‘We could,’ she said, drawing out the word, ‘but I want to open my results alone, you know, nothing personal just …’
‘No, me, too,’ I said, ‘there’s no way I’m opening mine in front of … well … anyone.’
‘So,’ she said, ‘maybe we should … just go ourselves and then …’
‘… meet at the bowling alley later?’ I said.
We nodded in the same rhythm and then said:
‘Plan!’ at exactly the same time and laughed at ourselves.
‘We are such weirdos,’ Jennifer said.
‘Which I’m totally OK with,’ I replied.
‘Me too,’ she said. ‘Totally.’
We walked around the grounds together, hand in hand, sharing my ice cream, and agreed not to talk, or even think, anymore about things we didn’t have an answer for.
We didn’t actually say very much at all and I think we were totally OK with that too.
56
The support group for the family and friends of young people with traumatic brain injuries met every Thursday at 7 p.m. in the function room upstairs in the old library.
I had just pulled up outside when the McCoys arrived.
‘Is that the new motor, Brendan?’ said Mr McCoy, walking over to put his hand on the roof of my car. ‘Beaut!’
‘Lovely colour,’ said Mrs McCoy, at her husband’s side with a packet of biscuits in her hand. ‘Will we head in?’
They led me inside, up the stairs and into a room that had about fifteen people in it, talking amongst themselves. Several of them were gathered at a tea table off to the side.
‘Aaron, Emma, lovely to see you, how are you both?’ said a large woman in a loud but smooth voice, walking energetically towards us. She was wearing a colourful flowery blouse and had a rosy red face.
‘Patricia, how are you?’ said Mr McCoy as he received an all-consuming hug, which caused him to grunt. ‘No hug like a Patricia hug,’ he said in an overstrained voice.
‘Can I get one too?’ said Mrs McCoy.
‘It’s mandatory, Emma, you know this by now,’ said Patricia, wrapping her arms around her and squeezing. ‘Better?’ she said as she released.
‘Much,’ said Mrs McCoy with a big breath out.
‘And who’s this?’ said Patricia, looking down at me.
‘This is Brendan,’ said Mrs McCoy.
‘Of course it is,’ said Patricia, stepping back with hands on hips. I nodded, feeling self-conscious as she looked me up and down. I held my hand out for a shake but Patricia shooed it away.
‘It’s hugs here, I’m afraid, Brendan,’ she said, pulling me into her.
‘Youdogive good hugs,’ I said, when I came out of it.
‘They’re becoming legendary but I don’t like to toot my own horn,’ she said. ‘Now, come on ahead in and we’ll get you some tea and biscuits. Is that Rich Tea I see in your hand there, Emma?’
‘It is indeed, Patricia.’
‘Now there’s a woman who speaks my biscuit language. Come on over and we’ll tear into them,’ she said, shepherding us over to the tea table. Mrs McCoy looked at me and winked.
