I’d been stunned by the message, not by Bridget giving Mam Rory’s number but by Mam passing it on.
Mam:I thought you should have it.
I’d thanked her, and we’d never talked—or texted—about it again. I’ve done nothing with the number.
I stare at it. Will Rory want to hear from me? Will he talk to me, let alone offer me a sofa to crash on? I shake my head. I can’t ask. It’s better not to reach out at all.
I return to work and finish the day’s list of tasks like a zombie. My mind is preoccupied. I’m going to be a dad. I have to go to London. How the fuck am I going to afford it?
After spending the evening going through my finances and trying—and failing—to make a week-long trip to London affordable, I toss and turn my way through the night. Luckily, it’s Saturday, so I don’t have to go to work and risk electrocuting myself. I keep circling back to one solution: call Rory and ask for help. Seventeen years ago, I’d have been sure he’d say yes. Now all I can do is ask. I’ll never know if I don’t. The worst thing he can do is hang up on me.
It’s mid-morning when I finally work up the courage to call him. It takes him a while to answer. It’s not surprising. I’d be wary of an incoming call from a number I didn’t recognise.
“Hello?” That’s all Rory says. One word.
Even though his voice is deeper, I recognise it. For half a second, we’re boys again, running through a field with our arms outstretched. The chest-high grass tickles our fingers. His Irish accent is still thick, making me wonder how long he’s lived in London.
“Rory. It’s Callan.” I’m too nervous to pause and let him speak. Maybe if I keep talking, he won’t hang up. “I’m sorry to call, but I need to ask a favour. I have to come to London for a week. Not right now. In about a month. Is there any chance that”—I suck in a breath—“I could stay with you?”
“Why?”
That catches me off guard. It shouldn’t. It’s the obvious thing to ask. “I didn’t know who else to ask.” It doesn’t answer his question. “All I need is a sofa to kip on. Please?”
“I don’t know.” Rory’s voice has an odd quiver to it. “I’ll have to ask.”
From the way the sound cuts out, I assume he’s put me on mute. My heart hammers as the silence drags on. Who is he talking to? He must be living with someone. Is he married? Does he have kids? I hope he’s happy.
“I’m sorry, Callan. I had to ask all my housemates.”
“All of them?”
“There are eight of us in total.”
“Wow. Your place must be huge.”
“Aye, it’s a big house.”
My stomach churns. Nerves take control of my mouth and tongue. “It’s okay if they said no. I’ll figure something out.”
“There’s no need to stress,” Rory says. “They said you could stay. But there is something you need to know if you’re going to stay here.”
I hold my breath. What could I possibly need to know?
“The guys I live with are all into kink of one kind or another. This is a kink-positive house. No kink-shaming allowed.”
I wasn’t expecting that. My mind is a mess. I’m not sure what to think or feel. I pull the phone away from my ear and do a quick internet search. At a glance, the search results all say the same thing: kink is an umbrella term for sexual preferences seen as unconventional. One result says it’s often misunderstood. Another says it has been stigmatised as violent or abusive.
I almost heave as nightmarish memories flash into my mind. I take a few deep breaths and think about my safe place—my childhood bedroom, with Rory by my side. The Rory I grew up with wouldn’t live with people who were abusive. I owe it to Rory to keep researching rather than letting my past cloud my judgement. Once I’m calm, I read more thoroughly. The words ’safe, sane, and consensual’ pop up several times. They help me relax. I can’t imagine Rory would ever hurt anyone or that he’d live with anyone who would.
“You’re into kink too?”
“Aye, I am.”
“Okay. I’ve got no problem with that.” I’m surprised by myself, but I need somewhere to stay. Besides, it would be shit if I judged Rory or his friends based on misconceptions.
“I’ll see you soon, then.” The phone goes dead.
I release the breath I’ve been holding. It’s been a wild twenty-four hours. I’m going to be a dad. I’m going to London, and I’m going to be staying with my childhood best friend, who, it turns out, is kinky. Hopefully, that’s the last surprise.
