She glances away from Keats, looking back to Gene. Her gaze searches his face, for what? For some kind of reassurance. For something she's wanted from him for a long time, but he's never been able to give. He wouldn't trick her, not now. Not after all this.
‘Here, Alex.’
Keats reaches inside the buttoned-up neck of his coat, and pulls something free. He holds it out, dangles it in the air like the proverbial carrot. Gene can barely watch.
It's a scarf. A charcoal and red striped scarf, part of a school uniform. 'It's Molly's.' She takes it from him, and buries her nose in the wool, and yes, the scent of her little girl is unmistakable. 'It's hers!' She looks at Gene, again, wondering how this could be possible.
‘She’s waiting for you. I can take you to her, Alex!’
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‘Here, Alex.’
Keats reaches inside the buttoned-up neck of his coat, and pulls something free. He holds it out, dangles it in the air like the proverbial carrot. Gene can barely watch.
It's a scarf. A charcoal and red striped scarf, part of a school uniform. 'It's Molly's.' She takes it from him, and buries her nose in the wool, and yes, the scent of her little girl is unmistakable. 'It's hers!' She looks at Gene, again, wondering how this could be possible.
‘She’s waiting for you. I can take you to her, Alex!’