16
PARTNERS
The scones were good.Diane’s best, buttermilk, served warm. Nobody mentioned the tears. Nobody mentioned the hand. The six inches had closed and that was enough; some things settle when you name them.
Tea. The kitchen clock. Malcolm’s hands back around his mug, occupied again.
At the door, Diane straightened his collar. The automatic gesture. Old.
‘Bring him,’ she said. ‘When you’re ready. Bring Rory.’
She held his eyes.
‘Bring Rory.’ The name said properly. ‘I’ll make lunch.’
Spring light on the drive home. Longer now, warmer, the kind that showed things clearly.
His phone vibrated at a traffic light. Rory: _How did it go?_
_Dad cried._
Three dots. Then: _Malcolm Ashworth cried?_
_He reached for my hand and couldn’t make it. I closed the gap._
A long pause. Then: _That’s the bravest thing you’ve done yet._
Neil looked at the message. The light turned green.
_Come for dinner. Tonight. My flat. You, me, Freddie._
Immediate: _I’ll bring the dessert._
‘It’s become a thing,’ Sue said. Staff room. Monday. She was eating a hobnob with earned concentration. ‘An actual, verifiable thing. The mural. The cross-curricular collaboration. The art-meets-English. Webb’s using it on the website.’
‘Webb’s using everything on the website.’
‘Webb’s using it as evidence of innovative practice. Those are her words. She used them in a sentence. Unprompted.’
‘I’ll alert the media.’
‘The media have been alerted. There’s a photographer coming Thursday.’ Sue looked at him. The look she’d been giving him since September, the one that saw more than it said. ‘You and Cavanaugh. Side by side. For the photo.’
‘It’s a mural photo, Sue. Not a portrait.’
‘It’s a photo of two colleagues who built something. Together.’ She bit the hobnob. ‘You look good together. I’m just observing.’
‘You observe a lot.’
‘I teach statistics. Pattern recognition is my whole career.’
She walked away. Neil stood by the counter with his flat white, the takeaway cup with his name on it in Rory’s biro. Rory had stopped asking if he wanted one and had started bringing one every morning. The transition from quiet gift to daily arrangement had happened without either of them planning it.
Gemma’s tea happened on a Sunday in mid-March.
Rory arrived at Gemma’s door with wine and restless. Neil had driven. Freddie was in the back seat providing a running commentary on orca hunting strategies.
‘Rory. Do orcas have enemies?’
