‘How was training tonight?’ Cherry perched on the arm of the couch, then leaned back a little as if noticing something wasn’t right. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Aye, I’m fine. Just been thinking about my dad and getting sentimental over old photos.’ He motioned to his phone. ‘Training was good – cycled forty miles with Nate. Hard work, mind you. Don’t know why but I’m struggling a wee bit.’
‘Oh.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘How so?’
‘Och, I’ll be fine. It’s normal to have peaks and troughs and feel a bit like a teenage girl at a boyband concert.’
‘Eh?’
‘Bit dizzy at times.’
‘Jeez! You need to see a doctor.’ She touched his arm, softly, like she did care.
‘I’ll be fine. It was probably low blood sugar or something. Nothing a can of Bru won’t sort out.’
‘Sean! Come on. See a doctor, please. People need you.’
People. People needed him. Was she referring to everyone else but herself? ‘Are you one of them?’
Her hand moved back faster than he could have anticipated, and she gave him words in place of physical affection. It would have to do. He was right. She did at least care.
‘I know how much this bike ride means to you, and Iwant to see you succeed. Your family needs you. Your dad, I’m sure, is watching you and cheering you on, too.’
‘Aye, maybe. Or he’s up there telling me to “Calm doon, son”.’
Cherry smiled, and Sean realised how much he needed to see that. It was like oxygen being injected into his bloodstream. ‘Did he say that a lot?’
‘All the time. I got a tattoo of it.’ He rolled up the arm of his t-shirt and showed her the inking of his father’s words. ‘Got it done about six months ago. I wanted him to see it.’
‘Oh my God, I adore it.’ She ran her finger under the tattoo. A tiny gesture that burned fire right through him. ‘It’s so sweet of you. And it’s hilarious, too. Did he like it?’
‘Aye. Rolled his eyes and told me I was as daft as a brush, but he laughed, too. Safe to say he loved it. Anyway, I didn’t listen to him any of those other times he told me to calm doon, so I’m not about to start now.’ Sean pulled his sleeve down. ‘I’ll rest when this thing’s over.’
Her concerned gaze roamed over his face, an emotional engineer examining him for signs of malfunction.
‘Really, I’m fine... Enough about me. Cher, listen…’ Fuck it, he’d grasp the nettle while he had her here. ‘I’ve been doing some reading?—’
Cherry glanced at the airport thriller on the table. ‘Any good?’
‘Not that. On the internet.’ No point beating about the bush. ‘About…miscarriage.’
‘Oh.’ Her mouth froze on this word. And did that one syllable hold tinges of betrayal? Was he overstepping the mark by doing this? As she rose from the arm of the couch, he feared he had his answer. ‘Sean, I have a tourney in twenty minutes. I can’t start on tilt.’
‘Oh, right. Another time then.’ The last thing he wanted was to fuck up her game.
But then she sat back down again. ‘Sorry, that sounded dismissive. What… What did you read?’
‘Are you sure…?’ He waited for her nod of agreement before sitting forward and tapping at his phone. ‘I found something kind of promising. It was in this article about this woman who’d had five miscarriages before she had a baby. It mentioned new treatments that are coming to analyse the womb lining and––’
‘Sean…’ Cherry inhaled deeply and let the breath out on a slow exhale. ‘You’ve no idea how amazing you are for reading that. But I’m thirty-seven. It’s too late for me and new treatments. Those things will help women in their twenties who don’t even know yet that they’re going to have problems. People my age, who exist in this dead zone when it comes to understanding, are fucked. On our own.’ She raised her palms up in the universal shrug gesture. ‘This is the medicine logo for me. It doesn’t know the answer and isn’t in enough of a hurry to help.’ Rising from the arm of the couch, she covered his hand with her own and gave him a bittersweet smile before trailing her fingers away. ‘Thank you for caring. You’re gorgeous, inside and out. Sorry, I have to go to work.’
Sean so badly wanted to grab her hand and tell her to stay. Pull her down to the couch, onto his knee, breathe her in deep and slow, kiss her in the same way, crack his heart wide open and tell her how he would try with everything he had to make it okay.
But that would be naïve.
So, he let her go.
The patio doors closed, and he watched her driftingback to the summerhouse, her honeysuckle scent still floating tantalisingly in the surrounding air.
