‘I’m glad things are changing.’
‘Me too.’
We fall silent again, but this time we don’t stare at the stars. I have the feeling that neither of us is ready to go back to bed so I root around for something else to talk about. I land on what I presume is a fairly safe subject. ‘How did you and Simon become such good friends? I know you met at school, but I’m not sure I’ve ever heard the full story. If I did, I’ve forgotten it. I forget a lot of things these days.’
‘My mum was from around here and when I was twelve, she decided to move back to this area. I was enrolled in the local high school in Dartmouth. But you know what it’s like … I joined part way through Year 8. Everybody else already had their friendship groups and I wasn’t from around here. I got bullied.’
‘Really?’ I wouldn’t imagine Gil to be someone who got bullied. He seems so sure of himself, so together.
‘And then Simon broke his arm playing rugby and our form tutor assigned me to help him at lunchtimes, carrying his tray and things like that. The bullying stopped after that.’
‘Because you carried his tray? I know Simon likes to be made a fuss of, but even so …’
I hear the smile in his voice as he continues. ‘Yeah. But he was popular. You know Simon … cheeky, good with the banter. Everybody liked him. After that, if anyone tried to pick on me, he called them out. And even when his arm healed, we kept hanging out together, bonding over things like cars and motorbikes and sports, the way teenage boys do. He’s always had my back. I appreciated it because it was a tough time. My dad had just died. From a stroke – his second one. My mum was devastated and she just kind of checked out.’
‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that about your dad.’
He stares into the darkness, at the shadowy hills on the other side of the river. ‘It’s okay.’ He smiles and then sighs. ‘My mum loved Simon. Sometimes I think she wished he’d been her son instead of me.’
I don’t know if it’s true, but I can’t leave that comment hanging in the silence. ‘I’m sure that’s not the case.’
‘Simon reminded her of my dad, I think. He was one of those people who charmed everybody he met.I’m not like that. I’m probably more like her if anything, but I don’t know if she ever saw that.’
I feel sorry that he’s lost the opportunity to connect with her. At least Mum and I have a chance for a different future. ‘Why do we always feel we need to be something other than what we are?’
He turns to look at me and his eyes lock on mine. ‘You don’t need to be anything other than what you are, E.’
E …
That must be something he got from Simon, because Simon always used to call me that when we were first going out. I realize that this one little letter of the alphabet might signify a seismic shift in my relationship with Gil. Against all odds, I think we are becoming friends.
I get up and walk to the railing, place my hands on the cold bars and stare out across the water. After a few moments, Gil comes to join me. My voice drops to a whisper. ‘Since the accident, I’ve been … struggling. You say I don’t need to be anything other than who I am, but what if I don’t even know who that is?’
I turn and look for his reaction. His gaze is steady, but he just waits for me to say more.
‘I feel as if there are two Erins, the person I used to be before the accident: competent, confident, had all her shit together, and who I am now: haphazard, insecure, shit all over the place …’ I stop to chuckle softly, even though it’s not particularly funny.
Gil is still looking at me with that intensity that is pure him, but it’s not scathing as it used to be. ‘I don’t see much difference. I just think the real you is poking through the veneer.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ I say quietly and then I look away because the backs of my eyes are stinging.
We stand in silence for a minute and then Gil says, ‘You’re worried Simon won’t love this new Erin the way he loved the old one?’
My head whips round. ‘Y-yes!’ But then I shut my mouth firmly. I don’t want to be disloyal.
‘I know Simon just about as well as anybody on this planet,’ Gil says. ‘Anything you say won’t put a wedge in my friendship with him, so if you need to get something off your chest, say it.’
‘I don’t know …’
‘It won’t leave this rooftop. I promise.’
Maybe it’s being here in the dark. It makes the conversation feel slightly anonymous. Maybe that’s why I open my mouth again instead of hurrying back down the stairs to lie in my stifling bedroom, all my secrets left intact. ‘I’m worried it’s not just work keeping him away. What if he’s drifting away from me?’
Gil turns fully to face me, resting his right hip against the railing. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘When I first got here, he called every night, but then it became every other night. Now, sometimes he just sends a message. And he’s just said he’s not coming to visit. And it’s not the first time he’s cancelled.’ I look down at the concrete floor. ‘There’s a name for it, you know … when someone has to care for someone who’s very ill or is facing a long recovery like I am. It’s called compassion fatigue. And I know I’ve been a lot to handle. I know that maybe it’s too much to ask, especially as I’m not even the woman he proposed to any more.’
Gil steps towards me and his hands come to rest on my shoulders,warm, comforting. And there’s also a tingle of something else … For me, at least. A tingle of something that definitely shouldn’t be there.
