Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Charles moves away from the kitchenette with the glass of grenadine he prepared before asking for permission.
He’s not hungry yet, so he will keep the cured meat for later with a quiche from the deli.
And for dessert, he will have a piece of pie made by Clare – the cook recently hired by his parents.
He had to go home after work, to collect the clothes he borrowed from Loris and pack an outfit for tomorrow. The smell of caramelised apples lured him into the kitchen, and he negotiated two slices to take away.
He also asked Clare to inform his mother that he will spend the night at Elsy’s.
Will Alice call out this blatant lie, considering she’s aware that Elsy is in Chicago?
Or will she lie in turn if Milton enquires after Charles?
She did when he skipped his grandfather’s gala, and again last night.
But before devoting too much mental energy to comprehend why she’s covering for him, Charles wants to check whether she will carry on.
Those two instances may have been temporary malfunctions in Alice’s complete loyalty to her husband.
Charles sits on the sofa and opens the leather notebook, relieved to discover that handwriting isn’t always hereditary.
‘Confucius said that everything has beauty but not everyone sees it. Here’s my attempt at looking closer and appreciating better.’
He takes a photo of this first page and sends it to Loris.
18:20 I might plagiarise your father in my own work.
18:21 WITH ONE L Go ahead but I want 49% of your royalties
18:21 WITH ONE L I’m open to discussing the form of your payment
Nibbling his smile, Charles cosies up against the pillows and sets his ‘Hampstead vibes’ playlist going.
***
Alice didn’t tell on him, because the only text Charles receives from Milton the next day is a reminder that it’s Clifford’s birthday.
But Clifford is out of the office, and when Charles asks if there’s a pool he can contribute to, Gareth fleers, ‘Arse licking much?’ Charles bites his tongue and dives into the account that their boss privately assigned him yesterday.
The best present he can give Clifford – who’s always treated him with respect and sympathy – is to honour his trust. The best way to get back at Gareth for his constant belittlement is to eclipse him.
And the best work conduct Charles can adopt is to fulfil his duties while he figures out what to do.
He won’t tackle his ticking-clock-bully until he wins his ongoing wars, and the main battle he has to prepare for today is his imminent reunion with Loris.
Charles’ paranoia is loud when fed with a new topic to dramatise. Whenever he dissociates from his computer screen and thinks about their upcoming conversation, Loris grows more resentful. Every time, Charles needs to reread their latest exchange to get a grip.
12:18 Can I come to the pub later? I have your keys.
12:36 WITH ONE L I don’t need them back tonight but I’d love for you to come to the pub
Luckily, Charles gets busy enough in the afternoon to keep his inner voices at bay. He manages to leave the office before turning Loris into a sadistic mastermind who would cruelly make him pay for the way he acted in December.
Charles slips into the North Haven behind a group of smokers sent back inside by the sleet, which allows him to look around without being spotted.
Loris is behind the counter, fixing a beer badge to a lager tap.
He’s wearing a tight low-neck jumper that instantly erases every scenario not ending with Charles’ lips on his skin.
Does Loris get more attractive by the day? Or is Charles becoming more sensitive to it now that he’s at peace with the idea? In any case, he takes off his coat, boiling in a way the pub temperature doesn’t justify.
‘Charles!’ Patty materialises in front of him. ‘How are you, boy?’
‘I’m very good and you?’
‘My gem of an employee is back, I’m overjoyed.’
She tousles Charles’ hair with an overjoyed expression similar to the one he saw earlier on commuters waiting for a delayed bus.
When she shuffles away, she reveals a bewildered Loris, who drops his arm.
The beer badge he was holding against the tap falls onto the floor, startling Jack the illustrator.
‘I leave for two weeks and Patty is now petting you?’
‘Jealous?’
‘No.’ Loris shrugs. ‘She pets me too.’
‘What do you think of my price board?’
‘You did that? When? How? What’s going on?’
‘Long story… for another day.’ Charles picks up the badge, puts his clothes onto a stool and rests his forearms on the counter. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m back at work, I left my sketchbook in Kent, and these stupid sticky things are meant to stick but never stick.’
Charles smiles, amused and relaxed. Loris isn’t truly irritated. He’s barely fighting a grin and his eyes are sparkling. When he takes the badge, his fingers caress Charles’ wrist, blurring the setting around them.
‘What about you?’
‘I’m not wrestling with non-sticky things, I haven’t misplaced my sketchbook, but I’m back at work too.’
‘What do you do?’ Loris asks, stepping aside to serve an old man.
Charles blinks to readjust to the reality that they’re not alone in the room. ‘What do I do?’
‘You never said. You wear suits, but maybe you’re a banker, maybe you’re an MI6 agent.’
Charles coughs, feeling his cheeks turn scarlet. Loris knows how he reacts to an orgasm, but not what he does for a living.
‘I work for a firm whose sole purpose is to help the rich get richer.’
‘I hope you do it Robin Hood style.’
Loris sets a pint down between them, leaving his hands around the base of the glass. Charles slides his arms closer to brush the back of Loris’ fingers.
‘It’s temporary. I’m meant to start an MBA in September.’
‘Meant to?’
‘It’s always been the plan. It’s never been mine, though, so it’s kind of a shitty plan.’
‘What’s yours?’
Loris parts his fingers to lace them with Charles’, his stare so sultry, his lips so inviting, Charles forgets again any plan involving clothes. But a customer approaches, they draw apart, and Charles clutches the glass – unpleasantly cold in comparison.
‘Being miserable was the idea. But it recently occurred to me that it’s an even shittier plan, so I’m weighing up other options.’
‘Robin Hood, I’m telling you. I’d like to see you in a tight green tunic.’
Charles laughs, until the intensity of Loris’ look costs him a breath. He swallows three mouthfuls of beer and appreciates the draught that blows in the room when new drinkers enter the pub.
‘Sorry, it’s been non-stop today. I can’t give you my full attention for now.’
‘It’s alright. I won’t give you any of mine and do some writing.’
‘Not any of yours? Sure.’
Scrunching his nose at Loris’ smirk, Charles moves his bag to the end of the bar, where he sits on an unfamiliar stool and opens his notebook. He won’t come up with new lines and ideas in such distracting conditions, but he has some editing to do, unsatisfied with everything he’s written lately.
Patty sticks her head out of the back area only to disappear again, evidently convinced that her gem employee is capable of handling the rush.
Charles would love to explain his connection with Patty to Loris now that Fred’s story doesn’t sound like a myth anymore.
But he can foresee the emotional impact of a confession.
He can’t do that in the pub, where there are many witnesses.
Where he can’t even kiss Loris, which is, really, the only concrete thing on his mind.
And whether or not Loris is aware of it, he doesn’t allow Charles’ focus to veer away from his dexterous hands and perfectly shaped torso.
In reality, Loris isn’t doing anything but his job. Charles is the one to blame for his internal blaze, and he drinks too much, too fast, in hope it will calm him down.
Twenty-five minutes later, Charles has improved a grand total of two sentences and counted twelve occurrences when it felt like Loris was picturing him naked.
‘What’s your novel about?’
Loris plants himself beside him, carrying a heavy tray of empty glasses on his forearm. Dying to taste the bulging vein on his neck, Charles drops his pen, giving up on being productive today.
‘I wouldn’t say it’s a novel.’
‘That’s what you called it on Saturday.’
‘Right, I said some stuff then… It’s a story about breaking free. It’s inspired by personal experiences, but I’d like to set up my narrator in a different environment, because escapism is the goal. But I’m still struggling to detach myself. It’s a process, I’ll get there.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
As he steps around Charles to go back behind the counter, Loris traces a line above his collar with his forefinger. Simmering, Charles makes a note never to come and see him at work again.
‘So, about your visit on Saturday night…’
Charles cracks a smile and rubs his neck, where the skin Loris has touched is scorched.
The pub has gone quiet, they can have the sober conversation Loris is waiting for.
In Charles’ earlier scenarios, it was the point when the plot became nightmarish, so he suddenly feels less comfortable on the stool – even if Loris’ current attitude is a cast-iron guarantee that he won’t grow sadistic.
‘I’ve been thinking—’
‘I was wondering—’
‘—that you…’
‘—how you…’
They scoff in unison, and Loris nods to spur him on.
‘No, you should go first,’ Charles says, scratching the sticker on his branded glass. ‘Because I’m sure I confessed a lot more than I would have without whisky. And yes, it was messy and… and—’
‘Awkward. Funny. Challenging to follow, as you were stripping at the same time.’