Page 65 of Bare
‘How would you know? You're asleep when it happens.’
Rory's mouth curved. He pulled Neil towards him by the back of the neck and kissed him, morning-breath and all. A kiss that tasted of last night and meant today.
Rory pulled back.
Rory pulled back just enough to breathe. Said it into the pillow, almost offhand.
11
THE FRACTURE
It had been buildingfor days, the way weather builds.
He knew it.
Before it broke.
The slight tension in Rory's face when they passed in the corridor. The texts that arrived a beat late instead of instantly. The morning coffee truce, since October unbroken. Until now. Stilted. Rory set out the two cups, placed Neil's on the counter, and talked about the mural, eyes on the paint.
That was new: the conversation professional, the distance personal.
He didn't ask what was wrong.
The catalyst was Freddie's birthday party.
Neil had mentioned it at school. Monday, staff room, a passing comment to Sue Dhillon: ‘Saturday's going to be chaos. Twelve five-year-olds, pass the parcel, and a cake shaped like a shark.’
‘Spider-Man,’ Sue corrected. ‘Freddie told me at the gate this morning. He's revised the cake. It's now Spider-Man. Three tiers. He specified tiers. I can't wait to see it.’
‘He specified... three tiers?’
‘He said, and I quote, 'One tier per wish and I've got three wishes.' Your son is negotiating at a level most adults can't achieve.’
Rory had been at the far end of the staff room. His travel mug already screwed shut on the counter, the takeaway cup beside it still waiting. He hadn't looked up. But his hand had stilled on the second lid for a fraction of a second, the tell Neil had learned to read.
That evening, at Rory's flat. Chicken on the table, Rory had cooked, not well, the garlic slightly burnt, the sauce a shade too thin. Kieran was out. The flat quiet.
‘Am I invited?’
Rory didn't look away.
Neil's fork paused. ‘To what?’
‘The birthday party. Saturday. Twelve kids and a Spider-Man cake.’
The air changed. He put his fork down. Parallel to the plate edge. Exact.
‘It's a children's party, Rory.’
‘I know what it is.’
‘Parents will be there. Gemma. Owen. Other families from the school.’
‘I know who'll be there.’ Rory's voice was level. Too level. ‘I'm asking if I'll be there.’
‘Rory...’
‘As a colleague. As Mr Cavanaugh, art teacher. Freddie's invited half the staff. Miss Greaves is coming. Martin Clarke is bringing his kids. And Freddie asked me to come. But... I'm asking you. I'm asking if Freddie's art teacher, who he talks about every day, who he painted brave for, is invited to his birthday party.’
