Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Charles is greeted back at the firm two days later by a Clifford very concerned about his health. This caring attitude from his boss gives Charles enough motivation to dive back into work, but his mind is made up. The clock on the wall isn’t ticking him closer to business school anymore.
He splits his free time between Loris and George, snug in the unencumbered comfort they bring him, each in their own specific way.
On Sunday, the visit of acquaintances compels him to go home, so George sends him a list of random words to insert in conversations.
Charles receives bewildered looks when he slobbers over polska dance or mentions snub-nosed monkeys, but his parents leave it at that, because he’s entertaining their guests.
And this game busies his mind away from the catty remarks piling up on his tongue.
Charles is proud of the way he’s handled himself since his breakdown between Loris’ arms.
However, a week and a half later, this new confidence is nowhere to be found.
‘What’s the matter?’ George grabs his arm to stop him in front of the long-closed deli on the street corner. ‘You said you didn’t mind.’
‘I don’t…’
‘So why is your stress making my hair stand on end?’
‘I’m not as comfortable as I thought I’d be.’
In truth, Charles didn’t think he would be anything, because he didn’t think twice before agreeing to George tagging along to the North Haven.
They spent the evening with Alex, who had gathered friends and relatives to share his decision to drop out of medical school.
Charles was spellbound by his relief and excitement.
Not too long ago, he would have begrudged such energy.
Tonight, he could relate and picture himself telling his innermost circle that he’s about to oppose his parents’ wishes.
Emboldened by the prospect, he was mentally writing his speech when George asked, ‘Can I come with you for a quick drink?’ Charles approved without considering the consequences of this request but, halfway through the walk, it dawned on him that George and Loris are about to meet.
For the first time in weeks, he truly misses his pen.
George nudges him. ‘I won’t embarrass you.’
‘Nothing you have on me could top my drunk performance in his flat.’
‘What’s the problem, then?’
‘I need you two to get along.’
‘Why wouldn’t we?’
‘I don’t know.’ Charles sighs, staring at the pub. ‘But as long as you don’t meet, I don’t have to worry about it.’
‘Healthy way to go through life.’
There’s more. Charles’ inner voices are loud.
One is warning him against bringing a part of his world inside his Loris-bubble.
One is wondering how much of a different person he is with George and with Loris, and who he will become with them both.
One is panicking that such introductions might seem like a big deal and bother Loris.
Is he ready to formalise their relationship? They’ve never discussed whether they—
‘You’re freaking out, so never mind. Next time.’
‘No! Well, yes, I’m freaking out. But I can’t let old-Charles slow me down anymore.’
‘This place is very safe for you. I don’t want to mess it up.’
‘You won’t. And now I’ll overthink until it happens, so better that I only overthink while we cross the road. Let’s go.’
‘Alright. But if that helps, I want to rise up to the challenge and embarrass you.’
‘How is that supposed to help?’
‘It’s the only thing you should worry about. When will I bring up Phil’s fifteenth birthday party and the moment vodka drove you to pull down your pants in the middle of the room?’
Charles snorts, his nerves loosening up a little. He will happily deal with mortifying revelations if they prevent uneasy silences between Loris and George.
‘As soon as it gets too heavy, blink twice. I’ll share one of your most cringeworthy feats.’
‘Thank you.’
Charles pushes the door open and holds his breath, to asphyxiate a new voice pointing out that he should have perhaps told Loris about George’s visit.
The pub is empty and seems all but closed already. Loris is slouching on the counter, killing time on his phone.
Charles is now accustomed to the striking neon-lit sight of him. But he will never get used to the way Loris makes him feel when he looks up and beams at him – as if Charles were the last remaining patch of colour in a world in black and white.
‘Blimey! I’m having nightmarish flashbacks of the Wicked Witch of the North picturing us as a hotpot!’
Charles jabs George in the ribs. ‘We don’t call Patty that anymore.’
‘It’s fine. My friends still do.’ Loris joins them and presses a fleeting kiss on Charles’ temple, because of the windows exposing them to passers-by. ‘You okay? You look tense.’
‘I carried this guy on my back to ask you for a massage later.’
‘True story. I’m George, the useful burden.’
‘Loris. Nice to finally put a face to the name.’
‘Likewise. I’ve heard info dumps about you.’
‘I may have oversold you to one another.’ Charles pushes a bit more into Loris’ space. ‘So if you ever meet when I’m not around, feel free to return the favour.’
‘We’d need three days to cover the extent of your greatness.’
‘Do you guys want a drink?’
‘Please. A nip of your best whisky.’
Loris goes back behind the bar. ‘Sorry, George. I never take responsibility for anyone’s potential disappointment. You pick your own poison and live to enjoy or regret it.’
‘Smart man. Alright, second on the left, I don’t think I’ve tried it. Two doubles, neat.’
‘So I guess you’re ready to take responsibility for Charles’ potential disappointment?’
‘Yes. We’ve got a “If I jump, you jump, no blame” agreement.’
Charles nods to confirm and perches onto his favourite stool. ‘Can you drink with us?’
‘Yeah, I’m gonna have a beer.’
‘Because this whisky is crap?’ George asks with a frown.
‘Because I want beer. We don’t sell crap here, contrary to popular belief.’
‘Is that why you don’t do cocktails? They’re crap, but they’d be the easiest way to make a profit.’
Charles tuts at his friend for phrasing a thought he personally never felt entitled to share. But George ignores him. He would give cooking advice to Gordon Ramsay even though he’s incapable of making an edible omelette.
‘There’s only one way to run this pub.’ Loris places their tumblers onto square napkins. ‘Patty’s way. We don’t sell olives because she hates olives.’
‘She sounds like a challenge.’
‘No, George, we’re not coming up with a two-year masterplan to revolutionise the North Haven.’
‘Buzz kill.’
‘You can, guys. But let me know when the presentation happens. I’ll bring soothing lotion for your bruised egos. Anyway, cheers!’
They raise their glasses, and Charles’ heart completely melts when he finds Loris’ eyes above the rim of his pint glass. He visibly agrees that meeting George is a big deal, but his look is nothing but an appreciative embrace.
‘Not bad,’ George comments after a sip. ‘Now, Loris, as Charles’ true father figure, I need to vet you, so I’ll ask you two questions. It’s a personality test I use on every person I meet.’
‘What?’
‘Not now, Chunshine, the grown-ups are talking. I need you to give me a moment you wish you could relive on a weekly basis, and a moment you wish you’d never gone through and could delete from your memory.’
‘Interesting…’
Charles spins on his stool, pointedly unblinking. ‘You never asked me that.’
‘I was already bright when we met, but not that deep.’
‘Or you just came up with it.’
‘No! I tested Hannah. She wants to relive a threesome she had with two women in Hungary, and she wants to forget the months when her mother decided to produce music at home. Music aimed at pets.’
‘Alright so, Loris, be aware that he’ll pull a Phoebe and share your confessions with the world.’
‘Who’s Phoebe?’ George asks.
‘His friend who supports Arsenal.’
‘Well, mate, instead of a moment, feel free to delete a person.’
Charles kicks George’s tibia, inciting an indignant humph from his friend and a genuine laugh from Loris.
‘I think I’d erase the period between the first signs my knees were fucked and the day I was told high-level rugby wasn’t an option anymore.
Because those months of conflicting opinions, they just made the ultimate pill harder to swallow.
That, or a past relationship. But someone might get a bad skin reaction if I broach it. ’
‘You mean the musician who should have set Charles thinking about his feelings? Eric? No, what’s his name again?’
Loris mouths ‘Enzo’, George claps his thighs and Charles scowls.
‘I forbid you to gang up on me.’
‘Fine, Loris and I will discuss the Arsenal-fan effect this guy has on you another time. Joking aside, I’m sorry about your knees.’
‘Thanks, but I’m over it, no worries. Now, something I’d love to relive every week… Charles taking me to Sofia.’
‘You’d go through the encounter with my father again?’
‘Oh, yeah. The entire time we spent in that room was sensational.’
Charles takes a swallow of whisky as the innuendo burns his cheeks.
Luckily, he didn’t specify locations when he gave his friend a tipsy summary of his sexual discoveries.
George probably believes that Loris is only referring to the painting, because that’s what he picks up on without noticing the heat emanating from the next stool.
‘Have you settled your argument by the way? Who’s right about the autobiography?’
‘We might agree to disagree forever.’ Back next to them, Loris rests his hand on Charles’ waist underneath his shirt. ‘At the end of the day, it’s a matter of interpretation.’
‘And Loris and I aren’t wired the same way.’
Twice, they tried to have a serious conversation about The Mind of Wonders now that Loris has resumed reading it. Twice, it rapidly evolved into a trade of breaths and caresses, as it appears the debate turns them on.
George clicks his tongue. ‘That’s bloody boring. Should I referee the question for you?’
‘By all means. Read Pavel’s book, study the six Lands and get back to us.’