Page 9 of Commitment Issues
“You can tell me all about, what is it? Norse folk songs?”
He’s smiling, and the skin at the edges of his eyes crinkles. And they’re lovely eyes, pale blue with flecks of silver. But they’re also tired eyes, and the slight shadows staining the skin beneath makes it look like he’s not slept properly in days, if not weeks.
I nod and sit back down, and his smile widens as he pushes a menu across the table to me. I scan it, looking for the cheapest item. The coffee was great, and the food looks even better, but it’s pricey, and I need to conserve as much cash as I can until pay day in a few days’ time.
“This is on me,” he says.
“No, I wouldn’t dream of it.” My eyes land on what I’m looking for. A plain scone with butter and jam. God, even that’s £3.25.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m going to issue James with an invoice for wasted time and sundry expenses. He’s going to be paying for this, so my advice to you is to fill your boots.”
I look up and meet his eyes, which are lasering into mine. A shiver scampers down my backbone and heat bursts low in my belly.
“Well, erm…” I clear my throat, which is as dry as the ham sandwich I’ve stuffed back into my bag. “If you put it like that…”
In silence, we make our choices, before Elliot gets up to go to the counter and I follow him with my eyes.
He’s drawing admiring glances from many of the customers, men as well as women, and no wonder. The suit he’s wearing fits like a glove. Bespoke, it just has to be. Slim fitting, it emphasises his narrow waist, broad shoulders, and his long legs. His hand reaches up to his throat, loosening the already loose tie, and I hear a strangled whimper I know is coming from me. He looks up and reads the specials board, at the same time pushing his fingers through his thick hair, steely grey and threaded with dark strands.
Next to the counter a door flings open and a well-built man emerges, talking into a mobile. He’s not quite as tall as Elliot but his build’s heavier, almost burly. His intense, and slightly grumpy face splits into a wide, bright smile, transforming him, as he shoves his phone into his trouser pocket, and gives Elliot a hard hug. They fall into conversation, both their faces wreathed with smiles, as though they’ve not seen each other in a long time. Perhaps they haven’t. Elliot glances my way and the other guy looks over, too, and I wonder what they’re saying.
My embarrassment from earlier washes back over me. Is Elliot telling the guy what’s happened? About the student of the niche and obscure being stupid enough to fall for James’ ridiculous plan? But something deep in my gut tells me that’s not so. What was it Cosmo said? Honourable. That’s it, he said Elliot was honourable, and as I watch him talking to the other guy, smiling and full of affection, I know that’s exactly what he is.
“That was the owner, Bernie,” Elliot says, returning to the table a few minutes later. “The café runs a sandwich round to many of the local offices, and my company uses them to cater our meetings. I haven’t actually been in here for ages but it’s good to be back. So, James’s devious little game has had one positive outcome.”
One positive outcome? A late lunch in a local café, not meeting me. My stomach falls, and I don’t think it’s got much to do with being hungry. I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything.
“What, exactly, did James tell you about my situation?” Elliot leans back in his seat, tilting his head to the side. His eyes are on me, watching and waiting, more guarded than before.
Taking a sip of the last dregs of the coffee I bought when I arrived, I’m buying myself time. It’s a potentially tricky question to answer but there’s no reason not to be truthful. And I reckon he has a right to know. So, I may as well tell him everything, because after today I’ll never see him again.
“This wedding, in France. James said you needed a pretend boyfriend to go with you. He also said your ex would be there…” I think it’s best not to mention that the ex has been described as both a turd and a shit.
Elliot’s looking hard at me, as though he’s trying to dig beneath and behind my words. I resist the urge to shift in my seat and fill the silence with meaningless babble.
“James,” he says on a long sigh, “can be extremely persuasive when he wants to be, so don’t feel bad for being sucked in.” He shakes his head hard. “I’m one of two best men, as he’s no doubt explained. He’s been on at me for weeks to take a companion with me. The whole production is four days. A long weekend. Did he tell you that?”
I nod. The promise of hot sun and warm sea…
“What else did he tell you?”
His tone’s clipped, almost making me want to sit up straight, pull my shoulders back, and address him as Sir. He’s annoyed, despite how well he’s taking it, and he has every right to be. I can’t help but wonder how his next conversation with James will go.
“He, erm, thought it would be a great help for you to have somebody with you.”
To give your shitty ex the big fuck off.
“Yes, I expect he did. How well do you know James?”
“Well enough, I suppose. Or maybe not well enough. He’s my flatmate’s cousin.”
Sod it, Elliot deserves to knowexactlywhy I’ve ended up waiting for him in a Soho café. I’m not some kind of amateur escort, and I’m going to make sure he knows it. I sit up straighter, square my shoulders and look him in the eye.
“James knows I’m skint. And that’s the truth of it. I said no, of course I did, because it’s a ridiculous plan but if I’m honest I need the money. My studies cost a fortune, and I’ve got a stack of bills I can’t put off paying any longer. The money he was offering would remove the immediate pressure and let me breathe a little easier. I haven’t paid Cosmo, who’s not only my landlord but my best friend, any rent this month, and I feel really bad about it. He’s not bothered, but I am. It’s — it’s degrading, not being able to pay my way, so although I could’ve come up with a thousand and one arguments to say no, saying yes was a way of getting myself out of a financial hole that part-time hours shelf stacking in Tesco can’t do. I don’t hire myself out for things like this. I don’t want you to think that.”
I’m breathless by the time I’ve finished. My shoulders droop and I sag back into my seat like a deflated balloon. It’s a pathetic little story, but it’s true, and the truth is no more than he deserves.
“None of this is your fault,” Elliot says, his voice gentle. “James has a way of winding a person around his little finger. He knows all the buttons to press, so if he knew you were struggling financially, that’s what he would have played upon. James can — well let’s just say he can twist and turn things. I’ve known him since we were boys so I know what he’s capable of. How—?”
