“Hi Tommy.” His voice is tense, focused.
He listens.
His expression settles into something I’ve never seen directed at me before. Calm. Precise. Present.
“I’m thirty minutes out,” he says. “See you in a bit.”
He hangs up.
The version of him sitting across from me now is not the man who apologised five minutes ago. Not the man who held my hand like it was something fragile. Not the man who threw up in his own bathroom after a night of poor choices.
This man is still.
Certain.
“I’m really sorry,” he says. “I have to go.” He puts rashers of bacon and a sausage between two slices of toast whilst talking.
“I’ve been called to a rescue,” he says.
Of course.
Of course Fellside Mountain Rescue has perfect timing.
I almost laugh, but it gets stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat. Just when he finally stopped looking like he might bolt at any second. Just when breakfast started to feel less like damage control and more like something new. Something fragile and possible.
They have to pull him away.
For a split second, irritation flares. Not at him. Not really. At the universe. At timing. At the fact that Fellside, with all its mountains and ridges and endless opportunities for people to do stupid things outdoors, has decided that right now is the moment Phil needs to disappear.
He’s already pulling on his jacket and rolling his breakfast sandwich up in a napkin.
And that’s when I see it.
The difference.
It isn’t dramatic. He doesn’t suddenly become someone else. He’s still Phil. Same face. Same hands. Same slightly crooked posture he never quite corrects when he’s unsure of himself.
But the uncertainty is gone.
He isn’t hovering. He isn’t hesitating. He isn’t watching me like he needs to measure every reaction before deciding what he’s allowed to do next.
He’s simply moving.
Each motion deliberate. Efficient. Certain of itself.
He looks at me, and for a moment, something softer returns.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “’ll text you. I promise.”
“Right,” I say, because it’s the only word my brain offers up.
He nods once, like he understands what that right contains. Disappointment. Acceptance. Resignation.
He turns slightly, already halfway between here and wherever he needs to be.
“Phil.”
He stops immediately and turns back.