Chapter Thirty-Three
Thirty-Three
Freddie has an impressed grin on his lips when I round the corner, which makes me suspect he heard everything. He’s leaning on the wall beside the building’s intercom. I can’t stop smiling. I feel like I’ve levelled up in a game. Defeated the enemy.
He walks me up to my flat, insisting on carrying my bag and coat.
I play with my sleeves in the lift and then invite him in for a drink.
It’s only fair considering he just drove four hours and has another hour drive into the city all by himself.
And besides, I’m not ready to say goodbye just yet. I’m sort of hoping he doesn’t go.
But isn’t that what I’m trying to avoid?
I can almost hear Fliss asking me if falling into something new so fast is right for me. I made the rules and I should stick to the rules. Why can’t I get a grasp on any of this? It’s still so new but I’ve known Freddie for what feels like forever and so surely, it’s not the same.
I do know what I’m getting into with him.
“I take it you want something with caffeine in it?” I ask, flicking the kettle on to distract myself.
“Please.” He nods, strolling around my cluttered flat. I let him look. I know he’ll be most interested in the canvasses on my walls. He pauses at one of them and I instantly know why. “This is just like mine,” he says, running his finger along the bottom.
I grin shyly from the kitchen. I painted that one back at university, sat on the beach during one of those rare winter days when the winds are low, the skies an epic blue, but the temperature subzero.
There were a few of us all wrapped up in thick coats and hats, praying the seagulls didn’t ruin our canvasses with their own paint.
I mapped out the layout that day then spent the next few weeks painting and tweaking it until I felt at peace with what I’d achieved.
“I didn’t know you had my other one back then.
But I knew Mandy didn’t have it on her wall anymore and I missed seeing it, so I added that red boat.
It wasn’t actually there. In fact, I seem to remember there was a hideous, great big tanker and I cut that out.
This one is more refined than yours. I’d learnt a lot about the craft in the year before I painted that one. ”
“Mine’s perfect,” he says.
“It’s not as good.”
“It’s better. Because it’s mine.”
I laugh. “Well, you stole it so…”
“Then we’re both thieves.”
“I’d like to steal one of your sketches and frame it for my walls. Seems only fair.”
He peers around the room at the severe lack of wall space in here. “If, for argument’s sake, I would ever agree to share my sketches, where would you put it? Your walls are full to the brim.”
“I’d make space.”
“Even if it was the one of you?”
His comment catches me off guard. I just stare back at him, unsure what to say.
He nods as if my reaction was expected. “I knew you’d seen it.”
“It was…”
“Not finished,” he says. “It was an indulgent thing I felt like doing. I rarely ever saw you and I just really love your freckles and your smile. And that night, when you sang that godawful rendition of ‘Thunderstruck’…”
“In hindsight, it was way out of vocal reach.”
“…it was horrendous, but perfect.”
“What every girl aspires to. Horrendous but perfect.”
“You weren’t meant to see it.”
The reminder of that sketch sends my pulse racing. It was the first time I allowed myself to even wonder at Freddie showing me an interest. And now I know. “Everyone needs a portrait of themselves really.”
Freddie laughs at this before catching sight of my bedroom through the door. The light is off in there, but he can just about make out the blank canvas I have propped up by the windows.
“You going to finish that one?”
I shrug. “I don’t know why I bought such a huge canvas. It’s mocking me. I’m intimidated by it. And I just feel like I’ve lost that part of me somewhere along the line.”
“I loved your idea for it. How life is moving so fast sometimes, it feels like a blur.” He turns his gaze on me and my tummy dips, a flicker of hope alighting in my core.
He might stay. I want him to stay. If he stays, then I’ll be able to keep this feeling I have around him.
The one that makes me feel like I’m whole.
“Please paint it,” he says. “Do it for you. You deserve it.”
I press my lips together. “I’ll finish it if you do the same.”
“Do what?”
“Finish one of your sketches. Properly. Frame it. Own your skill. For you.”
He runs a hand over his chin. “There’s a reason I never finish them,” he says.
“I wasn’t allowed to draw as I grew up. Dad wouldn’t allow it.
I had to focus on more important things, like exams and sports.
He didn’t see any value in it and I kind of believed him back then.
I knew it wouldn’t earn me money. It was just for fun to begin with.
But then I found I quite enjoyed it. It came back to me that time I discovered him. ”
He swallows, pausing as if the memory takes him out of himself for a moment.
“My head is so focused and quiet whilst I’m sketching.
To begin with, I’d sketch whatever I could see.
One time, after Dad was in hospital again, I just sat there and sketched the IV pole that was bringing him back to life.
He was in and out of consciousness and I thought he wouldn’t approve so I ended up shutting my sketchpad a few times.
Even told him I was taking notes for an exam at work.
“Once I was home, I started sketching properly again. I’d sketch whatever caught my eye.
” I don’t miss the way he looks at me before flitting away again.
“But I never finish them because it feels wrong to. Like finishing them would make them real. I prefer them to just be sketches. I’m not an artist like you. ”
“Everyone’s an artist.”
I bring our drinks to the table, hoping he’ll join but he doesn’t sit. He lingers nearby, sipping. The silence stretches. The tightness in my chest suggests my body knows before I do.
“What a day,” he says.
I laugh but it sounds sad. “You can say that again.” I woke up dribbling on his chest and now my best friend won’t talk to me and he’s about to leave me. “You’ve got to go,” I start for him when he doesn’t say it himself.
He nods. “I’ve got to go. My work…”
“They need you.”
“I hate it,” he says, looking at me like it might just break him to leave.
I take a deep breath. I don’t want to sound pathetic. But I do want to know if I’ll see him again soon.
“Hattie… Sam and I… We’ve been through so much.”
I look away. “We shouldn’t have done this, I know.”
“I don’t know how this works without hurting people.”
“It wasn’t meant to. Ugh!” I groan. “This is silly, isn’t it?
We’ve known each other for years but this doesn’t have to be serious right now.
It doesn’t have to be anything.” Although saying that out loud makes it feel much worse.
“I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t be in a relationship with anyone for a whole year. ”
“Now why did you do that?” he asks with humour in his tone. “Didn’t you know I was right around the corner?”
I bite my lip to prevent myself from smiling. “It felt right at the time. And no, I didn’t think you were ever on the cards. I had no idea you were coming on this trip and I think Sam might be regretting the invite now.”
Freddie plays with his hands. “Maybe I should go. I don’t think any sensible decisions are going to be made whilst we’re so tired, hey?”
I get up to walk him to the door where he pauses.
“Take care, storm cloud. And happy birthday again.”
I suck in a deep breath, an ounce of panic washing through me that he might not ever walk through those doors again. This could be it. But it’s for the best. It’s what I need. I need space and sleep and resetting to be able to see this properly.
“Drive safe, Fred.”
I close the door like the sensible woman I am. Look how mature we are. Not even a kiss goodbye. I’m almost proud of myself. That is until I experience that little snap of adrenaline and run back to the door, swinging it open.
Freddie hasn’t moved, hands braced on either side of the door.
I swallow at his intense gaze, his heavy breathing.
Then I launch at him, pressing both hands to his warm, bristled cheeks as his lips press down hungrily over mine.
He makes this bitten-off groan that has me clenching everything below waist level. Desire thick in my bones.