Page 21 of Tribute Act
And that was that.
As we walked on, in silence, I found myself musing on why he’d felt the need to check that point—was it possible Derek didn’t know he was gay? That Mack was worried about breaking the news? Maybe I should tell him that Derek already knew about me and it wasn’t something he had a problem with?
Eventually, I blurted out, “Does your dad not know? That you’re gay, I mean?”
“Oh, he knows.” Mack’s tone was grim. That surprised me. I wanted to know more, but there was a finality, a warning, in his tone that was clearly intended to discourage further questions.
We had reached my turnoff and, reluctantly, I slowed my pace. I pointed up the side street. “This is me.”
He stopped. “Oh, right.”
“The seafront’s only a couple of minutes down the hill. Take a left when you get there. It’s about five minutes’ walk to the White Rose.”
Mack nodded. “Thanks. I’ll say good night, then.”
“Yeah, night.” Impulsively, I stuck out my hand and after a moment, he took it. His hand was warm, his grip firm. When our eyes met, I was struck again by how very appealing I found him, and felt an unexpected pang, as though at a loss.
Why did he have to be Derek’s son?
Our hands separated and fell back to our sides.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” I hadn’t intended it to be a question, but somehow an inquiring note crept in at the end.
“Yeah, I said I’d go up to your mum’s place after breakfast. She was anxious for me to get back there early doors tomorrow.”
“She’s pretty stressed,” I explained. “She won’t sleep tonight, worrying.”
Mack tilted his head, his expression curious. “Worrying about what? Me running off?”
I sighed. “Probably, yeah. Don’t be offended—this whole thing’s been really hard on her—she’s not completely rational right now. Rosie’s her baby.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine—I understand. And I won’t be running off, okay? I may have issues with my dad, but that doesn’t come into it. If I can help Rosie, I will.”
Something about the way he said that, how his steady gaze met mine as he spoke, convinced me.
“Okay,” I said.
He turned away then, lifting a hand in a final farewell as he began ambling down the hill, calling over his shoulder, “Good night.”
“Night,” I replied, though I didn’t move. Just stood there and watched him till he turned the corner and was out of sight.
He didn’t look back.
Mack was a match.
Weirdly, the news surprised me. Maybe it was because there had been so many blows by then: first, the mystery of Rosie’s illness; then the diagnosis; then the news that none of us could help her. But now, for the first time in what felt like forever, there was good news. Mack could help her.
He could save her life.
The process was quick. Mack had to undergo a raft of physical tests and scans, but these were arranged swiftly, and within days, we had a green light. The main delay arose after that, when the hospital insisted that Mack speak with a counsellor and take some time to reflect on his decision before confirming he wanted to proceed.
The night after he met with the counsellor, Mack announced his intention to visit a friend in Essex for a bit.
“The last thing you need is me sitting around here twiddling my thumbs while I weigh all this up,” he’d said firmly.
He was wrong though. While he was gone, Rosie’s mood reached a new low and Mum got so stressed, I began to worry she might be heading for a breakdown. I’d never seen her in such a state. As for Derek, he was walking around like a zombie, unable to concentrate on anything.
For my part, I focussed on the practicalities—someone had to hold everything together after all, and it wasn’t like there was much else I could do, so I threw myself into running Dilly’s, insisting that Mum and Derek prioritise Rosie. When I wasn’t working double shifts at the café, I was at the Costco or paying bills or banking takings . . . I even washed the bloody windows one day. That was one good thing about running your own business. You never ran out of things to do.