Chapter 45
Adam
‘How did it feel?’ she asks.
I think before answering. ‘It was... scary. Completely different. But also exciting — it’s something I’ve wanted for so long.’
She nods. ‘Me too.’
I lean across the table towards her. ‘Do it!’
‘I don’t know...’ She looks down at her hands, biting her lip.
‘What’s stopping you?’
‘I’d be... quitting. Giving up.’ She shrugs. ‘I’ve worked so hard, it almost feels like I’d be dropping out as the going gets tough.’
‘It’s not quitting.’ I shake my head. ‘It’s being your own boss. I promise you, going freelance was the best thing I’ve ever done. I don’t answer to anyone, I get to make all the decisions.’
Her eyes brighten as I speak. ‘That sounds like my idea of heaven.’
‘If you’re passionate enough about it, you’ll make it work.’
She stares out of the window. The train is nearing Manchester now, and something heavy sits in my stomach. This feels like the end of a holiday, or a first date. A return to normality, with unanswered questions. I don’t want it to end.
‘When do you go back to work?’ I ask.
She turns back to me. ‘Monday.’
‘Shall I keep Old Sausage, then? For now?’ I suddenly want her to say yes, to let me have this tiny link to our small adventure.
‘That’s probably the best way to do it.’ She smiles, and I see sadness in her eyes. ‘I’ll be in the office all day soon.’
‘You can come and visit her any time,’ I say, hoping she understands that this is an invitation, not a formality.
She stands up as the train pulls into Piccadilly, and we carry Old Sausage through the station and onto the tram. The journey feels shorter than it usually does, and before I know it, we’re walking up our street.
‘Well,’ she says, and the distanced edge has returned to her tone. ‘Thanks for... everything. Sorry it didn’t have a better outcome.’
‘I had a really nice time,’ I blurt. I have to say it — have to — I can’t bear to watch her closing off again.
‘Me too.’ She softens for a second, her eyes meeting mine. ‘Fucking Palmgroves.’
I laugh loudly. ‘I had a good sleep, though.’
‘Yeah,’ she frowns, ‘so did I. Maybe I need to invest in a gravel bed.’
‘Maybe you do.’
We stand quietly, and I take her in one last time. That fringe, those big eyes, those straight, defensive shoulders.
‘Well, here you go.’ She passes me the crate, and I take it, my thumb brushing hers. ‘I’ll see you around?’
‘I hope so.’
She goes to turn, but hesitates. ‘I mean, unless you wanted to—’
My phone beeps loudly in my pocket, a notification tone I don’t immediately recognise. ‘Oh, I must have some battery left.’ I smile at her.
Her face has closed off completely, her mouth turned down. Something has shifted: what have I said? What have I done?
‘See you.’ She turns on her heel and walks to her front door, letting herself in without looking back.
* * *
‘God.’ I pace around the room, infuriated. ‘How could I be so stupid?’
‘Mate, it’s really not the end of the world.’ Bil is lying prone on Hugh’s bed, his socked feet up against the wall. ‘You’re not even seeing each other.’
‘Plus, you don’t know if she even heard it.’ Ferg pipes up from his position on the floor. ‘She could have been thinking about something else.’
‘Oh, she heard it.’ I squirm as the memory resurfaces. ‘And she knew what it was as well.’
The tone of the notification I received when I was saying goodbye to Eve yesterday was unfamiliar to me for a reason. It was a Tryst message, from a girl I matched with weeks ago, the last time I was on the app. I also had a text from Chloe, but somehow my situation with her has paled into insignificance in comparison.
‘It’s not like you did it on purpose?’ Piotr ponders, leaning against the wardrobe. ‘Hasn’t everyone got Tryst?’
Hugh shrieks at the perfect time, and we laugh. ‘No, we know you haven’t, Hugh,’ Bil says. ‘You’ve got all the nurses here wrapped around your little finger, you don’t need it.’
‘Why don’t you just text her?’ Ferg asks. ‘Or knock on her door, see how she is?’
‘Yeah, OK.’ I nod. ‘I’ll drop her a message this evening.’
We spend the next half an hour going through Disney+, which Piotr has set up for Hugh, trying to find a film that he can get obsessed with again. As we pass Moana , Hugh shakes his head vigorously.
‘Nope, I know,’ I laugh. ‘No more Moana — it’s time for a change.’
We put Frozen on, and Hugh watches intently, while Bil and Ferg sing along mockingly to the better-known parts.
‘What’s going on with your student, then?’ Piotr asks, during one of the more boring moments in the film.
‘Okie?’ I ask, and he nods. ‘Nothing. Still nothing.’
Ferg sighs. ‘Is there really no way of getting the money together?’
‘There has to be,’ Bil urges.
‘I thought you were all for me backing off?’ I challenge.
He shakes his head and laughs. ‘You are what you are, Adam.’
‘I might contact some autism charities,’ I muse. ‘Eve suggested it.’ Saying her name gives me a thrill, like I’m fifteen again and bringing my crush up in every conversation.
Bil winks. ‘ Did she.’
‘That’s helpful of her,’ Ferg says genuinely.
‘And did you help each other in... other ways?’ Bil drawls, his eyes mischievous. ‘In Windermere?’
‘No.’ I laugh, leaning over to thump him on the arm. ‘We slept. That was it.’
‘I believe you.’ He raises his eyebrows, indicating that he really doesn’t.
Talking about her feels addictive: I want to tell them how we spoke into the darkness, how she curled her hand around mine, how we fell asleep attached to each other, holding on. But the boys are now arguing about the best way to cut a watermelon, so I can’t interject without looking obsessed.
I think that maybe I am a little bit obsessed. It’s all I can think about; remembering things she said or the way she looked at me makes me giddy, remembering the Tryst notification sound makes me feel helpless, like I’ve ruined it all. When I’m in bed at night, I know that she’s only a few metres away, lying just like I am, and I wonder if she’s running through it all in her mind, too.
As we’re leaving the home, ruffling Hugh’s hair and tidying his bed again, my phone beeps in my pocket.
My heart somersaults. It’s Eve. She’s sent a single link.
I click through, and there’s a list of charities offering financial grants to students with autism pursuing higher education. I grin.
‘What’s that?’ Piotr peers over my shoulder.
‘A link to some charities that might be able to help Okie,’ I answer absentmindedly, tapping back a reply.
Me: You’re amazing. Thank you.
We emerge into the corridor, passing Becky and saying hi, and out into the car park. The boys get into their cars and drive away, and I walk over to my bike, checking my phone again.
My message has been read, but there’s no reply.