Chapter 11
ELEVEN
‘Good morning to you too.’
Charles looks up from his computer screen. Gareth’s eyebrows are raised in a silly hat above his glare. Most days, he ignores Charles’ greeting, but today that he didn’t get one, he’s taking offence.
‘Hello…’
‘You were late.’
‘Sorry. Traffic.’
‘You walk here.’
‘Yes, that was a joke.’ Charles sighs, then forces a smile that costs him more energy than he has to spare. ‘Good morning, Gareth. How can I be of service?’
‘We’re having an emergency meeting that might drag on, so handle my calls. Take contact details, but don’t get involved.’
‘Sounds complicated. Let’s pray I’ll manage.’
‘What’s with the new attitude? You know that anyone with at least three neurons can get into that business course? Or no neurons at all with a surname like yours.’
‘Thank you for putting me in my place, I’d be lost without your guidance.’
Gareth’s nostrils flare, adding an extra touch of stupidity to his face.
As soon as he turns into the hallway leading to the meeting rooms, Charles unlocks his phone.
He was late because he walked at a snail’s pace, slowed down by the traffic in Charland as he was trying to come up with a message for Loris. Now that he’s put one together in his head, he prefers to type and send it before the next tailback.
09:41 I hope you enjoyed the rest of your night.
09:41 I’ll be honest my visit is blurry. I came from my own friends’ gathering and I was a bit high. It usually results in an overdramatic Charles so forget that performance, it meant nothing. I feel great this morning.
09:42 Try not to kill any tourists. Tomorrow’s posing session wouldn’t be as fun in a prison cell.
Charles drops his phone onto the desk to drill his temples with his knuckles.
He had a disturbing nightmare, where he revealed his weakness and admitted to needing Loris to feel better. When he woke up, he understood with horror that it was just another replay of what happened at the North Haven last night.
A cold shower brought the situation from cataclysmic to simply problematic, and half a litre of coffee gave him a solution: lie to take back his confessions.
He can’t have Loris openly preoccupied with his wellbeing.
His caring attitude yesterday was only comforting because Charles went to the pub hanging by a thread, unable to thrive from enlightening interactions.
But he needs to ensure that their dynamic evolves in a safe and inspiring direction.
Loris has to remain too captivated by the drawing-worthy surface to dig into the ugliness, even if he sees through Charles’ act.
There’s no longer any doubt that he does, and this is the reason why Charles texted such a flimsy excuse.
He’s hoping Loris will take the hint that he should go back to pretending to be fooled.
That last night wasn’t a step towards daily updates on Charles’ struggles.
And in return – although he’s making this deal with himself – Charles won’t let what he’s not supposed to know about Enzo affect his attitude when he’s with Loris.
This is one of the confusing conclusions he came to after dissecting his visit to the pub.
Aliah and Phoebe disclosed information he would bet Loris wasn’t going to tell him. Why did they? Doesn’t it matter as much as Charles thinks? It feels meaningful, but then again, his only ex didn’t break his heart, and they never drew the line at sleeping together, so what does he know?
He grabs his phone to text George.
09:46 Thank you for last night.
09:46 I forgot to ask (what’s new?): Are you still seeing Hannah? Are you still freaking out? Are you alright in any case?
When it comes to romantic drama, Charles might be next to useless to George, but he has to try. And tonight, he will check up on Alex and call Elsy to investigate her state of heart. They all deserve better from him.
George seems to be offline but Loris is typing, so Charles keeps his phone close at hand, stomping Boléro on the floor.
09:48 WITH ONE L We’re gonna stroll on the Heath today so my criminal record should remain clean
09:48 WITH ONE L Happy to hear you’re feeling good
09:49 WITH ONE L (I don’t believe for a second you were high but let’s say you were)
Charles exhales slowly. That’s close enough to an agreement to the terms of their unspoken deal.
He can move on to the next stone in his stomach.
The aggravation caused by Enzo, now exacerbated by a scene Charles can visualise too well.
That guy won’t appreciate the Heath. He’s probably seen taller trees, deeper ponds and nicer views of bigger cities.
He might not even look, solely focused on Loris, who he didn’t appreciate either when they were dating.
Charles should be the one going to the park. He would help Loris find the spot where his father planned on proposing. Is Enzo aware of this story? Does he care? Does he stand a chance to worm himself back into Loris’ arms before his train leaves?
Charles doesn’t know anything about their relationship other than the few subjective crumbs thrown by Aliah and Phoebe. But he doesn’t want to see any more of the shadows he caught a glimpse of on Loris’ face last night.
He’s being protective. And possessive of Hampstead Heath.
Protective of Hampstead Heath and possessive of Loris.
When Gareth’s phone rings, Charles picks up faster than he ever has in this office, relieved to be yanked away from an obscure door in Charland.
Take contact details, but don’t get involved.
‘Gareth is in a meeting, but I’m familiar with your account, Mrs Ludlow. Is there anything I can help you with?’
Charles is already lost, miles away from his comfort zone. He may as well learn to grow comfortable in unconventional ones.
And getting on Gareth’s nerves seems like a very satisfying place to start.
***
Except for the pillowcases – now yellow on the bed and striped white and blue on the sofa – Loris’ place is exactly as Charles left it last time, healthily untidy.
Yet it feels different, stained by an oppressive atmosphere he can’t help but imagine. He’s been trapped in his own home with people smothering him, he knows the feeling. But he always had his room to retreat to. Loris had no escape from his ex-boyfriend in this tiny flat.
Supposing that he wanted to escape.
‘Where have you gone to?’
Charles shakes his head and looks at Loris, who’s approaching with the rugby mug.
‘Back to a work issue from yesterday. Which is stupid, because it’s sorted.’
‘Was it okay? That day you were afraid not to survive?’
‘Yes.’
He saved it, by single-handedly preventing an important client from leaving the firm. But this is too pointless a feat to share here.
Charles grabs his coffee and blows the smoke towards Loris. His eyes are drowsy, his stubble is thicker than usual and his hair messier than ever. The best Loris, he claimed.
It must be nice for someone to be at their best so effortlessly.
To just stand there, groggy, and to hold such power over another person.
Charles’ mind unfolded like a flower in spring the moment Loris opened the green door.
Blank petals of parchment, waiting for a novel made of memories.
Some he had buried and some they’re about to create.
Inhaling a long breath of peanutty caffeine, Charles edges towards the sofa. It’s cloudy today, the natural light is ghostly. Loris might use this different atmosphere to tackle the glitching effect.
Did he find a few minutes to work on the drawing during the week? Was it left on display? Or kept away from unwarranted assessments from Enzo?
Hopefully on display, showing Charles at his best.
Hopefully, he will stop obsessing over the guy soon.
‘Okay!’ Loris sits on his stool and drums his fingers on his thighs. ‘I’ve got thousands of questions!’
‘You’re not drawing?’
‘This conversation requires my full attention!’
‘Alright. Where do you want to start? All I got so far is “Fuck, you live with Sofia!”’
‘Because, fuck! You live with Sofia! But… How close are you? Same floor? Same room? Same bed?’
‘Floor. I fell asleep near Her a few times, but that armchair is a back killer.’
‘You guys own a Land, but you can’t afford decent furniture for people who want to look at it?’
‘People don’t look at Sofia. We have two rooms dedicated to pieces of art.
Nobody enters the one upstairs, apart from a few VIP guests.
So my parents split the art accordingly.
On the ground floor, you’ll find big names or trendy artists, anything they can use to blow their own trumpet.
As you can imagine, Pavel didn’t make the cut.
He’s been relegated upstairs. Which is infuriating in theory, but I love that I can visit Sofia in my underwear at all hours. ’
‘You do?’
‘We’ve become very intimate.’
Charles smiles and dunks his lip into the coffee to check that it’s safe to drink it.
‘So, how do I get promoted to VIP guest? Should I massage your parents or… What? What did I say?’
The coffee is still scalding, and Charles splashed his nose when he jumped in reaction to the vision.
‘My mother would file a restraining order if you tried to touch her. Nothing personal. She’s not keen on human contact.’
‘Just you, then.’
‘No. I only get a kiss when she’s impressed by a pointless feat.’
‘I meant just you to massage.’
‘Oh. Yes. Don’t I look tense by the way?’
‘So far, so good.’
Charles is actually less relaxed than he was when Loris tortured him last time, but today’s discomfort is invisible. Tweaks in his stomach and waves shaking the surface of the bubble. Loris’ presence remains elating. It’s still a safe risk. But it feels like a greater one now.
‘Did your parents send Sofia upstairs because She wouldn’t make a strong impression on their visitors? Or is it because they think She’s a second-class painting?’
‘No! My father worships Sofia, like every Ledwell man before him. He sits in the room every morning for thirty minutes.’