‘I heard about what happened with Adam and Jodie. I wanted to check on you,’ he calls.
Laura, who I had sent a garbled voice note to as I left the hospital, must’ve told him. I would, of course, have told him myself but Laura was the first person who came to mind. It was only natural for me to call my best friend.
Putting the lamp down, relieved I won’t have to use it to batter the head off a random serial killer, I open the door and there stands this handsome, caring man with an expression of sympathy so genuine that my resolve finally falters and I disintegrate into a mess of tears as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me in tight for a hug.
I let him hold me and feel him kiss the top of my head softly.
‘You must’ve got an awful fright. All of you.’
I nod, allowing him to comfort me. Although ultimately the news had been good, I’d had a moment of feeling so very sorry for myself as we’d left the hospital. Paul had hurried to hug Jodie and then wrap his arms around Niamh. Adam had stayed almost attached to his girlfriend and I had found myself standing alone, desperate for a hug – desperate for someone to share this news with. It was too late to call my mother – who is of the very, very firm belief that only sociopaths call people after nine at night. I didn’t know if Conal and I were at the stage in which we could call each other in a crisis yet and very obviously I was not going to call Simon. So I’d sent a voice note to Laura and walked back to my car alone, hands thrust into my pockets, like the saddo I am.
Or was.
It might not seem like much to some people. He is doing nothing more, after all, than hugging me and letting me cry, as we stand on my doorstep with the bitter chill of the January night swirling around us, but it feels in this moment as if he is doing everything.
He is letting me feel my feelings without judgement or comment. He isn’t trying to minimise the multitude of emotions running through my body. He is caring for me – in a way that no man has in over a decade, if not longer. Simon was never really the hold-you-while-you-cry kind of a person. He tried, but he tended to get a little embarrassed by shows of emotion, especially any on a scale as big as this.
I can feel Conal sway just slightly, as if he is rocking me to soothe me. And I’m back in the workshop as those feelings of empowerment and safety rose up in me, and I’m back in my boys’ nursery as I rocked them to sleep and ‘The Blower’s Daughter’ played again and I am not embarrassed. I am not urging myself to get it together in front of this man. I am not worried that he will see me, and judge me, as an emotional woman. I’m not concerned he might think I’m overreacting. That I have nothing to cry about.
I am just feeling my feelings and I know with this man – this man who teased me relentlessly through my teenage years – I am safe.
He continues to hold me, and I breathe in the warm scent of him, revelling in the warmth of his body against mine. When the worst of my sobs have subsided, he pulls me just a little closer.
‘Becs,’ he says, and I can feel his breath on my ear. ‘Can we go inside now? It’s bloody freezing!’
That’s when I look up at him and see his warm caring face looking back me. I take a step back and another, and he follows me into the house, but we don’t take our eyes off each other.
He kicks the front door closed behind him, and to be honest, if I wasn’t absolutely emotionally drained in this very second, it would be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Or at least it would be until he cradles my face in his hands and tips my head up towards his.
‘I’m so glad everything is okay. I’m so glad you’re okay,’ he says before bringing his lips to mine. It’s a kiss that speaks a thousand words. Words that mean so much more than ‘I want to have sex with you very much right now thank you very much’. It’s a kiss that makes me believe, to my very core, that when he says he’s glad I’m okay, he means it with every cell in his body.
As he pulls back, and drops his hands, and leads me back through the living room where Daniel is patiently waiting for some attention, the only thing I can think of to say is, ‘You’re not supposed to be the iceberg. I am.’
* * *
For a moment, when I wake up, I am confused. Daniel is staring at me, wide-eyed, from where he stands beside my bed. And yet I can feel that I am not aloneinmy bed. There is definitely something – someone – in the space Daniel normally tries to commandeer until I chase him off into his dog bed.
Daniel doesn’t seem too distressed by the presence of someone other than me in the room. This isn’t necessarily reassuring. Daniel the Spaniel is easily bought. A slice of ham, a Bonio or a piece of chicken and he would let the devil himself get up close and personal with his nearest and dearest.
As the memories of the last twenty-four hours start to form in my mind, I realise it’s not likely to be a ham-toting serial killer but more likely to be Conal.
Conal, who arrived late last night and had listened as I talked, who had asked to see the photo I’d taken of the ultrasound screen. Who had listened when I said I had to accept I am going to be a granny. Who laughed uproariously when I told him how Laura had mentioned his mother had referred to herself as aGILF.
‘God, I miss her,’ he’d said when he stopped laughing.
‘She was an incredible woman.’
‘There are a lot of those about,’ he said, his smile shy and soft.
We’d talked until the small hours, cuddled on the sofa, until we were both yawning. So I invited him to stay over.
No. It was not about sex. We did not have sex. We both seemed to understand that we were tired. I was emotionally wrung out. We were not at our best. It was a relief, to be honest, because my legs are hairy, I need a shower and I am most definitely not at my most alluring.
We just held each other and slept. Until now, when I sense his presence in my bed.
‘Morning, Becs,’ he says, his voice a little croaky and tired. ‘Did you sleep?’
‘I did. Surprisingly well, in fact. Thank you,’ I say, reaching for my phone on the nightstand to check the time. It’s still dark outside but given that it’s January that could mean anything up until about half eight. It is, in fact, just after half seven and Daniel’s paw on the bed and mournful look of ‘Please let me out into the garden now before I pee on your deep pile’ makes me grateful I didn’t sleep beyond that.
