There was a long pause and I was quite sure in that moment that he was going to shove me away, but he didn’t. In fact, he surprised me again by letting out another manly choked-back sob, shoving his face into my neck and then bursting into full-blown tears.
His face stayed in my neck and his body continued to shake with his now-silent sobs for the next few minutes. I could feel the tears running down my skin and soaking into my shirt. Barclay looked a little awkward, a little unsure, but mostly spooked to shit. He sat on the arm of the sofa and laid his hand on Henry’s back, which seemed to be the limit of soppiness between the Lucas brothers, but I thought it was sweet all the same. After a good few minutes Henry emerged from my neck, his tearstained face blotchy and his eyes red.
“Bloody hell,” he mumbled, running both his hands down his face. “Okay,” he drew out the word before clearing his throat. “Well, this is awkward.”
“Henry I . . .” Barclay swallowed and took his hand away from his brother’s back to scrub it thorough his hair, leaving dark tufts standing up in his normally perfectly managed style.
“Look Barclay, you don’t–”
“I know I work a lot,” Barclay cut in. “But I’m here for you. I . . . want to be here for you so you could . . . you know . . .”
“Cry like a pussy?”
“Crying is not for pussies,” I told them both, my own eyes starting to prick as I bore witness to their uncomfortable, posh and repressed version of a sweet heart-to-heart. “Sometimes a good cry can sort you out. If anything, it’s themostmacho thing a man can do.”
Both brothers shook their heads as if I was ridiculous, but their expressions were soft and that was sweet too.
“Do I need to start singing again?”
“No!” they said together with insulting speed.
I took a deep breath in, ready to launch into someMan in the Mirror, but Henry’s hand flew up to cover my mouth. I licked said hand and he couldn’t pull it away quick enough.
After my smug smile of victory faded I looked into his eyes and softened my voice. “One of the most difficult things you will have to do is reconnect with your old life and friends again, but it really is the only way to heal. And it is up to you if you share your diagnosis or not. Some people are open about it. Some only tell close family and friends. Some tell nobody at all.”
“I think I’dhaveto tell them if I saw them though. My close mates – I wouldn’t be able to hide it from them. And . . . and what if it disgusts them?” His voice had dropped to a whisper now. “What if they pity me? I’m not sure I could handle that.”
My heart squeezed in my chest. “I know this stuff is hard and I’m sorry that it has to be so difficult. I’m sorry that there is a stigma around your condition right now. But the stigma is only down to ignorance. If your close friends are reasonable humans then they’ll listen to you and you can educate them. Just like I educated you – after you’d finished being a stubborn twat, that is.”
He studied me for a moment his brows drawing together as he considered my words.
“I’ll think about it,” he said finally. “And I’ll, er, think about that other stuff you suggested too.”
“Listen Henry, only do what you feel comfortable doing,” Barclay told him, and I resisted the urge to punch his arm.
“Let’s leave Henry to do his thing,” I said, standing and putting my hands on my hips.
“I don’t think–”
“I’m fine, Barclay,” Henry said. “It’s late and to be honest, I’ve had enough emotional crap for one day. I need to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow, right?”
“You’re okay?” Barclay asked, his whole body tense, the concern radiating off him in waves. I could imagine that a cry fest was not normal Lucas behaviour and it seemed to have shaken Barclay . . . a lot.
“Come on, big guy,” I said. “Let’s leave Henry to get some shut-eye.”
“You know I’m here if you need me, right?” Barclay’s voice broke at the end. It was subtle but I caught it. Yes, he was spooked.
“Go,” Henry said, moving to Barclay and doing the whole half hug, half slap the tar out of the other guy’s back that men tended to do. “I’m good, mate. I promise.”
I saw Barclay’s arm tighten around his brother – a clear breach of manly hug protocol – but Henry allowed it. Then they both let each other go. Without thinking, I took Barclay’s hand and led him out of the door.
“Catch you later, Flopsy,” I called behind me.
“Iwasn’t called Flopsy,” Henry returned, affronted by the very idea.
“How doyouknow?” I returned as I walked out into the corridor with Barclay in tow. “There’s no telling what the birds called you behind your back.”
“I never gave the birds any reason to call me Flopsy!” he shouted, but I shut the door on his outrage.
