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“I don’t want to be on my own.”

“You’re not,”he whispered into my hair. Then he pressed his lips to my head, and for the umpteenth time today, I burst into tears.

14. Stewart

Ididn’t know what it was this man did to me, but I liked it. I liked that he let me look after him, that I was sitting in his kitchen scrolling on my phone while he talked shop with the two suits who’d turned up with large rolls of plans and big words.

Dylan had big words too and made sweeping gestures as he turned to the windows, holding out his arms as he described his ideas when one of the suits pointed to something on the table and questioned it.

I didn’t understand it all, but maybe I didn’t need to. He’d been a bit of a mess lately, and he still was, but we had turned a definite corner today, and for the first time, I felt like I belonged here, in this house, that he perhaps wanted me here as much as I wanted to stay. Just for a while.

I kept staring at him, wondering what it was that stirred up feelings right there in my guts. It was a strange thing because I’d never experienced anything of the sort before. I’d been the kind of person who had turned to… Well, let’s just say I wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t always in the right, and God knew, I had made mistakes.

I had also tried to bury those mistakes, hidden them behind alcohol and lies, hoping nobody could see through the cracks. But people had seen right through them, and I’d turned myself around. I’d found my son, made us a good life, and here I was.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and I turned and found him standing right next to me. I’d been so deep in thought, I hadn’t even noticed the suits leaving.

I didn’t get up. Just sat there like a giant lump, trying to figure out what to say. How to behave.

“How did it go?” I asked, trying to make light of my mood, hoping he’d just answer. Should I make another cup of tea?

“You look tired,” he observed.

I was. I was drained. Exhausted. In my past life, I’d worked whole weeks without a day off, double shifts running into night shifts, with a few hours’ rest in between. I’d still managed. These days, I did very little, yet here I was, struggling to get up.

“I’ve never done this. Not properly,” I said, realising how odd that sounded.

“Done what?” he questioned softly.

“This.” I gestured with my hand back and forth between us.

“Friendship?”

“Is it?” I had to ask because I didn’t know myself.

He walked around and pulled up a seat. Stupid bar stools. They were similar to what we had upstairs in the boys’ kitchen. My boys. God, I missed them. Missed normality, where I wasn’t so full of questions and doubts.

“Stewart.” I liked it when he said my name.

“Yep.That’s me.” Stupid. God help me.

“I like that you’re part of my life.”

That was one way of putting it.

“We said we’d be honest,” I stuttered out.

“We are.” He loosened his tie and took it off. “Aren’t we?”

“In another life, I would have poured myself a stiff bourbon and downed it in one for bravery. I’m not always good with honesty, even if I maybe sound like it’s all I do.” What was I on about?

He laughed gently. “I know what you mean. I’ve never told anyone about what I told you earlier. Honesty is not easy for me either. I inherited that from my mother, I think, who did everything she could not to upset my father. He wasn’t a bad man or anything like that. She just didn’t like drama, kept everything peaceful and quiet at all times. I guess I did the same with Veronica, trying to suffocate everything to keep the peace.”

“That’s not a good thing.”

“No. I’ve realised that. But it’s not an easy trait to just let go of. It’s weak. I’m weak. You can’t get worse than me.”

“Stop putting yourself down,” I said sharply. “You are who you are, and I can’t sit here and claim to be somekind of saint either. I’m someone who turns to alcohol in a crisis, and whose only go at a relationship was a woman I paid by the hour.”