“I know he’s scared.” I bite on my lip, unsure how much of Caylon’s revelations I can pass on without eroding his trust. “He said when you were diagnosed, your career evaporated, and he seems to think his life will effectively stop if he is.”
“My boy has a flare for the dramatic,” she says mildly, then draws my attention back to the laptop. “I can wipe these remotely. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to keep them or not.”
“Keep them?” My voice squeaks with horror.
“For reporting to the police or something like that.”
I guess my horrified face gives her the answer because she nods. “Okay. It’ll just take a few minutes. I’ll put them through a proper shredder so no one can piece them together again, even if they rip the drive.”
She mumbles under her breath as her fingers fly across the keyboard, then she sits back, nodding as it works.
“You said you saw my m-mother?”
“She…” her voice breaks off and she looks over my shoulder. “What’re you doing out of bed?”
I turn to see Caylon leaning against the doorframe, looking completely spent. “Hope you’re not talking about me when I’m not here to defend myself.”
“Egotist. We were talking about far more interesting things than you, my boy.”
I get up, moving to his side and then unsure if I should touch him. Every exposed inch of flesh seems to carry some injury, from the smallest graze to the blackest bruise.
My pause lasts so long, he decides for himself, stretching out an arm to tug me closer. “Is this a private party or can I join?”
“Private,” Effie says with an expression of delight. “Get back to your man cave. I much prefer having a daughter so we can share girl-talk.”
He ignores her, twisting his body so he’s still supported by the doorframe but also within kissing distance. “Are you going to be long? The bed is far too cold when it’s only me in there.”
“We were having a nice chat about mental illness,” Effie calls out. “Would you like to join in?”
He stiffens, staring at me carefully. “And what’s the verdict?”
“I didn’t know there had to be one.”
For the first time, he appears completely unsure of himself. “You know, I’m not—”
“Apparently you told her my career ended the day I was diagnosed.”
His eyes cut over to the couch, unable to resolve the tone of his mum’s voice with its content. “Sounds about right.”
“You know I didn’t give up my job because I was ill, don’t you?”
My chest is pressed against him so hard that I feel when his heart picks up speed. “So, it was a coincidence, was it?”
“I didn’t give up my job at all.”
He blows out a breath in disbelief.
“It’s true. Your father left and suddenly I had to raise a son on my own.That’smy job. I couldn’t do that and balance employment and manage my disease. Sometimes, I can’t do two of those things. Sometimes, I can barely manage one.”
“That’s rather my point.”
“I have a chronic illness, that’s all. So do plenty of other people.”
“Other people don’t go missing for days and turn up in hospital after being thrown out of a car.”
Mother and son glare at each other for long enough that I feel like I’m intruding. I’d excuse myself but it’s awkward when Caylon’s using me as a crutch.
“You forgot the time I turned up in the hospital and needed you to hold my hand while they gave me a rape kit.”
