Chapter 23
Lando
Icouldn’t get an Ocado delivery on time, so here I am dragging my sorry ass around Waitrose first thing on a Sunday morning. Well, ten a.m., because the shop doesn’t open until then, but it’s still disgustingly early. I’ve barely wiped the sleep crust from my eyes.
Harry’s sick with lurgy, so I’m bringing him supplies. So far I have five different types of painkiller, four different types of soup, and in a beautiful twist of fate, I’ve uncovered a plant-based Heinz Cream of Tomato.
I am giddy with excitement.
Also . . . a little nervous.
I just hope it lives up to the original Cream of Tomato, because if it doesn’t, I’ll have to suffer through the cramps and explosive diarrhoea.
I’m rounding the corner to the biscuit aisle when I spot a familiar face. Two, actually, but the first is staring up at me like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing.
“Lan? Is that really you? Buying your own groceries from an actual shop?” Daisy’s taking the piss, but her words still sting.
I resist the urge to clap back with a salty remark. “Hi, babes. How are you?”
“We’re good,” she says, coming in for a hug. “Serasi’s home for a couple of weeks, so we’re making the most of our time together.”
“Ah, so that’s why you haven’t replied to my texts.” There’s bitterness in my voice, and I’m doing a shit job of hiding it.
Daisy pulls an “eek” face. “I’m sorry.” She glances at my trolley, taking in my array of items—the medicines, the soup, the comfort foods like bread and doughnuts. “You poorly?” She’s trying to distract me from the fact that she’s been a shitty friend recently.
“Not me . . . Harry. I’m taking some things round.”
Daisy fails to hide the look she gives Serasi. Oh, cool. They’ve been talking about Harry and me again. “So . . . are you two official then?” She tries to ask the question so nonchalantly, but I can tell she’s been practicing with Serasi.
“We’re just friends.” I try to outdo her nonchalance and add a smile to my affected carefreeness, meanwhile my heart is trying its best to punch its way out of my chest.
“Lan.”
I stare her straight in the eye.
Daisy sighs. “You know what I’m going to say.”
“I do, and thank you. I will not be accepting any further advice on this matter. Good day, sir.” I push my trolley off down the biscuit aisle. My adrenaline is in overdrive, and I’m not paying any attention to anything I’m placing in the trolley. I accidentally bypass the Jaffa Cakes.
“Lando,” Daisy says a few moments later, catching up with me in the cereal aisle. “Please. I’m not trying to be a bitch, okay? I just think you should commit to him.”
I’m shaking my head, but Daisy keeps talking.
“You have two choices here. Either commit to him, make it official, become boyfriends and stop fucking with his heart . . .”
I can’t do that, and Daisy knows this. How many hours have we wasted drunkenly dissecting this very thing?
It’s not my inability to commit that’s stopping me, it’s the knowledge that eventually everyone leaves me.
The less involved I get with them and the less I care about them, the less it will hurt when they make that inevitable choice.
“Or?”
“Or back off him, Lan. I’m pretty sure you both view the relationship differently, and I just want to make sure neither of you is going to end up . . . wounded.”
“Mmmhmm. You made your feelings perfectly clear on Valentine’s Day,” I say. I want to storm away again, but I don’t. I stay rooted to the spot.
Daisy looks off behind me, and I assume Serasi is closing the gap between us. “I’m not telling you how to live your life. I’m not telling you what to do. All I’m saying is, can you please think about how Abs sees your involvement?”
She lowers her voice as an older woman wheels her trolley past the Cornflakes.
“You two behave like a couple. In public, you’re all over each other all the time, and I don’t even want to know what happens in private.
But if you’re this adamant there can never be a real relationship, you need to stop leading him on.
Lando, he’s in love with you. Even Serasi can see that he only has eyes for you. You’re going to . . .”
Daisy puffs out a long, weight-of-the-world sigh, and shakes her head, evidently deciding not to finish her sentence.
“I’m going to what?” I say, my voice breaking, my nose and eyes prickling with building tears.
“If you keep doing all this shit with him . . . sneaking off and giving BJs in the toilets, snogging him pitch-side, showering with him, sleeping naked with him . . . you’re not just going to break his heart . . . you’ll totally destroy him.”
I purse my lips together and hold my breath to stop myself from crying.
She’s right. Of course she’s fucking right. I don’t want to lose him as a friend, and I can’t offer him anything more than friendship, but really, who would want to be friends with me?
Everyone I have ever loved, or wanted around, has left .
. . or not wanted me back. We’re four months into the year and I’ve seen Daisy—my best friend since I was five—a handful of times.
I get that she’s busy now, working full time as a bar manager for her dad’s pub, and that all her time off she wants to spend with her girlfriend, but what about me?
“What if . . .” I realise I’m thinking out loud, but Daisy pauses, listens.
“What if I don’t fuck with him any more?
What if . . . I don’t lead him on?” I know I promised he could practise certain things with me, but it doesn’t have to be like that.
“What if we’re just friends?” I put a lot of emphasis on the word “just.”
Daisy smiles. She actually looks relieved, as though everything she’s been trying to tell me over the past year is finally sinking in.
And then I have a really wild idea. One that, if I pull it off, will tear me apart. Guaranteed one hundred per cent total devastation.
But it also could fix everything. And let the world know where we stand.
“What if I help Harry find a boyfriend? I could chat with Lionel and . . . yeah. What if I helped him to . . .” Fall in love with someone else. Move on from me. Ditch me like every other person who has ever meant anything to me. “Recentre his attention.”
“Um . . .” Daisy’s speechless.
Behind me, Serasi pipes up. “Actually, I think that could be great for both of you, and you could carry on being friends. Feels win-win to me.”
Yeah, nah. That second thing can’t—won’t happen.
Daisy slowly nods. “Maybe. Maybe this is what you both need.” Without warning, she leaps forward and hugs me. “I’m proud of you, Lan.”
I pretend the little praise whore inside me doesn’t preen at her compliment, even if the rest of me is dying.
“Sorted, then,” I say. “I’ll see you later?”
“Sure,” Daisy says. “Love you, babes.”
“Love you too.”
We push our trolleys in separate directions, and by the time I get to the self-service checkout, tears are streaming down my face and splashing against my plant-based cream of tomato soup.
The sky has clouded over into an ominous blanket of charcoal grey when I pull up to Harry’s flat.
I love this place, by the way.
I love the sleek, black-painted door. I love the high ceilings, and the plasterwork, and the entrance tiles. I love the roll top bath and the view from the top of the hill out over the city. I love the proximity to the hustle and bustle, to the shops and restaurants and nightlife.
I love that it’s Harry’s place, and despite the fact that he needs nicer furniture, I feel so safe and welcomed here.
Even though I know his door code, I still buzz for him.
“Lando!” Harry’s stuffy voice crackles through the speaker. “Why are you here? I’m sick.”
“I brought you soup.” I hold up the Waitrose bags. “And biscuits.”
“You’ll get sick too.”
I’m about to tell him that I don’t care, but Daisy’s face floats through my head and my stomach churns. Stop leading him on, Lando.
“I’m already sick,” I say instead. “Thought we could sweat it out together—uh, beside each other on the sofa watching a movie or something.” Not like that. Jesus, fuck.
The door buzzes and the lock clicks open. I climb up to Harry’s flat, and he’s already waiting for me at the top of the stairs. He’s wearing a blue Cookie Monster hooded blanket, socks, and I suspect, nothing else.
“Hi, babygirl,” he says through his bunged up sinuses. His nose is red from where he’s blown it so often, and his hair looks like it hasn’t seen the inside of a shampoo bottle in a few days.
“My king, your crown has fallen. Let me fix it for you.”
Damn. Shit. This whole no sex, no leading on, no flirting gig is going to be a lot harder than I first thought.
“Harry . . . can we have a little chat before we put a movie on?” I say, kicking my boots off in his hallway and tucking them under the sideboard.
“Sure. What’s up?” He toddles off into his kitchen and flicks the kettle on.
Okay, I’m just going to rip the plaster off and get it over and done with, and if Harry wants to kick me out, if he wants nothing more to do with me, that’s something I’ll have to cope with later.
“We can’t fuck around any more.” I let out a breath.
“Huh?”
“We can’t do sex stuff any longer . . . I .
. . I know we’ve spoken about this before, that we can’t be anything more than friends, but I need there to not be anything else,” I say.
Harry frowns at me, his mouth hanging open since he can’t breathe through his nostrils.
“No blowies, no sneaky wank shows, no fingering each other in the shower.” I swallow.
“No kissing.” God, this sucks. “No snuggles either. That’s not what friends do. Regular friends don’t snuggle.”
“You don’t like it?” He looks so hurt. Shit.
“Um . . .” Do I lie? Do I tell him I hate it just to make it stop?
No, I love it actually. I love holding you. I love seeing you break in front of me. I love knowing that I caused it all. I’m addicted to the power I hold over you, and this is going to be harder for me than it is for you, but you deserve a relationship with someone who isn’t as broken as me.
Apparently I’ve waited too long, and Harry’s drawn his own conclusion. “Oh my god, Lando! Fuck. Why didn’t you say something? I feel sick. I’ve been . . . I feel so . . . rapey.”
“Shit! No, I don’t mean that. I have enjoyed it. I’m sorry. Not once have you forced me to do anything I wasn’t a thousand per cent wanting to do. It’s just . . . I need it to stop.”
Harry tugs on his earlobe. Doesn’t speak for approximately twenty years. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. Whatever you want. We still get to hang out, though, yeah?”
I’m so relieved, I immediately burst into tears.
Harry wraps his big fleecy arms around me. He stinks of sweat, and eucalyptus nasal decongestant, and the general pong of not showering for a few days. I don’t care. I just want to be bundled up in his arms.
But not. Since I already told him that has to stop.
Still, he’s the one to break the embrace. “So, what movie are we watching?”
“You choose. You’re the sickest.”
He punches the air with both hands. “It feels like Chriiiiiistmaaass!”
I laugh. “What soup do you want? I’ve got cream of tomato, chicken, minestrone.”
Harry leans forward and swipes his thumb over my cheek, collecting the moisture. “Don’t cry, Lando. Please don’t feel guilty. You’re allowed to set boundaries. And you’re allowed to change them if you’re not comfortable.”
And now I’m crying even more.