‘At Mum’s house,’ Noah said. ‘Spending Christmas with her. I haven’t done that in a while.’
‘Why not?’
‘I spend it in London with…’
A patch of silence nipped in the bud by Quinn.
‘Matty.’
‘Matty, yeah,’ Noah said. ‘I invite her every year, but she always says no.’
‘Why?’
Though Quinn knew the answer.
‘The press.’
‘Right.’
‘They don’t exist, by the way.’
‘What?’
‘Mum thinks she is still being hounded by the press,’ Noah said. ‘She is paranoid to leave the house for fear of them harassing her, but the only times she has appeared in the press is when she calls them herself. The true reason she won’t go out is because of the people here.’
On this bridge, alone, feeling small and like a blip on the landscape, the words between them seemed to pour out. Quinn felt safe, and he thought Noah felt safe, too. Trust stretched between them like the bridge, linking them to each other.
‘Everyone knows, don’t they? They all know about Hermione and her author son. Everyone thinks it’s so simple, but they don’t get it. I bet you all gossip about it and have a right old laugh.’
‘Actually, Noah, no one cares,’ Quinn said. Noah stepped back, defensive, his arms crossed, his warm drink held in his hand. ‘Hermione is someone we wish came here more than she does. We miss her. What happened to her is a sad story. And you. You’re one of us. You’re both one of us. But neither of you wants to be here because neither of you seems to care. You don’t remember the support available to you. You’re both just hung up in your own little world, and that world isn’t a real one.’
‘How dare you?’
‘It’s true.’
‘You don’t know me.’
‘No, I don’t,’ Quinn said. ‘But I’d like to.’ He cleared his throat, his eyes drifting over the bridge. ‘I’m going to tell her story.’ He dared not look at Noah. He dared not read too much into his expression.
‘I couldn’t think of anyone better.’
Had he said that?
Quinn looked at Noah, seeing him smile, but this time he didn’t let their eyes meet. ‘You mean it?’
‘Of course,’ Noah said. ‘I haven’t been able to talk to someone like this in a long time. You have a way about you, Quinn, that makes people feel like they can trust you. There’s something about you that makes me feel safe.’
OH MY GOD.
Soaring, flying, fleeting high in the clouds, shining bright like Rudolph. It was back, and this time it wouldn’t freeze and die in the crisp grip of winter.
‘You don’t think it will be weird?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Noah said. ‘I guess you’ll be at the house, then?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’
Noah met his eyes. That familiar feeling gripped them. Quinn was suspended in mid-air and a light illuminated them like the beam of God’s light rather than headlights from a Jeep Wrangler crossing the bridge.
