‘You know,’ she says as I start the engine, ‘lesser men would be upset after losing. But you’re grinning from ear to ear.’
I reach across and rest my hand on her thigh, feeling goosebumps rise under my palm. ‘Other men don’t have you waiting for them after.’
She rolls her eyes as she always does, but I catch the pleased smile she tries to hide.
I pull out of the car park, my hand still on her leg. The season’s over, but something much better is beginning. I never thought I could be this happy with one woman. Never thought I’d stop chasing the next thrill. But Theo MacMickin has me in the palm of her tiny hand.
* * *
Fifteen minutes into the drive through Glasgow, I roll down the window and let the air rush in. Theo’s singing along to the radio, something indie that she knows all the words to.
‘So I’ve been thinking.’ I drum my fingers on the steering wheel as we stop at a red light.
She turns to me, eyebrows raised. ‘Is this a threat or a confession? I never know with you.’
‘Ha bloody ha. Serious, though. Remember that meeting I had with Charlie last month?’
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘The one where you both went suspiciously quiet when I came into the room?’
‘That’s the one. It’s about the charity thing, the second part of my redemption arc, as you two called it.’ I take a breath. ‘I’m starting a foundation.’
Her head snaps toward me. ‘A what now?’
‘A foundation for children. For weans with parents who have mental health problems.’ I keep my eyes on the road but feel her staring at me. ‘Kids who need someone to see them, to listen. Who need to know they’re not alone.’
I glance over. Theo goes still in the way she does when everything inside her is moving too fast.
‘Because of what you told me about your mum. About how you handled her depression all by yourself. How nobody noticed. How you became this tiny adult much too early.’
She blinks once. Then again. Her mouth moves, but she doesn’t speak.
‘You should’ve had support, Theo. God knows how many children out there are struggling in silence. I can’t go back in time and change your past, but maybe I can change someone’s future. It’s a surprise.’
When I look again, the tears are already halfway down.
‘Ah fuck. Don’t cry, baby.’ I reach over and brush my thumb across her cheek. ‘I’m sorry, I should’ve asked if?—’
‘No.’ She catches my hand and presses it against her damp face. ‘It’s perfect.’
I park the car.
‘You should include children of parents with addiction,’ she adds after a moment. ‘Because everything you just said, I’m saying right back at ya.’
‘What?’
‘Your dad. Your mum. The way you learned to be the loudest person to distract from the pain. How you still sometimes expect everyone to leave.’
She knows me. She knows all of me. I let her know all of me, and it’s everything.
‘Charlie’s already talking to the solicitors,’ I say. ‘We can set it up however we want. Make it ours.’
‘Ours?’
‘If you want.’ I turn in my seat to face her properly. ‘I want you with me on this, Theo.’
She unbuckles her seatbelt and leans across the console. Her lips brush mine. ‘I’m with you. Always. Come on, let’s go.’
I pull the flowers from the backseat. White carnations. Theo chose them, said they symbolise the restoration of innocence after death. Not so sure about that, but they’re better than nothing.
