Page 7

“I only use this downstairs space.” He took a breath, like he was struggling to talk.

“I understand, because I do too. My son and his family are temporarily living in LA. They have a few more months on this project, and then they’ll come back home. It’s far too lonely without them.”

Okay, that was apparently the wrong thing to say because now he was looking away, staring at the wall. A tear ran down his cheek. I wanted to brush it off, calm him down. Stop his ragged breathing.

He wasn’t in any medical danger. Just trying to stop himself sobbing.

“Crying is okay. You know this, don’t you? It doesn’t make anything better in the end, but it helps your body deal with the grief in your bones. Helps your brain process things. Whatever happened, it needs to have astart, a process, so it can stabilise to a point that is somehow manageable. It will never go away, and anyone who says that is a liar, but it becomes a little bit easier to deal with, and we learn to live with it. Side by side.”

I was no therapist. No poet. Just a man. But he smiled under those tears.

“I’d rather not,” he said, not even bothering to wipe away that tear. “Thank you for the tea.”

“No trouble. Anytime.”

Silence.

“The gardens were desperate for this rain,” I said, trying to fill it. “Tomorrow, the lawn will look greener, and everything will seem a little brighter.”

“That’s the kind of thing you say when you’re lying through your teeth.”

Surprising. Not the delivery of a full sentence, more so that he responded at all.

“I only speak honestly,” I countered, sitting myself up straighter. “Drink your tea.”

He did as he was told. I was starting to see a pattern here. It was easier for him just to do as I said. It made sense tome because I hadn’t lied when I said I’d been here before. Rock bottom. Lonely and confused.

Back then, I had listened to one thing and one thing only. Nothing else had mattered. It had just been easier that way.

“In another lifetime, years ago, I drank three half bottles of vodka a day. Seemed normal at the time, because for me, it was the only way I could cope.”

I hadn’t planned on that confession, but sometimes,shock and awewas the way to go. Something I’d learnt throughout my career. Dealing with people took skill. Sometimes you had to be polite and gentle. Other times, you needed to poke the stick in the fire. Get a reaction.

The only reaction I got out of Dylan Scotland? A scowl, followed by a deep sigh.

“That’s what people say.Oh, I’ve been where you are. I got through it. Just keep working.”

“The mind is a great healer.” I hoped he could read the sarcasm in my voice.

“Bullshit.” He huffed. “The mind is a fucking wanker.”

That was better than the tears, but the silence resumed, and once again, I felt obliged to fill it.

“A year ago, I was called into the office at work and told I was being let go. Immediate effect. I would be paid for the remainder of the month with a redundancy payout to follow.”

He said nothing.

“Not only was I being let go, my entire department was. Which meant both myself and my son were unemployed, as well as my cousin and his daughter and a whole bunch of brilliant humans who’d worked for me for years.”

“Family business,” he commented.

“Kind of. People I trusted, and who trusted me to ensure they could pay their rent and feed their kids. Normal things.”

He nodded. Good. We were getting somewhere. Conversing. Only it was just me talking.

“People lose their jobs every day,” I said. “I was lucky. I had a place to live and money in the bank. But not everyone was that lucky, and finding another job is not easy. I’ll be fifty-eight this year. Over the hill and unemployable.”

“Nobody is unemployable.” He didn’t look so sure aboutthat statement.