Winging It

Chapter 1

FOUR MONTHS EARLIER

I know exactly how he likes his eggs – scrambled, with onions finely chopped – served with two toasted crumpets, smothered with so much butter that it dribbles down his chin on first bite.

I go to tell him it won't be long. He’s sat up in bed; duvet tucked under his arms looking at something on the iPad. He nods in acknowledgement.

‘I love you, babe.’ I run over, shimmying my shoulders, and kiss him on the forehead.

He shrugs me off. He’s not had his morning coffee yet and I’ve woken up in a giddy mood.

Back in the kitchen, I take a serving tray out of the cupboard and place a plate on it, put the cutlery beside it, and pop a fresh pastry I got from the local mini market while he was still sleeping on the tray.

Liam loves his breakfast and this morning I want to spoil him, just because.

I pour a glass of fresh orange, and I even take the time to make him a proper coffee using the strainer and his favourite blend – an Italian roast with a flavour rating of four.

I don’t know what out of. I love the smell, but I hate the taste.

I’ve got a cup of tea in a mug so big that it could easily be mistaken for a bucket.

‘Do you want to do anything today?’ I shout through to Liam.

‘No.’ He’s still grumpy.

Tray assembled, I pick it up and deliver it to the bedroom. As Liam looks up, I perform an exaggerated skip to put a smile on his face. It doesn’t work.

He takes the tray and places it beside him on the bed, inhales a deep breath, then looks at me.

‘I don’t love you anymore.’

‘You what?’ I pause. ‘Don’t be a pillock. Have your brekkie and let’s go out for the day.’ I ignore the bile that’s burning the back of my throat and move over to the wardrobe, open it, and look for a t-shirt for Liam to wear.

‘I don’t love you anymore.’ Liam tosses the covers off him and stands up. He’s naked. He’s never looked more beautiful.

‘We just need a good walk to clear the cobwebs. Here put this on.’ I turn to him and hold out his favourite t-shirt. It’s worn and faded, the print of a band name now just a faint outline.

His eyes are big and cold. ‘Are you listening?’

I lower myself onto the end of the bed, trying to catch my thoughts as they jump left and right across my brain.

‘Yes, I am. We just need to go for a walk. Maybe book a holiday. Quality time. Live a little. Should I drive us to the beach?’ I know the beach will buy me one more day by his side and I can change his mind.

‘I keep asking myself if I can see us growing old together and I can’t anymore.’ He pulls the t-shirt over his head.

He can’t really be breaking up with me when he’s standing with his cock on display.

‘But we put an offer on a house two days ago.’

Liam jumps into a pair of shorts. ‘I’m going to pack a bag.’

‘What? Why? Where are you going to go? Let’s just drive to the beach.’

‘I’m done, Callum, I don’t want this.’

He takes a t-shirt from the cupboard, looks at it, then discards it onto the bed, knocking over the orange juice. The liquid forms a pond in a dip of the striped duvet cover before being swallowed by the cotton. Liam unzips a rucksack, the scraping sound brings what he’s doing back into focus.

I grab the bag out of Liam’s hands. ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa, we can sort this.’

‘Give me the fucking bag, Callum.’ He snatches it back.

We’ve both got hold of one strap and we’re looking deep into each other’s eyes. I’m searching for a clue as to what’s happening.

My heart races, my mouth’s dry, my voice shakes. ‘You can’t fucking leave me, I’ve just made your breakfast.’ I press my feet hard against the floor to stop my legs buckling.

‘I’m not just leaving; I’ve been thinking about it for months.’ He’s tearing his clothes off hangers and punching them into his bag.

‘Did you not think to tell me?’ I raise my hand to my head and pull my hair slightly. I can feel it, this is real.

‘I can’t cope with you.’

‘I know I’ve been moody recently.’ I reach to put my hands around his waist. ‘I’ll do better, I’ll do so much better.’

He pushes my arms away.

‘I don’t want you to.’

I follow him to the bathroom. He’s putting his toothbrush into the bag.

‘Where will you go?’

‘I’ve got a place in town.’ He’s refusing to meet my eyes as he tries to leave the bathroom.

I block him. ‘You’ve planned this?’

‘I don’t love you, what more do you want me to say?’ He barges past me, his bag punching my shoulder.

I put my hand against the wall to steady my balance. The paint cools my palm; the dampness of my skin leaves a handprint. I follow him again.

‘We’ve been through a rough patch before, please let’s sit down and talk about it properly.’ I grab his hand, hoping that the touch will reconnect us.

‘Get off, for fuck’s sake. I’m going.’

He flings my hands off his arm, but I’m not giving up.

‘Babe. Babe, please. We can sort this. Whatever it is I’ve done I can fix. We’re so much stronger than this.’ I’m crying now, watching the love of my life put on his shoes.

He looks me up and down, repulsed. ‘Have some dignity.’

‘I fucking love you. Please. Please! PLEASE! You can’t do this.

’ I’m on my knees and I’ve got my hands around his legs and I’m hugging into him and I’m choking, my lungs not working like they should.

‘We can sort it, I promise, I promise you, whatever it is, I can fix it. I can do better. I promise. I can do it.’ I keep repeating myself and he’s saying something, but I can’t hear what it is because I’m breaking.

I’m off his legs and I’m lying back on the floor and he’s putting his hand on the door handle and I’m still begging.

And he opens the door, and he looks at me.

And I look back. And I love him. And he hates me.

And I’m looking, and I’m loving him harder than I’ve ever loved him before and he’s shouting.

‘Look at you, no wonder your mum left you.’

And then he’s gone too.