8. Edward
EDWARD
Edward had barely slept.
That arsehole, Hargreaves, or one of his cronies had to be behind the news article.
Where the fuck had that come from? He would not deny he’d made the comment, but it was completely out of context.
There’d been other people who were there at the time who’d back him up .
. . he hoped. But until he knew for sure, he was keeping quiet.
It didn’t sit well with him, but he’d been told by the press office not to issue a statement until they gave the go ahead.
After an afternoon of dodging reporters, he had wanted to speak to Milo.
Not to meet up. It wasn’t worth the risk when the press were waiting outside his house.
But he loved their back-and-forth banter on the app.
Sometimes it would get very dirty, but it was nice when they shared mundane things.
If things were different, Edward knew Milo was the sort of guy he’d want to have a relationship with.
He had always been respectful to Edward in their arrangement, which was telling of his character, but he’d also become more tactile and affectionate as they’d kept meeting up.
Kissing was the norm now, and Milo would always stay for a bit after they’d finished and to talk.
Milo would share more, for obvious reasons, and Edward loved learning more about him.
Milo would still leave first, again respecting his wishes.
He knew he was developing deep feelings for Milo, and setting himself up for heartbreak in the future, but he’d take what he could of their arrangement, for as long as Milo would keep seeing him.
That was until last night, when it had felt like his heart had been broken.
Milo had blocked him on the app. His profile had just vanished, and Edward wasn’t sure why.
He played through their last time together in his head, and nothing stood out as being different or off.
He couldn’t go over their messages, because when he was blocked, their entire chat history had disappeared with Milo’s profile.
Perhaps Milo had gotten bored with their arrangement?
But why hadn’t he said something? There’d been nothing different about the last time they’d met up.
Maybe Milo had met someone else? They’d never talked about exclusivity, but Edward hadn’t been with anyone else.
Maybe Milo had a few guys on the go and had gotten serious with one of them, so he’d cut off contact with the rest. Edward didn’t like the thought of Milo being with other men, but given their arrangement, he had no right to ask for any form of exclusivity.
It was only when he’d been in bed a while that he remembered Milo asking a load of trivial questions, such as his favourite food, colour, and film.
The moment of realisation had made him want to throw up.
He googled himself, which is something he tended not to do – it never ended well when you were a politician – but he had to be sure.
The article he’d done a few years back had asked him similar questions, and when he was reading down the list, it felt like a playback of the last conversation he’d had with Milo on the app yesterday.
Fuck! He knows who I am.
Derek opened the door, letting Edward into his house. He had a Georgian townhouse in Highgate, which wasn’t far from his own place. When Edward had become an MP, Derek had moved into his constituency, saying he wanted a decent MP, which was high praise from his friend.
Thankfully, the press must have gotten bored with Edward, because there’d been nobody outside his place once he was dressed, so he’d used a car service to get over to Derek’s.
“Drink?” asked Derek.
“No, I’ve got my constituency clinic this afternoon.”
“Can’t you fuck it off this week? How are you going to avoid the press when you’re in a public place?”
“I’ve never missed one in the last decade, and I don’t intend to now.”
“Coffee, then?”
“Yes, make it a double shot.”
“Follow me into the kitchen, then. I’m not waiting for you to tell me what’s got you so stressed out. I know it’s not because of Hargreaves trying to balance the scorecard with you. How did he even find that anyway?”
“Who knows, but it’s been taken completely out of context.”
“Of course it has. So why don’t you say that?”
“The press office has told me to keep my head down, and they’ll release a statement on Monday.”
“Fuck that. Give Sally a call.”
Edward laughed. Sally was a journalist they both knew from their city days.
She was old-school, but fair, and she could drink any man under the table.
The last thing he wanted to do was piss off the PM as well, and he hadn’t been able to get hold of her since the article broke. It had been a long twenty-four hours.
They walked into the modern open-plan kitchen diner, which was done to the highest spec Edward had ever seen.
Derek had made a lot of money as a corporate lawyer, and he was also a shrewd investor.
He didn’t need to work. The Back Room was a passion project, although the place still turned a healthy profit.
Derek didn’t just throw money away. He turned on the soundless coffee machine, which looked like it belonged a hundred years in the future, and looked at Edward with one of his eyebrows raised.
“Milo knows who I am.”
“What? How do you know?”
“He blocked me.”
“But that doesn’t mean he knows who you are. Maybe he just got bored.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“What makes you think he knows who you are?”
“He asked me a load of personal questions about all my favourite things.”
“And?”
“It was a carbon copy of an interview I did two years ago.”
“Fuck! Why did you answer them honestly?”
“Because I’m an idiot and didn’t realise what he was doing.”
“Do you think he took screenshots of your responses so he can go to the press?”
“Well, I do now. Thanks for that, Derek.”
“Do you know anything about Milo?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, have you vetted him? Found out where he lives? Who with? Who he works for?”
“He lives in Camden with three other guys, one of them he’s known since university, and he works as a PA.”
“Wow. You two didn’t just fuck, then?”
“That’s why I don’t understand this,” said Edward, his voice raised. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Why couldn’t he at least talk to me?”
“Maybe he’s a leftie, and he can’t be seen fraternising with the enemy.”
Edward couldn’t help but snort. The idea had crossed his mind, but he didn’t believe Milo was that superficial. From the conversations they’d had, he knew Milo was an intellectual guy who’d be open to different points of view.
“It could be personal,” said Derek.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if he’s part of the community, and being the age he is, he’ll have people close to him who are affected by what you’re supposed to have said.”
Edward was puzzled for a second before the reality sank in. His entire body flooded with rage, and all he could think about was punching William Hargreaves in the face.
“Look, before you act on that murderous look you’ve got on your face, will you let me do some digging on Milo? Just so we have all the bases covered.”
“You mean you haven’t already?”
“No, not without your permission.”
“Can you get contact details for him as well?”
“Really? You insult me, Eddie.”
Edward laughed. Derek was a very resourceful man, and would get him whatever he wanted to know about Milo if he asked, but he didn’t want to invade his privacy.
“Let’s not go digging too far, Derek. Just do your own digging rather than using your guy.”
“You’ve gotten boring in your old age.”
“You’re older than I am.”
“Biologically, maybe. Mentally, you’ve got twenty years on me, and that’s not an insult aimed at me either.”
“Love you too, bestie.”
They both laughed. Edward hoped Derek could get the details quickly. He didn’t want to wait too long before speaking to Milo again. If he really knew who he was, could they be something more? Edward didn’t want to hope for something he’d thought would never be a possibility for him.
“Hello, I’m Lexie,” said the stunning young woman, shaking his hand.
“Edward. Please have a seat.” He gestured in front of his desk.
Even though people knew who he was, he always introduced himself as Edward, so he wasn’t called Mr Chivington, or sir, or “Your Honour,” as some sweet old dear always called him.
“How can I help you?”
Lexie was the last person he was speaking to today. She’d been a late appointment request, and his assistant had made space for her. They were already over time, but he didn’t have anywhere to rush off to, not until Derek had done his due diligence.
“I’d like to tell you my story, if that’s okay?”
“Of course.”
His constituents often shared their personal stories with him. It was their way of explaining why they’d come to him, whether it be for help, advice, or just to share how a government policy was affecting them – the good and the bad.
“I’m a transgender woman, and don’t worry, I’m not about to kick off. I’ll start by saying I don’t believe everything I read in the press, or online for that matter. I like to hear things directly from the person.”
“I appreciate that,” he smiled.