Page 102 of Unapologetic Love Story

‘You her boyfriend?’

Tom glared. ‘Yes. What’s it to you?’

Why are you like this? Tom asked himself. Why do you act like this? Not everyone is coming to take her from you. You don’t have to fight. She’s okay. She’s strong.

He checked the progress of the Uber and laid a hand on Raina’s forehead. She tried once more to get up, but he steadied her.

‘Car’s almost here,’ he said, trying to reassure.

This wasn’t something he’d anticipated. He’d heard words like ‘shutdown’ and ‘burnout’ in passing while researching her backlist of podcast episodes.

It was incredibly physical and he could hear how challenging it was for Raina to communicate. It even sounded like breathing was difficult. He got to his feet a little precariously and helped her to stand when the car pulled up outside.

Raina was trying to gather enough strength to push away from him and move on her own before finally giving in and gripping the arm of his coat with blunt, chewed nails.

‘Too much to drink?’ asked the driver as they slipped into the back of the car.

‘Just go,’ Tom barked, causing everyone else in the vehicle to jump.

‘Bleeding hell, all right,’ muttered the driver, while Raina winced.

It wasn’t a long drive to the house in Barnes, the address Tom had automatically entered into the app without a second thought. He felt more at peace there than he did in his little coffin of a flat, full of notes he didn’t know what to do with yet.

‘Can I get your keys?’ he asked her gently as they stood on the stoop.

‘Left pocket,’ she told him.

Once inside, she moved in a rickety fashion into the front room before collapsing on the sofa. Tom poured some water from the jug in the fridge and watched over her. Her eyes were closed, but she sensed him there.

‘Sorry.’

The word was uttered with a million sad little things. Disappointment. Embarrassment. Fear. Shame. Tom could hear all of them and he found it staggering. He sat on the living-room floor, stretching his legs out in front of him. ‘You’ve nothing to say sorry for.’

She opened her eyes at that, and he felt a momentary chill at how empty they looked. ‘I can usually sense when they’re coming. That one . . . crept up on me. Not a big one though. Not by a long shot.’

The words were laboured. Forced. And each syllable seemed to draw from more tiny reserves of energy, leaving her more exhausted by the end of her sentence than she had been at the start.

‘I thought this might happen,’ he said quietly. ‘Your joints have been hurting, you have moments where you’re just staring into space. I’ve researched autistic shutdowns. Plus, I’ve been here constantly. Messing up your routine. I should give you more space.’

But he didn’t want to.

‘I don’t want that,’ she said. ‘It’s funny. Usually seeing someone new does mess up my routine. But it doesn’t feel that way with you.’

She was so still. He waited until her breathing was a little deeper and a little more regular. Then he moved into the kitchen and tried to improvise some dinner for her. He found chicken stock, some noodles and a few vegetables. He made a broth and while the water was boiling, he thought of the first episode of The Disability Track. He had it almost memorized by now.

‘Imagine if every room you went into had the lighting of a hospital and the noise level of a nightclub. Then imagine everyone else naturally speaks one language, and you have to quickly relearn that language every time you meet people. Imagine trying to fight your senses while making small talk, considering all of that. Then people lie with their body language. With their words. Only you’re too busy trying to actually make out what they’ve said, so you don’t always catch their tone. That’s the foundation. Then put all of that into a world that doesn’t understand you and also doesn’t want to.’

Tom looked into the blue flames of the stove. Her words. Her way of describing her life. He began to mix the broth together, slowly adding the noodles. He wondered if his father had worried like this. Felt terror like this. When his mother had been dying and his father had calmly and quietly cooked roasts and made soups. He wondered if the acts of care and service were partly done to keep him sane. To feel useful.

Love was always a down payment on loss. It was a guaranteed cul-de-sac. A heart once handed over can only end in broken pieces. It was why so many people locked theirs away. Better to be perfectly preserved behind glass or in a safety deposit box than in someone else’s hands.

But Tom wasn’t one of them any more.

He went back to Raina, holding out a steaming bowl of noodles.

‘Don’t look so worried.’

Her words startled him, and he let out a nervous laugh. ‘Can’t help it. I want you to be okay.’