Her presence is all it takes to have me smiling. That little girl is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
I approach them and gently grasp one of her tiny hands, dropping a delicate kiss onto her back.
“Come here.” Riley hands her to me and I hold her in my arms, leaning my forehead against hers, hoping that the smell of her will relieve some of the pain shooting through my heart.
“Are you alright, Nick?” Riley asks, stroking my arm.
“Sure, I’m great.”
Ian bursts into a sudden coughing fit.
“How’s Dad?” I ask, trying to move the attention away from me.
“That’s why I called you,” Ian says. “He wants to speak to you.”
“Me?”
He nods.
“Oh… Okay, sure.” I place Jamie back in her mother’s arms and Ian leads me towards the garden. Through the back-door window, he points out our father, who’s sitting on the patio next to Ryan.
“He’s doing a lot better today,” Ian sighs. “He’s gone out to get some fresh air.”
“Well, that’s a good thing – right?”
Ian smiles at me. “Come on.”
Dad and Ryan are side-by-side, sitting in silence. He’s staring at his beloved rose bush, as Ryan leans his head back, his gaze fixed on the sky.
“Hey,” I say, sitting down next to them. Ryan turns to look at me and nods, as Dad continues to cast his gaze out to the bushes. Ian sits with us, too, and we all shuffle in ours seats, trying to figure out how to act.
“Do you remember that night, Nick?” Dad begins, suddenly. “The night Ian first came home with us?”
I nod.
“Do you remember what you said to me?”
“I say a lot of things, Dad,” I say, trying to avoid the topic.
“Everyone deserves a family,” Ian says, looking at me. “That’s what you said to me, on the field, when you asked me why I was sleeping under the stands.”
I shrug, feigning indifference. I don’t want them to drag all this up now – they have no right. Am I not already suffering enough? I can’t bear this, too.
“You said that to me, too,” Ryan interjects. “When you asked me to be nice to him, not to leave him out.”
“I don’t remember,” I lie.
Of course I remember. I remember it all.
Ian, sitting there in the rain. He’d been sleeping under the stands of the school rugby pitch for five days, and nobody had noticed – but I had. I saw him. His jeans were always ripped, his T-shirts always too small, his books second-hand, borrowed from other students. Sometimes, in lessons, he didn’t even have a pen to write with. He had that terrified look in his eyes: it was the look of a scared little boy, who wanted to prove to everyone that he was a man.
I didn’t know Ian that well. We only had two lessons together, and we were both on the school rugby team; we chatted every so often, but we weren’t friends. Ian didn’t really have any friends at school, and I only understood why after hearing his story. He was trying to protect himself, not to attract any attention; his home life was really shit, and he was just trying to survive. And when I saw him there, alone… Something inside me clicked. I had a family, I had everything I needed. I was so privileged, so lucky; and everyone deserves a second chance. I couldn’t bear the thought of someone like him with no one to turn to. Ian kept going, despite everything. At school, in training. He was clever, quiet – he liked his own company, but didn’t know how to keep going anymore. He was talented, with such a big heart, and I couldn’t let him waste it all. I’d never have forgiven myself.
“You said it to me, too,” Dad says, turning towards us. “You said: Dad, he’s on his own. And he doesn’t deserve it. No one deserves to be alone.”
Jesus Christ. What is this? An intervention? A way to finally prove that Nick has a heart after all?
“And you were right,” Dad continues. “No one deserves that, Nick. Especially not you.”
