Page 74 of Commitment Issues
And I should go. I should kiss him goodbye and leave, taking good memories with me. I should leave, and not look back.
But this is Elliot, and although the voice in my head’s screaming at me to say no, I can’t.
I can’t do it.
“Yes.”
The word shivers through me. We lean into each other, and kiss, because I’ll take whatever he can give me and know I must live with the consequences.
* * *
Alone in the kitchen, I scroll through my phone looking at all the rubbish on my Facebook feed. Jasper’s lying across my feet. He’s only a small dog, but he’s solid and heavy, and my feet are starting to go numb. I try to pull them out from underneath him, but he makes a funny little growling, snorting noise and I reach down and stroke his silky ears and smile as he rewards me with a nuzzle into my palm.
Elliot’s in his home office, somewhere upstairs, and he told me to make myself at home before he went off to take his conference call. I’ve only been here once before, and the kitchen’s just about the only room I’ve been in. I’m curious to know more about the house and what it might reveal about the man who lives here. But I don’t want to wander around, looking in this room and that, as though I’m poking into his life when I’m clearly only to remain on the edges of it. But he did say…
“Hey Jasper, you want to give me the guided tour?”
The dog looks up at me and cocks his head, his long, pink tongue lolling from the side of his mouth. He staggers up, as if he understands my words.
With Jasper padding alongside me, I make my way down the hallway to where I guess the living room is. I can’t help smiling as I stand on the threshold, and I breathe in deep. The air holds a hint of Elliot’s tangy cologne, and I know already he spends a lot of time in this room. Stepping inside, I take it all in.
Like the kitchen, it’s a mishmash of styles. A huge fireplace, unlit at this time of the year, with a big vase of dried flowers in the grate. Facing it are a couple of big squishy and comfortable-looking sofas, strewn with cushions. Even though it’s a large room there’s something cosy about it.
The walls are cream painted but there’s not much wall on show, because much of it’s covered in colourful framed prints. One whole wall is a huge bookcase, and if I didn’t already like him a lot, I like him way more now. There’s something that’s conspicuous by its absence — no TV or any kind of home cinema, just a small docking station for an iPod and tiny speakers in each corner of the room. But what there is, is a record player, and vinyl. Shelf after shelf, stuffed with vinyl.
“Should I have a look, Jasper? What d’ya think? He did say make myself at home but will he think I’m just being nosy?”
Jasper looks up at me with his big brown eyes and makes some sort of strangled noise in the back of his throat that I take to be a yes.
I pull out some of the vinyl, or albums as my mum and dad insist on calling them. Nothing seems to be in order. Jazz rubs shoulders with opera, which nudges up against ’80s New Romantic and ’90s indie bands. And classical, lots of classical. It’s the same with the bookshelves, the contents eclectic and jumbled. There’s a lot of financial and economic tomes along with political and business leader biographies, but there’s also social history and fiction. The fiction, especially, looks well read and loved, the spines broken and tattered. I smile as I spot a familiar title and pull out the battered paperback. Winnie the Pooh.
Happy birthday, Elliot. Lots of love from Grannie.
I wonder how much of Gavin there is in this room but I already know the answer. This room is Elliot and I suspect it was both his refuge and sanctuary when they lived together.
Putting the book back, I sweep down and bundle Jasper up in my arms, rubbing my face in his rough coat.
“I like this room, Jasper, I like it very much.”
“I’m glad you do because it’s my favourite room in the house, or maybe I should say it takes joint first place with the kitchen.”
Elliot, standing in the doorway. He’s showered, and his James Bond suit’s been cast aside in favour of loose jeans and a plain, lightweight navy jumper, but he still manages to look like he could be on the cover of a men’s style magazine, the casual issue.
“I, erm, hope you don’t mind? You did say—”
“To make yourself at home. If I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t have said it. I’ve finished my call, so would you like some lunch?”
I nod. “I would, although I think you need to do some shopping. I made myself some more tea when you were working,” I explain. “There’s not much in your fridge.”
“No… Perry, my assistant, he usually arranges my grocery delivery, but with me being away recently, and now he’s off for a couple of weeks…”
He looks embarrassed, and no wonder. “Your assistant arranges your shopping for you?”
Elliot shrugs and gives me a sheepish grin. “He’s so much better at it than me. Last time I tried to put in an online order, I ended up with a box of mangoes and a tin of cat food. We can go out for lunch, if you like?”
“There’s not much but there’s enough to make something to eat. And afterwards, I’ll put the order in for you.”
