Page 54 of Commitment Issues
“I couldn’t drop everything on a whim to do what you wanted and when, so you thought you’d find solace by having somebody else’s dick up your arse?”
“Elliot—”
“Just leave it, Gavin. You’ve got no right to say any of this, not after everything you did. And not here, and now, for fuck’s sake.” I glare down at a plate of food I can’t remember arriving, breathing in deep, willing myself to be calm. “It’s finished Gavin, it’s over. The door closed on us and there’s no unlocking it. Don’t make a fool of yourself—”
“A fool for loving you?” He stares up at me, through his lashes, and again there’s that tiny twist in my gut, and I don’t know what to say, not anymore. “Elliot, please…”
Bright laughter, full of sunshine and warmth, slices through all of Gavin’s bullshit, and I turn away from him.
Freddie, across the table where he’s laughing and chatting with his neighbour. So bright and intelligent and full of life, a breath of air as fresh as the sea breeze. He catches my eye, as though he can feel my gaze on him, and his smile’s enough to melt the ice caps, and nothing in the world can stop me from smiling back.
“Do you really think you and him have a chance together? You’re old enough to be his father.”
My eyes dart back to Gavin. His words are calm and measured as he stares, deadpan and expressionless, at Freddie, but there it is, the giveaway twitch of muscle in his jaw.
“I don’t know, but we’re having fun seeing where it goes.” I turn away from him, shutting him out, the way I should have shut him out long ago.
* * *
The wedding breakfast passes in a blur. Andrew and Marcus have thrown convention to the winds, and opted for no speeches from myself or Gavin, choosing instead to say a few simple words themselves and I’m more than happy with that.
I’ve been chatting with the guy on the other side of me but I’m on autopilot, and I haven’t a clue what I’m talking to him about, but whatever it is he seems to find it amusing as he giggles into his champagne.
Food’s served up in front of me, and I eat without tasting a thing. My head’s nothing more than messed up mush, piled on a hard base of anger. I’ve had no contact with Gavin for three months. He walked out without looking back, leaving his key behind him on the hallway table. And now this, here, choosing our friends’ wedding to declare he’s made a mistake.
My eyes seek Freddie and he turns to me as though sensing my need of him. His smile’s dazzling and genuine, but I see a shadow of concern there, too, and it’s enough to quell the angry sickness boiling in the pit of my stomach. Just being on the other end of that smile is enough to calm me.
Eventually the wedding breakfast comes to an end. Somewhere along the line the cake’s cut and toasts are raised, but it’s nothing more than a blur. As soon as I’m able, I scrape my chair back to go to Freddie.
“Thanks for rescuing me,” he says under his breath, as he gets up. “I really don’t know how many more stories about Strictly Come Dancing I can take, along with Craig’s self-tanning regime.”
I laugh, letting go of all the pressure waiting to blow within me. “Do you need rescuing? You don’t strike me as being the type.”
He shrugs and a little smile I can’t decipher tugs at his lips. “Sometimes, because don’t we all, at one point or another? It’s so beautiful here,” he says, flipping the conversation. “It’s good to feel the sun.”
He tilts his head back, and his golden hair, so thick and heavy, tumbles back. My fingers tingle and I wonder with a sharpness that’s the tip of a knife against my skin, what it would feel like to run my hands through it, to scrunch it up tight in my fists as—
“Cosmo was right.”
“Cosmo? Sorry, what?”
“He said I needed a break, and he was right, even if the circumstances are unusual. But it’s back home tomorrow.”
Back home. Back to the known and familiar. Back to the ordinary. Back to being lonely and alone.
Loud clapping cuts through my sudden gloom. The caterers have removed the table, and the space has been transformed into a small dance floor. Andrew, his jacket abandoned, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his tie missing, holds out his hand to Marcus and amidst claps and cheers, announces they’re taking their first dance together as married men and everybody, he says, voice booming, is to join them.
It’s impossible not to grin when Andrew and Marcus take to the floor. They’re an odd-looking couple, but they are a couple and always have been. I may have my reservations about Marcus, but he loves Andrew with a passion. Together, they look loose and relaxed as they fall into each other’s arms, and the small band, which arrived unnoticed by me, plays a slow, bluesy number.
As early evening creeps in, the flares from our first night are lit, casting soft shimmering shadows. The sky’s long lost its vibrant blue, but the air still holds the heat, yet now there’s a close, dense quality to it. I look behind me, out towards the sea, but if there’s a storm coming it’s way off.
Other couples join them on the dance floor, swaying slowly to the mellow saxophone. Out of the corner of my eye I see Gavin accept the invitation to dance from a tall, thin guy. Even after everything I’ve said to him today, I expect to feel some jolt, some anything, but there’s nothing.
“We ought to join them,” I croak.
Without a word, Freddie slips his hand into mine and pulls me onto the floor. His arms coil around my waist. Cheek to cheek, each of us holding onto the other, chest to chest and heart to heart, we fit together like a lock and key. I close my eyes as we sway to the music, barely moving.
“Sorry, I’m not really much of a dancer,” I whisper in his ear. He laughs, sending a tremor through my body.
