Chapter 23 #2
‘Now that I think about it, I’ll be too busy doing anything but that.
You guys should arm-wrestle it. Actually, no.
You’re a rugby coach who lifts kegs, you’d crush Charles, and let’s be honest, I’ll always root for him.
You could race. No, not fair on you, Loris.
Unless I race for you? That could work. But then who would I root for? Tricky.’
‘As you can tell, I haven’t found the switch to turn him off.’
Charles gets a kick in the tibia in return.
For twenty minutes, George doesn’t spare his blushes, but Charles enjoys reminiscing about awkward anecdotes from their youth and introducing this side of him to Loris.
When Hannah texts George that she’s at his flat, he decides to leave, worried she could fly back to Hungary if he keeps her waiting.
‘I get the appeal,’ he says in a low voice, opening the pub’s door. ‘The way he fills up those jeans is unfair.’
Charles cackles, glancing at the jeans in question as they edge back behind the counter. ‘Thank you for making this happen.’
‘Sorry if I brought a bit of chaos with me.’
‘That’s your trademark, I wasn’t expecting anything less.’
George waves over Charles’ shoulder, pulls up his collar and whirls around to disappear into the dark and misty night.
‘You can lock up. Unless you’re expecting another guest?’
Charles blocks the latch closed. ‘I’m not. And I hope it’s alright that I brought—’
‘Come with me.’
‘Where?’
Loris points to the back area with an expression that still feels like a hug, except this one doesn’t involve any clothes. Charles hastens to join him, but once behind the bar, he stands still to observe the pub between the handles of two beer taps.
‘So this is how you see the world?’
‘Charles.’
‘Yes, sorry.’
He takes a mental screenshot of Loris’ daily vantage point and follows him into an office the size of his bathroom. The only thing keeping the desk from collapsing under the weight of an ancestral computer and dozens of bursting binders is the antique safe stuck underneath it.
‘Are we robbing the pub?’
Loris traps Charles against the side wall. His mouth lands onto his chin, travels along his jawline, makes a short stop-over below his ear and flies across his cheek to crash against his lips.
Already boiling with arousal, Charles sneaks his hands into the back pockets of Loris’ jeans, wondering if the desk will withstand the shock when he will push Loris against it to rip his—
‘Okay,’ Loris whispers as he moves back, ‘now that I feel better, I’ve got a question.’
‘Yes to everything.’
‘Why were you panicking? About me and George meeting?’
‘Was it obvious?’
‘Even the horseman noticed when you entered the room.’
Charles scrunches his nose. ‘Because I’m a worst-case scenarist. But I’m working on changing my style. There’s this French actor making a breakthrough, I really want him. I have to write roles that suit him better.’
‘So no actual reason to fear we wouldn’t click?’
‘No. George can act like an unbearable twat, that’s how he gets rid of people he doesn’t want in his life. But he knew you’d be worthy and he left the twat outside. Well, I believe he did… You don’t think he’s one, do you?’
‘No, he’s great. He deserves you.’
‘You’re not saying that just to be nice because you’re into me?’
‘Can’t it be both? I like George, and I’m also truly, very, deeply into you.’
Charles’ heart slams so hard against his ribcage, he digs his heels into the floor to remain steady. ‘Yes. Both is fine. Fantastic. Yes.’
Loris smiles and brushes aside the hair falling on Charles’ forehead. ‘So what sort of role are you gonna write for me?’
‘I have one specific plot in mind tonight, but it’s probably easier to show you…’
‘Please do.’
A minute later, an ominous crack proves that the desk can’t be the support Charles is hoping Loris will need, so he pushes him onto the chair instead. He kneels between his legs and opens his jeans with feverish hands, delighting in the unabashed want on Loris’ face.
Another sight Charles is accustomed to but can’t get enough of.
And yet he’s yearning, more and more intensely every time they pleasure each other, for a lust-blown version of Loris he still hasn’t met.
***
16:08 ELSY I’m sorry Chips, Divya isn’t being subtle so I’m sure the girls will abduct me tomorrow afternoon and then I’m expected home
16:08 ELSY But I’ll be all yours on Tuesday! Xxx
16:11 Don’t worry!
Charles finishes his pint, torn between his relief and the guilt that always escorts it.
Twenty-four hours won’t make a magical difference.
They won’t rid him of the stress that trickles into his bloodstream whenever he imagines his conversation with Elsy.
But he was worried it would have to be rushed, as she will be in demand right after her return.
They will have more time and privacy on Tuesday.
Besides, Loris is meeting his gang for drinks tomorrow, and Charles is now free to tag along.
Not that this idea isn’t stress-inducing, but he’s fond of Loris’ friends.
And he’s elated that Loris wants him there.
Charles swipes away a second message from his mother, asking confirmation that he will be home before 5pm. She will get it when he shows up. Until then, she can stew for all he cares.
He goes back to an archives website and saves a few more photos of Hampstead High Street. Setting the plot of his novel in 1985 was a stroke of genius. It hasn’t helped his writing, but it’s done wonders for his story building.
‘Another one?’
Charles looks up at Patty who’s just collected his empty glass from the table. ‘No, thank you. I need to head off.’
‘You’re leaving before Loris is done coaching?’
‘Family duties. My aunt and her third husband are coming over. They drive my parents ballistic, I’m looking forward to dinner. Oh, I truly am! I’m never involved in their verbal fencing. I just enjoy the bloodbath, my food tastes like popcorn.’
Patty’s wrinkles deepen but, true to herself, she lets it go. ‘If you’re not here to keep Loris company, I’m gonna find more sketches of your face at the back of my invoices tomorrow.’
‘He does that?’
She rolls her eyes, but as soon as they fall back on Charles’ beatific smile, she drops the jaded act. ‘I like the mood he’s in. He’s even more patient with halfwits than he was before. I’m counting on you to keep this going. You take good care of him, you hear me?’
‘Of course.’
‘Oi! Patty! Should I help myself?’
‘Piss off, Richie!’ She raises her middle finger at the customer who’s drumming on the counter.
‘King of all halfwits… Jesus, I can’t do this anymore,’ she growls as she stomps away.
‘I’m also counting on you to keep Loris from leaving London, Charles.
I don’t care about his plans. The little shit shouldn’t have made himself indispensable. ’
Charles comes to a blunt stop after two steps towards the door. He pivots with a choked-up ‘Sorry?’ but Patty is already by the counter, barking at Richie.
So Charles walks away, tucking his scarf into his coat, already cold although he’s still inside.
The comment digs itself a niche in Charles’ stomach, where it heaves all night.
His food tastes sour rather than caramelised, and the sardonic exchanges between Milton and his sister fail at distracting him from pernicious thoughts.
Once in bed, he grants himself a short pen-clicking session – during which he comes up with three catastrophic scripts – before grabbing The Mind of Wonders.
He wants to find a new angle to rouse the Pavel debate with Loris.
It will result in their clothes carpeting the floor and hopefully in their bodies melded together like they’ve never been.
It feels like a healthier prospect to obsess over than whatever Patty’s remark meant.