“Were ye not plannin’ on sayin’ bye?” she asks, in a scarily accurate insight into my brain.
“Of course I was.” She pulls away and looks at me with one eyebrow raised. “Ugh, fine. I may have texted you instead, but it’s only because saying goodbye is hard.” I can hear the whine in my own voice.
“Aye, it’s hard. But that doesnae mean ye get to wriggle out of it.” She squeezes me into a hug again. “Ye’re away to see Rain?”
“Yeah,” I chuckle. “He and his partner invited me to stay with them for a while so I can figure some stuff out with my life.”
“Well, I’m gonnae miss you, but see if it doesnae work out, you come straight back here. Promise?”
“I promise.”
The rest of the day passes in a whirlwind of goodbyes and well-wishes from regulars inthe gym. Emma barely leaves my side all day, insisting we arrange a weekly video chat so we can stay in touch. She also reminds me that Coventry isn’t very far away from anywhere, being so central, so I can always come back to visit, or she can visit me wherever I end up. It feels surreal to have people who will miss me, and I do believe they mean it. It’s not something I’ve experienced before.
I’ve always seemed to be disposable. My parents threw me away, not once but twice, and my ex… Well, the less said about him, the better. I’ve never been very good at making friends, too highly strung, or too in my own head, or too uptight. Too me for anyone to want to keep. But Emma, and maybe John too, they want to keep me. In their lives, at least, if not in the same town.
I end up covering the gym closing shift for Emma, but before she leaves, she squeezes the breath out of me in a tight hug, whispering advice in a voice thick with tears. By the time I’ve finished everything I need to do and locked up, had a shower, making good use of the changing rooms one last time, and returned to my clothes I left on the bench right in front of my locker, an envelope has been tucked into my shoe. There’s almost three hundred pounds in there, which is way too much. There’s also ayellow Post-it stuck to the top of the stack of notes.
Don’t argue with me, kid. Take it and look after yourself. Come back if you need to. John.
I look around but, of course, the stoic old git is nowhere to be found. Smiling softly at his kindness and generosity, I tuck the cash into the inside pocket of my backpack, taking the envelope and digging out a pencil from my art box.
Thank you for everything, John. You’ll never know what it’s meant to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you everything at first, but maybe one day, I’ll be able to pay you back. Take care of yourself, old man. Love Corey.
Dressing quickly, I check my locker to make sure I have everything and grab my backpack before heading out of the gym, with a slight detour to John’s decidedly empty office to deliver the note. I push open the heavy exterior door and am immediately hit in the face with icy rain. For fuck’s sake. I couldn’t get a break tonight? I lock up and post the key back through the letterbox, then rush through town to the roundabout on the ring-road I’ve been calling home. When there’s a gap in the traffic, I dash to the small hill in the middle of the roundabout and am soon sheltered by the copse of trees.
When I get inside my tent for what is hopefully the last time, I snuggle down quickly into my sleeping bag and try to warm up. I wish I felt worse about lying to Rain about sleeping in a shelter most nights, although technically I am in a type of shelter, just not the kind he’s probably imagining. But a single man is sadly a very low priority for homeless shelters, and I’m not about to take a bed from someone who needs it more than I do. I like camping, and if I keep it in my head that’s what I’ve been doing, and not sleeping rough, then I can just about manage to stay vaguely positive about the whole thing. As though even that little bit of control over my perspective of my situation will be enough to keep me level.
Thankfully, I remembered to wrap my sleeping bag in a plastic bin bag this morning, so at least it’s dry. I wrap myself up as tightly as I can and try to get to sleep. It may only be nine-thirty, but the sooner I get to sleep, the sooner I can get up and away from this cold, wet, half-life and finally make my way to Rain, and hopefully the rest of my life.
At least I know, despite what I may have said to Rain, he’s not my only friend. Emma and John have more than proven themselves over the last few weeks, even if John did sneak outbefore I could say a proper goodbye. Maybe I’m not the only one who finds it hard. The relief I feel at knowing Rain’s OK wells up inside me, and the emotions I thought I’d purged earlier, once again spill over. With sadness weighing me down at yet another ending, but a spring of hope in my gut at a new beginning, I cry myself to sleep.
Six
Nash
In the Dream Boats workshop on Aidan’s property, my twin brothers loudly try to predict what kind of person Corey will be…and what state he’ll be in. They’re here working, ostensibly, but I know them better than that. They’re here in case they’re needed. In any way.
That’s just how the Fosters are as a family. Protective of each other and the people we love. Wren texted the group chat already this morning, explaining she has an appointment with the farrier today that she can’t miss because he’s booked solid over the Christmas period, but she’s around later if anyone needs her.
After Aidan revealed the depths of his concern for Rain while we were sailing a fewweeks ago, my brothers and I have made even more effort to get to know Rain. He’s come to Sunday dinner at Mum and Dad’s a few times, and we’ve all been to the pub at least once a week all together. He seems to be settling in well, and he’s been spending time with Wren and Poppy, who is Chris’ wife, as well. They run the café in the village and Wren, Poppy, and Rain regularly have lunch or coffee in there together. It’s gratifying to see Rain coming out of his shell.
Although it’s been hard to watch Aidan fretting over him yesterday and this morning, while they got the house ready for Corey. We all chipped in with cleaning and setting up the guest room, and as Rain got more and more nervous and excited, Aidan got more protective and grouchy. I don’t think he’s worried about Corey himself, but rather what he might bring with him.
I’m here, medical bag already in the house after Rain begged me to check Corey over when he got here. I told him I’d come prepared, but ultimately it was Corey’s decision. Corey told Rain when they were messaging that he left London soon after Rain did, so it’s been several weeks at this point. I’m hoping that if he did have any injuries, he’s either sought treatment or they have healed on their own. But I’m ready to check himover, if he wants me to.
“Maybe he’s a secret member of the royal family in hiding because he’s gay?” Cole suggests, excitement at the prospect lacing his tone.
“I feel like someone in that family being gay would be the least of their concerns, at this point,” Archer says around a laugh. Yikes. He’s right, I think to myself, but not for the first time, I wonder what happened to their brain-to-mouth filters. I love all of my siblings deeply. They’re a part of me, truth be told, but honestly, sometimes I struggle to believe we’re related. Aidan and I are a lot more similar, but these two scatterbrained reprobates? I’m not so sure.
I really shouldn’t refer to them as scatterbrained. I know they both have ADHD, and, as a doctor, I should have more empathy and understanding. I say it in jest, and only ever in my own head, but honestly, they would probably both say the same, and worse about themselves.
Particularly Cole. He may be a buff, muscled bloke with a brash sense of humour on the outside, but underneath his blasé attitude lies a very insecure man when it comes to his view of himself. I hate it because he’s such a caring guy and has so many talents, but he’s very hard on himself.
I check my phone and notice a message from Aidan letting me know they’re on their way back from the station.
“Oh, I missed a text from Aid. They left Attleborough twenty-five minutes ago, so they’ll be here soon. Let’s go and put the kettle on,” I say, adjusting my form-fitting dark jeans as I stand from the slightly battered, old camping chair I’ve been occupying while the twins… did wood stuff? I don’t even know what the word is.
Pax, Aidan’s dog – a large German Shepherd with a heart of gold – slumbers by my feet, his ears pricked as he listens out for his master’s return. Aidan rescued Pax a few years ago after a holidaymaker left him abandoned on the boat they’d hired. They blocked our number, and when Aidan reported them, they weren’t present at their home address either, so Aidan asked if he could keep him.
