"Ivo?"

I hated when Tim interrupted me every time I had a book in my hand but I looked up anyway.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask a favour?"

I closed the book and balanced it on the arm of the chair and he took it as an invitation to sit down.

"Could you drive me to Suffolk tomorrow?"

I very nearly rolled my eyes thinking about everything I had planned to do the following day and finding it typical that he would change my plans simply by batting his eyelashes at me.

"What for," I asked, trying to discern its importance before I refused.

"Funeral," he mumbled, not looking at me. He picked at the edge of the sofa and resolutely stared at the small pieces of fluff.

"Whose funeral?"

"Mum's," he answered quietly.

I could almost feel the colour drain from me as I stared at him.

"Jesus, Tim," I sighed before putting my hand on the back of his neck. For the most part I had practically forgotten about his mother's existence. Tim had mentioned that she had moved into a residential home to me a few months ago but other than that had stayed silent on the matter.

"Why didn't you say anything," I asked him and his eyes closed. He merely shrugged. It seemed like such a paradox that he seemed like such a lost little child but had been acting like an adult all this time without my even noticing.

"The funeral is tomorrow," I tried to clarify and he shook his head.

"Just have to go back to organise it all, flowers and stuff."

I watched him chew at his sleeve for a moment.

"I can help," I offered. "If you need me to."

He gave a brief nod before laying down on the sofa with his head in my lap, a habit of his but not one I particularly minded. I smoothed his hair back from his face and reached down to pull his hand away from his mouth and hold it in my own.

It seemed like my own words were coming back to haunt me when I had chided him for having never asked about my family. What had convinced me I was well versed in his? It had been cruel and hypocritical of me to constantly think Tim a selfish being with no interest in anyone but himself.

I would call Isabel, she would know about what flowers to pick and what prayers to read. I was entirely useless in anything but the organisational side and it was unfair to leave it all to Tim.

He had told me once about having grown up in the tiny coastal town, alone except for parents who weren't overly keen on his presence. I had commented once during a row of ours that as an only child he was just used to getting his way and being spoilt rotten and I felt like an idiot when it slowly became clear that this was not the case.

Each time I thought I understood Tim and his motives I would be proved entirely wrong. I had thought a childhood of being cherished and loved made him believe anyone would love him. I thought that was why he could never commit to one person and so flirted with almost everyone. He could never resist someone who showed any interest in him.

Now I finally understood the quiet tragedy of his existence and I hated myself for how I had acted before. He never experienced the adoration that I believed he had.

Tim would always leave someone or hurt someone before they had the chance to do it to him. I had left after our last fight to have a few drinks with Martin, not telling him where I was going just to spite him for all the times he had done it to me. I ignored his calls all evening and had returned to find him passed out on the sofa, curled up in a tiny ball with the phone clutched in one hand.

It had been worse than if someone had simply stabbed me in the chest. He looked so pathetic that I had to wake him. His eyes had lit up when he saw me despite the horrible things I had said to him and he sobbed into me begging me to never leave him, apologising over and over.

I heard his soft snuffling and peered over to see if he was sleeping. I knew I would eventually have to wake him and put him to bed but for now I just lifted my book and let him rest there.