Page 82 of Unapologetic Love Story

‘Why did you write all those pieces?’

‘Money, mostly.’

She glowered at him, calling him on the pithy comeback. ‘No, come on.’

Tom thought back to his tiny flat in Fulham. His ever-growing social media following. The hollow, empty feeling of grief that had become the horse pulling his chariot of anger along a dark, heady road. He’d taken twists and turns without caring where he was going, and people had egged him on. Every cutting takedown, every thread of receipts, they were a purge for him. He would spit out some of the poisonous grief that laced his insides, and he would do it with wit to make it look pithy and clicky.

People had loved it. They’d wanted more.

Then editors had started showing interest.

‘I suppose I just liked having a sense of purpose,’ he told her, unable to voice the truth.

He didn’t want her to think less of him. To know that loneliness and pain had turned him into some kind of warden who minded the actions of others and held court with a gavel made of nails.

She examined him for a moment and then said, ‘I know who you’re on this crusade for, honey.’

His mother’s face flashed in his mind and he glanced away.

A silence hung between them for a moment before Raina suddenly splashed him. He fell back, swearing in disbelief.

Then he noticed she was laughing. The open, stunning laugh he’d seen her give Pepper that night at the Hathaway Dinner. Not the Mona Lisa smile she wore when masking. He stared at her, hungrily, until it faded.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ he murmured, wishing he knew what to do to have her laugh like that again. ‘You’re just . . . different.’

‘I know,’ she said loftily, placing a tiny soap bubble on her nose. ‘Got it in writing. Are you going to expose me too?’

Her words and tone were teasing but there was something vulnerable in her eyes. Something that did make him feel guilty. He suddenly clambered into the bathtub, which caused her to shriek with laughter. Fully dressed and soaked, he lay on top of her and kissed her neck while she continued to shake with amusement.

‘I’d much rather you expose yourself, miss. Come on. Round four.’

CHAPTER TWENTY

‘Welcome back to another week on The Disability Track,’ Raina said into her microphone, smiling brightly. ‘Today is a neurodiversity-focused episode. Shocker. But I’ll be speaking with Dr Elaine Partridge about late diagnosis.’

The interview had already been conducted and Raina was just recording the intro and the outro. She was feeling jittery for reasons she couldn’t fully label. Dr Partridge had been an incredible guest. Astute. Sensitive. Knowledgeable. Humble.

Nothing like the man who’d diagnosed Raina. Or the occupational therapists she’d seen.

Raina had been fifteen. Of course, there were multiple assessments before this particular day. Tests designed for young children. Her school were at the end of their rope, in her head of house’s words. Her parents seemed to be, too.

His name was Dr Griffin. He’d asked her every conceivable question. Some had felt intrusive. Too personal. But she’d told herself the same thing that every authority figure had been telling her for months.

The doctor knows best. Do as you’re told.

She couldn’t remember the colour of his eyes; she’d made sure never to look at them. She remembered that he always smelled of stale chewing gum. As if he’d discarded a piece that had been well-chewed just before entering the room. His hands were very hairy and he cleared his sinuses a lot.

‘Now, I’m in agreement with your mother, Raina,’ he’d said. ‘Off the record, so to speak, the label will do you no good in adult life. You’re past the age where any real support can be given. You’ll face stigma, but also, you’ll have an excuse not to try. And that won’t make you strong. Too many people are chasing labels these days, and it won’t change a thing.’

The words had made Raina feel stuck inside of her own body. The implication that she was conspiring for some kind of free ride. It was repulsive. She was searching for answers. For an explanation that might dress the wounds caused by bullying, isolation, exclusion and so many lunch hours spent alone.

All my life I’ve performed. I’ve never been able to just exist. I’ve never been weightless. If I unmask, I regress. If I don’t, I start to break altogether.

‘Your lack of social activity and your disinterest in making friends, along with your motor skills and processing levels, lead me to agree with our initial diagnosis. If you’re after additional support, however, I’m not sure I can recommend pursuing that. Your support needs are far too low, and there are children who really need it.’

Friendship. Something Raina wanted more than air. But something that always felt impossible. She could never outrun the disability when it came to socializing in large groups. She always said something incorrect. Something they found off-putting. People often asked her what was ‘wrong’ with her and Raina had never been able to answer.