‘All for the show, darlin’.’
A new suit takes the podium at the top of the hall. He’s grey at the temples, with the kind of sombre face that tells you the fun part of the evening is over. If there ever was such a thing.
‘Tonight isn’t only about celebrating Robert Burns or our sport,’ he begins, his voice echoing in the hall. ‘It’s about remembering why we’re here. What we’re donating to. This year, we lost a bright talent. A young man who fought battles far from the pitch.’
The air in the room changes. The cheerful clatter of forks and glasses goes quiet.
‘Liam Kennedy was a warrior for his club. But he struggled in silence.’
The name hangs there. I remember him, a winger from Glasgow. Fast as lightning. Died last spring, far too early.
‘We’re here to raise awareness for mental illness among brilliant athletes. Depression kills.’
Next to me, Theo goes rigid.
And it’s not a subtle change. It’s a total system shutdown. One second she’s a breathing woman in a dress that could make a monk break his vows; the next she’s a marble statue. Her hand, resting on the table, curls into a fist so tight her knuckles are white peaks. She’s stopped breathing, I’m sure of it.
My own chest constricts. Fuck, I know that expression. The one where you leave your body so you don’t have to feel what’s happening inside it.
My hand finds her thigh. Not for the crowd. For her. I hope it’s an anchor. I squeeze gently, a silent question. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to notice. Her violet eyes are pinned on the speaker, but they’re blank and vacant.
‘We’re here to ensure no one else feels they have to face that darkness alone,’ the man continues. I should remember his name, but I can’t. Middle-aged white dudes all look the same to me.
I catch a strand of her hair between my fingers, twirling it once. ‘You with me, MacMickin?’ I keep my voice a low rumble.
Nothing. She’s a million miles away.
The speech ends with a call for donations and a moment of respectful silence that feels anything but silent. It’s full of shuffling feet and awkward coughs. Full of ghosts.
My hand is still on her leg. She’s still not here.
‘Theo.’ I say her name again, firmer this time. I give her thigh another squeeze. ‘Breathe, baby.’
She finally gasps, a sharp, quiet intake of air, as if she’s just broken the surface of water. Her gaze snaps to mine, wide and panicked. There’s a universe of fear and pain in them. A raw terror that has no place at a black-tie dinner.
The clinking resumes as the crowd returns to eating, but the mood has curdled. A stocky man in his late sixties with a face carved from granite and opinions sits three seats over, whisky glass in hand. That one, I recognise instantly. Coach MacGill, the dinosaur who ran drills at my first academy camp.
He gestures broadly. ‘Everyone’s bloody depressed these days, aren’t they? Got a ragged cuticle? Depression. Girlfriend dumps you? Depression. In my day we didn’t have the luxury to stay in bed all day and cry about it. We sucked it up and got on with the job.’
Two men next to him burst out in a half-suppressed laugh. Next to me, Theo’s breathing accelerates to shallow pants. Her pupils dilate until the blue is nearly gone.
‘I need air,’ she gasps, pushing back from the table so abruptly her chair scrapes across stone. ‘Sorry. I need?—’
She’s gone before I can stand, weaving between tables toward the door.
I’m on my feet, but MacGill’s voice halts me. ‘See what I mean? The kids can’t handle a bit of truth these days.’
White-hot rage floods me. I plant my palms on the damask. ‘That’s what killed Liam Kennedy.’ My voice drops to a growl. ‘Your generation’s “suck it up” and “boys don’t cry” bullshit is why that lad’s in a coffin and not on the pitch.’
His face flushes purple. ‘Now listen here?—’
‘Respectfully, sir, go fuck yourself with that attitude.’
I leave him spluttering and follow Theo’s path. The corridors of Stirling Castle are a maze, but I catch a flash of silk disappearing through a doorway to an outside terrace.
Eventually, I find her leaning against the stone balustrade above Queen Anne Garden, arms wrapped around herself, shivering in the January cold.
‘Theo?’ I approach her slowly. ‘Mind if I join you?’
