Chapter 41
Eve
‘Is she comfortable, do you think?’ I crane my neck to look into Old Sausage’s crate. I’ve put her next to me at the four-person table seat we’ve managed to bag on the train. Adam is sitting opposite me, and our feet keep touching.
He leans forward. I can see a few tiny flecks of grey in the curly hair above his ears. ‘She’s fast asleep.’
I smile. He said ‘she’ again, but I don’t want to push the point.
I look out of the window. The train from Manchester Piccadilly to Windermere takes two hours, and we’re only just pulling out of the station.
‘What time’s the last train home again?’ Adam asks.
‘Ten to ten,’ I say. ‘If we get there for eight thirty, that gives us about an hour to find her house.’
Adam nods.
I still don’t know if bringing Adam with me was a good idea. After he found me the other day, I swore I’d never see him again. When Old Sausage came through my back door again, her ribs showing and her eyes crusty, I decided I had to take her to the vet straight away, and when the microchip said she was from Windermere, I planned to go alone. But something pulled me to his house, past the shame and the awkwardness. A sense of loyalty to our shared quest. He hasn’t mentioned what he saw.
When he doesn’t think I’m looking, he frowns, looking off into the distance. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, taking in his dark eyebrows and strong nose. Every so often the smell of him drifts across the table, and I bite my lip.
Suddenly, he looks at me, catching me staring. I flick my eyes away.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks.
‘I’m fine.’ I look anywhere but at him. ‘Why?’
‘The other day . . .’
My pulse quickens a little. I shouted at him. ‘I’m sorry. Can we not talk about it? I shouldn’t have shouted, but can we leave it?’
‘Sure.’ He gazes out of the window. The train rattles along, and at some point we enter a tunnel. I narrow my eyes to see through the reflection of the train lights on the glass, and I catch him looking at me. This time, he’s the one who turns away.
‘How’s your brother?’ I break the silence, raising my voice over the noise of the train thundering through the dark.
His face breaks into a grin. ‘He’s good. Getting there. Thanks for asking.’
‘I’m glad.’ I smile. ‘Sorry, I don’t know much about you, really, do I?’
He looks at me steadily. ‘I think you know more than I know about you.’
My stomach jumps. ‘Probably.’
He leans his elbow on the ledge of the window and props his head up with his hand. His fingers disappear into his hair. ‘Go on, tell me something.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like... who you are, where you come from, all that jazz.’
‘Well, I’m Eve,’ I start, stupidly. ‘I’m from Manchester, born and raised. My parents still lived there up until a year or so ago. They emigrated to Spain.’
Something like pain flashes across Adam’s eyes, but before I can be sure, it’s gone. ‘That must be nice for them. Have you visited?’
‘No.’ I look outside again. We’ve emerged into the dusk. ‘I don’t really have the time.’
I can feel him watching me. ‘What else? Friends? Hobbies?’
‘I have two best friends, really,’ I say. Used to be three, now perhaps just one, if that, I think. ‘Will, he’s married with a newborn, and Jess, who’s a chaotic spiritual healer and one of the most brilliant people on the planet.’
He smiles.
‘What about you?’ I ask, as an afterthought. My self-centredness is becoming obvious to me now, and it’s embarrassing when I catch myself.
‘Tight group of four. We’ve known each other all our lives.’ He looks happy when he talks about his friends, and I listen as he gives me their names and describes what they’re like. ‘They’re really supportive with Hugh, as well. That’s my brother.’
I smile. ‘That’s brilliant.’
‘Yeah.’ The conversation ends there, and I watch carefully as his face drops again, that frown reappearing.
‘Tickets, please.’ A conductor looms over us, and we show our phones. He scans them, and then moves on. I drum my fingers on the tabletop.
‘Are you alright?’ I ask, eventually. ‘Sorry, I don’t want to pry. You just look a bit... worried.’
Adam sighs. ‘Sorry. Just before you arrived I got a letter from my ex’s solicitor. She wants to put the house on the market.’
‘Shit.’ Is he moving?
‘Yeah. And also, the dad of a kid I was tutoring into university has just pulled him out of his exams because they haven’t got enough money. So that sucks, too.’
His openness makes me feel suddenly comfortable, at ease. ‘I thought A Levels were free?’
‘He’s only fifteen.’ He smiles at the look on my face. ‘Gifted.’
‘Wow.’
I can feel my brain firing up, and I try to resist it. What was it that Will said to me? This isn’t another one of your tick- box problems to solve. I can’t treat life like a series of obstacles to be overcome. As I’m pondering, my mind is already drafting solutions, actions, plans. I try to bite my tongue, but fail.
‘What about a fundraiser?’
‘What?’ Adam has gone back to looking out of the window. I didn’t realise how long I’d let the silence hang.
‘A fundraiser. Drum up some money for his exams.’
He frowns. ‘I’m not sure his dad would like that.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s very adamant about not accepting charity. Okie — that’s the kid — gets some financial support from the council, but that’s about as far as it goes I think.’ I must look confused, because he continues. ‘He has autism.’
My brain ticks over again. I jiggle my leg. I want to pace, but Old Sausage is blocking my way to the aisle. Something more acceptable, something quiet, with no fanfare... ‘Charity grants,’ I say.
This time, he seemed ready for my input. I could feel him studying me as I thought. ‘Charity grants,’ he repeats.
‘Contact local autism charities. See if there’s any finance available for education, or even career development. It wouldn’t be charity in the sense of publicly asking for donations — just applying for something that he might already be entitled to.’
Something lights up in his eyes, and something else clicks into my mind. He has the motivation, and I have the solutions. He’s got the heart, I’ve got the brain. I’m not sure how that makes me feel.
‘That’s not a bad idea.’
I raise an eyebrow at him. ‘I know it’s not. I don’t have bad ideas.’ He laughs.
We sit in silence until the train pulls into Windermere station, my mind forming plans as Adam looks out over the landscape, his frown a little smaller. As I think, I absentmindedly take him in — a fine layer of dark hair covers his forearms, and his hands are large and slender, his fingernails short and round. He wears a white t-shirt again, and through it I can faintly see a smattering of chest hair. His arms are toned, but not huge. He’s not my type.
We stand up together, and Adam reaches over to take the crate so I can pass. I step forward as he lifts it, and his arm brushes against my ribs. His eyes lock onto mine.
‘Let’s go,’ he says.