Page 113 of Off the Pitch

“I don’t know,” I said. “I mean he’s very nice. He’s kind, funny, and very sweet, and he likes art too which is amazing! I mean I can talk to him about it for hours and he’s always interested and understands what I’m talking about. No offence.”

“None taken.”

“And I just… spending time with him makes me so happy. Happier than I’d even realised I could be. It’s odd. When I’m with you, I feel calm and safe. But with Hugo, I feel more alive than I ever thought possible. I mean, I’ve not known him for that long, but every time he smiles at me it feels like there’s an earthquake in my stomach. And the other day, when we were at the pub and that guy tried to give Hugo his number, it felt like my insides were tying themselves into knots. I mean, I thought I was actually going to throw up, and I have no idea why. I can’t explain it. I mean, he’s free to live his own life, and I told him no, but the idea of him with someone else just makes me feel awful.”

“Kit,” David’s voice was gentle. It was a voice I’d heard him use before when I hadn’t quite put things together. “Do you think you might have been jealous?”

I wanted to throw his question away, ask him ‘why would I be jealous?’, but I couldn’t because I knew it was true.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I think I was.”

“Because?”

“Because I think I like Hugo.” Something clicked inside my chest, unlocking a treasure chest of emotions. “I like Hugo. Ireallylike Hugo.”

The smile on David’s face was the biggest I’d ever seen, and suddenly I was being dragged into a giant hug from which there was no escape. Not that I really minded all that much. Instead I clutched at his shirt, taking deep breaths as my feelings clicked into place.

“David,” I said, more to his chest than anything.

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared… I’ve never felt this way before.”

“I know. It’s fucking scary when you realise you like someone in that way. But I’m so fucking proud of you, y’know?”

“What should I do?” I asked as David released me to arm’s length.

“You tell him.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” I said with a chuckle. “Surely the British thing to do is to repress my emotions until I no longer feel anything?”

“Yeah… No, you’re not doing that. You’re going to talk to him. I know it’s bloody terrifying to feel like this, to trust someone else with your feelings, but sometimes you have to try because otherwise you could miss out on something wonderful.”

I nodded. David was right, as usual. The only problem was that I now had to work out how to tell Hugo how I felt, and I had to hope that he still felt the same.

I pondered the problem for the rest of the day, and I was still thinking about it while I was making dinner.

Would it be better to build up to the conversation? Or perhaps an ambush strategy? But if I surprised Hugo, would he just run away? He was becoming increasingly mobile and his bedroom door did have a lock on it, so it would be easy for him to avoid the conversation if he wanted to.

Maybe it would be better to wait another few days until I’d gotten my head together a little more and was therefore less likely to say something completely and utterly stupid.

I picked up a whisk to mix eggs with handfuls of parmesan cheese and black pepper in a plastic jug, while pancetta crisped in a pan next to me. Spaghetti carbonara was one of my all-time favourite things to eat, closely followed by a full roast dinner and anything sugary. I hadn’t attempted cooking a roast for Hugo yet, simply because I wasn’t entirely convinced my cooking skills were up to it.

“Something smells good,” Hugo said, leaning over the counter and taking in a deep breath.

“I hope you like it,” I said. I picked up another egg. “I’ve never had any complaints before, but there’s a first time for everything.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fantastic, just like everything else you’ve made me.” His dark hair was swept back from his face, and he looked surprisingly tanned from spending so much time outside recently. It contrasted with the soft rose-pink of his lips.

The egg slid through my fingers and cracked on the stone tiles by my feet.

“Fuck, can you pass me that cloth?” I said, shaking my head and grabbing another egg. I obviously needed to aim more carefully for the jug.

“Whisk that.” I thrust the jug into Hugo’s hands so I could mop the sticky, eggy mess up before I managed to step in it. Cold egg seeping through your socks was not pleasant. I’d learnt that the hard way.

As I scooped the egg into the bin, I suddenly caught sight of the pancetta—it needed stirring, otherwise it wouldn’t crisp evenly. The wooden spoon seemed to slither out of my fingers like an eel as I attempted to pick it up from the side of the pan where I’d rested it.

“Is everything okay?” Hugo asked. “You seem a little distracted.”

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