Page 84

“So this does work,” she said, flipping the phone open and pressing a couple of buttons.

“What?”

“How come I found out that my son sliced open his hand from Nurse Bryne in the office?”

Her furrowed brow studied him but softened when she saw the wrap of bandage that had that morning been a functioning left hand.

It took him a second to realize she was probably remembering the last time he’d needed his skin sewn together. Eight stitches at the base of his skull from riding his BMX down the big hill with no hands because Mickie had dared him.

She’d gone from white as a sheet to fuming and then laughing about it, all in the space of a couple of hours.

Bren held up his hand to show off the lack of blood on his wrappings and Mam nodded.

Why was she going so easy on him?

Maybe the school hadn’t told her that he’d ditched his afternoon classes, or maybe she thought he’d been at the hospital the entire time. It wasn’t something he was about to question, though, so he chucked his empty can in the recycling and made for his bedroom.

“I got takeaway. Been craving a spice bag all day. Want to find something on T.V. and eat in the living room?”

That was birthday and good-grade talk. What was she playing at?

Oh.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Mam’s brow furrowed but she recovered quickly.

“Come on, humor your old mam.”

“I got homework.”

He didn’t meet her eyes as he stepped around her, and he was halfway to his room before she had a chance to say anything.

By the time he’d finished writing out the first equation for maths, the T.V. flipped on in the other room.

Bren stared at the next question that was due by Friday and flung his binder shut. He was turning on his Xbox when he remembered his throbbing hand.

The headphone wires were in his ears before he clocked what he was doing. He’d refused to take Arlo’s when he’d offered them to him back at the airport, but a part of him wished he’d taken them. His old Sandisk didn’t quite do the trick.

Why didn’t anyone get it?

He didn’t need help with his homework or a spice bag, and he definitely didn’t need Mam’s fuckin’ pity.

Music, and the feeling that it brought to his heart every time it was around.

He needed his lad.

He’d had his lad.

He just hadn’t been good enough to keep him.

39

“Since when do you knock?”

A.J. waved Nat in before pushing the door shut against the gush of negative forty that tried to claw its way in after her. Even though she couldn’t have been waiting for more than ten seconds her cheeks had gone pink enough to match the neon Beetle parked in the driveway.

“Forgot my gloves,” Nat said, her bare hands peeking out of the arms of her winter jacket.