Greengrass hadn’t left, then. Theo felt ridiculous for being relieved about that, like Greengrass wasn’t a near-stranger and talking about this wasn’t dangerous behaviour and this situation, generally, wasn’t mortally embarrassing – but still, he was relieved that Greengrass had stayed. He hadn’t dared look at him properly again, but Theo rubbed his eyes with a hand and then shot a glance sidelong, just enough to see Greengrass leaning on his hands in his peripheral vision. Greengrass, who had said he knew what that’s like.
You do? he might’ve asked, if his throat didn’t feel too raw. He could hear in his tone, the awkward stiltedness, that there was something honest there. Which bit, Theo had to wonder. Not being ready for things ending, maybe, or missing someone so badly it physically hurt, or having to watch as the person you loved got married to someone else –
“No,” Theo choked out helplessly at that question, managing to lift his head high enough to shake it, and to make a scoffing noise that was nearly a desperate laugh. “Who – who would you talk to about it?”
If Greengrass had really been through this, maybe he’d have some idea, but Theo didn’t. There were people he called friends, of course, but they didn’t talk about things like this and he didn’t think he wanted to be that person. It was too risky, besides – he wasn’t sure he could trust anyone beyond his family to keep a secret as though their life depended on it. If anything came out, he trusted his family to keep it, but... But he couldn’t tell Veronica: she had enough to deal with already, and he still felt too guilty (– for how he’d treated her in the past; that her husband was absent without leave and had just left her alone to care about everybody in his place –) to burden her with anything else. And he could hardly tell Cee, because although she would listen and be kind and want to help, she was already too close. She might have the best intentions, but she knew everyone he spent time with; she knew Cash too. Even without the specifics, she’d figure it out one way or another, because Cecily Gallivan had never been able to leave well enough alone.
And of course there was the added fact that discussing this with anyone would make it excruciatingly and irrevocably clear that he was a mess, which Theo didn’t want – but that sounded especially nonsensical now that he had put his foot in his mouth and practically fallen to pieces on the first person who’d happened by. (So Greengrass could probably guess how many people he had to talk to.)
You do? he might’ve asked, if his throat didn’t feel too raw. He could hear in his tone, the awkward stiltedness, that there was something honest there. Which bit, Theo had to wonder. Not being ready for things ending, maybe, or missing someone so badly it physically hurt, or having to watch as the person you loved got married to someone else –
“No,” Theo choked out helplessly at that question, managing to lift his head high enough to shake it, and to make a scoffing noise that was nearly a desperate laugh. “Who – who would you talk to about it?”
If Greengrass had really been through this, maybe he’d have some idea, but Theo didn’t. There were people he called friends, of course, but they didn’t talk about things like this and he didn’t think he wanted to be that person. It was too risky, besides – he wasn’t sure he could trust anyone beyond his family to keep a secret as though their life depended on it. If anything came out, he trusted his family to keep it, but... But he couldn’t tell Veronica: she had enough to deal with already, and he still felt too guilty (– for how he’d treated her in the past; that her husband was absent without leave and had just left her alone to care about everybody in his place –) to burden her with anything else. And he could hardly tell Cee, because although she would listen and be kind and want to help, she was already too close. She might have the best intentions, but she knew everyone he spent time with; she knew Cash too. Even without the specifics, she’d figure it out one way or another, because Cecily Gallivan had never been able to leave well enough alone.
And of course there was the added fact that discussing this with anyone would make it excruciatingly and irrevocably clear that he was a mess, which Theo didn’t want – but that sounded especially nonsensical now that he had put his foot in his mouth and practically fallen to pieces on the first person who’d happened by. (So Greengrass could probably guess how many people he had to talk to.)
