Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
JACKO
The raisins are sticky. One of them is slightly squashed. But I take them like she’s offering me the crown jewels.
“Cheers, Lila,” I say, voice soft. “Appreciate it.”
Lila beams up at me, all dimples and chaos. “Mr Bear, you need raisins. Raisins are good for you.”
She pronounces it like waisins, and I nearly melt into the floor.
I glance over at Maya, who looks like she might melt too, though for a different reason. Her shoulders are still tense, jaw tight, eyes flickering to the door every few seconds. I want to scoop the worry right out of her and tuck it away. But I don’t know how.
Instead, I crouch so I’m eye-level with Lila. “You’re not wrong, sweetheart. Waisins are excellent. Want to know a secret?”
She nods eagerly, curls bouncing. Maya shifts closer, arms crossed like a shield.
“I like waisins better when they’re in biscuits,” I say in a stage whisper. “Oat and raisin. Proper good.”
Lila gasps. “Mummy makes those! She’s the best at biscuits!”
“I know she is. Best baker in all of the country.”
Maya lets out a breath that isn’t quite a laugh. It’s something between exasperation and relief. I stand slowly, careful with my shoulder. Still stiff. Still aches. But nothing like it did.
She catches me watching her and says, “Thanks. For… being here.”
“Anytime,” I reply, and I mean it.
Maya’s posture stays rigid.
“You okay?” I ask gently.
“Fine. Just tired.”
Liar, I think. But I let it go.
Not because I believe her. Because I know asking again won’t work.
Later that night, I end up at Ollie’s flat. His sofa’s knackered and sags like it’s giving up on life. I’m slouched into it with a beer and my shoulder wrapped in a heat pack. Ollie’s next to me, eating crisps like they’ve insulted his mum.
“So, Maya then,” he says, mouth full. “The little one called you Mr Bear?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s disgustingly adorable. You’re doomed.”
I grunt. “She gave me two raisins. From her pocket.”
“Sticky raisins are legally binding. That’s child law.”
I snort. “She said they were good for me.”
“She’s right. Kids know. Lila sounds like a bloody genius.”
“She is,” I say without thinking. Then I pause, realising how easily that slipped out.
Ollie notices too and raises an eyebrow. “You’re in it, then.”
“Not in it. Just…” I trail off, unsure what this is. What I want it to be.
“You like her,” he says. “Proper like her.”
“Yeah.”
“But you’re not making a move. Why?”
I sip my beer. “She’s got her hands full.”
“That’s not a reason, mate. That’s an excuse. Is it her ex? The one that’s not around?”
“Maybe. I dunno. She’s scared. I can see it in the way she flinches at loud noises. The way she tracks the street like something might jump out at her.”
He goes quiet at that and reaches for another handful of crisps.
“You think it’s something big?” he asks eventually.
“Feels like it. Something she’s not saying.” I run a thumb over the bottle label. “Like there’s a part of her locked behind a door and she’s scared to hand anyone the key.”
“Could be something legal. Or custody stuff?” Ollie hazards.
I nod. “Could be.” But deep down, I think it’s worse than that.
“You worried it’s a dealbreaker?” he asks.
“No,” I say instantly. “I’m worried it’s something that’s hurting her. And she’s still trying to carry it alone.”
There’s a pause. On the telly, Attenborough says something poetic about the patience of seals. Ollie’s staring at the screen but not watching it.
“You ever think,” he says slowly, “that you get drawn to people who need fixing?”
I shoot him a look. “You saying she’s broken?”
“Nah, not what I meant.” He shifts, suddenly serious. “I meant you don’t always let people carry you. You’re always the strong one. The safe one.”
I glance down. Picking at the label again.
“I don’t want to fix her,” I say quietly. “I just want her to know she doesn’t have to be scared with me.”
Ollie doesn’t reply right away. Then he exhales sharply and nods. “She’s lucky to have you. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.”
“I’m not sure she’d agree.”
He eyes me. “That kid does. Lila. She called you Mr Bear, mate. That means something. Kids don’t lie about people. They feel it in their guts.”
I think about that. About Lila’s sticky little hand offering me raisins and trust. About Maya’s trembling fingers when the childminder was late.
“She was terrified something had happened,” I murmur. “She didn’t say it, but I could feel it.”
“Yeah,” Ollie says. “That kind of fear doesn’t come outta nowhere.”
We sit in silence for a bit, the comfortable kind. Two oversized idiots with beers and bruises, saying more in what we don’t say.
Then Ollie clears his throat. “You gonna tell her you like her?”
“Not yet,” I admit. “She’s not ready. And I’m not sure I know the whole picture.”
“You’re scared too,” he says, grinning. “Soft bastard.”
“Takes one to know one.”
He bumps my knee with his. “Just promise me something.”
“What?”
“If she does let you in, don’t mess it up.”
“I won’t.”
I think of her eyes, shadowed with something she hasn’t said out loud. The way she thanks me like it hurts to do it. The way she stands between her daughter and the world like a soldier.
I won’t mess it up. Because this isn’t just about fancying someone. This feels like something deeper. Something fragile and fierce.
Like love, but still unnamed. Like a promise I haven’t made yet but already mean.
And I know, I know, I’m not just falling for Maya.
I’m falling for both of them.
Sticky raisins and all.