Page 107 of While I’m Still Here

“And he's all right with that?”

Bea's expression twists. “Complicated about it. We have a deal right now, and I think he’s okay with it because he’s promised to tell me if he’s not.”

“That sounds healthy.”

“It actually sort of is.”

I give her a look. She sighs and finally removes her hand from my chest, though the absence is considerably more noticeable than I'd like. “We're not exclusive, Marcus. Colin knows that. We've talked about it.”

That is not remotely what I expected. “At all?”

“Not exactly.”

Before I can ask what not exactly means, Bea starts buttoning my shirt. I look down at her hands. “What are you doing?”

“You're having a crisis. I'm helping.”

“I can dress myself.”

She fastens another button with maddening concentration. “There's Colin,” she says.

“Yes. I'm familiar with Colin's existence.”

“And there's Danny.”

My attention snaps from her fingers to her face. “Who the fuck is Danny?”

Her hands stop halfway through the next button. “Oh.”

I stare at her.

That is not a promising response.

* * *

I meet Danny and Colin three hours later while carrying a galvanised metal garden incinerator down Bea's path. In retrospect, I accept this may not be the strongest possible first impression. I had dropped Bea home after shopping, then driven to a garden centre because the bras had been bothering me. More accurately, the look on her face while staring at them had been bothering me.

She doesn't want to donate them… She doesn't want to keep them. So I bought her something she can destroy them in.

There may have been more conventional solutions. I didn't investigate them.

Bea opens the front door before I knock, and her eyes drop to the metal bin, then slowly rise to mine. “What the fuck is that?”

“An incinerator.”

“I can see it's an incinerator, Marcus. Why are you carrying one?”

“For your bras.”

Silence. Behind her, somebody laughs. A man appears over her shoulder. Dark hair. Rolled sleeves. Entirely too amused with himself.

Danny.

It has to be.

“Sorry,” he says. “Who the fuck are you?”

Before I can answer, another man comes out of the kitchen. I recognise this one. Colin. I've seen him collecting Bea. His gaze goes from me to the incinerator, then to Bea, then back to me. “Marcus?”