Chapter 9
NINE
DION
NOW
This can't be happening.
This cannot be happening.
I could have sworn Mari told me they were leaving me the keys.
Nobody takes the keys from the counter unless they know the person locking up has another set.
And I just explained this to them on the phone.
But they then very rightly pointed out that if that was the case how could they have locked the door behind them.
And apparently I told them I had a set. I told them this as I was thoroughly distracted by Benji Smith walking back into my life.
I didn't realise. And I didn't think to check that they had left the keys before they were on their way to Bristol Airport.
It was all a bit of a blur, them leaving, because Benji had just walked in and I recognised him and my body was apparently firing all manner of neurons around while also diving Deep into memories filed away a long time ago. Yes, I had been preoccupied. And by fucking Benjamin Smith, of all people!
Not that it's his fault. At all. It's completely my fault, and yet he is the reason I lost my focus. I refuse to let him be the reason I lose my composure now.
“It's fine,” I tell him. He's standing at the end of the counter looking panicked and confused and more than a little lost. Maybe he has kids to pick up from sports or something.
Or a nagging wife expecting him home in time for dinner.
“I'll just call my boss, Keeley. She lives locally and she has keys. She should be able to get here in twenty minutes or so.”
Benji’s shoulder drop a little with a slow exhale. “Okay, yeah. That sounds good.”
Keeley is quick to answer her phone, which gives me another jolt of hope.
“Dion, hey, what's up?”
“Kay, hi, er, I'm at the studio, and I'm kind of locked in.”
“What?”
“It's fine. No big deal.” I avoid Benji’s gaze when I say this. My previous reaction very much suggested it was a huge deal. “But Mari has left with the keys and I can't unlock the door to get out.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, exactly.” I laugh awkwardly. “So could you possibly pop over and let us out?”
“Us?”
Fuck. “Oh yeah, there's a client stuck here with me too.”
“Jesus Christ,” Keeley says, and I can detect a slight crack in her sense of humour.
“I'm so sorry. It was my mistake. Do you have time?”
“I have time, Dion. I'm sitting on my arse doing nothing, but I’m ... approximately one hundred miles away.”
“What!?”
There isn't even a sniff of composure in the way I just spat out that word.
“Yeah, Dove and I are on our way to London to meet her agent, hang out with my friend Violet, her friend Jake and his husband Rami, and then ... Sorry, you don't need to know all that.”
I don't, but her waffling gave me a moment to calm down at least. “What do I do?”
“Who else has a set of keys?” I ask, my desperation audible.
“Dove.”
“Who's with you,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Right, yeah. Mari, obviously.”
“Who's halfway to Bristol right now.”
“Oh yes, their flight's in a few hours. I hope they don't miss it.”
I'm pretty sure Keeley can hear me grinding my molars down the phone line. “Anyone else?”
“And Emmy.”
Emmy, yes, of course. The manager of Kay II in Bristol. Sure, that's an hour away but an hour is better than being stuck here with Benji Smith. All. Fucking. Weekend.
“You know if you'd just accepted the keys I offered you years ago when I wanted to make you manager of the Bristol studio, this could have been avoided,” Keeley says gently, but it still feels like a punch in the gut considering my current situation.
“I didn't want the pressure,” I mumble, keeping my head turned away from Benji.
“The pressure? When have I ever put pressure on you?”
“It's not that,” I say, and how can I begin to explain how I feel about leaving home, moving away from my parents, having to take my career more seriously than I already do.
Not that I think my job is a joke, I don't. But I like how easy it is.
I like the absence of stress and pressure.
Which is ironic because that's all I'm feeling right now.
“I'll call Emmy,” I tell Keeley with as much confidence as I can summon, because I'm acutely aware that Benji is likely listening to every word I say.
“Hmm, I'm pretty sure she's in Cardiff this weekend,” Keeley says and feel panic grip my throat again. “But I could be wrong. So yes, try Emmy.”
“Will do, thanks Kay,” I say and then hang up. I take a Deep breath before I turn fully around to look at Benji.
“Just need to make one more call.” I’m impressed at how level my voice is.
But Benji doesn't look reassured. He's still standing where I left him, and his right hand is hidden under his sweater, moving slightly like he's playing with something.
He looks fucking sexy, I can't deny it. I’d thought the same thing when he'd lifted his arms and revealed the flat, contoured plain of his slim stomach.
But it hadn't been appropriate to have those thoughts earlier and it certainly isn't now.
I move further away towards the front window, as if to tease myself with the freedom of outdoors, although there's not much to be seen.
It's dark outside now and the streetlights only light so much.
We're also at the bottom end of the high street while all the pubs, restaurants and the town's two nightclubs are mostly clustered at the top.
Only the occasional car zooms by and I can't see any pedestrians anywhere.
Emmy takes a lot longer to answer the phone than Keeley did and that does nothing to ease my growing anxiety.
“Dion, hey, long time, no chat! How are you?”
Emmy is queer and mixed race like me — although she's white and Thai, while I'm mixed white and Black, my dad’s family coming from Trinidad and Tobago — and she is one of the most down to Earth people I know.
She really listens to you when you talk and she often remembers details others would forget.
I'd love to catch up, but now is not the time,
“Emmy, please tell me you're in Bristol right now,” I hiss, hoping my desperation is inaudible to Benji.
“Er, no, I'm in Cardiff with my girlfriend and boyfriend.”
Of course she is.
“Why?” she asks.
Oh no reason, I imagine saying, only I'm trapped in the studio with a former classmate who doesn't recognise me and nobody who has keys is anywhere nearby, so it's starting to look like I'll need to break a window to get out of here which I'll never do so I guess we're spending the night here.
“Oh, it's not a big deal. I've just got locked in the studio,” I say instead.
“At Kay's? Oh my God. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it's fine,” I lie.
“I could come back. Only Stefan is performing tonight and Sienna is his backing singer. This is like the first time they've sung together in over ten years.”
“Your partners are way too cool,” I mumble while feeling disappointment flood my stomach.
“Aren't they? But really I could get there, only I've already had a few drinks so I'll—”
“No, I'm, it's okay. I'll figure something out.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” I say, and I sound about as confident as I feel hopeless.
“Well, call me again if you don't. I'll have my phone on me.”
I thank her and hang up. I gaze out into the darkness of night before I turn back to Benji. It jars me a little when I find him much closer to me, only a few steps behind.
“So,” I begin.
“Nobody's coming,” he concludes without me having to explain which feels like a grace I don't deserve.
“No, not right now.”
“Not tonight?”
I let my shoulders sink. “No, not tonight.”
He rushes to the door and starts jiggling the Yale lock and sticking his fingers in the keyhole.
“What are you—”
“There's got to be a way out!” he shouts at the door.
“There really isn't.”
He doesn't reply and he also doesn’t stop his manic fiddling.
“Do you have somewhere you need to be?”
“No, it's not that,” he says in a rush. “It's just ... I just need to leave.”
“You and me both, mate.” I fold my arms. “I don't exactly want to spend the night here.”
He pivots to face me. “Spend the night here?” His voice is almost an octave higher.
“I don't see how we have any other choice,” I point out.
“Oh God.” His hand lands on his chest and his eyes start roaming around the room restlessly. “I can't stay here all night, I can't ... I need. I need to go home. I need to be close to a …”
Benji’s breaths get shallower, his hand fists in the material of his sweatshirt and what limited colour he had in his face drains away. He's panicking. Like really panicking. I have to do something.
“It’s okay,” I say as soothingly as I can. “Just take some Deep breaths.”
“I … don’t … want … to … take … Deep … breaths!” He pants.
Oh, God, he’s starting to hyperventilate.
“Please, don’t …” I take a step closer. “You’re making yourself sick. Just—”
“You don’t understand!” he shouts. “I can’t get stuck here!”
I move before second guessing it. I grab both his upper arms and shake him. “Calm down!” I bark. “You need to calm down.”
It's completely ineffective. He looks at me but his eyes aren't still and his breaths come quicker. I can feel him shaking under my grip.
“Seriously,” I shake him again. “Take a Deep breath. Please just calm the fuck down, Benji!”
That does it. He stops mumbling panicked half-sentences. Focus returns to his gaze and his frown morphs from lost to one of curiosity. Silence returns between us as his breaths gradually slow down and Deepen.
Then he levels me a very steady look and asks, “What did you just call me?”