Chapter 46
Soumia’s at my bedroom door. ‘You look good.’
‘It’s the best I can do right now.’ I put a tiny amount of beard oil on my fingers and rub it into the hairs on my face to make them look darker.
‘Where is he?’ Soumia asks.
Fuck. ‘I don’t know, I haven’t thought that far ahead. Pass me my phone.’
Soumia hands me my phone from the bedside table. I go to settings, search for him and Alex, then press unblock.
‘Do you think you should message him first?’ Asks Soumia.
‘No, I need to see him face to face. I’m flying tomorrow, I don’t want to go away and not have seen him.’
‘I’ll text him to see where he is.’ Soumia’s already on her phone tapping away.
‘I hope I’m not too late.’ One last look in the mirror.
‘What are you going to say to him?’
‘I don’t know. Tell him I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions. Ask him if he’d like to see me.’
‘You know he does. You can’t be stupid enough to think that he doesn’t like you.’
‘I’ve fucked up though.’
‘With good reason.’
Soumia looks down at her phone. ‘He says he’s out having lunch in his favourite place. He’s asked me if I want to join him. Should I ask him where it is?’
‘No need, I know where he’ll be.’
I grab my keys from the bedside table, kiss Soumia on the cheek, rush down the stairs, jump into my trainers, then head out of the door to the tram stop.
I pop in my AirPods and let Sugababes provide a soundtrack to my journey into town.
The first song to play is About You Now; I feel like I’m in my own movie.
I rehearse what I’m going to say in my head.
I try ten different phrases. In the end, I decide on one massive word: sorry.
I hope he’s feeling whatever this is too.
I hope he wants more trips to Blackpool.
I hope he wants to explore the whole god damn world with me.
I hope he wants to watch Eurovision in May and fly off somewhere hot every Christmas.
I hope he wants to watch Strictly with me in the winter and sit on the couch, pretending we’re judges.
I want a dog with him and the romantic walks on Sundays followed by a pub lunch.
Most of all, I want him. To sit with him.
To lay with him. To laugh with him. To cry with him. To be with him.
I race through the streets to the tram stop. June is outside the paper shop cleaning the windows. I give her a wave as I pass by.
‘Wish me luck,’ I shout at her.
‘Whatever it is you don’t need it. You’re bloody brilliant Callum Moore.’
I hope she’s right.
I’m already standing at the doors of the tram waiting for them to open when it arrives at Piccadilly Gardens.
I step onto the platform; my nostrils fill immediately with the pungent smell of cannabis.
It must be one of Manchester’s main exports.
You smell it everywhere you go in the city centre.
I take a left and head to Portland Street and pass the Britannia Hotel.
It starts to lightly rain. I didn’t bring a jacket; the sun was shining when I left the house.
I should know better than to trust the Manchester climate.
I walk as close to the wall as I can to shield myself from the weather.
I take another left, this time down Chorlton Street, and pass the bus station.
My steps are getting quicker to match my heartbeat and the down pour.
I take a right onto Canal St. It’s empty apart from a couple of smokers huddling together outside Via, drinking pints from plastic cups.
I walk over the cobbles until I reach Sackville Street, then take a left and see my destination.
I flick water off my forehead and pull my t-shirt out from my tummy and wrench it in a futile attempt to dry it from the rain that refuses to stop.
I take a second to compose myself, then head over to Richmond Tea Rooms. The hanging baskets filled with a rainbow of coloured flowers sway slightly in the breeze, saluting my arrival.
There are two small stone steps to take me through the door and lead me to Olly.
My reflection stares back at me from the pane window of the oak door.
I look like I’ve gone down with the Titanic.
I see through my reflection and the glass to the table where Olly is sitting.
He’s smiling. It’s infectious. I smile back at the first man to make me laugh in years.
He’s more handsome than I remember. His lips are shining, coated in a thin layer of whatever he’s been drinking. I want those lips on mine.
Olly reaches out his hand and rubs the arm of the person he’s sat with.
It’s affectionate. He’s touched me in the same way.
Olly stands up and ruffles the hair of the man he’s with.
The penny drops. It’s a date. I want to bang on the window and shout at him to get away from my man.
Why didn’t I ask Soumia to find out who he was with?
I feel stupid, like a stalker peering through a window at his victim.
I take one step back down the stone stairs, still not taking my eyes off Olly until, shit, he sees me.
There’s no denying it’s not me. I can’t pass this off and tell him he must have been mistaken if he bumps into me at work and asks if I was there.
I can see he looks confused. He calls out my name.
I do the only sensible thing I can do as my cheeks rush with blood, I turn and run.
Bang, straight into the hanging basket, which knocks me two steps backwards to my starting point.
The soil from the chain leaves an imprint below my hair line.
It turns into a muddy face mask as the Manchester rain continues to pelt me.
‘Callum?’ Olly is looking down at me from the top step.
I blow rainwater off my top lip and rub my face with my sleeve in an effort to look more presentable.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t realise you were…’
‘I was what?’
I stare through the window to the table where Olly was sat with the man who still has his back to me.
‘On a date.’
‘Christ, Callum. You really are something else.’ Olly turns to go back inside.
‘No wait. Wait.’ I call out and Olly stops and drops his arm that was holding the door open. The silence hangs between us, waiting for me to break it with an explanation as to why I’m here. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t believe you straight away.’
‘So, you do believe me then?’ Olly’s tone is harsh, like he’s slapping down the words on a table.
‘I’ve no excuses.’
‘Do you really think I would have gone back to your ex’s and shagged him after everything you told me about him?’
‘No… I don’t know. It’s Liam he has a way of…’
‘You didn’t ask me how I was.’ He takes a step closer to me, emerging from the shelter of the doorway.
The downfall instantly drenches him. ‘Your ex gets me that drunk that he takes me home and strips me naked.’ I recognise the shame his eyes hold.
I hate myself for letting Liam infect this man with his lies.
‘Olly, believe me, I’m…’
Olly holds up a hand to stop me talking.
‘I thought if I could talk to him, level with him, have a drink with him, he might listen to me. I know he’s a dick, but I thought if I got him on his own and asked him to leave you alone, he just might. I thought we could have a chance.’
I reach out to hold his hand. ‘We still could.’
‘I feel violated, Callum. Someone took pictures of me naked without my consent, and your first thought is that I shagged your ex.’ He flicks the rain from his face.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, Callum, I’m sorry. Go home.’
The man that was sat with Olly pokes his head out the door, a bit of cake stuck just above his lip.
‘Olly, come back inside, your coffee is getting cold.’
Olly’s shoulders immediately relax, melted by the sound of his brother. ‘Otto, I’ll be two seconds.’
How do I get things this wrong? ‘You’re not on a date.’
‘No, Callum, I’m not on a date. You see there was this guy who I really liked, but it seems he could only ever think the worst of me. Otto wanted to bring me out to cheer me up.’
Otto frowns. ‘Olly is sad. He likes cake. Come and join us. You look like you need cake too.’
Olly replies before my brain can process a response. ‘He can’t join us today, Otto. Come on, let’s get you back in.’
The door closes behind the brothers as they make their way back to the table. Olly doesn’t look back.