Page 96 of Commitment Issues
“There’s nothingtofeel about it.”
“Really? You like him, so you must feel something.”
“Yes, you’re right. I do. I feel happy for him because it’s everything he wants. It’s the first step towards a new phase of his life. And that’s how it should be. Our arrangement was only ever a very loose, casual thing.” I grab my glass and down the rest of the drink.
“You might be able to lie to yourself but you can’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying. Why would I be lying?” The alcohol’s swirling in my bloodstream, and my tone’s truculent, and yes, tetchy, because of course I’m lying, and the little runt knows it, because he knows me inside out. But James doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he just looks at me, cool and assessing as always, but I’m not going to crumble.
“I’m happy for him,” I say, my voice low. “I’ve got to know him, and yes I like him perhaps more than I should or I ever meant to. But the fact is, he’s leaving just as I always knew he would. I only hope we can stay friends.”
Friends. The word’s hydrochloric acid in my stomach.
“Friends? That’s very amicable and civilised. Will you still like to be his friend in six months’ time when he introduces you to Sven or Lars or whoever his Scandi boyfriend turns out to be? Will you still feel like being hisfriendthen?”
My head snaps up and I meet James’ eyes. He’s looking at me like I’m an idiot, and there’s more than a hint of a sneer in his voice. Anger wells up within me, but it’s not anger at him, it’s anger at myself, because his words are a sharpened arrow, piercing through all my bullshit.
Yet I still try and tough it out. “I don’t know what you think you’re getting at.”
“Oh, I think you do,” James says, his voice dropping, and growing gentler. “Elliot, casual’s not you. It never has been. You’ve always been very… Let’s say traditional in your outlook.” His lips twitch.
“Boringly suburban you mean?” Because what he says is true. It’s not that I’m a stranger to hook-ups, but they’ve been few over the years. I’ve always been monogamous and committed, with all my boyfriends. I may have been royally shafted by Gavin, but it can’t alter who and what I fundamentally am, and what I want.
James shrugs. “There’s nothing wrong with that, I suppose. It’s never been what I’ve wanted and it never will be, but different people look for different things. But one thing I do know is that leopards don’t change their stripes—”
“Spots.”
“Spots, stripes, or underpants, you know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure I do, but I think you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“How right you are, because you know how much I like the sound of my own voice.” He leans across the table, his face serious and determined yet, when he speaks, there’s a hesitancy to his voice, an undercurrent of unsureness. It’s what makes my muscles tense and my skin tingle, because this a James I’ve only rarely seen.
“You can call this thing with Freddie whatever you like. An arrangement, an agreement, or any other bloodless, clinical term you can think of, but—”
“But what? What exactly should I call it, James, other than what it is? What we’ve been doing has suited us both. It’s what you suggested, after I split with Gavin. Remember? I’m having no strings fun, yet now you sit here and tell me that’s not me. You can’t have it both ways.”
James says nothing. I’ve silenced him, and I can’t remember when, or if, that’s happened before.
“Look,” I say, scrubbing my fingers through my hair. “You’re making something that isn’t complicated, well, complicated.”
“But it is complicated, despite everything you tell me and you tell yourself, complicated is precisely what it is. Can you honestly tell me that you’ll happily wave Freddie goodbye as he skips off to Norway?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what’s going to happen.” I keep my gaze locked on James, as ice forms in my stomach.
“Then I wish you luck with that,” he says quietly, “because I think you’re going to need it.”
