I look around suspiciously. It’s the room of a child that wants to show the world he’s already a man. Posters of rock bands on one wall and muscular rugby players on the other. This guy still hasn’t figured out which side he prefers.
“Ryan, say hello to Ian,” she prompts gently as he lifts his hand in a small wave. “We’ve got an extra bed here. Nick and Ryan used to share a room before Nick moved to the other room above the garage. You know how it works, everyone wants their own space.”
I don’t know how it works. I didn’t even have a room. I practically lived on the sofa. Our apartment had one bedroom and it belonged to my mother.
“At the end of the hallway, there’s a bathroom. You’ll find clean towels if you’d like to have a shower,” she adds kindly. “And then,” she hands me some clothes. “These are Nick’s, they might be a bit big for you, but for tonight they’ll do.”
I nod in embarrassment.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to make you something to eat. What would you like?”
I look at her, completely baffled, taken aback by all the attention she’s giving me.
“I don’t know, eggs and bacon, or pasta, or maybe some meat?”
I have to hold back the knot that is trying to choke me. “Anything is okay.”
“Oh, okay,” she comments uncomfortably. “Okay then, I’m off. When you’re ready, just head downstairs, I’ll be waiting. Take your time and if you need anything, ask Ryan.”
She turns to leave the room.
“Thanks,” I say through clenched teeth.
She looks at me and smiles.
She is smiling. Honestly.
A mother who smiles. I thought they were a myth. She leaves me alone with this little kid, who’s sitting on his bed with a worried look on his face and a very straight back. He looked like someone who wanted to scream ‘What the hell are you doing in my house?’ or ‘How come I have to share my bedroom with you?’
I turn towards him as he looks me over, head to toe. I’m wearing jeans that are caked in mud and water, a hoodie and old beat-up trainers that have definitely done some damage to Mrs. O’Connor’s carpet.
“So,” he says, lifting his head. “You’re staying here.”
“Just for tonight,” I say flatly.
“Yeah, right,” he says raising an eyebrow. “You’re not a psychopath, are you? You’re not going to cut me up with a chainsaw tonight?”
I burst out laughing. “I don’t have a chainsaw with me,” I say, winding him up, but he doesn’t appreciate my sense of humor.
“Well, I sleep with the light on.”
He wants to be a tough guy but his red cheeks betray his embarrassment.
I’m weighed down by a wave of tenderness. “No problem,” I say, shrugging.
“Better to be clear about it.”
I nod.
“Go have your shower,” he says, nodding towards the bathroom door. “You really need one.”
I leave the room and walk down the hall, scrutinizing the doors, trying to work out which one is the bathroom.
“It’s the last one on the right,” Ryan says from behind me, his arms crossed. “And you can use my shampoo,” he continues in a whisper. “It’s the green bottle. Don’t use Nick’s, whatever you do. He’ll make you drink it for breakfast.”
In that moment, in the bathroom doorway of a house full of strangers, surrounded by kind people who act the way they do purely because they want to, I don’t know if I should cry, laugh or thank God that I’ve got another shot at living.
