Page 59 of Don't Point at the Moon

Mitchell had chuckled sadly. He would miss working alongside her.

“We do. And the offer sounds tempting. Let’s stay in touch. To be honest, I’m not sure how I’m going to survive the next six months without you around.”

“Poor Mitchell. Having to give people bad news day after day. I don’t envy you. And I doubt Cruella will want to get her hands dirty.”

By the time the day of the junk party came around, he’d felt emotionally shredded. If Zane had not been visiting, he would have made an excuse to bail. But putting on that absurd pirate costume and seeing Zane proudly wearing his own had conspired to improve his mood. Then, meeting Tommy in his sailor’s outfit, looking as ridiculously sexy as ever—and remembering their moment from the week before—followed by genial chats with Harold and William, the array of colourful food and glorious sunshine, and the stress of the week had all but melted away.

Until his nephew had almost drowned.

Even before that, when he had gone to the galley to get drinks for Zane and others, he’d overheard Alec and Tommy as they’d sat and chatted, their backs to him, unaware of his presence. Objectively, he’d known Tommy wanted to connect with Alec, but hammering home Mitchell’s dowdiness and unsuitability had bordered on insulting. Moreover, Tommy's agreeing to help fix Alec’s colleague up with him at the wedding had felt like a betrayal. Mitchell’s good mood had already begun to dissolve long before the near drowning incident.

He had made the naive mistake of letting himself to get too close. The kiss, however tentative, had stoked something in him, given him false hope, and he needed to take a step back and reevaluate their connection. He enjoyed their conversations, but how could he ever get past Tommy’s superficial nature, his emotional transience and lack of any kind of depth or substance? Tommy had made plain that he saw nothing more than friendship between them. And even that would probably wither and die once their agreement to help each other was fulfilled and Zane had gone. No, he needed to put distance between them to maintain his sanity and retain a modicum of self-respect.

They had disembarked the junk at around four, with everyone still in high spirits. After helping William with Harold, they’d said their farewells. Zane, who had already forgotten about the incident, had made plans to head into town for drinks with his group, still dressed as seafarers. Undoubtedly photographs of their antics would appear later on social media. Mitchell had declined the offer to join. After waving to Tommy and Alec, who'd had dinner arrangements with Sammi and their relatives, Mitchell had headed towards the taxi queue, relieved to be going home alone. But not before Tommy had caught up with him,

“Everything okay?” Tommy had asked. Maybe he had sensed Mitchell’s mood change.

“Apart from my nephew almost drowning, you mean?”

“He should have said something. He could see what they were up to. He is a grown-up.”

“He’s still a teenager. And he’s in my care. While in Hong Kong, he’s my responsibility.”

“You can’t blame yourself—”

“Then who else can I blame?”

Tommy had fallen silent. The couple in front of Mitchell had climbed into a taxi, making Mitchell the next in line.

“I’m meeting Devon and Oscar on Wednesday evening,” Tommy had said. “Do you want to join us?”

“I’ll pass. Going be busy for the next couple of weeks.”

Tommy’s obvious disappointment had made Mitchell’s chest ache, and he’d almost caved. But he had made up his mind, which meant sticking to his resolve.

“Alec’s waiting for you,” Mitchell had said, nodding to a point over Tommy’s shoulder. “You should go.”

“You are coming to see the show, aren’t you? It’s my birthday on closing night.”

“We’ll see,” Mitchell had said, opening the back door to the taxi. “Zane flies home the following day.”

“What’s going on, Mitchell?”

“I told you, I’ve got a lot on my plate. Look, don’t worry. I’m still your date to the wedding—unless you get a better offer,” Mitchell had said, waving to Alec. “In the meantime, I’ll see you when I see you.”

And with that, despite feeling conflicted, Mitchell had climbed into the back of the waiting taxi. He’d known Tommy stood watching him drive away, but he’d refused to look back.

Not everything had been doom and gloom. Zane had blossomed. His involvement with the theatre group had unlocked something in him, bringing him out of his shell and making him more vocal and animated. Mitchell had almost beenenvious, listening to his enthusiasm about his work backstage and his exploits around town with his new buddies.

One night during the past week, after an evening rehearsal, Mitchell had been checking the day’s countless unread work emails and listening without comment, nodding occasionally, while Zane had sat cross-legged on the sofa and gushed about Tommy’s fantastic stage set and how inspiring he was to work with. Mitchell had only looked up from his laptop when Zane had stopped talking.

“Why have you ghosted him?” Zane had asked.

“Ghosted?”

“Tommy says you’re not answering his calls or messages.”

“Work is crazy, Zane. You know that. Each day has been packed with redundancy meetings or exit interviews. I don’t have time for much else. Certainly not socialising.”

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