Chapter 29 #2
The door isn’t a classy black like his old building—it’s what I’d call nacho-cheese, that sort of midpoint between yellow and orange—and there aren’t cute little bay trees flanking it like the place across the road, but it’s our home.
Our new home together.
The flat is in the basement, and we have a different entrance from the three apartments above us.
We also have a big back garden with bifold double doors leading from the kitchen onto the patio, and two-point-five bedrooms. Harry had already said we could convert the point-five bedroom into my closet.
His teammates Pi and Eggo are here, lending their off-season rugby muscles to help us move.
On Sunday, we’ll hire a van to collect a few things from Hooke Manor.
Mostly my bed, my TV, my desk, and all my clothes, shoes, and perfumes.
Only my private perfume collection, though.
I gave away all the others. Who needs to keep those false reminders of my self-worth when I have Harry nearby complimenting me, kissing me, showing me in hundreds of ways how much he thinks about me?
“I’m going to put so many plants here in our little front garden,” I say as we jog down the steps to our patio.
“Wait, wait,” Harry says, reaching the bottom step. The door is already open. No doubt Pi and Eggo are lurking somewhere beyond. “I should carry you over the threshold.”
“That’s for married couples,” I reply.
Harry lunges at me, literally sweeping me off my feet and holding me in his arms like a lifeguard rescuing someone from a treacherous undercurrent. Of course I scream-giggle.
“I’ll marry you one day.” He says it like a throwaway comment. My heart slams itself into my ribcage, and I want to kiss him and go down on him and make him a cup of tea all at once to show him just how much I love him.
I don’t get to do any of those things, though, as the moment we step foot onto our beautiful herringbone floor there’s a skittering sound and a dog that’s made of legs comes tearing towards us.
“Trekkie!” Harry yells, setting me down and then dropping to his knees for the creature. He’s on his back in our new hallway less than a second after that.
The dog is due to be our housemate for a few weeks while his owner travels to his home country for the off season.
I’ve never had a pet before, and I don’t know the slightest thing about them, but Harry is beside himself with joy over the little fella.
And if there’s anything that fills my heart more than seeing Harry smile, I’m yet to find it.
“How ya going, Abs? Lan?” Pi says, joining us a moment later in the hall. His cheeks are ruddy, and he seems disproportionately out of breath for a professional athlete carrying a few boxes across the street.
In the kitchen, Eggo looks equally displaced. His hair is ruffled, his eyes wide, and . . . his fucking T-shirt is on inside out. Surely there’s only one explanation for this.
I’m pointedly glancing at Harry and clamping my lips together in case I shout something out, but Harry is completely oblivious.
“Oi oi, thanks for helping with this,” he says to Eggo, who’s definitely shooting Pi some meaningful, and dare I say, concerned looks. I want to grab a cup of coffee, find a free counter to lean against, and simply observe whatever the heck is going on.
“Abs! Orlando!” Eggo chimes in. “How’d it go?”
“I got the job,” I say.
“Bloody ripper.” Pi high-fives me and almost snaps my wrist.
“Where do you want all these boxes?” Eggo asks, pointing around the room.
“You can leave them there,” Harry says, before I have even half a second to suggest moving them elsewhere or unpacking them. “Thanks. This is such a big help.”
“No problem, mate. Thank you for watching Trekkie for a few weeks,” Pi says. “Let me just explain a few things about feeding him and stuff.” Pi pulls a piece of paper from his pocket that bears the handwritten heading of TREKKIE SHIT.
“While you guys are running through that bollocks, I’m gonna take a wizz,” Eggo says, leaving the room.
“Change of plan. I’m not going to Australia,” Pi whispers the second his teammate has shut the bathroom door.
“What? Why not?” Harry whispers back. His gaze immediately falls on Trekkie, and I see the panic flash over his face.
Shit, we’re gonna have to get a dog at some point. Look how much he wants this.
Instead of answering the question, Pi reaches into his shorts, removes his phone, and brings something up on the screen.
It’s a news article from yesterday, featured on some independent sports website.
There’s a photo of Eggo with his arm over the shoulders of the woman who accompanied him to Mr B’s wedding.
I barely have time to read the heading before Pi shoves the device back in his pocket.
“Cents’ lock Finn Eggington splits with long-term girlfriend ahead of off-season break.”
“I’m going to Cornwall with Eggo for a few weeks instead. He’s taking it pretty hard. You’ll still have Trekkie, though, yeah? We’re not sure what we’re doing yet, or where we’ll be, and Eggs’s folks live in a tiny cottage by the sea, and well, Trekkie’s a bit of a terrorist.”
Great.
“Thank fuck!” Harry says, on his knees once again, wrapping his hands around the beast as though Pi might change his mind any second and take the dog with him. “I mean, that sucks for Eggs, but at least he’s got you annoying the bejesus out of him for four weeks.”
“Yeah, we’ll be able to do a lot of captain planning shit together.”
“Of course, captain planning shit.” Then Harry turns to me and . . . winks. He fucking winks, panto style. I thought he was clueless, but I guess I was wrong. I’m too shell-shocked to look at Pi for confirmation, but he can’t have missed that wink. Harry is not a subtle guy.
“We’ll be off, then,” Eggo says, returning to the kitchen doorway. “Leave you two lovebirds in peace.”
Harry gets to his feet, and Pi grabs his forearm, giving him the slightest of head shakes. It’s clear he doesn’t want my boyfriend opening his big mouth and spoiling whatever he and Eggo have together.
“Okay!” Harry calls out with lashings of affected nonchalance. He glances at me again, and I want to facepalm. “If I don’t see you before September, have a great summer,” he says, forgetting we’ll in fact see them in only a couple of hours.
“We’ll take good care of Trekkie,” I tell Pi, walking the teammates out of our new apartment.
“They’re fucking,” Harry says as soon as the front door closes.
“Yeah. I’m eighty per cent certain that’s what’s happening. How long have you known?” I ask.
“Hmm . . . ’bout four minutes.”
I laugh. Okay, maybe Harry’s not that astute after all. “We should get ready for Daisy’s leaving party.”
Mr B’s pub is heaving. Everybody has turned up to bid Daisy and Serasi farewell before their trip to Scotland tomorrow afternoon.
All the Mudford-upon-Hooke villagers, all the Cents lads, and a lot of Serasi’s family and friends too, including her mad as fuck stepbrother, Henry.
Pi and Eggo were briefly in attendance, but they seem to have vanished into the night, probably together, and Harry and I have done nothing but pile conspiracy theory on top of conspiracy theory about their alleged involvement.
Daisy’s been crying all evening. Now I believe she’s too drunk to cry, but she’d ducked out to the bathroom about half an hour ago and hasn’t returned yet.
“I love your top,” Serasi says, stumbling over to me after a few dozen people have left and thinned the pub crowds out. She manhandles my chiffon Loewe blouse, dragging her fingers over the hem. “Where’s it from?”
“Thank you. He’s from Wrigsham, I think,” I reply.
She rolls her eyes, and we both look over at Harry, who’s standing beside the bar having a very animated discussion with Mathias Jones of all people.
I’ve been keeping a close eye on the pair in case Harry starts kicking off for no reason, but it seems they’ve taken to loudly debating whether Jaffa Cakes should be classified as a biscuit or a cake.
“I don’t fucking care about VAT or lawsuits or any of that legal shit,” Harry yells. “It’s about what I know in my heart.”
“Daisy wants to see you, by the way,” Serasi says, still focusing on the boys. “She’s upstairs.”
“You’ll keep your eye on those two for me?”
Serasi rubs my shoulders. “Of course.”
“I’m happy she has you,” I say, still looking at Harry and Mathias because I can’t quite make myself meet Serasi’s eyes.
“Even though you’re stealing her from me.
” It was meant to be a joke, but I didn’t manage the delivery.
I finally turn to her. “If anyone should take her away from me, I’m glad it’s you.
You’re a wonderful person, and you make her insufferable, and you both deserve to be happy forevermore. ”
“You know, Daze said the same about Abs. That he makes you excruciating to be around. She said you never stop talking about him and his freckly penis—”
I slap a hand over my mouth. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”
“And how warm and funny and kind and grumpy he is. He loves you so much,” she says. “Even I can see that he loves you with literally every fibre of his being and not a millimetre less. ”
“Serasi, shut up,” I whisper. “I’ll cry.” It’s too late, I’m already crying.
“I’ll watch these buttheads for you. Go see your best friend.”
I give Serasi one last hug and head upstairs. Daisy is sitting on the tiny two-seater sofa in the flat above the pub, scrolling through old Instagram pictures and bawling like a freshly birthed baby.
She looks up and sees me in the doorway. “I’m gonna miss you so much!” Then she’s in my arms, shaking with sobs, leaking all over my eleven-hundred-pound top. It’s not as if I have an endless shopping budget any more, this shit has to last me now.
“I’m gonna miss you more,” I say and wrap my arms around her. Fuck the designer garment, comforting my friend is way more important.
“I’m sorry about what I said in Waitrose,” she says, between sobs.
“Huh?”
Daisy pulls away from me to look into my eyes. “I told you to break it off with him. That was the stupidest advice ever.”
“Well, if my memory serves me correctly, you told me to commit to him or end things.” I suck in a deep breath. I’ve been such an idiot. “Ultimately it was my shitty decisions that led me down the wrong path.”
“Maybe,” she agrees. “But I should’ve slapped you silly and forced you to reconsider. You two belong together.”
I kiss her damp forehead because she could’ve done that, could have slapped me all the way from the fruit and veg aisle to the wine, but it wouldn’t have made a modicum of difference. I was too consumed with fear.
“It’s always been us. Since we were kids. Lan and Daze against the world, and now it’s Lan and Abs. I’m passing the torch.”
“And Daze and Serasi,” I say. “But I’m still keeping my torch for you.
Serasi will have to get her own. I know I’ve been .
. . a lot, and I’m sorry. And I’m thankful I have you as my bestie.
And I’m so, so happy you have such a wonderful girlfriend.
This isn’t a forever goodbye. You’re going to video call as soon as you get to Edinburgh tomorrow, right? ”
“Of course. Before I speak to anyone else. Before Mum, before Dad. Before I even look at Serasi.”
I lean her back so that I can gaze at her blotchy, tear-stained face. “I’ll allow you to look at your girlfriend first, but that’s it. Then you must ring me.”
“I love you, Lan.”
“I love you too, even if you are extremely drunk right now.”
Daisy simply laughs. “Not too drunk to do this, though,” she says and then starts line dancing. It’s abhorrent, but it gives me an idea.
“May I have one last dance?” I ask.
She pauses, and watches me silently for a few moments. “Of course.”
“Where’s your Chloé dress?”
“It’s already packed up in my boxes.” She’s sobbing again.
“One, what the fuck, Daze? Even Harry knew not to box up my designer clothes. And two, do you know which box?”
“Why?”
Without explaining myself, I move through to the bedroom and examine the boxes piled up beside the bed.
I spot one in the middle that in Serasi’s handwriting says, “Fancy Clothes.” I pull the tape off and lift out Daisy’s beautiful black lace and tulle gown that she wore last month for her dad’s wedding.
“I was a shit friend that night. I’m sorry. I ran out before we could dance together, and I still owe you one last dance.” I hold my hand out for Daisy, and she places hers in mine.
“You know you’ll have to lead, right?”
“I can’t do that, babes,” I reply.
I help Daisy climb into her dress. We forgo the heels and tit tape. I kick off my own shoes, push the coffee table in the living room against the wall, and play Lana Del Rey’s “Love Song” at full volume through my phone.
And we dance in the middle of her rug, swaying to the gentle string music, like I should have done six weeks ago.
Fingers intertwined and heartbeat to heartbeat, we hold on to each other until everything becomes quiet downstairs.