Page 89 of Commitment Issues
Chapter Thirty-Six
Elliot
I put my arm out expecting it to coil around Freddie. I like to feel him here, next to me in bed, but this morning I don’t find him, and where he should be there’s just an empty place with nothing more than the hint of fading warmth.
My eyes snap open, to see him just about to open the door. He’s fully clothed, and I already know he’s getting ready to go.
“Freddie?”
“Morning,” he says, but nothing more. No smile, no kiss, nothing other than his hand rubbing and squeezing at his neck.
Everything about him is unsure and nervous, reminding me of when we’d first met, and when I’d watched him as he’d waited for me outside the Tube station, the day I took him shopping for a suit. But we’re beyond that now, aren’t we? So why—? And then it hits me. My lack of response last night, from the moment I’d walked through the door to when I’d stilled his hand on my body, and turned my back to fall into a fitful sleep.
Christ, no wonder he looks like he wants to run as far and as fast as he can.
I pat the place beside me. “Come here.”
He hesitates for a moment, before coming across and perching next to me; he’s wary and I don’t blame him.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I take his hand in mine. “I’m sorry I was so — inattentive. I had a difficult week, more difficult than I was expecting, and it wiped me out. It wasn’t you, as the saying goes, it was me.”
Freddie’s lips lift in a tentative smile.
“You seemed… Tired, very tired.”
Tired. Yes that’s what I was, so bloody tired, but that’s not the word he meant to say, and my gut twists. His hand’s lying limp in mine, and I bring it to my lips and lay a soft kiss on the knuckles, and I’m rewarded with a softer smile. It’s Saturday, and my brain’s already running along the lines of a pub lunch somewhere, a walk on the Heath, perhaps the cinema… Then I remember. Work. Important follow-up work from the week just gone. I can’t put it off when that’s all I want to do.
“I’ve got a lot of work to get through today, and I can’t get out of it, but this evening, let me take you out for dinner.”
“Yes, I’d like that.”
There’s a very good Italian not too far away, which he likes, and I’ll make sure I get us a table. “Meet me here at seven o’clock, okay?”
“Sure, that’ll be lovely.”
I suggest breakfast, but he shakes his head. “You’re not the only one who’s got stuff to do. I’ll see you later.”
And then he’s gone, and there’s nothing but the sound of my own heart and the heavy sense of how empty the house suddenly feels.
* * *
I rush to open the door when the bell rings. Freddie’s standing outside, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans. He’s wearing a fitted light blue shirt that clings to his torso, and over that a denim jacket. Summer’s fading into autumn and although the days are still warm, the evenings are already bringing in a hint of chill. The wind’s picked up and it’s roughing up his hair, which is a golden cloud around his head. He looks young and fresh and full of life because that’s everything he is, and everything I’m not.
“Am I coming in or are we heading straight out?” he asks. It’s a valid question because I’m standing and staring at him, rather than welcoming him in.
“We’ll go now.” I grab my keys, wallet and jacket as he waits for me on the step, and a second later we’re off.
As we make our way along the street, I want to take his hand, but they’re thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans, and his head’s down. There’s an air about him, not closed off, but as though he’s preoccupied. I lick my lips, ready to ask if he’s all right, but before I have the chance, we’re at the restaurant and the door’s being opened by the smiley proprietor. We hand over our jackets, and we’re shown to a table set for two overlooking the little courtyard garden, with its tubs of bright flowers and fragrant shrubs, the walls trailing softly glowing fairy lights. It’d be heart-stoppingly romantic if this were a romantic dinner for two.
“So, what were you doing today?” I ask as I peruse the menu.
“I managed to get a last-minute shift at the supermarket, which came in handy.”
“Oh.” His answer’s not what I’m expecting, but I can’t help the image my brain conjures up of Freddie. Stacking up tins and jars, as I’m wading through a report and firing off emails, tired and fed up of a deal that’s been fraught with problems, when the sun’s been shining outside, when we could’ve been together, a lazy day with lunch and wine, and an even lazier afternoon in bed. What a waste of a day.
“But there won’t be too many more.”
“What do you mean?” There’s something in his voice that makes me sit up.
