Chapter 24 Shaun
Shaun
Freddie’s half of the lasagne I cooked sits on the table, cold and uneaten. I’ve long since given up on him actually showing up, but I’m feeling too deflated to clear it away. My own dinner lies massacred on my plate, picked at but hardly eaten.
I push my knife and fork together. Why didn’t he show? Why didn’t he at least message?
I’m sure there’s an explanation and the paranoid thoughts swirling around my head are just that.
Did I come on too strong? Has he changed his mind?
I really hope something bad hasn’t happened to him.
A broken leg or gas explosion are two of the many grim possibilities my brain conjures up.
Hopping in my car and driving by his house seems excessive. Maybe he just fell asleep?
For the five-hundredth time tonight, I check whether Freddie has seen my messages. As before, they’re sitting there, delivered but unread.
Accepting defeat, I muster the energy to clear the table. The bottle of red wine I bought for us sits unopened on the counter. I uncork it and pour out a big glass before throwing myself on the sofa in a huff.
Jester wastes no time curling up on my lap. I stick on some brain-rot telly as I scratch his ears with one hand and drink my wine with the other. It tastes sour, but I down it anyway.
Jester soon falls asleep, his soft snoring a comfort as I watch a reality couple fight over toilet paper consumption. Before long, my eyelids grow heavy. The wine warms my empty belly, a tingle spreading across my skin. Feeling sleepy, I check my phone one last time.
Nothing.
The buzz of my doorbell zaps me awake and I jolt upright with a start.
It takes me a second to place myself. I’m still on the sofa, the TV paused and taunting me with an “are you still watching?” message. Jester has retreated to his jungle gym, clearly enraged by the disturbance.
The door buzzes again.
It’s past midnight. Who the hell is calling at this hour?
Buzz-buzz-buzz.
I stand up and march to the intercom, ready to spit fire. If it’s the guys from upstairs forgetting their keys again, I’ll skin them alive. Picking up the receiver, I slam it to my ear. “Hello?”
“S-Shaun?” a familiar voice crackles back. All my rage evaporates in a heartbeat.
“Freddie? Is that you?”
“Y-yeah. Sorry, I know it’s late. C-can you let me in, please?”
His voice sounds strange. Reedy and thin.
“Of course!” I press the button to unlock the door.
“T-thanks!” Freddie says before hanging up.
It takes a second for my brain to register what’s happening. Freddie’s here. Now.
Suddenly, I’m wide awake.
I fling open the door and wait for him to appear. The distant sound of his footsteps climbing the stairs echoes along the hall, painfully slow. I watch the stairwell door, willing it to open. When it finally does, my breath catches in my throat.
It’s Freddie alright, only he looks half dead. His skin is milky white, his lips an unnatural shade of blue. Strands of hair are plastered to his forehead, dripping wet. His hands and jaw quiver with cold.
“Oh my god!” I exclaim, taking a step towards him. “Are you okay?”
“Y-yeah,” he stammers, teeth chattering. “I’m fine, I…”
He lifts one foot, teeters for a moment, then his eyelids flicker and he falls.
“Freddie!” I leap forward, catching him a split-second before his head hits the floor. His skin is like ice. “Shit, you’re freezing!”
“Justalilbit.” His words come out garbled.
The first aid course I took before opening the café comes hurtling back to me.
“We have to warm you up. Can you walk?”
He stirs feebly in an attempt to stand. Clearly, it’s not happening.
“Okay,” I place one hand under his legs while the other supports his back. Gritting my teeth, I get to my feet, scooping him up in my arms.
“My hero,” he mumbles as I carry him inside.
“Oh shut up,” I say, kicking the door closed behind me. Now the initial shock has passed, I’m furious at him. As always, he’s wearing practically nothing and it’s Baltic outside. But I can lecture him later. Right now, I need to make sure he doesn’t freeze to death.
Setting him down on the sofa, I run around the flat like a madman doing everything I can to warm him up. I whack up the thermostat to a tropical twenty-five and grab a handful of blankets from the airing cupboard, tossing them on top of him before dashing to the kitchen to make him a hot drink.
He’s still shivering violently when I return with a slapdash mug of hot chocolate.
“Freddie?” I sit beside him as he trembles. “Can you take a sip of this for me?”
“A-ah,” He’s shaking so much, he can’t get the words out. “I… mmf…”
There’s a tang of alcohol on his breath and the unmistakable scent of cannabis wafting off him. He probably didn’t even feel how cold he was.
I put the mug to his lips but most of the liquid ends up on his T-shirt. His eyes roll in and out of focus. Shit. I need him warm, now, but it’ll be a while before the flat heats up. I chew my lip. Only one thing for it.
Lifting the blankets, I roll Freddie over to make space and lay alongside him, pressing my body into his. It’s like spooning an ice sculpture. His paper-thin jacket is soaking wet, so I peel it off, manipulating his limp arms like a marionette, and toss it on the floor.
Freddie whimpers, his whole frame convulsing. I throw the blankets over the two of us and use my body to sandwich him against the back of the sofa, making a cocoon of warmth. Hypothermia is no joke. If he doesn’t stop shivering soon, I’ll have to call an ambulance.
I wrap my arms around him and pull him in closer, creating as much contact between our bodies as possible, willing myself to radiate more heat.
For minutes, we lay entwined, Freddie shaking, his teeth chattering next to my ear. Behind his back, my fingers pick furiously at one of the blankets, stimming away the stress.
Why is he out in the cold so late? He collapsed seconds after entering the building. What would have happened if he hadn’t made it here? If he’d been just a minute later?
I squeeze him tighter.
“Can’t… breathe,” Freddie gasps, and I loosen my grip.
“Sorry!” I pull away slightly and find myself nose-to-nose with him. His lips are still quivering, but they’ve turned a grey sort of pink. That has to be better than blue. He manages a weak smile.
“Hi there, you.”
“Hi!” I say. “Don’t try to move yet, okay?”
“Not even if you p-paid me,” Freddie curls up tighter, pressing his cheek against my chest. “Your heart. I can feel it beating through your shirt.”
“You scared me. You were freezing.”
“And you found the best way to warm me up.” Freddie drapes his arm around my back and squeezes with a reassuring strength. “Good thing you’re so hot!”
“That’s not funny,” I say, sternly. “I thought I’d have to call 999!”
“Nah. Takes m-more than a little cold to send me packing. And I m-meant hot in the literal sense, of course.” His hand wanders down my back and squeezes my butt. “How could I mean anything else?”
Clearly someone’s feeling better. I ignore him, though his hand can stay where it is.
“You’re not shivering so much now,” I say, like a doctor assessing his patient, though I’m not sure my technique is exactly NHS approved. “In a minute, I can run you a warm bath?”
Freddie grins. “T-trying to get me naked?”
“I’m trying to save you from hypothermia, you beautiful fool.”
He manages a shivery laugh.
“Don’t worry,” he nuzzles in closer, “I’m w-warming up already.”
Even if I plan on telling him off later, for now I’m just so glad he’s okay. Now I know he’s feeling better, I allow myself to enjoy the intimacy of the moment, how in spite of everything, his body feels so perfect against mine. Like a jigsaw piece finding its neighbour. I could lay here all night.
Freddie scoots his hips forward, into mine, and I feel every inch of him, warm and hard.
“Don’t move,” he whispers.
I plant a soft kiss on top of his head.
“Not even if you paid me.”
I knock on my bathroom door to check on Freddie. “Just checking you’re okay in there?”
A faint splash of water from inside. “I haven’t drowned if that’s what you mean.”
I scratch my beard, nervously. “The water’s not too hot? It’s not good to take a scalding bath right after being cold. I tried to make it warm, but not too warm. Is it okay?”
“If you’re that worried, why don’t you come in and check?”
Despite his repeated offers to join him, I insisted on giving Freddie his privacy in the bath.
Mostly because he’s a little drunk, quite high, and possibly still hypothermic and while I’ve just got over the whole “he’s my employee” hump, I don’t want anything else to happen until I’m sure he’s compos mentis.
Still, I made sure he left the door unlocked. In case of emergencies.
“Just let me know if you need anything!” I call through the door.
“Boo,” comes Freddie’s reply, dripping with sarcasm. “I’m almost done anyway.”
“Want another hot chocolate?”
“Twist my arm, why don’t you?”
Glad for something to do other than wait around and worry, I leave Freddie to it and go make him another mug.
With the heating turned all the way up, the flat is balmy and I long since shed my sweater for the T-shirt underneath.
As I pour Freddie’s drink, I catch my reflection in the chrome surface of the coffee machine.
Despite the paunch, and the worry lines on my face, I think I look good.
Judging by the trails blazed by Freddie’s wandering hands on the sofa, he doesn’t seem to mind the belly I’ve grown.
An echo of a voice that sounds a lot like Lara’s rings through my head, telling me I should probably slim down before summer.
Strangely, it has a lot less impact than it normally would and is easily brushed away by the ghost of Freddie’s touch.
I’m almost certain Freddie would never say anything like that; there isn’t a judgmental bone in his, admittedly, perfect body.