Page 59 of Glitterland
“You what?”
“Thank you for returning my things. Goodbye.”
“I tried to come wif you before,” he said quickly. “But you run fast for a skinny geeza and I couldn’t find where you’d gone. Right numpty I’d’ve looked wandering arand in circles in Chigwell in the dark for hours and hours wif you being tucked up in bed.”
An unexpected, unwarranted tingle of pleasure ran through me at his easy assumption that—even running into the night without a coat or mobile phone—I’d basically be fine. But then, he didn’t know any better. He wouldn’t. I’d done nothing but lie to him.
“You could have been set upon by a whole gang of ducks,” I said.
“Aw, babes, don’t joke abaht it. Ducks are roofless, I’m telling you. Now are you gonna let me in or what?”
“I had a panic attack,” I blurted out.
“What?”
“I had a panic attack. On the way home.”
“Aww, babes, are you ahwight now?”
“Yes.”
“So can I come in?”
What was this? Kindness? Guilt? Naïvety, as Niall had said? “Did you want something?”
He gave a shy sort of smile. “Well, you said earlier abaht…y’know—” His eyes darted anxiously left and right as if he were about to try to sell me something that had fallen off the back of a van. “—doing it. I’ve come to collect. Cos you was well sexy today.”
I couldn’t imagine at what point I’d been even remotely sexy. Did he mean when I’d worn a cardigan? Or when Niall had spat out all my secrets? Or when I’d run away from them?
“I’m not up for a pity-fuck, Darian.”
He blinked. “I don’t pity you, babes. I fink you’re doing ahwight, actually.”
I made an odd sound. It had started as a laugh. “I’m really not.”
“Not being rude or nuffin, but I fink what I want to fink abaht you is up to me, babes.”
There was a long silence. How ridiculous, standing there barefoot in the entranceway to my flat, clinging to a Tesco’s bag, and feeling…what? Something sweet and fragile. Far too fragile. “You…still want me?” I regretted the wretched words as soon as I’d uttered them. Insecurity was such an attractive trait.
“Yeah,” he said and stepped inside.
I let him into the flat and flung the bag with my poor suit in it into a corner by the hatstand. We stood awkwardly in the hall, Darian hopping about on one leg like a demented flamingo as he pulled off his boots. I was being stupid. He’d been here before. We’d already slept together. That was the main—possibly only—reason I let people into my flat. Bright moments gleaned from the clumsy communion of anonymous skin. It was all Darian was ever supposed to be.
“Do you want something,” I heard myself say. “Like a tea or some water or something?”
“Naw, babes, I’m good.”
There was a hideously self-conscious silence.
“Bedroom through there,” I said at last, pointing.
“Y’know, I always fought you ’ad a dead body in there or summin. Cos like you’ve nevva let me in.”
“And you slept with me anyway?”
He grinned. “I guess I must’ve fought it was worth it.”
“No dead body. I’m just…private.”
