Chapter 7

This Is Neil

Neil was the kind of man who looked like he was prepared for three completely different situations at once.

A casual walk.

A camping trip.

And possibly the end of civilisation.

He arrived  as a passenger princess with Kat  in a blue T-shirt, shorts, sunglasses, shaved head, beard, and the sort of solid build that made him look like he spent half his life carrying heavy things without complaining about it.

It was not shorts weather.

Naturally, Neil was wearing shorts.

“Mate,” Lee said, eyeing him up as he approached, “are your legs immune to temperature?”

Neil shrugged, completely unbothered. “Shorts are a lifestyle.”

“A concerning one,” Karen muttered.

Neil grinned.

That was Neil all over.

Cheeky.

Easy-going.

A little shy at first, maybe, until he worked out where he stood with people.

And then?

Then he became everyone’s problem.

In the best possible way.

He had a gift for lowering the bar in any conversation. If the group were being sensible, Neil would find a way to drag it sideways. If someone said something heartfelt, Neil would let it sit for approximately three seconds before ruining the moment with something ridiculous.

Not because he didn’t care.

Because he did.

That was the thing about Neil.

He cared a lot.

He just wrapped it up in sarcasm, jokes, and a backpack full of snacks.

And what a backpack it was.

By the time everyone sat down for a break, the backpack had become a topic of public discussion.

“What have you actually got in there?” Kat asked, watching as Neil pulled out a bottle of Lucozade, then another, then a packet of snacks.

“Essentials,” Neil said.

Lee leaned forward. “You’ve packed like we’re crossing the desert.”

Neil looked offended. “You’ll thank me if we get lost.”

“We’re in Sherwood Forest,” kat said.

“Exactly. Trees. Easy to lose people.”

Kat laughed. “You could feed half the group with that bag.”

Neil gave her a serious nod. “And I would.”

That shut them up for half a second.

Because he meant it.

Then Lee ruined it.

“Yeah, but if you have a fit in the bath, I’m throwing washing in with you.”

Neil stared at him.

There was a beat.

Then he burst out laughing.

“Unbelievable.”

Lee grinned. “What? Multitasking.”

Kat nearly choked on her drink.

Karen pointed at Lee. “That is awful.”

Neil wiped his eyes, still laughing. “That’s the sort of friendship I respect. Practical. Horrifying, but practical.”

That was the thing with Neil. He could talk about his epilepsy without making people uncomfortable, because he got there first. He made the joke before anyone else had time to panic about the subject. It wasn’t that it wasn’t serious. It was.

But Neil had survived enough to know that sometimes the only way to keep standing was to laugh before the floor disappeared beneath you.

He had been through hell.

Most people didn’t know that straight away.

They saw the cheeky bloke in shorts. The one with the sunglasses. The one who took the piss and somehow always had Lucozade. The one who would say something outrageous just to make kat snort or Lee shake his head.

But behind all that, there was history.

There was grief.

There were memories he didn’t always drag into daylight.

He’d been sixteen when his nan died. He had been the last person to hold her hand, and for far too long, some young, frightened part of him had believed that meant he’d caused it.

Then in his late twenties, his dad became ill with Parkinson’s.

Neil had helped look after him. Watched him fade bit by bit. Watched a strong man become tired. Watched illness take pieces of him slowly, cruelly, unfairly.

A few times, his dad had asked him to end it.

That had stayed with Neil.

How could it not?

When his dad passed in 2009, the grief was complicated. A loss. A relief. A guilt-ridden exhale after years of holding his breath.

After that, Neil had spiralled for a while. Tried things he shouldn’t have. Thought, fuck it, life’s short.

And maybe that was why he was the way he was now.

Maybe that was why he packed enough food for everyone.

Maybe that was why he checked on people quietly.

Maybe that was why he could sense when someone was low, even if they hadn’t said it.

Karen knew that side of him better than most.

Because Karen’s Trumpet Club hadn’t started as just a joke.

It had started because Karen had been low.

Properly low.

And Neil, being Neil, hadn’t sent some deep inspirational quote with a sunset behind it. He hadn’t made it awkward. He hadn’t made her feel like she was being pitied.

He’d made a club.

A ridiculous one.

A loud one.

A stupid, chaotic, completely unserious group that somehow said the most serious thing underneath it all:

You are loved.

You matter.

We see you.

We’re not letting you sit in the dark on your own.

“Trust you,” Mark said later, shaking his head, “to create a whole club over Karen’s boobs.”

Neil put a hand to his chest. “I created a movement.”

Karen rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

“It did cheer me up,” she admitted.

For once, Neil’s face softened.

Only for a second.

Then he ruined it immediately.

“Also, they deserved recognition.”

Karen burst out laughing. “And there he is.”

“Lowering the bar,” Lee said.

Neil nodded proudly. “Someone has to.”

Later on, the conversation turned to camping.

Lee mentioned his tent.

Neil frowned. “Tent? Mate, that thing’s not a tent. It’s a marquee.”

“It is not.”

“You could host a wedding in it.”

Dan laughed. “Does it have rooms?”

Neil leaned back, warming to the subject now. “If we get stuck, we’re not sleeping in it. We’re using it as a sail.”

Lee stared at him. “A sail?”

“Yeah. Tie it to something. Wind catches it. Off we go.”

“Where?”

Neil shrugged. “Away.”

Sam was laughing now. “That is not how tents work.”

“It is if you believe.”

“It really isn’t.”

Then Lee mentioned his phone battery being low, and Neil immediately reached into his bag.

“I’ve got a solar charger.”

Everyone went quiet.

Of course he did.

Lee stared at him. “Why?”

Neil looked genuinely confused by the question. “Because it charges stuff.”

Karen shook her head. “You’re actually prepared for everything.”

“I like options.”

Dan then started talking about the smoke grenades he had with him, because apparently that was a perfectly normal thing to bring on a forest walk.

Neil turned to him with immediate interest.

“What colour?”

Dan grinned.

And just like that, the two of them were deep in conversation like a pair of men planning either a photo shoot or a minor crime.

Nobody was entirely sure which.

That was Lifted.

That was KTC.

Chaos with a pulse.

And Neil fitted into it perfectly.

He walked with Kat, Sam, Lee, Karen, Mark and Jake at different points, drifting between conversations with that easy, cheeky energy of his. He’d make a filthy joke, then quietly offer someone a drink. He’d take the piss out of Lee, then check he was alright. He’d tease Karen, then remind her she was loved without saying it directly.

Because Neil didn’t always do feelings neatly.

He did them sideways.

Through jokes.

Through snacks.

Through stupid clubs.

Through showing up.

And by the end of the walk, everyone had worked out exactly who Neil was.

A nightmare.

A cheeky sod.

A man who loved lowering the bar so far it was practically underground.

But also the bloke who would notice if your smile slipped.

The bloke who would carry extra because someone else might need it.

The bloke who had been through enough darkness to understand why laughter mattered.

And somehow, in the middle of all the noise, dogs, biscuits, chocolate, smoke grenades, red flags, and terrible jokes…

Neil became one of those people everyone trusted.

Not because he tried to be important.

But because he cared.

Loudly.

Badly.

Ridiculously.

And completely