Author's Notes: I am so sorry.

It's obvious that I have a severe case of writer's block so this is the best I've been able to put together over the last few months.

I hope there is at least some entertainment in it and I will try not to take too long for the next chapter.

(Housekeeping: I've modified the day numbers to start from Day 0 so Day 8 in the story is their one week anniversary.)


Chapter 25

Otis and Eric wheeled their bikes across the bridge spanning the river.

"A fancy dress party?" Eric almost squealed in delight.

"Yes."

"Omigod, you are throwing Maeve a fancy dress party for her birthday," he said as if all Christmasses and birthdays had descended from the Heavens.

"Aimee's organising it but Maeve wants you to know that she's the one inviting you. Not Aimee."

Eric stared at Otis for a long moment before saying, "Okay."

"You get what I mean?"

"I'm not completely stupid, Otis."

"Aren't you the person who—"

"Yes," said Eric, defiantly. "Yes, I am."

Otis frowned. "You didn't hear what I was going to say."

"Doesn't matter. I am the one who thought that or I am the one who did it and I still say anybody could make that mistake."

"Sorry," Otis said sheepishly. "Do I really do that that often?" he asked.

Eric held out his hand with thumb and forefinger fractionally apart. "A little."

"Sorry," Otis repeated.

"So what are you wearing?"

"Can't tell you that. It's got to be a surprise."

"Are you and Maeve co-ordinating?"

"Maybe."

"What will my little Oatcake be wearing?" Eric ostentatiously mused aloud.

"You will never guess."

"What will I be wearing?" he said with a hint of panic. "Otis, what will I wear? I don't know what to wear."

"Relax. It's weeks away."

"Weeks become days become hours become minutes and then I'm naked in your living room wishing Maeve 'Happy Birthday'."

"You are not coming naked to the party. Again."

"I didn't know you were supposed to wear something under the toga," Eric protested.

They reached the end of the bridge and started wheeling their bikes toward the table just off the path. As they put down the stands on their bikes and walked over to the table, Otis realised something.

"I thought you were supposed to have detention until the end of term," he said as he sat on the table and looked at Eric.

"Mr Hendrix had to go shag someone," Eric said, offhandedly.

"He told you he had to go shag someone?" Otis spluttered.

"He was waiting outside my last class and he looked really antsy and he told me that he thought I had learned my lesson and there was no point in continuing detention and he was even worse at concealing his boner than you were."

Otis shook his head in disbelief.

"I hope I'm never as desperate as that deluded woman," said Eric.

"That's mean, Eric. She's probably feeling very lucky. He'll cherish her."

Eric sensed an undertone in Otis' voice. "So who do you think she is?" he asked.

"I couldn't even begin to guess."

"I bet she has 43 cats and hadn't had sex for fifteen years."

"You don't know that. She's probably a very nice person. There's someone for everyone, Eric."

"That's what I mean. The woman for Mr Hendrix has 43 cats and hadn't had sex for fifteen years."

Otis tilted his head and looked at Eric thoughtfully.

"You're jealous of Mr Hendrix," he said.

"Nooo," protested Eric, unconvincingly.

"So who would be the one for you?" Otis asked. "What type of guy are you looking for? And don't say Denzel."

"Denzel is hot," protested Eric.

"Celebrity crushes don't count. It's got to be someone you'll actually have a chance of meeting."

"Yes, Mr. 'Gee, Margot Robbie is so pretty, isn't she?'" Eric said in a simpering voice.

Otis hoped he wasn't blushing.

"Otis…?" began Eric, hesitantly.

"What?"

"Doesn't matter," Eric said after a pause.

"No, what?" Otis asked, curiously.

"I was just wondering who you thought my type was," Eric said, offhandedly.

"Why are you asking me?"

"Anwar said pretty boys weren't my type."

"Why would you listen to anything Anwar says?"

"He's had so many boyfriends. I was just wondering," Eric murmured.

Otis looked at him shrewdly then said, quietly, "You'll meet someone, Eric."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course I will" Eric said, forcing a smile. "What time's your appointment?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

Otis looked at Eric for a moment, then glanced at his watch. "Bit over an hour."

"Do you think it's going to help?"

"I hope so," Otis said, quietly.

"I still say you should just try and if it goes wrong then you can go see someone."

Otis pondered for a moment then murmured, "I'll see what the therapist says."


Maeve poured water from the kettle into two cups sitting on the bench in her caravan, softly humming to herself. "… dah dah dah dah way back into love…"

"Omigod," said Aimee from behind her.

Maeve glanced at Aimee sitting at the table. "What?"

"You were singing."

"NoIwasn't," Maeve said, sharply.

"You were singing, babe."

Maeve bit her lip as she put the kettle back onto its base.

"What was that song?" Aimee asked.

"From the movie last night," Maeve mumbled, embarrassed, as she picked up the cups and carried them across to the table.

"You have got it so bad," Aimee said, taking her proffered cup.

"He is making me so fucking soft," Maeve said as she sat down opposite Aimee.

"That's what they do, isn't it?" Aimee said. "They make us soft. We make them hard."

Maeve giggled.

"Omigod," said Aimee again.

"What?" Maeve asked, frustrated.

"You giggled."

"I fucking did not. I don't fucking giggle."

"Maeve fucking giggled."

Maeve ignored her and picked up a pack of cards. "My deal, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh," Aimee said.

Maeve shuffled the pack and began dealing the cards.

"What was the movie?" Aimee asked.

"Music and Lyrics. Drew Barrymore. Hugh Grant."

"Omigod."

"What?"

"That's a romcom."

"I'm on my fucking rags, alright?" Maeve softly snapped. "Your turn."

Aimee smirked to herself, studying her cards. "I told you boyfriends were brilliant."

"One boyfriend, anyway," Maeve wryly conceded with a gentle smile.

"I still can't believe you stayed at Otis' place again," Aimee said, wistfully. "Mum won't even let Steve stay past nine o'clock."

"Otis' mum's cool. I told you."

"I wish my mum was cool."

"Have you ever stayed overnight at Steve's place?"

"I wish Steve's mum was cool."

"It was so good. Lying on his bed listening to music until we fell asleep."

"Did you fool around?"

Maeve shook her head. "No. He played with my squirrels a bit," she amended. "That was it."

"Squirrels?"

Maeve patted her chest.

Aimee scrunched her face. "Why squirrels?"

"Doesn't matter. Something between us."

"Does he know you're on your friendlies?"

"Yeah. He's been really sweet about it."

"I think Steve felt a little uncomfortable when I first told him."

"Oh, thank fuck. Steve has a flaw," Maeve said, smirking.

"No," protested Aimee. "He was really sweet, too. Fluffed my pillows. Brought me a cuppa. Said he was okay if I wasn't up for cuddling."

Maeve noticed a soft blush spread across Aimee's face.

"What?" Maeve asked.

"I let him watch me wank," Aimee said, sheepishly.

"I kept telling you it helped."

"Yeah, I just didn't do that sort of thing."

"You listened to Otis telling you to wank but you wouldn't listen to me."

"You liked being on your own. Made sense. I always had a boyfriend."

"Do you ever regret any of them?" asked Maeve after a pause.

Aimee thought for a moment then said, emphatically, "No."

"Not even Adam?"

"Only at the end when he was being a jerk. But he was really sweet to me when we were alone. And he had a huge maypole."

"I know," Maeve said wryly. "Everybody knows, remember?"

"You should have tried him out when you had the chance."

"I'm not a size queen."

"Neither am I. I just like big maypoles."

Maeve smirked to herself then put down her last card. "My win."

"Ohhh? Again?" Aimee gently whined.

"Your deal," Maeve said and pushed the cards toward Aimee.

Aimee began gathering the cards together and asked, "Do you regret any?"

Maeve thought for a moment, then said, "Only Mark Johnson. And that's just 'cause I was a fucking idiot to believe him."

"Not your fault. He seemed nice," Aimee murmured. "And he was a hunk. I was thinking of doing him if you got sick of him."

Maeve gave a soft chuckle. "At least I got it out of the way."

"Was he any good?"

"Yeah. He knew what he was doing. Got me off. I thought wanking was good but that was something else."

"My first time I didn't get off or anything. And he really hurt my arse."

"You had anal the first time?" Maeve asked, surprised.

"I thought you were supposed to. He was showing me some porn and that's what they did."

"Dickhead," Maeve muttered.

"Took me years before I tried it again."

"I don't think I'll ever let anybody do me there again."

"Not even Otis?"

"Too thick."

Maeve raised her hand and demonstrated with thumb and forefinger.

"I asked Steve if he wanted to. He says he would if I really wanted him to but it wasn't something he thought about," Aimee said as she put down her first card.

Maeve studied her cards and then chose one to discard. "Did you ever try it with Adam?"

"Uh-huh. I wanted to try it just once. I think he liked it even more than in my bajingo."

Maeve shook her head in mild disbelief. "I really don't know how you had that up there."

"He had butt-plugs," Aimee said, brightly. "And we were really high."


The woman stepped aside and held her arm out, indicating that Otis should step through the doorway first.

He did so and looked around the room, noting the desk and the two sofas facing each other. The coffee table halfway between the two sofas. The heater and fan in the corner. The potted plants at various places.

It was cosy, perhaps even cosier than his mother's consulting room.

The woman followed Otis into the room and closed the door behind herself.

"Have a seat," she said.

Otis looked between the two sofas then glanced at her quizzically. "Um…?"

"Whichever one you like," said the woman and waited.

Otis glanced at the sofas again then sat down in the nearest one, placing his bag on the floor.

The woman walked over to the other sofa and sat down, staring across at him.

"You seem a little nervous," she said.

"No, I… I…," began Otis then frowned. "What should I call you? Doctor? Mrs—"

"Maria."

Otis nodded, murmuring the name to see how it felt. "Maria."

"This isn't a place to be formal."

"It needs to feel like a conversation," Otis muttered.

"Exactly."

"That's something my mum said," Otis said quickly. "Do you know my mum?"

"I know of her. I don't think I've met her."

Otis nodded to himself at the confirmation.

"Is that a concern?" Maria asked. "It's difficult to find someone in this area who wouldn't know who your mother was. Especially considering her specialised field."

"Yeah," Otis muttered.

"I know some people in the clinic have referred clients to her."

"Do you know my father?"

Maria shook her head. "No. Is he a therapist, too."

"Yeah, he… uh, he lives in America now. He's lived there for a long time."

"Your parents are divorced?"

Otis nodded.

"Do you keep in contact with him?"

"Yeah, we Skype. Every so often."

"Did he marry again?"

"Yeah. Delilah. He has a couple of kids with her. Boys."

"What about your mother? Did your mother re-marry?"

"No."

"Long-term partner?"

"No. Mum doesn't do boyfriends. Didn't do boyfriends," he corrected himself.

"She's met someone?"

"The father of a girl I went to the school dance with."

"Your girlfriend?"

"No. No. Just… we only went to the dance. We… I have a girlfriend. Someone else."

"Is your mother's new relationship why you've come to see me?"

"No. No, I… it wasn't that."

Otis lapsed into silence, staring out the nearest window. Maria studied him gently.

"Was it your choice to come see me?" she eventually asked.

"Yes."

"It's something you didn't think you could ask your mother about?"

Otis nodded.

"And you couldn't ask your father?"

Otis shook his head.

"Is it related to the divorce?"

"Sort of," murmured Otis.

"Do you blame yourself?"

Otis looked at her warily. "What makes you say that?"

"It's not an uncommon phenomenon. Children blaming themselves for a divorce. It's never true, of course."

Otis seemed to wince inwardly.

"How old were you when the divorce happened?" Maria asked gently.

"Four. Well, actually… I think it was finalized when I was six but… dad was out of the house when I was four."

"That's so young," Maria murmured, sympathetically. "That must have been very difficult for you."

Otis nodded and Maria noticed him seem to curl into himself.

"So why do you blame yourself for the divorce?"


Maeve stared across the table at Otis, the fork with mushroom beef held half-way between the tub and her mouth.

"I told her I caught dad having sex with someone," he was saying. "I didn't tell her it was a client. That's just… really unethical and I'm not sure if she would have to report him."

Maeve moved the fork to her mouth and chewed slowly, eyes not leaving Otis as he stared down at the meal before himself, occasionally glancing up at her as he spoke.

"I mean," he continued, "it's been years and he doesn't do individual consultations over here but… I just didn't want to tell her."

Maeve scooped another mouthful of takeaway onto her fork, holding herself back from expressing the words she wanted to say.

"I told her that I asked mum about it and what mum said. She asked me how I felt about it – what dad did, what mum said – and there was so much I wanted to say but I couldn't answer her. I just sat there. Couldn't get the words out."

The frustration in his tone and the tension in his posture hurt Maeve's heart.

"I was pathetic."

"Don't say that," Maeve murmured.

Otis twirled his food with his fork then glanced at Maeve watching him with concern, noting she was still holding her food-laden fork just above the container.

"Sorry, should wait until after we finished eating," he said.

"It's okay," Maeve said quietly.

"You almost tore my arm off grabbing the bag when you opened the door. You said you were starving."

"I've taken the edge off. Did you tell her about what happened with Lily? And me?"

"Just eat. We'll talk after we finish."

Maeve pressed her lips together momentarily then turned her attention to her meal.

Otis studied her silently for a moment then sighed internally.

"I didn't tell her. I didn't know how."

Maeve forced herself to keep eating.

"I just said it was affecting my relationships. That my girlfriend-"

"Relationships aren't just boyfriend/girlfriend. It's also affecting your relationship with your mum, isn't it?"

"And dad."

"Hmmm," Maeve hummed.

"I told her about my brothers."

"You have brothers?" Maeve asked, surprised.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? I have two. Don't really have much to do with them. Don't really think of them as my brothers. They're just dad's kids."

"How old are they?" Maeve asked, a soft undertone in her voice.

"About seven."

"Have you met them?"

"I went over there a few years back. Stayed with dad over the summer. They were about four."

"So your dad got married again?"

"Uh-huh."

"You have a step-mother," Maeve smirked. "If Jean gets with Ola's dad, you'll have a matching pair."

Otis frowned. "I never thought of Delilah like that."

"Do you get along with her?"

Otis shrugged. "I don't think she likes me much. Didn't have much to do with me when I was over there."

"I'm sorry."

Otis shrugged. "Doesn't matter. It's not like I need to get along with her. I don't live with dad."

"When are you seeing your therapist again?"

"Next Tuesday."

"Do you think you'll be able to tell her everything then?"

"I'll have to. Therapy is useless if I can't be honest. That's something mum said."

"True for a lot of things, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Otis said, wryly.

Maeve took another mouthful of her mushroom beef then put down her fork. "That was really nice. Thanks."

"You haven't finished."

"Save it for later."

Otis looked over at the kitchen area.

"You don't have a microwave."

"I've got used to eating leftovers cold," she said as she stood up and walked to the fridge.

Otis gave her an inspired look. "Okay."

"What?" she asked.

"Just thinking I know what to get you for your birthday."

"Don't," Maeve murmured.

"I've got to get you something."

"Look, I'm not going to be selfish and say that you can't get me anything but don't go stupid," she said as she closed the fridge door and leant against the counter.

Otis stood and put his empty container in the bin. "But it's really practical. You can't heat up wheatbags in that oven, can you?"

"Hot water bottle's good enough."

"There's some really cheap—"

"Don't buy me a microwave. I don't want something practical. Not if…"

"Not if…?"

"Not if it's the first birthday present from my boyfriend," Maeve murmured.

Otis looked at her tenderly then stepped toward her.

"Okay, something impractical," he said.

"Thanks," she said as she stepped toward him, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head against his chest.

"So… how are you feeling?" he asked.

"I'm okay."

"Last night," he began slowly. "When you moved downstairs. That was when…"

"Yeah, that's when I started bleeding."

"Bad?"

"No."

"Do you want me to go so you can get your rest?"

"No. Stay. I've taken some ibuprofen. That helps."

"I'll give you your space."

Maeve tenderly looked up at him and rose to kiss him.

"I told you, muppet. I don't need space from you."


Maeve lay curled up beside Otis on the lounge, her head resting on his shoulder as his arm curled gently around her and music softly washed over them.

"I can't believe you're playing this again," Otis murmured fondly.

"Speaks to how I'm feeling."

"Is this our song?"

"Are we going to have a song?" Maeve asked, dubiously.

"That's one of the boyfriend/girlfriend things, isn't it?"

"I suppose."

"We don't have to have a song if you don't want one."

"We can have this for now."

They lapsed into silence, letting the gentle sound float over them.

"I read your essay," Otis eventually said. "I really liked it."

"Did you get what I was trying to say?"

"Well, I haven't read the book, so I can't speak to that but it just sounded so interesting the way you seemed to be arguing for her place in literary history."

"I've finished it. You can borrow it if you like."

"Yeah, I would. I'm curious."

"I'll get it for you in a minute."

The song changed and Otis shook his head in wonderment.

"These are really quiet songs," he whispered.

"I told you I need to keep under Cynthia's radar."

"Did your money come in?"

"Yeah, I've paid the next couple of weeks. That should keep her quiet."

"If you ever need help, just let me know. I've put the clinic money aside. Haven't been touching it."

"Thanks. But I need to figure out ways I can do it myself."

"Have you thought about what I suggested?"

"Tutoring people?"

"Yeah."

"I've thought about it, but… I don't know. How do we get people to agree to give me a shot?"

"Well, you've already had your sex-pretzel bonanza."

"What?"

"All the essays you've written. Next time someone asks, you can offer to help them write it themselves."

"I suppose."

"Who was your most prolific client?"

Maeve was silent and Otis glanced down at her.

"Maeve?" he asked.

Maeve sighed. "Ruby."

"Oh," muttered Otis. "Well, you don't have to accept every client. Who was the second most prolific?"

"Adam."

"Third?" asked Otis, slowly losing hope.

"Heath Clarkson."

"There. Heath. You don't have any issues with him, do you?"

"I shagged him once two years ago and he still keeps begging to be my fuck buddy."

Maeve heard Otis give a little grunt and raised her head to look at him.

"What?" she asked.

"I know I said I wasn't going to be jealous but I think I got that wrong."

"Oh, I'm sorry, muppet," Maeve said, genuinely contrite.

"I don't care that you've had sex, Maeve."

"I know."

"I don't think it's wrong to have casual sex."

"I know."

"I think it'd be a lot better if I could have felt comfortable having casual sex."

"If that's what you wanted."

"It's just that… having a name…"

"Made it real?"

"Made me wish - not so much to be one of them - but made me wish we had been hanging out three years ago."

Maeve smirked. "I don't think Adam would have taken his dad's viagra three years ago."

"We could have met another way."

"Have you thought of how?"

"I don't know. I could have sat at the same table as you at lunchtime. Could have asked you what you were reading."

"I would have given you the finger."

"We could have been sitting in the library and I could have asked to borrow your pen for a moment."

"I would have given you the finger."

"We could have been paired together in PE and have to co-operate to win whatever we were supposed to be playing."

"I would have given you the finger."

Otis sighed. "Is there any way you think we could have met that long ago without you giving me the finger?"

"I don't know," Maeve sighed. "I've been wondering the same. The way you make me feel, I wish I could have been feeling that these last three years. But I can't figure out any interaction that doesn't end with me giving you the finger."

"I feel victimized."

"It wouldn't have been personal. Besides, you've given me the finger a few times yourself, muppet."

"That's different."

"Multiple fingers."

"You seemed to enjoy me giving you the finger."

"I did."

"I didn't enjoy you giving me the finger."

"Well, you were staring."

"I wasn't staring," Otis protested. "I just turned to—"

"Check out my boobs."

"Appreciate you."

"Objectify me."

"I did think you were really attractive," he conceded.

"Well, I'm a fucking lion, aren't I?"

"I wish we had been forced to sit together in that class. So I had to pair up with you instead of Adam."

"So I would have gone over to your place and seen all those cocks on display? I would have thought you were a perve."

"I would have hidden them like I did with Adam."

"You should have hidden the videos."

"I don't even know how he found it."

"Had you seen it before?"

"No."

"Did you know Jean made videos like that?"

"I know she uses videos in some of her classes. I didn't know she was in them."

"She was really young. Does she need to update them? I can make money that way."

"You'd wank off a courgette on camera?"

"I'd deep throat a cucumber on camera if it paid enough."

"I don't know whether you're being serious."

"You're not supposed to."

"Do you think we would have got along if you did come over instead of Adam?"

"Maybe. I would have seen how smart you are and I think we would have gelled over our opinion of As You Like It."

"One of Jay-Z's best songs."

"I may have even asked you to be a sounding board for my essay on Mrs Dalloway."

"That's Virginia Woolf, isn't it?"

"Did you read it?"

"I told you. I got confused. Rented the wrong movie."

"Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf?, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"It's not about Virginia Woolf?"

"She's mentioned."

"Have you still got access to it?"

"Yeah."

"We should watch it. I've never seen it."

"We can watch it this weekend, if you like."

"That'd be good."

"Are you going to be wanting to do anything else on the weekend?" Otis asked.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Not sure. Is there anything you want to do?"

"Do you think your spare bike would be ready?"

"You going to be up for that?"

"Not a Dresden Doll, muppet. I did the last school marathon on my rags."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. I don't expect you to be perfect about it."

"You said they usually lasted four days."

"Yeah. Should be fine by Monday."

"It'll be good having you back at school."

"It's been good having time to get shit done but, yeah."

"Oh, I told Eric you invited him to your party."

"Is he coming?"

"He said he would."

"Good," Maeve murmured, softly satisfied.

"He's panicking about what he's going to wear."

"You didn't tell him what we're wearing, did you?"

"Of course not."

"Did you give him any suggestions?"

"Just not to be naked."

"He needed telling?" Maeve asked with a puzzled grimace.

"We went to a party a few years ago wearing togas. He was Marc Antony and I was Julius Caesar. And he tripped. And the toga fell off. And he wasn't wearing anything underneath."

Maeve chuckled softly.

"We never got invited to any more parties," Otis murmured.

"You better be wearing something underneath your Kermit costume," Maeve warned.

"You don't want me to be an anatomically correct representation of your dream?"

"You need to be three times the size if you want to be in proportion."

"I don't suppose they'd let me make a frog penis in art class, would they?"

"Probably not."

Otis glanced down as he heard Maeve give a very large yawn.

"I should go," he said.

"Don't."

"Your body is telling you it wants to sleep."

"I just…"

"What?"

"Normally I'd be 'Don't touch me,' 'Don't breathe on me,' 'Don't even fucking look at me'. But this… I want this to last a little bit longer."

"We can do this again tomorrow night."

"Are you going to be staying tomorrow night?" she asked hopefully.

"If you want me to."

"I want."

"Then I'll stay."

The music changed and Otis looked up in surprise.

"Her? You're playing her?" he asked.

"I like music," Maeve protested. "You said I'm not a snob."

"But her?"

"There's nothing wrong with her."

"I never thought you'd have anything from her. How very uncool of you, Maeve."

"I'd rather be dead than cool."

"How very Nirvana of you, Maeve."

"It's a good song."

"I don't mind it."

"Then what was that about?"

"Just fucking with you."

Maeve yawned again. "Don't say it," she said sharply.

"Wasn't going to say anything."

She sighed. "Let me get that book for you."

Maeve rose from the lounge, hurrying to her bedroom.

Otis glanced at her current book sitting on the table and picked it up, grimacing as a piece of paper slipped from it.

He leaned down and picked the paper up, hoping he could find the place it was marking then realised it was a photograph.

Maeve returned to see him staring gently at something in his hand, only realising what it was as she approached him.

"I lost your place. I'm sorry," he said.

"I know where I was up to."

Maeve put the book in her hand on the table and sat beside Otis, joining him in staring at the photo.

"Your mum?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"How old were you?"

"Three."

Otis handed her the photo and she took it, grabbing her current book and sliding it between the pages at random.

"I didn't mean to snoop," he said.

"It's okay. I was going to show you anyway."

"You looked so happy with her."

"I was," Maeve murmured as she curled up against him again. "I can't remember before that one but every birthday from that one she would be right there beside me with a cupcake and strawberry milk when I woke up. Until I was seven."

"What happened on your eighth?" Otis asked cautiously.

"Nothing traumatic. She just forgot it was my birthday. She next remembered when I was ten. She thought I was nine. She never remembered another one."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't say sorry. Wasn't your fault."

"We don't have to do anything for your birthday if you don't want," he said quietly.

"No, that's not… just don't forget it, okay?"

"I won't."

Maeve curled closer into him and yawned again.

"Come on, Maeve. Bed," Otis said, tenderly.

"I have a sister," Maeve said abruptly.

"What?"

"Half-sister. Elsie. I should have told you sooner."

"How old is she?"

"She'd be three now."

"Is she with your mum?"

"I don't know. She was with her dad's olds but that was while mum was in rehab."

"You've seen her?"

"Yeah. When she was given to his parents the first time."

"First time?"

"Told you. Mum's in and out of rehab all the time."

"I'm so sorry."

Maeve settled in further against him.

"Do you miss her?" he asked.

"It's like with your brothers."

Otis sensed the tone beneath her words and gently kissed her hair.

"I can stay a little bit longer," he murmured.

Maeve smiled gently to herself. "I love you."

"You're the Simmons to my Fitz."

"What the hell does that mean?"


Otis stepped into the loungeroom and looked at his mother sitting on the lounge, reading what appeared to be a biography of a group he had never heard of.

Jean looked up from the book and asked, "Did you have a good time with Maeve?"

"Yeah, we did," he said and sat down on the lounge beside her. "Do you mind if I stay at her place tomorrow night?"

"Of course not."

"She's cooking dinner for me."

"Oh?" said Jean, pleased. "That's nice."

"Yeah. I'm looking forward to it."

Jean put down her book and took a soft breath. "I suppose she told you about our conversation this morning?"

Otis nodded.

"Do you want to tell me what happened from your perspective?" Jean asked quietly.

Otis gathered his thoughts. "A boy Liam liked a girl Lizzie and he asked her to the dance but she told him she wasn't dating. So he kept making these romantic gestures – a love letter, baking a cake – hoping she'd change her mind and when that wasn't working he came to me wanting to know how he could get her to say 'yes'. I told him that she'd given him her answer, that 'no' meant 'no' even if she hadn't used the actual word and I thought I'd finally got through to him. But next thing I know I see him at the dance hanging off a moon that they'd hung from the rafters, telling Lizzie he loved her and asking if she loved him and when she said 'no' he threatened to kill himself."

"That must have been really terrifying," Jean said quietly.

"It was," Otis murmured.

"Maeve said you talked him down."

"I told him that we can't make anyone love us and it hurts if we love someone and they don't love us back but that there was someone out there for him and the only way he'd meet them was if he came down before he broke his neck."

"And he did?"

"He started coming down but he fell. He hurt himself but he's okay. He's out of hospital. Nothing long-lasting."

"That's good."

"It was lucky."

Jean silently pondering the pain that was obviously roiling through her son. "Maeve indicated you blame yourself for the situation."

"He was up there after he talked to me."

"Do you think he would have still hung off that moon if he hadn't talked to you?"

Otis flinched momentarily then said, "I should have noticed he hadn't heard what I said and tried harder."

"I think you're taking too great a burden onto yourself. Your compassion and understanding helped prevent a bad situation becoming worse and it seems you tried your best to stop that bad situation occurring in the first place."

"My best wasn't good enough," muttered Otis bitterly.

"We can't control another person's choices. You gave Liam the best advice you could and Liam's choices after that are entirely on him. Not you."

Jean could see Otis pondering on her words but she wasn't entirely sure he was accepting them. Maybe it was time to move the conversation along to the other thing she was concerned about.

"Maeve says people come to you for advice" she said, tentatively. "After they discovered you helped her get together with… Jackson, was it?"

"Well, helped Jackson get together with her."

"You helped another boy get together with your girlfriend?"

"Maeve wasn't my girlfriend. We were just… look do you mind if we don't talk about Jackson? That's… part of how I hurt Maeve."

"Alright," Jean said after a moment.

Silence settled between them for a moment then Otis quietly asked, "Are you angry with me?"

"For giving advice?"

Otis nodded.

"I'm concerned about you giving the right advice. I mean, how do you know the things to say?"

"I haven't spent all this time being your son for nothing."

Jean basked a little in the pride simmering within her. "Apart from Liam, what sort of advice have you given?"

"There was one girl, she had been solely focussed on being what she thought her boyfriends wanted her to be that she neglected to think about what she wanted. So I helped her focus on herself."

"How did you do that?"

"I suggested she masturbate, figure out what made her feel good and then she could bring that into her relationship."

"That sounds like very good advice. Did it work?"

"Yes. She let Maeve and me know it worked very well."

"Maeve?" asked Jean, puzzled.

"She's one of Maeve's friends," Otis said, quickly, hoping against hope that nothing was showing on his face.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" Jean asked cautiously.

"I just don't like letting out hints about anyone's identity. They come to me in confidence. I should respect that."

"An admirable attitude," Jean said quietly. "Have you been thinking about becoming a therapist? Is that why you've been asking me questions lately?"

"I don't know. I have thought about it, but after Liam…"

"You're not so sure?"

"I used to enjoy it. It felt good that I could help people feel a little bit better about themselves." Otis hesitated then asked, cautiously, "Is that wrong?"

"It's okay to feel good about helping people."

Otis took a deep slow breath. "Are you going to tell me to stop giving out advice?"

"That would be quite hypocritical if I did."

Otis looked at her quizzically.

Jean smiled softly to herself. "When I was your age, my friends called me Little Miss Agony Aunt because I would give people advice on their relationships, their sexual concerns. Not always unsolicited."

"Is that when you decided to become a therapist?"

"It gave me an indication of where I could possibly assist."

Otis nodded and Jean studied him for a moment.

"If you still want to give advice when people ask – and you don't have to. You can always send them away. But if you do want to continue then the only thing I recommend is caution. I know you wouldn't deliberately give out the wrong advice—"

She stopped at the guilt erupting all over Otis' face.

"Jackson…?" she asked cautiously.

Otis nodded.

"Ah, well, that seems like a special circumstance. I presume you haven't given anyone else deliberately wrong advice."

"No."

"Just be careful, Otis. And understand that you may not always be able to help everyone and sometimes you may not be the right person to be helping at all. Sometimes your help may be to point someone in an alternate direction."

"To you?"

Jean smiled gently. "I think that might be something that would make you uncomfortable. Providing therapy to your classmates. See, I have been listening to you and Maeve."

Otis gave her a small smile of acknowledgement.

"No, I was thinking other professionals." Jean continued. "I can give you a list and their specialities."

"No, I can find them. Or I can come to you if I need them."

"Of course."

"But thanks."

"And you can always come to me for advice if you need a sounding board. Strictly confidential."

"Is that strictly ethical? You offering to help me give advice to people who come to me?"

"Well, as long as you're not charging for it and pretending you're an actual therapist, I don't see the issue."

Otis hoped he managed to keep the guilt from his face this time.


Author's Notes: I have been so pleased to notice that this story has been getting new readers despite the lack of updates. That's why I kept coming back to try to finish this chapter. I hope it's not too much of a disappointment after so long.