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I laughed at the look on his face, one of abject horror at his blunder. “I know you didn’t, and honestly, I’ve told no one, so how would you know?” I patted him on the shoulder, letting him know all was well.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise. What you do in your own home and all that.”

“It's not a secret, but it’s also not something I shout about. You don’t have to tell me you’re straight and I don’t have to tell you I’m gay. It shouldn’t be an issue.”

“And it’s not. I promise you that.” He’d begun to sweat, but was it from the notion I was gay, or the fact that he thought he’d put his foot in it?

“I’m going home for coffee and a more comfortable sleep. Have a good shift, Sal. See you in a few days.”

Within fifteen minutes, I was back home, the coffee machine making a much-needed brew. I scrolled through my phone as I munched on a cereal bar, my feed full of family posts. Tilly, my younger sister, was doing well at the vets she was working in over the summer, and Freya had posted pictures of her holiday to Cyprus.

How she afforded it, I didn’t know, but her boyfriend came from a wealthy family. Maybe that had something to do with it. I couldn’t wait for the day I had no debt hanging around my neck, and I could go away and sunbathe on a sun-kissed beach, a hot body next to me.

Why did an image of Frankie appear in my mind? I was delusional. Frankie wouldn’t be interested in me in a month of Sundays. Catching him last night with another guy was a surprise, but like I said to Sal, no one had the right to know our sexuality.

Coffee in hand, I headed up to bed to get a couple more hours. I plugged my phone in to charge and threw my discarded clothes on the already enormous pile. Guess I knew what I was doing over the next few days. The problem was, by the time I was done with work, I was too damn tired to do anything else.

Mum would have had a fit if she saw it. Even now, the thought of her brought tears to my eyes. I hadn’t been that old when she died giving birth to Freya. Some complications no one had foreseen. I often wondered if that was why we’d all gone into medicine, although none of us had gone into gynaecology. Perhaps it was too close to home.

I was seven when she died, but my lasting memories were always fond ones. Singing and dancing with us, reading to us at bedtime. Fergus, my older brother, said he’d never known a time when she wasn’t pregnant, and now I think about it, she was twenty-five when she had him and only forty when she had Freya.

Damn.

Forty when she died. Ripped from our arms and hearts. I missed her, as we all did. Dad especially, content to live the rest of his life without her. He was fifty when she passed and did his best, but life was never the same. She’d been our light too, snuffed out far too soon.

When I listened to Frankie play last night, it evoked memories of how life had been after she passed. Dad, struggling with a newborn baby, finally succumbed to a live-in nanny to keep us all in check. She’d done her best, but at fifteen, Fergus had acted out, going off the rails in spectacular fashion.

Alcohol, drugs. You name it; he took it. We’d watched on, unsure what was happening but knowing it all had to do with Mum’s passing.

But life was better now. We’d eventually pulled together as a family, rallied around, and Dad was never alone. Tilly and Freya still lived with him when they weren’t at university, and he had his garden. Who could forget his garden?

I thought again about Frankie. Funny how something as insignificant as a piece of music could bring back all those memories.

But it wasn’t just the music; it was the way he’d played it with such raw passion that had moved me. His joy as he played, not opening his eyes once, lost in the moment as I had been.

For the first time in a while, something, or someone, other than work had my attention.

The question was, what was I going to do about it?

CHAPTER SIX

FRANKIE

“Frankie. Frankie. Get up.” A body landed on my chest, startling me awake.

“Get off me, Logan,” I groaned as his knee hit my bladder, and I tried to push him off.

What the hell time was it? Too fucking early to be woken up by a scrawny seven-year-old using me as a trampoline.

“Mum is cross with you for not coming home early last night,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact.

Mum could be cross all she liked. I had a right to go out, didn’t I? I could have friends, couldn’t I?

“Logan, please get off. I need the loo.” I attempted again to remove his scrawny arse.

“Dad’s in there. You’ll have to wait.” The urge to pee was overwhelming, but I supposed I could hold on longer, as long as Logan shifted himself.

“Can we go out today?” He picked up my phone, turned it on, and poked at the cracked screen.