Chapter Eight
Giles
I tilt my head up to the sun. We are really being spoilt this summer with the sun’s regular presence and I am very grateful for it.
I haven’t booked a summer holiday again this year.
When Radia asked why not, I told her the same thing I told her last year and the year before.
We’re too busy at work. That was the same story I shared with gym friends, my hairdresser, and my massage therapist who have all asked in the last few weeks.
It’s believable; I own and run one of Saville Row’s most popular gentlemen’s tailors and summer season is notoriously busy with weddings and preparation for the autumn/winter season’s launch in September, but it’s not the truth.
The truth is I don’t have anyone to go on holiday with.
And I am mortified at the idea of going somewhere alone.
I shouldn’t be. I should just get over myself. But I can’t. For some reason, I just can’t. It makes my head spin, my stomach churn and my intrusive thoughts go on overdrive.
There’s also something so peculiarly final about the prospect. Like if I do finally decide to go on holiday on my own after years and years of avoiding it despite how much I both want and feel I need a proper break, it will be dictating what my future will be. Solo holidays for the rest of my life.
I’m shuddering at this gloomy thought when I turn my head and see Marcello walking down the street towards me.
He has his gym bag in one hand and I momentarily think it must be very heavy today because his shoulders are sloped like it weighs more than is comfortable.
But that’s not it. It’s not only his shoulders but also in the way he barely lifts his free hand in a half-hearted greeting when I smile and wave at him.
As he gets closer, I can see exactly how unenthusiastic he is feeling at this gym date.
No, not gym date. Training session. Jesus Christ.
His morose expression reminds me of an idea I’ve been mulling over since our run at the weekend. When he sighs before saying hello once in front of me, I have turned that idea into a plan.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey. Bad day?”
“Tired day.” He yawns. “Was late getting to sleep last night and was in early this morning. We had a big order to do and the café didn’t seem to empty out once until about an hour ago.”
“Sounds busy.”
“Very,” he sighs again, “I’m honestly not sure how much I’ll be able to do. But, you know, I’m here.”
He lifts his gym bag and tries to smile and it is exactly that. Very trying, even to witness.
I step up to the front door of my glass and wood-fronted shop and open it. “Dump your bag inside.”
Marcello’s expression perks up a little. “What?”
“We’re not going to the gym today.”
Now his face perks up a lot. “We’re not?”
“Nope.” I reach for his bag as he shows no sign of movement. I step inside and hold the door for him to follow, which he does.
“Then what are we doing?” he asks from behind me.
Standing at the far end of the counter inspecting some new material samples that just came in, Radia gives me an inquisitive look as I dump Marcello’s bag behind the counter, along with mine.
“Yes, good question,” she says. “What are you doing?”
“We’re going shopping,” I tell Marcello.
“Shopping?” He repeats, the word heavy with confusion.
“Save yourself, Marcello,” Radia says dramatically. “Tell him you’d rather go to the gym. He’ll go along with it.”
Marcello blinks at Radia but then looks back at me. “Why are we going shopping?”
“Because he’s not so secretly a sadomasochist who likes to make others suffer,” Radia offers.
“What is wrong with me going shopping?” I prop my hands on my hips and glare at Radia.
Radia drops the fabric in her hands. “You are terrible at shopping. Whenever you nip out to just get something, you’re gone for hours. And nine times out of ten you always come back with three times as many things as you set out to buy.”
I ignore the rush of panic that surges through me. I flex and fist my hands, keeping them busy. “Well, doesn’t that technically make me good at shopping if I buy lots of things?”
“I just don’t think it’s fair you drag someone else along with you,” Radia mutters as she adjusts her hijab and looks down at the fabrics again. She tuts wistfully. “I thought you two were friends now. It would be a shame to end that friendship so soon.”
“Why would our friendship end?” Marcello asks, still looking very confused.
“Because you will die of boredom. RIP Marcello. Thank you for all the coffees. I’ve enjoyed your chocolate croissants immensely.” Radia feigns a sympathetic look in Marcello’s direction.
“We’re not shopping for me,” I say before pointing at Marcello. “We’re shopping for him.”
“Me?”
“Yes,” I say confidently. “We’re going to get you some new gym gear.”
Marcello’s eyes widen, and he lowers his voice. “Like… drugs.”
Radia snorts.
“No!” I say, somewhat horrified. “Clothes.”
“It gets worse.” Radia groans. “Marcello, would you like to be cremated or buried?”
“I don’t… I don’t need new gym gear.” He glances at where I stashed his bag. “Do I?”
“Your collection of Nineties Italian Serie A football shirts are… very endearing. A very impressive collection,” I tell him.
“But on our run you said your shorts were chafing you and I am a firm believer, for obvious reasons, that clothes maketh the man so getting you some more… up to date gym clothes may help you feel more… enthusiastic about training.”
“I do like new things.” Marcello smiles slightly.
“You’re made for each other.” Radia tuts again. “Good luck, Marcello! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” she calls out before disappearing into the back studio.
I step closer to Marcello, just in case she can still hear us. “I know. Novelty. It’s something that can motivate people with ADHD, right?”
A strange look flashes across Marcello’s face and I wonder if I’ve said too much.
Maybe his ADHD is something he doesn’t mind talking about but he isn’t so comfortable with others discussing it.
I can respect that if that is the case. I can understand it acutely.
I open my mouth to apologise but he is quicker.
“You know about that?”
I shrug. “I did some reading at the weekend.
Marcello’s mouth opens and then closes again. “Some reading,” he repeats and that look is there again. Even if I can’t decipher it, at least he looks a little bit more eager about the next few hours of his life than he did ten minutes ago.
“So, shall we?” I pat my pockets three times checking I’ve got my phone, keys and wallet, and then I point to the door.
“Sure.” Marcello gives me another half-smile and then he follows me outside.
*****
“This is the fanciest sports shop I’ve ever been in,” Marcello calls out from behind the changing room curtain. “As if there are chairs in the actual cubicles?”
“It’s a strenuous business trying on new sportswear,” I say, leaning back into the plush armchair I’m sitting in just outside Marcello’s cubicle. Unsurprisingly, at mid-afternoon on a weekday, the shop isn’t busy and we’re the only ones in the changing rooms.
“I don’t know where to start.” Marcello’s voice carries through the curtain again and he genuinely sounds perplexed.
We spent a good thirty minutes picking up a range of clothes, from running shorts and vests to T-shirts and shorts more suitable for lifting and training, and they even had a few tri-suits for Marcello to try.
“Try the gym gear first,” I say. “It’s important you’re comfortable and have good range of motion in your training gear. Not to mention, everybody needs a good pump cover.”
“A good what?”
“Loose fitting clothes to hide all your massive gains,” I explain.
“Or maybe just my massive midriff?” Marcello huffs out a soft laugh.
I’m not sure what to say to that. I can’t quite tell if he’s berating himself and while I don’t like that, not at all, I also don’t want to tell him to stop doing so because that would actually draw more attention to what he’s saying
There’s nothing wrong with his body. In fact, I think I like his body.
A lot. And that’s another reason why I don’t want to offer up a compliment about how attractive his stocky torso is and how much I like the hair on his arms and legs, because that would also draw attention to something I am trying to not acknowledge for myself, and the last thing I want is for Marcello to be aware of it.
There is nothing worse than having a straight friend find out that you may possibly have feelings for them.
It nukes friendships faster than politics and poor personal hygiene.
And for some reason, I really don’t want this friendship to be nuked.
So I’m going to keep my budding attraction to Marcello to myself, by which I mean, I’m going to do my utmost to ignore it completely until it disappears.
“So stupid question…” he calls out from behind the curtain.
“There are no stupid questions.”
“Oh, hang around with me a bit longer and you’ll realise there absolutely are.” He laughs at himself again but this time it actually sounds like he’s amused. I smile along with him. “Do I tuck the T-shirt in or leave it hanging out?”
“Do whatever is most comfortable for you,” I answer honestly. I have stronger opinions about tucking when it comes to formal wear and smart casual attire, but for gym sessions, that’s very much personal preference.
“Okay, here goes nothing,” Marcello says as he opens the curtain.
Wearing an oversized T-shirt and light cotton gym shorts, both in a soft grey colour, Marcello holds his hands out and does a little twirl in front of me. In the end, it appears he decided to tuck in the front but not the back.