Page 59 of Tribute Act

“I still think it’s a bit soon to be discharging you,” Mum said, worriedly.

“Stop fussing, Mum.” Rosie rolled her eyes at Mack. He grinned back at her, and for a second, I saw a flash of resemblance between them. They didn’t look that much alike, but there were moments sometimes, when their facial expressions aligned, and I saw it.

Rosie was going to miss him terribly. Had he even told her he was leaving?

“So, can I come to your gig on Saturday?” she asked, plonking herself down at the kitchen table and grabbing a Hobnob. “I really want to see you play.”

“I don’t think they let under-eighteens in after nine at the Bell,” Mack said.

Rosie scowled and turned to Mum. “Can’t you have a word with Jago?”

“I could try,” Mum said, though her tone was doubtful. She glanced at Mack. “It would be a shame for her to miss out on your last gig.”

“What?” Rosie had been reaching for another Hobnob, but now she let her arm drop to the table, her gaze on Mack disbelieving. “Are you leaving?”

So he hadn’t told her.

“I never intended to stay long-term,” Mack said gently. “You know that, Ro.”

“But—but I thought you’d changed your mind? You’re working at the café and giving me guitar lessons and playing gigs at the Bell. It’s been great. Why do you want to leave?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, it is,” she replied angrily. “What else have you got going on anyway? It’s not like you’ve got some fantastic job lined up somewhere else, is it? Or a secret boyfriend stashed away?”

Mack’s cheeks flushed. Mine probably did too, but she wasn’t looking at me, thankfully.

“Rosie!” Mum snapped. “Stop it!”

Rosie ignored her. “And what about Dad?”

Mack’s jaw ticked. “What about him?” he said tightly.

“Things need to get fixed between you.”

He didn’t pretend not to know what she was talking about. “Some things can’t be fixed. That’s how it is between me and Dad.”

“No,” she said, and it was a demand and a plea at once. “If Dad could say sorry, really apologise properly, this could be fixed.”

“Rosie!” Mum again.

Rosie glared at her. “What? Someone’s got to say something! Or are we all just going to pretend this isn’t weird and wrong?”

I glanced at Mack. His expression was hard, but I could see from the bleakness in his gaze that he was distressed. Flatly he said, “My relationship with Dad’s none of your business.”

“Of course it is,” Rosie replied angrily. “You’re my brother and he’s my dad, and the whole thing’s so screwed up it’s ridiculous. I know Dad’s sorry, I know he loves you!”

Mack stood up so suddenly, his chair screeched against the floor tiles. “You have no idea!” he hissed. “When I was your age, my mum died and you know what Dad did when I told him to fuck off? Just once? He did it! He fucked off and he never came back.” Mack raked a hand through his hair. Said more quietly, “You have literally no idea how that feels.”

“Dylan, love—” Mum started, but Rosie spoke over her.

“You want to talk about what happened to me at fifteen?” she asked, jerking a thumb at her chest. “A doctor sat me down and told me that if I didn’t get a liver transplant, I was going to die.”

I sucked in a breath. “Jesus, Rosie, it’s not a competition!”

She met my gaze, and her eyes were blazing. “I don’t mean it like that! I mean that something’s happened to me that hasn’t happened to any of you. When you think you’re going to die, a lot of stuff looks different. You see how temporary you are. You see you’re not going to get second chances at things.” She turned back to Mack. “If you go now, there might never be another chance to fix this. And I know it’s hurting you. You and Dad.”

Honestly, I was stunned. I’d assumed she was oblivious to those undercurrents.