Chapter 22
We've got shit to be doing
Paddy
The urge to call Morgan and see how she is, is burning hotter than a flame inside me. I want to know how she got on after our driving lesson. I want to know if she got the bus okay, considering she hasn’t had to catch one for the past eight weeks. More than anything, I just want to hear her voice.
Am I obsessed?
Probably.
Do I care?
Not one fucking bit.
I’ve fallen. And I’m man enough to admit that I’ve fallen hard.
But I’m not sure I can tell anyone, let alone the one person who probably should know.
Because, and fuck if I can explain it, but I’m not what she needs right now.
I’m not enough. Who knows, one day I might be.
The more time I spend with her, the more I understand the fragility of our situation, and the harder it gets.
I tap my phone, checking if she replied to my text.
She hasn’t.
So, I reread my text to her.
You are perfect at it already
Maybe me telling her she’s perfect was too much. I knew what I was doing when I sent her that text. Knew exactly how she would read it. Is that wrong of me?
Pops reckons I shouldn’t let myself fall in love with her.
News flash, old man, it’s too fucking late.
One thing’s for sure, though, and that’s heartbreak is coming this way.
For her and for me. Because until Morgan knows the truth, she can’t ever be mine.
And if she was, I’m not sure how long we’d have together.
Hearing Jake’s wife, Catherine, ask me a question, I look up, not actually registering what she’s saying. Her lips are moving, but my mind’s still thinking about the girl who I had pressed against me this morning before our dog walk.
“Does that make sense?”
I shake the thought of Morgan out of my head. “Yeah. I think so.”
Catherine, who agreed to meet me at such sort notice, watches me with hopeful eyes.
“Making sure those around the situation know how to handle it is the right call. If she has work friends you can reach out to, I think it will help.” She waits for me to acknowledge her words of praise.
“I know what I’ve told you today isn’t exactly what you want to hear, but with time, you’ll see it’s the right thing for you. ”
Yeah. I hear her. Doesn’t mean I have to like what she’s saying. “Right.”
Packing up her things, Catherine stands from the table. “You have our number. You can call me anytime.”
I give her a smile and nod. “Thanks. Appreciate it.” I stand and rub a hand over my weary face.
Catherine’s the best psychologist I know. During my sessions with my councillor as part of the return-to-work process, I’ve reached out to her a few times, just to get some additional help with everything going on.
She closes her briefcase. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Paddy. You may have found a great clinic, but this isn’t all on you to fix.”
Turning my gaze to the ground, I can’t help but feel a familiar tension creep to the back of my neck. “Then why does it feel like it is?”
I catch her small smile. “Because you care.” And with that, Catherine gives me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before walking away.
“Hand me that.” Pops points to one of his tools sitting on top of his toolbox.
I hand it over.
“Not that one. The other one, there.”
I place what’s in my hands down before picking up what he’s after.
“For crying out loud, son.” He blows out a huge breath of air. “You’ve been helping me for weeks now. Have you learned nothing?”
I’m only helping, big man, I think to myself. “I don’t need to learn this.”
Walking to me, he asks, “Then why have you been loitering all this time?”
I balk, offended. “Can’t a son want to hang out with his old man?”
He barks out a laugh, throwing his head back. “Ha. That’ll be the bloody day.”
Bastard.
“I mean it,” I say, tossing the tool down. “I’ve changed.”
His expression turns serious, wiping his hands on an old rag. “I know,” he says laughing. “And for the better, I might add.”
I give him a stern nod, glad that he agrees.
“But that still doesn’t mean you want to hang out with your old man just for the sake of it.”
“I do,” I counter, throwing my arms up. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Straightening his spine, he checks my expression, pausing before scratching his cheek. “Maybe you’re waiting around here because you want me to tell you what to do?”
I go to give him some snarky response but bite my tongue.
He notices, grinning at me. “That’s what I thought.”
“Alright then, so maybe I need some guidance from someone more adultier than me.”
He bats a hand, waving me off with a mocking laugh. “I don’t think that’s a word, son.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Aye. And I’m afraid I don’t have the answers you want to hear.”
Our gazes lock. “What does that mean?” I ask him, my tone turning sullen.
He stares at me. “It means that, whenever you’ve wanted something, you’ve gone out of your way to get it.”
My eyes dart away before going straight back to him.
“Didn’t matter if your mother and I said no. You wanted it. You made sure you got it. My only fear here, Paddy, lad, is your need to have the girl can’t outweigh her needs.”
My head drops. And fuck me if my eyes don’t begin to sting.
“Maybe the best thing to do is let her go?”
My jaw clenches. “I can’t do that.” My response is certain.
Pops nods and dips his head. “Then I think you should put the kettle on.”
“How’s that going to help me?”
“It won’t. But I’m going to need a brew if I’m going to help you figure this out.”
“Wouldn’t the bottle you keep hidden in the kitchen be better?”
Checking my expression, Pops says, “Alright.” He takes a hesitant step before he turns and reaches to the top shelf in his garage. “But then your mother will see, and she’ll only bollock me for not thinking about my heart.” He pulls down a fresh bottle of Jack.
I point a finger to it as Pops unscrews the top. “It’s not your heart you need to worry about.” I pat my belly, alluding to the fact that Pops has gained some weight in the years I’ve been away.
“You little bastard. Do you want a tipple or not?”
What I really want is a skin full, but one will do. “Yeah,” I tell him, stepping closer.
He pours two mugs that just happen to be on the side. Handy.
“And this is a regular thing for you?” I ask, accepting the mug he passes me.
“Only when I can’t bear things in there.” He points to the house.
I follow his trained finger. “Is that often?”
Pops slowly swallows, eyes dragging up, finding me. “Never, son.” He lets out a sigh.
My eyes scrunch. “Then why’d you have the bottle in here?”
“Been saving it for when you got home.”
My mouth opens, but what the hell am I supposed to say to that? “I’m sorry,” is what I come up with before taking another swig.
“Don’t be. It’s been ages since I did this. Last time was when you were going through your gay phase.”
I choke on my drink, thrown so far off kilter I’m certain there must be an earthquake underneath me. “My what?”
He looks at me all wide-eyed. “Your gay phase, son. Your mother told me all about it.”
I stand motionless, eyes bulged and lips parted.
“When you wanted to meet up with men. You know? You put your number in the bus stop.”
He’s deadly serious.
Fucking Fi and that stupid prank. “I beg of you, Pops. Stop talking.”
“What? There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”
My God. I slap a hand to my head. “I know. Jesus, is that why you wanted to send me to military school? Because you’re so okay with it.”
“No.” He casually sips from his mug. “That was for your own protection. You never know who could have called you. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
Bewildered with my sanity shattering, I finish my mug with a hiss, the burn tracking its way down, making my throat burn. “Well, just to be clear, that wasn’t me. I’m as straight as they come. I’ve never wanted to give oral sex to men or have it in return for that matter.”
His lips roll in on each other in a look of surprise. “You really should—”
“That’s not what I mean,” I say exasperated. Lord, fucking help me. “Give me another, will you?” I hold out my mug.
Pops grins. “Okay. But this is the last one. We’ve got shit to be doing.”
The buzz from doing shots on an empty stomach was enough for me to grab some lunch up at the house, and for Pops to go take a nap. An hour later, fully satisfied after my not essential, but delicious full English bap, Pops is still sleeping, and I’m leisurely making my way back down to the yard.
My phone rings.
I pull it out of my pocket, still walking. “Hello?”
“Paddy.”
My feet falter. “Alright, Tom?”
“I have good news,” he comes right out and says.
I hold my breath, eyes fixed straight ahead.
“Your job’s waiting for you when you’re ready to come back.”
I breathe out a sigh of relief, eyes closing. “Jesus, that’s great news.” My free hand runs through my hair.
He chuckles. “I thought so too.”
Opening my eyes, I look back at the house, wanting to go and tell somebody. “And the reduced hours?”
“All agreed. I’ll fire you over an email with everything outlined. When you’re ready, come in and see me, or drop me a message and we can go for a drink, go through everything.”
“I will.”
“Alright then, mate. Take it easy.”
Hanging up, I slip my phone in my pocket before rubbing my face with both hands, a huge weight lifting off my shoulders, making me feel light.
Morgan was right, today’s a good day.
Rather than disturb him, a renewed sense of purpose has me spinning on my heels, deciding to handle work for Pops on my own.
Mr Danford’s car is ready for him to collect, and I can check what’s booked in for tomorrow. My old man has to be the least organised individual known to walk the earth. If it wasn’t for Mum helping him out, I doubt this place would have stayed open for as long as it has.