt, for an unknown reason, as if he knew this man.
"Good evening!" the man said, ushering them inside. "Please, come out of the cold, you'll catch your death. My name is Mr. Gabriel Llewellyn. Welcome, I'm so glad you could come."
Mrs. Cleary made her introductions and Roger watched Mr. Llewellyn with interest. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, but the man was strange. It was in the way he looked and the cordial way he spoke and Roger was impressed by him for a reason he didn't understand. He was a man of in consistencies. Mr. Llewellyn knelt down next to Henry and shook his hand as if the boy was all grown up, and then immediately reached into the pocket of his white suit jacket and handed him a candy.
"I believe your friends are in the conservatory, just two rooms down," Roger heard Mr. Llewellyn whisper to his brother. "They're playing jungle, last I checked."
Henry grinned up at Mrs. Cleary for permission. She nodded and managed to wrangle him out of his coat before he rushed off in the direction Mr. Llewellyn had pointed. Roger couldn't help but be pleased with Mr. Llewellyn's manner towards his brother. Even if Roger was annoyed by him most of the time, everyone else was supposed to be nice to him.
"Your home is lovely, Mr. Llewellyn," Mrs. Cleary said politely, causing Roger to look around him, his thought having previously been encompassed by the oddity that was Mr. Llewellyn. They stood in a simple, elegant entryway with a wood floor and white walls, with a staircase at the opposite end. It was a rather large room that was currently filled with residents of Jacoby. There were large vases of white lilies on little wooden tables in each corner of the room and by the doorways, and old Renaissance style paintings on the walls. The banister of the staircase was trimmed with holly and there were other assorted winter decorations throughout the room. There was a small loveseat in one of the corners, upholstered in an elegant black velvet-like material. Roger felt much like he was in the lobby of a very fancy hotel.
"Thank you, but I'm afraid I've nothing to do with it," Mr. Llewellyn said humbly. "It's my wife who has an eye for these things. And please, call me Gabriel. Would you like me to take your coats, Mrs. Cleary?"
"I'll take them myself, thanks," said Roger's mother, ever the independent. She took Roger's coat, leaving him in a brown suit jacket and white button-down shirt and told him to watch for Henry making trouble, if he could. She worked her way through the mingling people to find where the coats were being placed.
"I could have at least told her where to go," Mr. Llewellyn said, staring after her in mild astonishment.
Roger grinned. "It's okay. Trust me. Mom hates parties, and at least this gives her something to do."
Mr. Llewellyn's face clouded over a bit. "She hates parties? Oh, dear… well, I'm afraid she won't have much fun tonight, will she?"
"Seeing as this is a party, probably not," Roger quipped. Then, to make Mr. Llewellyn feel better, he added, "She'll be fine, though, don't worry, especially if you have those little mushroom cap things. She loves those."
"Ah, then the night shall not be a total waste," Mr. Llewellyn said with a chuckle hidden in his voice. Roger figured that was his way of laughing – he didn't really seem like one who had large displays of emotion. And he talked kind of funny. He said things like I've nothing and I'm afraid, things that weren't really archaic, but weren't terribly common either. But Roger found himself liking his composition and strange word phrases. He seemed intelligent enough, after all.
"Perhaps I could help you find some friends to speak with?" Mr. Llewellyn offered. "If anyone whose company you'd enjoy has arrived, of course."
"Oh, they've arrived," Roger assured him with a laugh. "Leo and Maggie are always early and Georgie's always right on time."
"Oh, that's right, I'd forgotten. You're one of the four inseparables I've heard so much about."
"Inseparables, sir?" Roger repeated wonderingly. He had never heard the nickname before, but he had to admit it suited them. He had known his three best friends since before they could speak. He couldn't remember a time when they weren't together, when they hadn't understood each other perfectly.
"It seems you are a bit of a mystery around Jacoby," Gabriel explained with much the same air that Roger himself often had – as if discussing a private joke that would be greatly amusing to the two involved but which no one else would be able to understand. "From what I've gathered, you all shouldn't really be friends, from the things each of you enjoy individually, but that you're rarely seen apart anyway. Your neighbors, I'm afraid, don't understand it."
Roger of course knew that people thought this, but didn't quite car. He had known Leo, Georgie, and Maggie so long that he barely noticed the differences anymore, however large they were.
But a mystery? No. A mystery needed to be explained. Their friendship warranted no explanation. They were friends. That was all. Leo, Georgie, and Maggie were the three best people Roger had ever met, and so he loved them. Where was the mystery in that?
"People in this town often make much more of things they don't understand than what there really is," Roger replied, more to himself than to Mr. Llewellyn.
His host raised his eyebrow, almost as if to say, You'd be surprised. What exactly Roger would be surprised about he never said, but what he did say was, "Well, I must go check on my other guests. I believe your friends are in the parlor by the fire, last I saw them. You'll probably meet my wife soon enough. There's all the food you want in the dining room, and dancing if you wish."
Mr. Llewellyn disappeared in the direction of the door (they had drifted rather far into the entry way as they talked) just as the doorbell rang. Roger looked after him for a moment, marveling at the coincidence, before making his way through the other guests, asking about the whereabouts of the parlor as he saw people he knew.
The parlor was carpeted with short, well-walked-over magenta material. All the furniture was covered in an elegant flower pattern and pushed to the sides of the room, to make room for dancing couples. Jazz music played from an old fashioned juke box in the corner, and a fire roared on the opposite side of the room from where Roger entered.
It was around the fire that Roger spotted Maggie sitting along the hearth demurely, her long auburn hair pulled back into a tight French braid. She wore a green velvet dress, black stockings, and black shoes which she started at happily with large green eyes. She looked up as Roger entered the room (Maggie always seemed to know when Roger was there), and gave him a small smile.
He grinned and waved and worked his way around the edge of the room towards her. He could now see Leo and Georgie standing not far from Maggie. Maggie stood as he reached them, causing Georgie and Leo to turn from the dancers they watched.
"You're late," said Leo and Roger kissed Maggie's forehead fondly.
"Lovely to see you, too, handsome." Roger stuck out his tongue slightly and Leo rolled his eyes. He wore a plain white, button-down shirt, a red tie, and black dress pants, and he held a plate piled with food. "I see you found the buffet."
"I was hungry." Leo was always hungry. It was Roger's turn to roll his eyes.
"Having a good time, Georgie?" Roger asked ironically, sitting on the heart next to where Maggie had resumed her perch. The shorter red headed boy eye Roger passively. Georgie didn't like parties, and didn't like dressing up. In fact, as soon as his mother was out of sight, he had rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt and taken off his light blue tie, which now lay under Maggie's care on the hearth. His prim mother would have had a fit if she saw him, but she was currently off mingling or some other such nonsense. Georgie didn't have to worry about her for a while.
After a moment of contemplation, Georgie shrugged. "As good as is to be expected."
Roger grinned and stretched out his long legs, leaning back against the fireplace. "What do you guys think of Mr. Llewellyn?"
Leo shrugged. "Thought he was nice. He didn't really say much to me, he was talking to my dad about planting a garden in the spring."
Leo's father was a landscape architect and almost all of the gardens in Jacoby had been originally designed by him.
"I liked him," Roger announced. Maggie smiled her agreement and patted his hand gently. Georgie watched in satisfaction – he had been worried about their shy little Maggie in this party setting, but she seemed to be enjoying the music and the atmosphere. She looked up at him contentedly and he allowed himself a small smile.
"Well, I'm glad to hear it," said a sweet voice from behind Georgie and Leo. Georgie's head snapped in the voice's direction and was greeted by the image of a young woman with a long, elegant neck and sweet pink lips done up in a visage of hospitality. Her hair, swept up into an intricate bun, was the color of golden thread, and her eyes the color of cornflowers. She wore a flowing periwinkle gown and a simple, circular blue pendant around her neck. She had a scar on her cheek, just under eye, that Georgie liked – he felt it made her look more real. Her skin was pale, and she reminded Georgie of a swan, the way she held her hands and stepped as if gliding towards them. She was possibly the most beautiful woman Georgie had ever seen.
She laughed an oddly hearty laugh for someone so graceful, though it was endearing as opposed to strange, and said, "Oh, I'm sorry for laughing. You all just looked so flustered to see me. I didn't mean to interrupt you, I'm merely doing my rounds as a hostess and overheard your conversation. I've been meaning to say hello, but have gotten distracted along the way. I'm Jocelyn, Gabriel's wife."
That makes sense, Georgie thought, seeing as I've never seen her before. Leo, being the most polite of the four, was the first to find his voice. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Llewellyn."
"Oh please. Jocelyn. I'm much too young to be Mrs. Llewellyn." She leaned in conspiratorially. "And to be honest, I'm not quite used to the name yet. I keep expecting Gabriel's mother to be right behind me when it's said."
Even Maggie, who was terrified of new people, brightened at this remark, and seemed to bloom under Jocelyn's majestic gaze.
"Well, we're pleased to meet you, Jocelyn, then," Roger remedied, testing the name with his lips and reveling in her consequent attention.
"I know who you all are, of course," Jocelyn announced, rather pleased with herself. "Gabriel and I have heard a bit about you around town. Georgie Ronan, Leo Antolini, Roger Cleary, and Maggie Haines, correct?"
Leo looked to Georgie before nodding his assent. Georgie wondered mildly how she had heard of them, but didn't really mind. He knew they were talked about.
"It's lovely to meet you four," she told them. "I hope you're having a good time."
"It's a great party," Roger assured her with his most charming of smiles.
"Wonderful." Jocelyn clasped her white, slender hands together. "Now, I'm afraid I must continue around my other guests. Can't give all my attention to a few people, you know. If you need anything…"
"We'll be fine, thank you," Leo said. She smiled almost maternally at them and continued on her way.
After a moment of staring after her, Roger managed an enchanted, "Wow."
"Yeah," Leo agreed. "Wow."
"Look!" Maggie said, pointing across the room after Jocelyn. "She and Gabriel are together."
They watched as Gabriel kissed his wife's forehead tenderly and offered her his hand. She laughed and accepted and they swayed together to a slow jazz number. They looked as if they belong together, as if they'd never been apart, king and queen of some fairy-tale story. They stared at each other as if they could see nothing else, and Georgie wasn't sure if they could even hear the music. There was something outlandish and wonderful about these two people, and placidly Georgie wondered where they came from.
"They're beautiful," Maggie breathed, and Georgie cast kind eyes down upon her. She smiled up at him. "Aren't they, Georgie?"
"Yes," he agreed, "they are."
She beamed triumphantly back at the couple as if to say, Well, Georgie agrees, I must be right. Maggie trusted Georgie completely.
"Come on, Mags," Roger declared, swiftly standing up and holding out his hand to her. "That's too romantic a scene not to put me in the mood to dance."
Maggie grinned at him and blushed and took his hand. Georgie watched with interest as he led her spinning onto the dance floor. She laughed as he danced and talked to her, and Georgie was pleased to see her so happy. He looked over to Leo, who was watching them too, and he was grinning wildly at Roger's antics and Maggie's joy. That was all any of them wanted, really, for the others to be happy.
"Excuse me, Leo?" A girl tapped Leo on his shoulder and he turned, surprised, to look at her. He recognized the girl as Iris Littleton-Sweeney. She went to the same Catholic school in Beatty, the neighboring city to Jacoby, as the four of them did. Leo eyes her suspiciously. It was well-known that though Iris and the girls she hung out with approved of Leo (after all, he was rather handsome and the star on the school's varsity swim team), they did not approve of his choosing to hang out with weirdoes like Georgie Ronan and Maggie Haines. It was especially Iris's best friend, Cornelia Tate, whom Leo didn't like, and he could see Cornelia and a few more girls giggling over Iris's shoulder, having obviously put her up to coming over.
"Yes?" Leo said, coldly but civilly. His old, Italian grandmother had taught him to never be rude until he was sure it was warranted, and even then to only be as rude as he could get away with.
Iris raised her chin proudly, although she was blushing furiously. "I was just wondering," she said with authority that was only slightly forced, "if you would like to dance. With me. Maybe."
Leo did all he could to stop his jaw from dropping. He looked to Georgie's stoic face and could tell that he was just as surprised as Leo. Georgie rather liked Iris, more than her friends, anyway. She had never been mean to Maggie like Cornelia, and never arrogant, and she seemed, to Georgie, a much stronger person than any of her frivolous friends. So Georgie nodded at Leo in a way that could encourage him. Iris's brow furrowed as she watched the exchange.
"Um… sure, Iris, I'd… love to… I think." She instantly grew more courageous and grabbed his arm to lead him out to the floor. Over his shoulder, Leo threw Georgie a shrug.
He put and arm around her waist and began to dance. His mother had taught him for a cousin's wedding – being Italian, Leo had about thirty cousins, and five siblings, and all of them needed to know how to dance. Expecting to have to make small talk (his mother had also taught him it wasn't polite to dance and not have good conversation) he began to pull out quips about the weather and the atmosphere of the party, but was halted by Iris's abruptness.
"Why do you always look to Ronan for permission about everything?" she demanded, almost angrily. Leo was caught off guard, and had to stop himself from snapping that she should mind her own business. He could get away with saying that to Roger, who understood his temper, but Iris probably would have slapped him.
"He wasn't giving me permission," Leo explained, patiently. He had never actually explained Georgie's actions to anyone before – no one had ever asked. The more he thought about it, the more he was pleased by Iris's question. Everyone just always assumed whatever they wanted about Georgie. At least Iris had wanted some real information. "He was encouraging me. Just like your friends probably encouraged you to ask me."
"Why?" Leo asked defensively. "Because they giggled while they did it?"
"No," Iris said, and then paused. "Because… well, because they… Well, I guess it's not really that different."
Leo smiled. He had never met anyone who could admit they were wrong so easily. "No, it's not."
"I guess I'm just curious about you four. Everybody is, you know. You're athletic and nice and," here Iris blushed again, "well, you know you're handsome, and Roger's smart and funny and charming, and Georgie and Maggie are just… weird."
"They're not weird to me," Leo defended.
"No," Iris agreed thoughtfully. "I guess they're not."
Meanwhile, Georgie stood next to the fire, watching his friends dance and letting his mind clear. He liked to do that from time to time. He often had so many thoughts in his head that it was hard to keep track. He would begin to get flustered and unable to make real decisions. It made him feel weak and feeble, a feeling that he had never liked. So he would watch something, like a dog walking down the street, or a snow globe, or his friends dancing, and get lost in the movement. He would think only about the things that they were doing, clear his mind of everything else, and allow the only thing in the universe to be the dog or the globe or the dance. It organized his brain and made everything easier to think about.
It was as he was doing this that his mother walked into the room from the opposite door. Charlotte Ronan was a prim looking woman with a pointed nose and haughty eyebrows. Her naturally red hair was died black like Georgie's father's, a color that she felt was much more becoming. She wore Armani and Prada and other assorted names that Georgie heard but couldn't respect and lorded her wealth over her son (and everyone else for that matter) like he was in her debt.
Georgie hated his mother. He could remember a time, in the far reaches of his memory, when he had tried to love her, but he couldn't love without respect and in that capacity, Mrs. Ronan seriously lacked.
Remembering his rolled up sleeves and lack of tie, and not really wanted an encounter with his mother, Georgie slipped out of the room and through several other rooms, to be sure his mother wouldn't find him.
He ended up in the entry way filled with people. They talked and laughed around him, all about things that didn't matter, the weather and their business and what their children wanted for Christmas. The inanity of it all made Georgie rather claustrophobic, so on a whim, he climbed the stairs when he felt no one was looking at him, and found himself in a great, empty hallway.
It was dark – guests were obviously not supposed to be up here – but Georgie could see enough to find the doorways. The first seemed to be a large bathroom, the one opposite it, a bedroom, and after that another living room of some sort. He passed them all until he found what looked like a library.
Flipping on the lights, the room was still filled with boxes and only a few of the shelves had books on them. They obviously hadn't finished unpacking. Some of the walls had tapestries and paintings on them and between the shelves there were often tables with statues or house plants and even a suit of armor. Georgie wandered over to it and stared for a moment at his silver form. He reached out to touch the sword that he knight pointed at the ground, but hesitated and decided against it. It seemed almost sacred, the suit of armor, the protection of a now dead soldier. Someday, perhaps, Georgie would be able t touch it. But not today, when there was no need.
He turned instead to the bookshelf beside it, which seemed to hold old photo albums. He strummed his fingers along their binds, picking out one to look through. The pictures were really old, black-and-white family photos. They seemed to be from the 1920s, and some of them were in bad shape. As Georgie flipped through the pages nonchalantly, one fell out onto the ground.
Georgie bent to pick it up and found himself face to face with a black-and-white picture of Gabriel and Jocelyn.
He blinked hard at it for a while, staring at the two f aces smiling up at him, telling himself that they couldn't be Jocelyn and Gabriel, though they looked remarkably alike. The woman was wearing a wedding dress and the man an old fashioned tuxedo, and they were standing in front of the very house that Georgie was now in. The man had his arm around the woman's waist, and they seemed very happy.
There's a scar on her cheek," Georgie realized. Just like the one on Jocelyn's cheek.
Georgie knew it was crazy, ludicrous even, but he knew this was a picture of Jocelyn and Gabriel Llewellyn. It was his eyes and her hair and his skin and her scar and… none of it made sense. It was obviously an old picture, but they looked exactly the same. Exactly the same. Not a day older.
"Georgie? Is that you?"
Georgie spun around. Gabriel Llewellyn stood in the doorway and didn't seem at all surprised to see him. Georgie slipped the picture into his pants pocket before Gabriel could see that he held it. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. I know I'm not supposed to be up here."
"Oh, it's all right, my boy, nothing to worry about," Gabriel said, stepping towards him. "But you should probably get down to the party now. And I suggest putting on your tie. Your mother's looking for you."
Gabriel smiled down at Georgie with a perceptive glimmer in his cherry wood eyes, and for an inexplicable reason, Georgie thought, He knows I've found it. He stilled his heart with logic, however – how could he know, for one thing, and even if he did know, it probably didn't mean anything. And if it did, wouldn't he be upset that Georgie had found it? But still, as Gabriel steered him out of the room and flicked off the light switch, Georgie couldn't shake the feeling that Gabriel Llewellyn knew more than he was letting on.
Back in the parlor, Georgie put on his tie, taking car to make it as perfect as his mother had insisted it be. The music was faster than it had been when he left. Roger and Maggie were dancing close to Leo and Iris now, and Maggie was smiling demurely as Roger spun her around, more reserved now that Iris was there. Her dress spun out around her, and her hair caught shimmers of light in it like a butterfly net. She let out a laugh as Roger stopped her abruptly and dipped her. Iris laughed out right at the surprised look on her face, and Maggie blushed.
Georgie frowned. People were not supposed to laugh at Maggie, especially when she was happy like that. It ruined her smile.
"Georgie, there you are!" Roger called, waving him over. "Come dance with Maggie. I want to go see if Flora and Fauna Kirk are here…"
Georgie mentally rolled his eyes. Roger was a bit too charming for his own good sometimes. But he reluctantly walked over and took Maggie's hand as Roger left to find the Kirk twins.
"I'm not much of a dancer," Georgie informed her matter-of-factly.
"I know," Maggie replied gently, taking his hand anyway.
"We don't care, Georgie," Leo said with a laugh. "You think Roger had a clue what he was doing?"
Seeing his friends so happy made Georgie almost smile. He took Maggie's waist strongly and danced, though he'd never done it before. He was happy, he thought, very, very happy.
He forgot about the photograph.