Page 95 of Commitment Issues
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Elliot
My eyes are sore and gritty, I’m tired, and I have a headache. Again. I’ve been at my desk all day and I’m as stiff as a plank, and I need to move around a bit before I plunge back into work.
Pulling open my office door, I’m taken aback to find the outer office empty. My eyes find the wall clock. Of course it’s empty, it’s probably been empty for a couple of hours. Everybody’s gone, home or to meet friends, and here I am stuck in the office on a Friday night. Not that it wasn’t my choice.
I haven’t seen Freddie, or spoken to him, all this week. He’s busy with his preparations for leaving, and I’ve been immersed in work. And God, don’t I just miss him. I miss coming home and finding him there, dinner cooking, making my house feel like a true home. I miss waking up with him curled up next to me, one arm across my body and holding on in a vice-like grip as though he can’t bear to let me go.
But everything’s changed.
He no longer stays the night, but goes home after we’ve screwed ourselves senseless, nothing more than passionless, mindless rutting, before he’s tugging on his clothes, almost falling over himself in his desperation to get away.
Back at my desk, the columns of figures on my computer screen are beginning to blur. It’s just gone eight in the evening, and I’ve been here for fourteen hours, and it’s time to go home. I close down my computer. I want to call Freddie, want to talk and laugh at the kitchen table as we eat dinner together, easy in each other’s company. But we’re not easy, not now, and I resign myself to heating something I’ll drag from the freezer, and the company of the TV and my dog.
Out on the busy street, I’ve not taken more than a couple of steps towards the Tube station, when my mobile pings. My heart rate soars at the thought that it’s Freddie, only to plummet when I see the name.
James.
I ignore it, because I’m in no mood for my friend’s acerbic wit, and I’m just about to stuff the phone back in my pocket when it pings again with another message, and this time I do open it up.
Ring me now you miserable bastard.
I groan, because if I don’t obey his missive, it means I can look forward to a growing list of increasingly foulmouthed, and increasingly imaginative, text messages.
“Where are you?” His first words, barked at me down the phone.
“And good evening to you, too.”
“Wherever you are,” he says, ignoring my barbed response, “forget all about it and come and join me for a drink.”
“Not tonight. Sorry. The last few days have been a complete bitch. I’ve been at my desk since dawn, so I’m going home—”
“To an empty house, the scrapings from the back of the freezer, and the company of an arthritic, ugly dog who farts a lot.”
“Jasper isn’t ugly, and he doesn’t fart.” He is and he does. I can say those things about him, but nobody else can, including James. And anyway, how does he know the house will be empty and that I’ll be rummaging for something vaguely edible from the back of the deep freeze?
“I’m at The Breakers Yard,” he says, referring to the Soho bar where we often meet. “I’m going to order you a G&T, which I expect you to be here to drink.”
* * *
As soon as I walk into the bar, I spot James. He ’s lounging back in his chair, talking and smiling up at a young guy who’s hovering next to him. They both burst into laughter, and James beckons to him to lean down, and when he does, James whispers something into his ear. The guy’s eyes grow wider and he nods, and seconds later he’s gone. As though sensing I’m there, James looks over and gives me a self-satisfied smile.
“I don’t think I need to ask what that was all about,” I say, as I sit down opposite him.
“That sounds very suburban.”
“That’s because I am suburban at heart,” I snap. “You forget that that’s where I come from. “
“You’re very tetchy this evening.” Ignoring my snap, he pushes the promised G&T towards me.
“I’m just tired, that’s all. Work’s been difficult and — and there’s been other stuff.” I pick up my drink and take a large slug, the alcohol immediately slamming into my empty stomach.
“The other stuff being Freddie, I assume.”
“What do you mean by that?” I put down my half-drained glass. James’ lips lift in a tiny smile as he stares at me.
“I’ve heard about his news. I had lunch with Cosmo a day or two ago, and he told me. So Freddie’s decamping for the year to the land of snow and ice and big, butch Vikings. How do you feel about it?”
