Page 35 of Tribute Act

“Yeah,” Mack said shortly. “He had an affair with her while he was married to his first wife. Unfortunately, he got her up the duff, and that was the end of her music career.”

Mum’s face went scarlet.

“Mack, come on,” I said wearily.

He sighed. “Sorry,” he said flatly, not looking at any of us.

“No, no,” Mum said, patting his arm again. “I understand.” Though what she thought she understood, I wasn’t sure.

Rosie, bless her, changed the subject back to Mack’s playing. “That was so good, Dylan!” she gushed. “Will you teach me? I was getting lessons from this guy for a while—he’s got his own band—but I stopped after I got properly ill, and it’s been ages since I practiced. I really want to start up again! I want to play like you.”

His expression was wary. “Um—I’m not sure that’s such a great idea.” He looked at me, as if for support, though why he imagined I’d back him up on this, I didn’t know. As for Mum, she was beaming again.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea!” she said.

“Come on!” Rosie urged. “It’ll give us a chance to bond.” She giggled.

So spoke the adored younger child, secure of her place in the world. If Mack thought he was getting out this, he was deluded.

“The thing is,” Mack said desperately, “I’m not going to be around for much longer.”

Rosie smiled big. “Well there you go! That’s all the more reason for us to spend time together while we can.” She added, with youthful callousness, “I can go back to my old teacher once you’ve gone.”

Mack cleared his throat. “Oh, right.” He paused as though waiting for some last reprieve. When none came, he sighed. “Um, okay then.”

“Yes!” Rosie clapped her hands together, eyes sparkling. “Could you come to the house after lunch tomorrow?”

Mack bit his lip, plainly torn—I thought I knew what was bothering him.

“How about you come to our place, Ro?” I suggested. “I’ll come pick you up and take you back after.” At Mum’s frown, I added, “You can work on something to play for Mum and Derek without them overhearing you practicing.”

Mum’s frown eased at that and Rosie’s on-the-spot bounce reminded me of when she was little and would get excited. “Great! How about two o’clock?”

“Make it three,” I said. “That way, the lunch rush will be over before I come and get you.” I glanced at Mack. “Does that sound okay to you?”

“Sure,” he said, though he still didn’t look entirely happy.

And that was how Mack started teaching Rosie guitar.

October

The next few weeks passed quickly.

Slowly, gradually, Mack was regaining his strength. Rosie too, though she had a steeper hill to climb.

Mack continued to play at the café twice a week but as he got better, I could see he was getting bored: bored of spending too many hours alone, either at the flat or wandering round Porthkennack.

From a domestic point of view, he was an easy flatmate. He did his fair share round the flat, but he wasn’t a neat freak, and we got on well. We had a similar sense of humour, liked the same movies and games. I loved having him around—it was like being part of a couple, only without the sex . . . which was, really, the only source of tension between us. On my part anyway—perhaps Mack wasn’t even aware it was an issue. He certainly gave no sign. But yeah, for me, I was having trouble hiding how attracted I was to him, and I was pretty sure I was regularly slipping up. It felt like he caught me looking at him at least once or twice a day.

When I masturbated, at night or in the shower, it was Mack I’d think about, and that was new. My wank bank had always comprised outlandish fictional situations—I wasn’t one for fantasising about people I actually knew or things that could, conceivably happen. But now I found myself remembering those few hours we’d spent at Mack’s hotel all those weeks ago. How it had felt to press inside him and feel his body draw me in. How he’d looked beneath me, his long, strong back under my hands as I smoothly fucked him. How it had felt to lay my naked chest down against that milk-white skin and take his shaft in my fist, coaxing his orgasm out of him.

I replayed it in my mind too many times to count.

Midway through October, one of our part-timers handed in her notice. Katie had got herself a childcare qualification the year before and had been searching for a job in a nursery for a while, so it wasn’t a massive surprise. I was chuffed to bits for her, but I groaned—inwardly of course—when she told me she needed to start straightaway and couldn’t work any notice.

“It’s a huge pain,” I grumbled to Mack at home that night. “I’ll need to get someone else quickly because Mum wants to stay at home with Rosie a bit longer.”

“I’ll do it,” he said casually, eyes on the TV screen, thumbs busy on his console. “I’ve done loads of catering jobs.”