Page 57 of Tribute Act

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do that,” Mack promised.

“Great. Text me to let me know. See you soon.” Don clapped Mack on the shoulder and strolled away.

We emerged from the pub into a night that was cold and clear, the dark, velvet firmament above us dotted with pin-bright stars. I zipped the last couple of inches of my jacket up to my chin and burrowed my hands deeper into my pockets.

“You were amazing tonight,” I said.

Mack smiled at me, but his eyes were sad. “Thanks.”

We fell silent as we began walking, but after a bit I said, trying to keep my voice light, “Why didn’t you say yes to that gig? Don’t you want to play at the Sea Bell again?” I didn’t look at Mack as I waited for his answer, staring straight ahead instead. The seafront was at the bottom of the hill, black waves glinting in the moonlight.

He didn’t respond immediately, but at last he said, “Yeah. I want to. It was great.”

“Why not just agree then?”

He sighed heavily. “You know why, Nathan.”

I stopped walking, coming to a halt right in the middle of the street. He took a couple of steps past me before he realised, then he stopped too, turning to glance back at me warily.

“Tell me anyway,” I said.

He met my gaze and his own was unwavering. “I’ve got my scan next week,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I’ll get discharged—I feel completely normal. And after that? Well, it’s about time I got going.”

“Bullshit.” My voice was harsh. Angry.

For a moment he appeared oddly pained, but then he got his expression under control and said quietly, “I never intended to stay, Nathan. You knew that.”

I thought about Mum’s words that morning.

Those moments at the bar—“I’m never too busy for you.”

The sense I’d had as he sang that his determined insistence he wanted to move on wasn’t necessarily true.

I stepped towards him, taking hold of his upper arms.

“You don’t have to go. And I don’t want you to. I want you to stay, Mack.”

He stared at me, his face suddenly stricken.

“I’m asking you to stay. Please, Mack. Give us a chance.” My voice cracked on the words, betraying me, betraying how true those words were, and how hopeless they felt. How afraid I was.

But Mack just . . . shook his head.

He shook his fucking head.

“Listen, Nathan, I don’t want—” He broke off and swallowed hard, throat bobbing.

I dropped my hands from his arms and stepped back, angry pride coming to my rescue. “What?” I demanded. “Tell me.”

I stood there, looking him in the eye, giving him every chance to tell me what was going through his head. But he only stared at me, his throat working, unable, apparently, to articulate his thoughts.

At last, I realised he wasn’t going to say anything, and that hurt like a motherfucker.

“Okay,” I said, as my heart shattered into a million pieces. “Okay.”

I turned and began to walk away. And he didn’t even try to stop me.

The next morning, I called Denise and asked if she’d cover my shift at the café. It was obvious things were going to be uncomfortable between me and Mack, and I wanted to make sure we spoke as early as possible. Re-established some kind of normality. I showered and dressed and sat myself down in the living room with my laptop to wait him out.