Page 8 of Commitment Issues
Chapter Four
Freddie
“Freddie?”
The guy standing above me in the crowded café with the apologetic smile is so much more than his photograph on the internet which, in comparison, looked like a grainy photocopy. Lickable, Cosmo said. That, and some. Elliot Hendricks is an ice lolly on a hot day.
“Yes, that’s right.” I glance around, looking for James.
James, who said he’d meet me with Elliot.
James, who said he’d discussed everything with Elliot, who was in complete agreement.
But James isn’t here, and he won’t be here, and Elliot’s lopsided, apologetic smile is all I need to know that James has got me to the café — got both me and Elliot to the café — under false pretences. Or a lie, to be precise. Heat sears my face, and I open my mouth to stutter out an apology, but nothing comes out as it dries on my tongue like sandpaper.
Elliot has every right to be angry at the clumsy set-up, but as I gawp up at him, it’s not anger I see reflected in his pale blue eyes, but focused, sharp concentration.
He pulls out the chair opposite me, and sits down.
“There’s been a mistake, or misunderstanding. But that’s putting it mildly. Whatever James has said, he’s misled you. I’m sorry.”
And you’ve shown yourself up to be a gullible fool,he might as well add.
The burn creeps its way past my hair line and onto my scalp. Because, seriously, if this guy needs or even wants a companion to take with him to some fancy wedding, he can do a lot better than me, a cash-strapped student who works part-time stacking shelves in a supermarket. In his sharp, dark grey suit that fits him like a second skin, the crisp white shirt, and magenta tie that’s he’s tugging at to loosen a little, he’s a world away from who I am. I’ve worn my best jeans and hoodie, or the hoodie that’s the least faded from a gazillion washes, but I feel like a scruffy kid next to him.
Stupid, stupid, stupid…I’ve let myself be swayed by the promise of a cash injection, a much-needed break in the sun, and a picture of a guy who looks like he could be playing the next James Bond. I want this embarrassing agony over with, and I want it over with quick.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’ve been inconvenienced.”
I shove my chair backwards as I leap up, almost knocking it over. In my haste to get away, I grab my rucksack and heft it onto one shoulder, but it’s not fully zipped up and out tumbles a packet containing a half-eaten and dingy-looking ham sandwich, a toy Viking, and a copy of The Norseman with a horn-helmeted, bearded guy on the front cover who looks less fearsome warrior and more like he’s on his way to a night out at a bears’ club.
“Bloody hell,” I mutter under my breath, but before I can swoop down to pick up all my embarrassing crap, Elliot’s doing it for me.
Putting it all on the table, his lips quirk in ill-concealed amusement.
“A toy Viking and a magazine about… Vikings? Are you part of a re-enactment society?”
“What? Re-enactment society? No, I’m a student. I’m doing a PhD.”
“Really?” Elliot picks up the magazine and flips through it. “So you’re studying — Norse weaving techniques?” He flicks through a few more pages. “Sea Shanties and Their Origin in Norse Folk Song: An Exciting New Perspective. Exciting? Really? Does anybody honestly study this stuff?”
“Somebody’s got to.” I pluck the journal from his fingers.
“Really?” he says, one brow raising slightly.
“Yes, they do.” My words come out with more of a snap than I intend. My subject’s niche, okay very niche, but I do believe somebody has to study these things. “If nobody cares about thisstuff,or studies it, then nobody would know about the past, and if you don’t know about the past how can you really understand the present and future?” That’s stretching it a bit, at least when it comes to Vikings and sea shanties, but Idobelieve in the general principle. “I’m sorry we’ve both had a wasted journey,” I say, modifying my voice a little.
I start packing everything away, including the nasty, clingfilm-wrapped sandwich, but to my horror Elliot picks it up and dangles it between finger and thumb, looking at it as though it’s something the cat’s dragged in. I don’t blame him, because that’s exactly what it tastes like.
“We’re both here under false pretences but it doesn’t have to be a totally wasted journey. At least stay and have a coffee with me, and maybe something to eat that’s a little more appetising than this.” He swings the limp-looking sandwich from side to side and I can’t help laughing.
“Yeah, it’s not great, but it was all that was left in the university canteen.” It had also been half price, which had been its main attraction.
“I think Barista Boys can do a little better than this. I’m going to have something to eat, so will you join me? I feel it’s the least I can do.”
I hesitate. My skin’s still prickling with embarrassment, but at the same time Elliot’s taken the whole thing really well when he’s every right to be royally pissed off by what James has done.
“I, erm…”
