Chapter 47
Adam
I am on the phone to Autisome, a charity that specialises in educational grants for autistic children. Any doubt I had about getting too involved with Okie’s situation has now completely evaporated; even if it’s pushy, even if it’s not my place, how can I sit by and do nothing, when there might be something — just something — that might help? What I’ve heard so far sounds promising, but I’m not holding my breath. Even if it’s good news, I’ll still have to convince Okie’s dad that it’s an avenue worth pursuing.
Pan flute hold music drifts into my ear as I sit on the sofa, stroking Old Sausage and chewing the end of my pen. Eve still hasn’t messaged me. It’s Sunday afternoon now, more than a day since we got back from Windermere. I wonder what she’s doing, what she’s thinking, what problems she’s solving.
Eventually, someone comes back on the line. I re-explain Okie’s situation and then listen as he speaks, my heart thumping, my pen struggling to note down everything he’s saying quickly enough.
I quickly end the call, jumping up from the sofa.
I dial Mr Adeyemi’s number immediately.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Mr Adeyemi, it’s Adam. Okie’s maths tutor.’
There’s a pause. ‘The situation hasn’t changed, Adam. I’m sorry, but—’
‘Wait, it’s not about that,’ I gabble, desperate for him to listen to me. ‘Well, it is, but I’m not offering anything, I promise. I’ve just spoken to a charity called Autisome, and they’ve got educational grants that cover exam fees for students in Okie’s exact position. The money is literally sitting there, waiting for you to claim it. It’d cover his fees, and—’
‘Hold on.’ I hear Mr Adeyemi close a door. My heart is pounding. ‘You contacted who?’
‘A charity called Autisome, they’re—’
‘Why did you do that?’
I flounder; I didn’t think he’d ask. ‘I just — I felt like I couldn’t leave things as they were. It would be such a shame.’ Words are tumbling out of my mouth. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve crossed a line. I thought it was worth checking what was out there, what Okie might be entitled to.’
‘What’s the charity called?’ His voice is level, clipped.
‘Autisome,’ I say, pronouncing it the way the man on the phone did: like ‘autism’ and ‘comb’ mixed together. I spell it for him. ‘I think it’s worth looking into. It’s called the Brighter Futures grant.’
Mr Adeyemi is silent for a second. He sighs. ‘Adam, I appreciate your efforts. I’ll think about it, but I really don’t know if now is the right time.’
‘But you will think about it?’ I hold my breath.
I hear him smile down the phone. ‘I will think about it.’
I ring off and punch the air, letting out a cheer that sends Old Sausage flying off the sofa and under the TV stand.
Yes! Yes. OK, so it’s not a definitive answer, but it’s one step closer than we’ve ever been. I pace through to the kitchen and back again. This is all thanks to Eve. I feel like a part of her has rubbed off on me: look at me, getting things done!
I pour myself a glass of water and stand at the back door. The heat is waning slightly: it’s cooler than it has been in weeks. I pull out my phone, I have to message her. I have to tell her the news.
The latest message on our WhatsApp chat is mine, from yesterday. Two blue ticks. I lock my phone and pass it from hand to hand. I should go and speak to her face-to-face. I want to speak to her face-to-face.
I step out into the garden and peer over the fences. Her back door is open. I remember what happened last time I went over there. What if she doesn’t want to see me? What if the Tryst notification made her think I was seeing someone, or multiple people?
I go back into the kitchen and lean against the counter. As I’m thinking, Old Sausage emerges from under the TV stand and pads towards me.
‘Hello, lovely girl,’ I say, scratching her behind the ears. An idea forms. ‘Shall we go and see Eve? I’m sure she’s got some leftover takeaway she’d like to give you.’
Old Sausage meows, and before I can think, I pick her up and walk down the garden and through the gate. She bobs in my arms as we go, her head turning this way and that, taking in the peeling wood on the backs of the fences and the bushes hanging over the alleyway.
We arrive at Eve’s gate. I hold the handle for a moment. I’m going to ask if she wants to go for a drink. I’ll swallow my pride and just ask her. That way she’ll know I’m not seeing anybody else.
Before I can chicken out, I pull the handle down and carefully push the gate open. I take a step into the garden and immediately I can see her through the open back door, standing in the living room beyond the kitchen.
I open my mouth to call her — I want to announce my presence as soon as possible to avoid a repeat of last time — but someone steps out from behind the wall that partially divides the two rooms. A man, in a jacket and jeans. He’s good-looking, in a polished kind of way. An uneasy feeling washes over me.
I go to turn around, but he takes another step towards her and I can’t look away. He brushes a hair behind her ear and then leans down, bringing his lips to her cheek before running them down her neck.
I back quickly out of the garden, feeling sick, knocking my shoulder on the fence. I move fast, striding down the alleyway, stopping only to put Old Sausage down when she protests against my speed by digging her claws into my arm.
By the time I get back inside I’m panting, and my stomach is twisting in on itself.
I never asked her if she was single, did I? I didn’t have the balls.
How could I have been so stupid?