‘I’m right here,’ I say. ‘I’m not going anywhere. We’re not going anywhere.’
‘We have to go downstairs eventually.’
‘Do we, though?’ I ask.
‘Your family will notice what we’re up to.’
‘I bet they already have. David probably has a stopwatch running.’
‘Oh god. I can’t look any of them in the eye again.’ She groans and buries her face in the crook of her elbow. ‘I’ll run a bath and find the hair dryer, okay?’
‘Naw. It’s fine. Welcome to the Kerr family, where boundaries are non-existent. You’ll get used to it.’
And I want her to. I want her to get so used to this that she doesn’t even think about leaving. I want her to get used to…us.
* * *
I’m holding Ava’s hand as we descend the stairs, thirty minutes and one shared shower later. My palm is clammy. She squeezes my fingers once, and I squeeze back.
Most of my life, I’ve moved through this house trying not to take up space. Eat quickly, clean up after myself, disappear so there’s room for everyone else’s issues. I never brought friends here. Ever. Definitely never a girl.
And now I’m walking into my mum’s kitchen with a woman’s fingers laced through mine.
Christ, why are my knees so wobbly? Probably all the shagging. Aye, that must be it.
David’s at the table with his mobile and a cup of tea, looking far too awake. He takes a long, slow sip on purpose.
‘Morning,’ I grunt.
‘It’s ten.’ David sets his mug down. ‘I’d ask how you slept, but judging by the thumping coming through the ceiling, I’m guessing the answer is “briefly”.’
Ava goes still, the milk carton hovering over her tea. Splotches of pink creep up her cheeks.
I turn to glare at him. ‘Wind your neck in.’
‘Merely an observation.’ He leans back with a shit-eating grin. ‘You seem…different, big man. Less heavy.’
‘David Kerr,’ Mum shouts from the lounge. ‘Wheesht. Gie them peace.’
‘I’m just saying,’ David continues. ‘It’s a good look. Suits you both.’
Less heavy. My brother said that like he was commenting on the weather. He has no idea that those two words reached into a twenty-four-year backlog of silence and yanked.
Still. Having my bedroom activities audited over a plate of toast makes my ears hot.
Mum comes in and notices our interlaced fingers. Her face softens. ‘Sit down. I’ll warm up some tattie scones for you.’
Ava moves to help, but Mum waves her off. ‘Sit yer bum doon. You’re a guest, love.’
Ava obeys and slides into the chair beside mine. She catches my eye while Mum’s back’s turned and shoots me a private smirk. The pure, easy freedom of it takes me out at the knees. There is a chest-expanding pride in knowing I put that glow on her skin.
Four minutes later, Mum sets plates in front of us, then takes my wrist, turning it over to inspect my knuckles.
‘I’m still not asking why or who, even though I’d like to.’ She presses lightly on a bruise, and I wince. ‘But looking at the state of this…I’d wager the wee scrote deserved it.’
‘Aye,’ I say roughly. ‘He did.
Mum pats my cheek. ‘Now eat. You need to build up your strength.’ She catches Ava’s eye and winks.
