Or maybe it is simpler and worse. Maybe standing next to me, with my brown skin against his, feels like something he would rather keep private.
I try to swat the thoughts away. They refuse to budge. Old memories, sharp and unwelcome, make sure of it.
The gravel crunches under my tyres as I pull into the Fellside Manor car park.
The building rises out of the hillside in pale stone and symmetry, too large to ever belong to one person, exactly the right size to belong to everyone.
I switch off the engine and reach for the passenger seat.
The paper bag rustles as I lift it, the warmth still trapped inside. I’d picked it up from the Cherry Pie bakery between deliveries, standing in line longer than necessary while Mrs Cartwright argued about the price of sausage rolls like it was a matter of principle.
Phil hadn’t asked me to come.
That’s the point.
I climb out of the van and follow the path toward the side entrance, past the sign reminding visitors that the house closes at four. Somewhere behind the building, metal scrapes against stone.
I find him around the corner.
He’s crouched beside a wooden gate, a toolbox open at his feet. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, exposing hisforearms as he adjusts something in the hinge with slow, precise movements.
For a moment, I just watch him.
This version of Phil exists completely inside himself. Focused. Certain. His hands move without hesitation, each adjustment deliberate.
He looks up.
Sees me.
The change is immediate.
“Hi,” he says, straightening quickly, like he hadn’t expected the world outside the hinge to exist.
“Hi.”
He wipes his hands automatically on a cloth tucked into his back pocket, like he’s suddenly aware of himself in a new way.
“What are you doing here?”
I hold up the paper bag.
“Lunch.”
His mouth softens into a smile before he can stop it.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
He steps closer.
Close enough now that I can see the faint smear of dust along his jaw, the tiny crease between his eyebrows that appears when he doesn’t know what to do with something good.
“I was nearby,” I add, even though I hadn’t been.
His hand lifts.
Hesitates.