Page 38 of Commitment Issues
“To everybody else here, we’re still a couple. I want to stay, I want to be who we agreed we’d be.” He speaks the words quietly and my heart hitches. “And anyway,” he says, a tinge of light laughter in his voice, “I was promised a free mini break in the sun, and all the booze I could drink. Why wouldn’t I want to stay?”
Relief riddled laughter bursts from me, thankful for his lighthearted words which shatters the tension. Yes, he’s been promised, but I hope he wants to stay for more than those.
“Come on.” He stands and holds out his hand to me. “Let’s show everybody how sickeningly in love we are. It’s a wedding party, after all, and it’s all about the romance.”
I place my hand in his, and try my hardest to ignore the thrill running through me.
And fail.
* * *
We slip from the shadows and return to the party. Andrew’s in deep conversation with somebody I don’t know. I itch to speak to him, to apologise, but it’s not the right time. For now, there’s nothing I can do and I tuck my frustration out of sight.
Gavin and Marcus are both milling around. Marcus is loud, and slightly screechy, as he always is when he’s had too much to drink, but Gavin’s watchful. I can all but feel his eyes boring into Freddie and me. And, I suspect, so can Freddie, because he plays his part to perfection.
Little glances, and smiles, small lingering touches that set sparks dancing over my skin. With his easy laughter and bright smile, he brings out the laughter and smiles in others. The light from the flares gilds his bright blond hair and brings soft colour to his pale skin, and his gold-green eyes sparkle. If he were my boyfriend for real, I’d be jealous of the blatantly admiring looks he’s attracting. My arm tightens around his waist.
Eventually the party begins to break up as people drift off to bed, and Freddie and I make our way along the winding path towards our cottage.
“It’s been a long and eventful day,” I say, as Freddie yawns long and loud.
“You can say that again. Why aren’t we in the main house? I’d have thought with you being a best man that’s where they’d have put us.”
“I suspect that’s because Gavin’s in there,” I say, as I let us in. “We came here for a big party when Marcus hit forty-five and they made the cardinal mistake of putting us in one of the cottages. Gavin took it as a huge slight that we weren’t in the villa, and made sure everybody knew it.” I shrug. “I always preferred staying in the cottages. Andrew and Marcus probably thought it safer to just have him in there and save the aggravation. They’ve enough to think about without Gavin’s tantrums.”
“I’m glad we’re in here,” Freddie says, as he opens the doors to the verandah. He leans on the frame, and looks out towards the sea, his sigh filling the room. “It reminds me of home, except it’s the grey North Sea crashing on the shore, rather than the Med.” He turns and smiles, and there’s something wistful in his expression, and I want to know more of his life before, and the cold northern sea.
“I’m going to make a hot drink. Want anything?” He bounds across the room to the small kitchen area, his voice bright and light, all wistfulness gone.
I follow him over, where he’s opening and closing cupboards, before emerging with a box of capsules for the coffee machine.
“There’s these, but I’d rather have tea. Proper tea, not the stuff they have abroad which is like gnats’ wee.” He grins sheepishly. “I’ve got a tendency to turn into a Little Englander when I go overseas, always complaining about the rubbish tea and the marked lack of Marmite.” A flush spreads over his face, and I narrow my eyes.
“You’ve brought some, haven’t you?”
“Erm, the Marmite, yes. I nestled it amongst my socks. To make sure it arrived safely.”
“Best place for it.”
He glares at me, but it can’t hide the laughter in his eyes.
“I’ll treat that comment with the disdain it deserves. But I forgot the tea bags. Don’t laugh,” he says, laughing himself. “Coffee’s great, I love coffee, but I have to start and end the day with a cuppa.”
“You don’t have to.” I meet his eyes, and smirk. He tilts his head, and studies me.
“You’ve got your own stash. Share.”
“No.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“No?” he says quietly, taking cautious steps away from the kitchen, edging to one side as he advances into the lounge.
I know what he’s going to do, and I’m ready for him as he lunges to the left, and I pounce to stop him. But I pounce into air. It’s a feint, as he swings to the right, laughing as he rushes to the bedroom, me on his heels, where we’ve stored both sets of luggage.
“Where are they? Where have you hidden them? They’re in a secret compartment in your suitcase, aren’t they?” He swings my empty case up onto the bed.
“If you touch my PG Tips…”
“So they are in here,” he crows, his voice triumphant.
