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I keep telling myself I stayed quiet because pushing back against Mum in public never ends well, but the truth is uglier. I froze. I didn’t want to upset her. And deep down, some pathetic part of me still feels like a child whenever Mum’s disappointed in me. Also, she’d worked so hard on the gala with her friend, they were raising money for a great cause, and I wanted her to have a good time.

My mind flickers back to the string of unanswered texts.

Tom: You ok? No pressure to reply.

Then, the next morning:

Tom: The champagne was so good that I didn’t even have a hangover!

I’d stared at that message for nearly twenty minutes as I lay in bed, thumb hovering uselessly over the keyboard.

After that he kept trying. Apparently Tom doesn’t believe in the “don’t double text” rule and I love that, even as a part of me crumples each time I read one.

Tom: Found a coffee shop today that claimed to have “award-winning banana bread.” Thought you’d want to know it was deeply mediocre.

Tom: Kath says you’re busy with work. Hope you’re ok.

Each one of his messages is simple and kind and very… him. I dissected all of them until the words lost all meaning. I typed out replies over and over again. I’m sorry, I’m not sure this is a good idea, but that’s no reflection on you. You’re amazing, I promise. But every version sounded too small compared to what happened.

So instead I didn’t send anything. Better he thinks I’m rude now than too complicated later. I did the maths lying in bed over too many sleepless nights, and it felt like wisdom at the time.

But it’s been a week, and it no longer feels like wisdom. So this morning I sent the worst text of all time. “Hey, maybe we could have a quick chat at some point.”

It took him a long time to reply to that one. And all he said was “Sure.”

Despite all the hours I’ve rehearsed explanations in my head, I still can’t work out what to say. How to explain to him that dating me isn’t worth it because of everything that comes along with it.

I joke about Angus being a “bad date” but in reality Angus isn’t the problem.

As I’m looking for the box of cable ties, I hear a soft knock on the door. I turn, pushing my hair behind my ears, and see Tom standing there.

Crap.

I fight the urge to cross my arms over my chest defensively. He looks good, blue collared shirt, jeans and then a backpack casually slung over his shoulder.

“I’m here to help.” He puts down a cake tin and straightens up looking around the room. “What do you need me to do?”

The coolness in his voice stings, but I’ve earned it. Apparently ghosting someone for a week has consequences. Who knew?

“Hi.” I give an awkward wave, unsure of what else to do. “Maybe the photos. I got people who were coming to send me old pictures with Kath and I wanted to pin them along the wall.”

I point him towards a stack I printed a few days ago on the table. He nods, moving towards them without waiting for more explanation. Fussing with paper hats and plates, I pretend that I don’t feel the silence around us.

This is nothing like Kath’s previous parties, and I know it’s my fault. I hate myself for the fact that it’s my fault.

I remember the time at Kath’s tenth birthday where I fell over playing football in the park and cut my knee, and Tom was the one who sat with me on the sidelines cheering me up whilst we watched the others play. Or the time we had an unofficial cake-eating contest aged twelve and he declared me the winner after I managed more than anyone else, and then laughed when I lay on the floor in a sugar coma for the next hour.

I attempt to break the silence. “Did you make chocolate cake?”

“Yeah.” Tom doesn’t look at me. He adjusts a picture of Kath playing netball on the wall, and steps back to look at it critically before minutely rearranging it.

The silence thickens, pressing down on my ribs. I can’t stand it. “I really appreciate you coming to help. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s fine.”

Across from me his back is still turned. I used to find talking to Tom the easiest thing in the world, and now I have no idea what to say.

I’m just attempting to reach the hook on the wall, stretching as far as I can when I hear Tom behind me.