Chapter 24 Nick? #2
Ben loses the first set. When he steps off the court for a water break, he fires his racket down in front of me with vexation.
“Hey. It’s alright. You played well,” I tell him.
Ben wipes sweat from his neck. “Not well enough.”
“You think you can do better?” I challenge, pulling my knee to my chest.
Ben nods while gulping his ice-cold water.
I point to the court, where Eddie is waiting, tapping the shuttle on his racket. “Prove it in the next set then.”
Ben throws his plastic water bottle into his bag and winks. “Challenge accepted.”
The second set is much the same as the first. I clutch the sides of my chair every time it looks like Ben is about to lose a rally and then unclench every muscle in my body when he returns a shot that he really shouldn’t have been able to.
Ben wins the second set. When he comes off the court, he doesn’t viciously drop his racket into his bag like last time.
“Told you I could do better.”
“Do it again for the final set,” I demand.
He gives me a thumbs-up.
Ben wins the third and final set. He waits until after he’s shaken Eddie’s hand to start celebrating. He throws his racket to the ceiling, catches it, and then throws his sweaty fist into the air; the muscle in his arm bulges. A few people surround him to give their congratulations.
“Congratulations, Ben.”
“Well done.”
“You played a blinder out there.”
“It’s well deserved.”
As Ben gets closer to me, the crowd dissipates. When he plonks himself down beside me, my chair rattles.
I take a quick look around me. No one seems to be looking at me or Ben – their attention is now on a different match. Brazenly, I put my hand on Ben’s sticky, hairy thigh.
I whisper, “Proud of you.”
Ben has a look around of his own. When he’s satisfied that no one is watching, he puts his clammy hand over mine. For that moment, everything is perfect.
But it quickly ends. When someone walks by, we pull our hands back with haste, as if we’ve both just touched a burning stove.
Quiet builds between us after that. We both feign interest in a men’s doubles match.
“Sorry for that,” Ben eventually says.
“It’s fine.”
“Can I take you to lunch to make up for it?”
I throw him his towel. “You most certainly can.”
Once Ben has towelled off and changed out of his sweaty clothes, we walk to a restaurant nearby. It’s called The County Bistro. When Ben sees that they serve breakfast all day, he cannot conceal his delight.
“This place will do perfect.”
The inside of the restaurant is charming.
It’s warm, welcoming. Ambient lighting coupled with a neutral colour tone.
There isn’t a speck of dirt on the wooden floors, no table is left untidy, and all of the staff wear smiles as bright as the sunshine.
Ben and I already know what we wish to order before we sit down: two full Irish breakfasts and tea.
When the waitress takes our order, she cannot peel her eyes away from Ben.
As he thanks her, her left knee quivers, making it look as if she is melting into herself.
As a result, raw jealousy gushes through me.
To prevent it from evolving, I escape to the toilets.
Behind the protections of a locked door, I count my breaths.
With my emotions controlled, I make my way back to the table. Two men that look like builders are laughing with Ben. When they finish, Ben is left alone, and I feel sorry for him as he stares into space. I immediately rush back to him.
I fidget with the side plate. “Has the tea come yet?”
Ben nods into the distance. “Here it is now.”
I hear approaching footsteps. Meanly, the waitress gives the pot directly to Ben. She also gives him a wide smile. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t give me anything.
“How do you do that?” I ask him.
Coolly filling his cup with tea, Ben shoots back with, “Do what?”
“Make everyone fall for you like that.”
Ben coughs. “I don’t know, but I’m glad it worked on someone in particular.” He looks up at me, his mop of curls spilling over his forehead.
My cheeks instantly flush. I try to clamp down on my bottom lip to prevent my lips from jerking upwards. I’m unsuccessful. “Okay, charmer.” My cheeks feel hot. “Very smooth.”
Underneath the light, Ben’s lustrous eyes twinkle. He grazes his knee against mine beneath the table. Fireworks instantly erupt in my chest.
Our breakfast comes out. The plates are so full that the food is almost spilling over the edges. The eggs are wonderfully gooey, the sausages are thick and juicy, the bacon is perfectly crispy, and the generous serving of beans tops it all off.
The restaurant isn’t full, but most of the tables are occupied.
I can’t explain why, but the hair on the back of my neck is standing up.
It’s as if everyone is watching me. It’s like their eyes are stuck to me, staring daggers into my back.
When I glance around, I do indeed catch some of them observing me.
Maybe they’re staring because they recognise me from last night’s news.
Or worse, maybe they’re staring because they suspect that Ben and I are here ‘together’.
“I think we’ll hear back on Monday,” Ben says. “I’d be shocked if they made us wait any longer than that.”
“What?” I haven’t been paying attention to him. I’m too busy glancing over each shoulder.
“The appeal? I think the decision will be ready on Monday.”
Satisfied that the watching eyes have returned their attention to their meals, I allow my earlier fear to be consumed by smugness. “Looks like our little agreement has been a success so far.”
Ben nods. He crunches his toast.
“Would you even stretch so far as to say that my plans served us well? That making a plan might not be so bad?” I ask.
Ben tightens his face. “I stand by my previous opinions.” He takes a gulp of his tea and slams the cup back on the table a little too hard. “But I can see why you like them,” he concedes. “They have their merits, I suppose.”
“While we’re being honest, I’ll admit that I can see why you hate them.” I don’t list the reasons why Ben is entitled to detest plans; I know too well that a plan can easily be derailed. Namely, my plans with Tom.
“Did we just reach middle ground on this?” Ben asks, faking shock.
I spiritedly roll my eyes. “Remember this date,” I joke.
Ben laughs with me. Everything feels natural, like he and I are supposed to be here.
In this moment. Together. Two friends who are more than just friends.
Because it feels so ordinary, I forget myself.
While still chuckling, I take Ben’s hand on the table.
I look into his eyes, just like I would’ve with Tom.
Though, instead of meeting my gaze like Tom would have, Ben anxiously looks from side to side.
Then, he pulls his hand from underneath mine.
Instantly, I remember myself and where I am.
“Oh, Jesus. I’m so sorry, Ben. I forgot. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” he whispers to me, still throwing worried glances from left to right.
“I’m so sorry.” I’m mortified at what I’ve done. God knows what kind of damage I may have caused for Ben. Guilt swallows me whole. My heart is thumping. “Oh, God.”
Ben places his knee back against my bouncing leg. “It’s okay.” He uses a soothing voice. “I don’t think anybody saw.”
“What if someone did see?” I say, looking at the other people present in the restaurant. Luckily, none of their gazes are pointed in my direction.
Ben shakes his head. “No one saw.”
“Ben, I—”
“Nick, stop. It’s okay. Nobody saw us.”
Ben’s worried frown swirls into a smile. Underneath the table, he sets his hand on my thigh. His expression says more than words ever could: a slanted head, happy wrinkles beside his eyes, and an artful smirk that never fails to send electrified shivers through me. I become intoxicated with bliss.
I appreciate the fact that Ben still hasn’t decided what his sexuality is. And I admit that, because of this, I feel like I’m dating Tom all over again, hiding whenever his family are mentioned. But with Ben, it’s different. I don’t know how; I cannot describe how it differs. It just is different.
Maybe I’m a fool for thinking like this. Maybe I will get hurt again. That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Like I told Ben days ago, he’s all I want. And like I told him yesterday, I love him.
On Sunday night, I cannot resist the impulse to check my work emails. I’m sitting at the edge of Brendan’s sofa as I wait for my laptop to power on. Brendan is beside me, unconsciously scrolling through social media on his phone.
Once my screen comes to life, the dimly lit sitting room is flooded with cruel blue light. Navigating my way to my inbox, a faint fear jabs at me. There are many new, unopened emails present. When I find the one I’m searching for, I let out an unexpected shriek.
I give Brendan a fright, so much so that he drops his phone onto his stomach. “What’s wrong, Nicky? Who’s dead?”
“They’ve come back already.” My hand is covering my mouth, masking my shocked expression.
“Who have?”
Through my cupped hand, I answer, “The Court of Appeal.”
I click into the email and read it aloud.
Dear Mr Carthy,
My apologies for emailing outside of business hours.
The Court of Appeal’s decision in the case of Director of Public Prosecutions versus Murray has been finalised and approved by each of the Justices. It shall be read aloud tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. in the Criminal Courts of Justice.
Kind regards,
Caroline Conway
Clerk to Judge John Kennedy at the
Court of Appeal.
I drag my fingers across the trackpad, select forward, and email the notice to all significant parties.