He jerked away from her, causing her hand to fly up, and she took a stumbling step backward, staring at him in surprise even though she supposed, considering his actions today, she shouldn’t be.

“Zac,” she said again, trying to keep her voice even, “this can’t go on.”

He rolled his eyes. “So, go.”

“Go?” She stared at him in confusion. “I’m not going.”

“I don’t care if you do.”

The snarl sounded genuine, but Laurel reminded herself of the uncertainty that surely had to lie beneath it. “I know that,” she said as patiently as she could. “Trust me, but that’s not the answer here. I’m trying to help...”

“Whatever.”

Deep breath. Reminder that Zac had a right to be angry, and she was big enough not to take it personally. “Look,” she said, trying to sound both friendly and practical, “we have nearly three more weeks before your mum comes home, and I don’t want to struggle through them all, especially at Christmas—”

“I don’t care about Christmas.”

Which made her feel sad, because Laurel loved Christmas. And York was magical at Christmas, with the lights strung through the narrow, medieval streets, the Christmas fairs and markets, the big, bushy tree she got every year and the homemade decorations...for a second, Laurel considered going back to York. She had a spare bedroom; she and Zac could stay there until Abby returned. But even as she thought about it, she knew it wouldn’t work.

Her house was absolutely tiny and crammed with precious junk; Zac would knock into things every time he turned around. In any case, the problems she was facing with Zac would be just as present in York as they were in London—the hostility, his phone, the feeling that she couldn’t do anything right.

Yet she meant what she said. This couldn’t go on. She couldn’t let it. Something had to change.

“Look, I’m sorry I got excluded, okay?” Zac said, surprising her. “I hated that snobby school anyway. But don’t worry, I’ll stay out of your way.” His lip curled in a sneer as he raised his eyebrows. “So it’s cool, right?”

“No, it’s not cool. And that’s not what I meant.” She stared at him in growing frustration. “Can’t we please just...” Get along? She swallowed down the words, knowing they weren’t the right ones. Unfortunately, she had no idea which ones were. “I want things to be better,” she said a bit desperately, and Zac just rolled his eyes. Again.

Laurel watched him saunter to his room and slam the door, feeling completely powerless as well as out of her depth. Three more weeks. But Christmas...

She thought about ringing her dad up in Yorkshire, maybe even going up there for a visit, but she knew that wouldn’t work either. Her father had retired from the police force five years ago, and he took a dim view of any kind of misbehaviour, especially surly boys he’d class as juvenile delinquents.

Besides, he hadn’t spoken to Abby since before Zac’s birth, and he’d never even met his grandson, something Laurel didn’t understand but had accepted as just the way it—and he—was. Tom West was an old-school kind of father; he’d never been hands-on, never said much at all, but she’d always known he loved her. Still, Laurel didn’t think now was the time for a family reunion.