Page 35 of The Truth About You and Me
‘I was going to expand. We’ – he glances back at me – ‘Vicky and I…’ I try to ignore the jolt inside at the mention of Vicky and the hurt behind his eyes. ‘We were going to expand, hence this place.’
‘What happened?’
‘I wasn’t the person I was before the stroke. Vicky was – still is, I suppose – ambitious. We both were, had our future all mapped out. But then’ – he runs a hand through his dark hair – ‘when it was clear that I… that I’d changed, she ended it, took her share of the money and I was left with a shop I couldn’t run and another waiting to be opened. I think it highlighted that there were already problems in our relationship. She tried at first, to stay, to help…’ He hesitates. ‘I thought I could still do it at first, thought I could fix it, fix me, the alexia, so I took out a loan to cover the rest. But now, now I avoid books, and the place where I have always felt like I belonged, feels like a prison.’ He looks back around the room, almost as if he can see this shop as he intended, filled with light and conversation, books filling the shelves, soft music and laughter coming from the bar. He resets, his whole body shifting as though embarrassed that he’s spoken out loud by mistake.
I take off my gloves and set them beside me.
Jack glances down, eyebrows hitched then meets my eyes.
‘How about’ – I smile at the memory of the first time we met – ‘we be alone, but together?’
His eyes flash with recognition; I dip my head, offering him a small, encouraging smile.
‘That’s a terrible line, you know,’ he replies, but the light is back behind his eyes.
‘Really? I think it’s pretty great.’ I lift my kebab and take a small bite. It’s delicious. Jack takes a bite of his own as I swallow.
‘Good?’ he asks, covering his mouth before placing his back inside the container.
I nod. ‘Yes, you weren’t kidding.’
He reaches into the bag. ‘Water or…’ He squints at the label; his whole body tenses. How did I miss how hard reading is for him? I replay our time together and realise that it’s not only me who is good at hiding the truth about themselves from the rest of the world. The liquid is pink. He looks up, body relaxing a touch. ‘I’m guessing pink lemonade? I pointed to it in the shop, looked like something you might like? It was the brightest colour.’
He looks at the label again then passes it to me.
‘Thanks.’ I smile and he gives me one in return, but it’s like the confidence has been knocked out of him. He takes another bite, the air thick with lost dreams and secrets.
‘How did it happen?’ I ask tentatively.
‘I honestly don’t remember.’
I take another small mouthful.
‘Anything?’
‘I’d been to the pub, had a few. Bumped into some guy and then… nothing until I woke up in the hospital.’
I swallow hard, the pitta bread too thick in my throat.
‘What did he look like?’
Jack frowns, looks off into the distance. ‘Pretty average really: medium height, medium build, blond hair.’ My heartbeat quickens. ‘He was pretty pissed about something… But that’s all I can remember. Well that and the pain at the back of my skull.’
‘So he hit you?’
‘Honestly? I have no idea. Maybe I tripped over. I’d had a fair few beers and a shot… one for the road from my mate. All I remember is saying goodbye and then his face, the feeling of being pushed, and a pain that sounds like a crack. That’s part of the problem with my reading. When I try, it’s like the trauma of that night stops me. I get a searing pain, right’ – he turns his head and points to the base of his skull – ‘here.’
‘Is there ever a chance it could get better?’ I suggest tentatively. ‘Like, with support or therapy, maybe?’
He hesitates, opens a bottle of water and takes a long pull, taking his time screwing the lid back on.
‘I’ve tried… I had a speech and language therapist but the words, they… won’t come. It’s exhausting, trying to read. And painful. But my father has found a specialist – Dr Levin, he’s had good results. Apparently.’
‘That’s great… isn’t it?’ He places the bottle on the windowsill, turns the label to face him, a finger skating across the ‘w’.
‘I guess I’m afraid.’
‘To try?’
