Page 75 of Commitment Issues
Chapter Thirty
Elliot
“Thanks, that was great.” And it has been. Just a cheese and mushroom omelette, along with some rolls I dug out from the back of the freezer and put in the oven. A simple meal that’s been cooked for me at home, rather than something fancy from a restaurant or delivered in containers.
“It was easy enough,” Freddie says with a shrug. “I do most of the cooking at home because Cosmo’s useless. One time, when he wanted toast, he actually ironed the bread because the toaster was broken.”
“What?” I stare at Freddie trying to spot any hint that he’s joking but there’s nothing. “Are you serious? I’m pretty crap when it comes to anything in the kitchen but that beats me hands down.”
“One hundred percent true. If it wasn’t for me there’d be nothing in the house other than custard cream biscuits and Pot Noodle.”
Freddie laughs, the sound bright and lighthearted and my heart skips a beat. The house already feels more alive and lived in than it has in God knows how long. Jasper, lazing on the patio, yelps as though agreeing with my unspoken thought.
We’re in the garden, under dappled sunlight. The roar of cars in the busy streets beyond are little more than a distant rumble. Bees buzz their way along the colourful plants in borders and tubs and, drifting through the air, is the plaintive sound of a violin, coming from a neighbouring house.
I glance across at Freddie, and he catches my eye.
“This is a lovely house.”
“Yes, it is. I was determined I was going to stay here when Gavin and I split up.” Shit. “Sorry. Gavin’s the last person I want to talk about.”
“It’s okay.”
It isn’t okay, but I feel the need to explain.
“I bought him out. He was happy to take the money and run. But we own an apartment in Barcelona and although I put up most of the money up for it, we’re involved in a bit of a wrangle. I don’t particularly like the place but I’m not going to just hand it over to him on a plate.”
“What don’t you like, Barcelona or the apartment?”
“Both.”
We sit in silence for a moment, both of us gazing out over the garden. The mention of Gavin, where he no longer has a place or a right to be, has cast a shadow.
“Anyway, the matter’s in the hands of the lawyers and as soon as it’s sorted out, I’ve decided to buy somewhere here in England, for when I want to get out of the city and switch off for a while. Not that that happens as much as I’d like.”
“Whereabouts?”
I feel a little self-conscious about discussing my idea, but I opened up the subject so I can’t really shy away from it. It’s almost as though if I talk about it, it won’t happen. But Freddie’s looking at me and waiting, his head tilted to the side and with such curiosity in his eyes it sends a fizzle of excitement across my skin.
“There’s a village, in Devon, I think I mentioned it once. It’s on a rocky bit of coast and it’s relatively unscathed by the tourist industry. It’s called Love’s Harbour, which I know sounds a bit twee, but we always used to go down there when I was a kid. My great aunt lived there and although she’s long gone now, I’ve got really happy memories of staying in her house. It’s where I’d like to get somewhere, nothing grand, just a cottage. I suggested it to — well, let’s just say my suggestion didn’t go down too well.”
“That sounds lovely. I’ve never been to Devon but I know it’s supposed to be beautiful — and I know they like scones, but not the Cornish,” Freddie says, laughing. “The nearest I’ve ever got to the West Country is Bristol. I went with Cosmo to a festival where it rained all weekend.”
“When I’m ready to, maybe you’d like to come house-hunting with me?”
“What?”
He looks startled, and no wonder. Haven’t we just agreed a kind of friends with benefits, no strings arrangement, yet here I am asking him to come house hunting with me?
“It’d be good to have an impartial opinion.” Christ…
“Erm, sure. If I’m around. Might not be here, remember?”
And I do. Oslo, and the placement he’s applied for, which if he gets it, will take him away for a year. A shadow falls across the patio, and I look up to see a cloud scudding across the sun, blocking out its warmth and light.
He looks at his watch. “I have to go. I’ve got some work to do in preparation for a meeting tomorrow with my Prof.” He stands, and I stand with him.
It’s all a little awkward and I know he’s feeling it too, as he rubs the back of his neck. Without thinking I place my hand on his and ease it away. A tiny crumb of toast clings to his top lip, and I brush it away with my thumb. I don’t remove my hand but let it linger instead.
