‘In front of people. Out loud. Without rehearsing or qualifying or adding a footnote.’
‘She asked a direct question. I gave a direct answer.’
‘You don't give direct answers. You give answers with caveats and subclauses and occasionally a bibliography. You said yes. To an eight-year-old. In a pub. Without hesitation.’
‘I'm as surprised as you are.’
‘Are you going to take it back?’
‘No.’
‘Even though you didn't plan it?’
‘Especially because I didn't plan it. Every time I plan something it comes out wrong. This came out right.’
Rory was quiet. His hands on the wheel. Then, low: ‘It did.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you know what that means? To me?’
Neil looked at the road. The hedgerows silver. The dark. ‘Tell me.’
‘It means you're braver than you think. It means the man who walks into my flat on Friday nights and barely looks at me in the eye at school on Monday mornings, that man just said yes in front of Tess and Patrick and Kieran and Beth and a collie and he didn't die.’
‘Beth said you'd been grumpy.’
‘Beth is right. I've been grumpy. Because you were hiding me. And tonight you stopped.’
‘Although,’ Neil said. ‘Boyfriend isn't quite the right word.’
Rory's hands clenched on the wheel.
‘It's not the right word because we're not sixteen.’ He spent his life choosing words. He knew the weight of each one. ‘Boyfriend is what you say when you're holding hands at a school disco. I'm thirty-three. You're thirty-two. There's a child in this. We've got a mural and jobs and your brother's A-levels. We're grown men, Rory.’
‘And grown men say...’
‘Partner.’ He found the word and it fit. ‘If you agree... partner.’
The word held. The car moved. The effort of containment showed in his face.
‘Partner,’ he said. Eventually. Rough.
‘Partner fits better.’ Neil paused. ‘If you'd prefer boyfriend...’
‘I'd prefer partner.’ Low. Definite. ‘I'd very much prefer partner.’
‘Then partner.’
‘Say it again.’
‘You are my partner, Rory.’
Rory reached across the gearbox and took his hand. Held it. The grip was tight and the car moved through the dark, the word between them, heavier than boyfriend, thought about, chosen, and neither spoke because the word was doing the work.
He didn't let go.
At the flat, Kieran was out. Carol's. Text on Rory's phone: Staying over. DON'T WAIT UP.
