Summer of Love

Chapter 25

Oliver

One Week Until Finale

Oliver had expected relief to wash over him as soon as he got to Heathrow, but instead he just felt lost. He had spent nearly two months following strict rules, unable to make decisions for himself, and now he was returning to the mess of his real life.

He did the only thing he could think of, and rang his best mate.

Will met him in the same spot of the car park as he had four months ago, when Oliver had returned from New York.

When he spotted Oliver, he ran over to wrap him in a hug, clutching him tightly.

‘Are those tears in your eyes?’ Oliver quipped, pulling back to look at his friend’s flushed face.

Will wiped a cheek with the back of his hand.

‘This is the longest we’ve been apart in ten years.

I can have a cry about it – I’m secure enough in my masculinity.’

He lifted Oliver’s suitcase into the boot as Oliver slid into the familiar front seat.

Will spent several minutes jiggling the boot’s latch before it finally held, arriving to the driver’s seat with a triumphant smile.

‘Your place or mine, then?’

Oliver didn’t want to face his flat, but he knew the discomfort wouldn’t go away unless he acted on it.

A plan was starting to form in his mind.

‘Mine. I have a few things I need to sort there.’

‘So… I know the full interrogation has to wait until the gang’s assembled,’ Will said, pulling out of the car park, ‘but I have a few urgent matters to clear up.’

‘What’s that?’

‘What happened at the end?’ Will asked intently.

‘You were doing great. Not just great, you were bloody fantastic .’ He glanced at Oliver.

‘And then, what? You had a breakdown and quit the show. So, are you in love with Maeve?’

Oliver snorted.

‘Is that what’s going around?’

Will shrugged. ‘You were clearly losing the plot, telling Eavie you loved Maeve and then upping and leaving. What am I missing?’

‘Er—’ Oliver rubbed the back of his neck, apprehensive to jump right in.

‘All right. Please don’t freak out.

I wanted to wait until you had a few pints in you.’

Will abandoned any pretence of watching the road, turning to look sharply at Oliver.

‘What is it?’

He could feel his face reddening.

He didn’t know how to put it eloquently, so he went for direct.

‘I, er, kind of fell for a man.’

‘ Declan King?! ’ Will bellowed, and Oliver jumped as the car swerved into the next lane over.

‘Shall I take over the driving?’ Oliver asked, putting a hand on the wheel.

‘You can’t drop that on me in the middle of the road.

That’s your foul, not mine.’

Will was clearly trying hard to not turn fully towards Oliver.

‘ Declan King? Who would have thought you’d go for the meatheads?

Tell me everything, now.’

Oliver almost protested the meathead comment, but he didn’t want to act overly defensive.

He was in the middle of a balancing act.

‘There’s not much to tell,’ he said slowly.

‘I mean, you’ve seen everything already, haven’t you?’

‘Bullshit,’ Will barked.

‘There’s a story here.

How did I not see it?

But… how could I have known?

How did you know?’

‘Well, it definitely wasn’t an immediate realisation.’

He sighed, thinking of how to explain it properly without outing Declan.

He could at least do that much for him.

‘Declan had this idea that playing up a bromance would win us more screen time. And Paige – one of the producers – was on board with it.’

Will nodded.

‘Yeah, people thought you two were funny together. So, was that the first time you’d ever suspected…

?’

‘I’m as confused as you are,’ Oliver said, frowning.

‘Practically all of my mates are gay. How did I never even consider the possibility?’

‘Because,’ Will said slowly, ‘let’s face it, you’ve only ever been attracted to one person in your life, and she happened to be a woman.’

The corner of his mouth twitched.

‘Speaking of Sophie, what does she have to say about all this?’

‘Er—’ Oliver glanced at his phone, which was sitting in his lap.

Sophie: three missed calls, eight text messages, all unopened.

‘I haven’t spoken to her yet.’

Will gave him a long, sideways look.

‘Oh, you really like this guy, huh?’

‘What do you mean?’ Oliver asked, feeling his face redden.

‘You’ve talked to Sophie every day since the break-up.’

Oliver made to protest, and Will swatted his shoulder.

‘You may have lied to me about it, because you didn’t want to look pathetic, but I knew.’

‘Well, I’ve spent seven weeks not talking to her,’ Oliver said defensively.

‘Exactly,’ Will said, tapping his nose.

‘And you didn’t call her as soon as you had your phone back.’

‘Um,’ Oliver muttered, unsure of how to respond.

‘I had other things on my mind.’

‘Will you listen to yourself? You had other things on your mind, besides your ex-girlfriend? That is not the bloke I said goodbye to two months ago.’

‘Oh,’ Oliver said.

‘You’re… right.’

‘I mean,’ Will said, becoming uncharacteristically serious, ‘I’m not going to lie, we were all worried about you, much more so than we let on.’

Oliver looked out the window, pondering this, and realised they were only a minute away from his flat.

‘Something else I’ve been thinking about…’

he said. ‘Could you help me move?’

Will glanced over at him, startled.

‘Move? You? ’

Oliver cracked a smile.

‘Moving’s a bridge too far?’

Will shook his head, looking a bit dizzy.

‘You get off the plane, you fancy a man, you’re not talking to Sophie, and you’re moving?

Did they put some sort of chip in your brain?

Are you a robot now?’

He waved his hand in front of Oliver’s face.

‘Oliver, if you’re in there, blink twice.’

Oliver swatted his hand away.

‘It’s time, that’s all.’

Oliver and Will stared at the mess of the flat in horror.

‘Well, no wonder you would never ask me over,’ Will said, clapping him on the back.

Oliver examined the dirty floors, the piles of health forms required for his dance company, haphazard stacks of Sophie’s books, and one extremely dead cactus.

The flat that had once been meticulously kept by him and Sophie had fallen into disarray as Oliver had stuffed his already busy schedule with odd jobs to cover her portion of the rent.

Arriving there with fresh eyes made it apparent: he’d become one of the people highlighted on hoarder TV shows.

There, another reality show to add to his repertoire.

‘Jesus,’ he said, after a long silence.

‘We need industrial bin bags.’

It took the two of them a few hours to make the place more presentable, but Oliver continued on past that, packing away anything he didn’t need immediately.

It wasn’t the most organised move in history, but at least he was trying.

Somewhere around the three-hour mark, Will let out a noise that could only be described as a mix between a squeak and a gasp.

‘All right there?’ Oliver called from his position half-under the sofa, reaching for his favourite jumper that had somehow got wedged between the back leg and the wall.

‘You should probably come and see this.’ Will’s voice was strained.

Oliver hoped he hadn’t found any dead pests.

‘I swear, if you make me touch a spider—’ Oliver froze, still only half upright.

Will was holding a sizable envelope.

‘Is that—?’ Oliver started, grabbing it from him.

The red letters on the front spelled out Manhattan Ballet .

Oliver swallowed, hard.

‘Are you breathing?’ Will asked.

‘Think so,’ he managed.

‘Can you open it?’

‘Think so,’ he repeated, frowning at the envelope as though it had presented him with a difficult riddle.

‘Just tear it,’ Will said, impatient.

Oliver did, pulling out a thick sheet of paper.

‘All right… I…’ He read the important bit a few times, to be sure.

‘I got in. I got into Manhattan Ballet.’

‘Well done,’ Will said, hugging a motionless Oliver from the side.

‘Hmm,’ he said, squinting to read the sentence again.

Yes, that was certainly what it said.

How odd, that he didn’t feel pure joy.

‘It is good. You’re right.’

‘Are you… in shock?’ Will asked carefully.

‘Probably,’ he agreed.

That was the explanation.

‘Wow,’ he said, looking at his friend’s smile and replicating it, ‘this is incredible.’

‘You don’t know if you’ll take it, do you?’

Will asked, peering at him.

He didn’t sound altogether surprised by what should have been a ridiculous statement.

Will, of all people, should be certain Oliver would take the job.

He’d heard enough about it over the years.

‘Of course I’m going to take it,’ Oliver snapped without thinking.

‘It’s bloody Manhattan Ballet.

People don’t say no to them.’

‘Well…’ Will said, ‘are you going to tell Sophie?’

Oliver nodded.

‘Definitely.’

He blinked, his hands moving numbly, muscle memory taking over to dial Sophie’s number.

Before he had the chance to regret it, she picked up.

‘Hey, you’re back!’ There was noise in the background, but her voice was clear.

He hadn’t heard it in so long, and he was shocked he felt no pull, no tightening in his chest, nothing except for a vague and comfortable fondness.

‘Hi. Shall I ring you later, when you’re home?’

‘It’s okay, I’m on break right now.

I’ve only got… fifteen minutes.

How are you?’ The voices in the background quieted, and Oliver assumed she’d found a more private spot in the studio.

He took a deep breath.

‘I got in.’

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end.

‘Oh, wow. That’s brilliant, Oliver!’

‘Thanks.’ He paused, unsure of how to continue.

Sophie seemed to sense his hesitation.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘I feel… good,’ he said.

‘I feel the way you’re supposed to feel when you accomplish your biggest life goal, I think.’

‘Mhmm,’ Sophie said.

‘And you’re taking the spot?’

‘Of course I am,’ he said quickly.

‘But, Soph – I want to be clear, I’m not moving to New York to try to win you back.

When I auditioned, I thought that maybe…’

He cleared his throat, pointedly not looking at Will.

‘But I don’t think we make sense any more.’

There was no simple way to articulate everything he felt, everything he’d learned about himself and them in the past two months.

‘I never moved out of our flat,’ he said finally, though he wasn’t sure why that was what he’d settled on.

‘I sat here every day for months, paying your part of the rent and mine, waiting for you to come back.’

‘Oh God,’ Sophie said.

‘I made a mess of things, didn’t I?

I’ll pay you back. You should’ve said, I didn’t mean to—’ She sighed.

‘Well, anyway. I’m sorry.’

‘Me too.’

They let silence creep onto the line, and Oliver thought about all the things that would remain unsaid between them.

For months, he’d driven himself mad talking to her every night, unwilling to ask the question he had so desperately wanted answered.

In the quiet, he realised no answer from her would ever satisfy him.

Oliver heard a loudspeaker in the background.

‘They’re calling us back now…

But I guess I’ll see you soon?’

‘Yes, see you soon.’

As Oliver hung up, he made himself turn to Will, expecting either judgement or overbearing worry.

Instead, he found his friend scrupulously dusting the dead cactus on his kitchen counter, clearly pretending not to be eavesdropping.

‘Well?’ Oliver asked.

Will looked at him with only mild concern.

Oliver found that it bothered him less now, and that it looked more like compassion than pity.

Oliver smiled slowly.

‘You know, I think I’ll keep you around, even after the move.’

Will put a hand over his heart, feigning shock.

‘And here I was, worried I would lose you to the influencer crowd.’

That Friday, Will insisted their friends gather to watch the finale together.

They met in Oliver’s nearly empty flat.

He had packed almost everything already, though he was still looking for a place in New York.

After things were settled, his plan in place once again, he finally felt like he could face Declan, even if it was just on screen.

‘This place is a ghost town,’ Divya said, dry as ever, shucking off her jacket in the doorway.

A windswept Hanna followed behind her, carrying a bottle of wine.

‘Weather’s mad for August, isn’t it?

I think a storm is brewing.’

He gave them both hugs.

‘Glad you could make it. It’s been too long.’

Hanna wriggled out of his grasp.

‘Well, we wanted to come over sooner, but were told there might be toxic waste disposal in progress.’

They were second to arrive, after Will, who had taken to crashing most nights on Oliver’s uncomfortable couch.

He assured Oliver it was not an inconvenience, and Oliver, despite his months of insistence that no one help him, let Will do what he wanted.

It was nice to have someone around all the time, so the flat didn’t feel so empty.

‘Looks loads better than it did before I went at it with a mop,’ Will said, patting the spot next him on the couch.

‘So,’ Divya said, sitting beside Will and shooting Oliver a sly look, ‘excited to see the man of your dreams tonight?’

Oliver blushed.

His friends had been suitably shocked when he’d told them about Declan, and Will had found their reactions endlessly entertaining, insisting he hadn’t been surprised, not in the slightest, when Oliver had told him he was bisexual.

‘Please don’t call him that.’

‘Why? He’s the fittest on the show, not a bad choice at all.’

Her gaze was more approving than he’d expected.

Someone knocking saved Oliver from responding.

‘How are we the last ones here?’ Max asked, when Hanna opened the door on her way to the kitchen for a corkscrew.

‘We live ten metres down the hall.’

‘Why isn’t it on?

!’ Chloe demanded from Max’s side, ushering him in and closing the door behind them.

‘We’re going to miss the recap!’

Oliver held up a pacifying hand, turning the TV on.

His friends gathered around, Hanna leaning on him from the left and Chloe rubbing the top of his head affectionately.

He felt an overwhelming sense of warmth just sitting with them.

‘And that’s what you missed on Summer of Love !’

Neil Steel declared over panning shots of the villa’s exterior.

Oliver was startled by the longing he felt looking at the patio area where he’d spent so many afternoons lounging, the kitchen where he’d made breakfast in the mornings, the deep turquoise of the pool.

Even in the comfort of his friends’ company, it still felt like something was missing.

The footage seamlessly transitioned into a montage of Jack and Maeve’s relationship, from Jack kissing her hand during truth or dare the first week to their final slow dance.

‘He’s certainly not what I expected to find when I agreed to come on this show,’ Maeve was saying, gazing adoringly at Jack, who wore a ridiculously big grin.

‘I think I wore her down with my boyish charm!’

‘Boyish?’ Maeve teased.

‘You’re practically an old man.’

‘Take that back,’ Jack said, going in as if to tickle her but instead dropping a quick kiss to her forehead.

‘They’re so cute,’ Chloe gushed.

‘Can’t believe she started with that prick Callum and ended up with the sweetest bloke of all.’

It shouldn’t have been surprising that Chloe had a perspective on his friends’ public relationship, but Oliver realised he hadn’t considered how weird this situation would be for him.

‘Ooh,’ Divya said, smirking at Oliver as Declan and Imogen appeared on screen.

‘Declan’s up. This should be good.’

Declan wore an expression he’d never directed at Oliver, rendering him almost unrecognisable.

‘Imogen and I are practically shoo-ins at this point,’ he said, with a smile that wasn’t even close to the real thing.

Oliver somehow hadn’t considered that the Declan on TV would be the version of him that everyone saw, not the one he knew.

A lump formed in the back of his throat at the thought that he would never see that version of Declan again.

He had been trying to be optimistic about the future – he had so many options ahead of him, so many directions to take his life in.

And yet none of them involved the one thing he was certain he wanted.

On screen, Imogen smiled at Declan.

‘I’m so excited for what the future holds.

It’s going to be one long adventure.’

Watching them together, with his friends representing only a sliver of the audience who had no idea what had happened, made Oliver suddenly nauseous.

‘Ugh,’ Chloe said, as another montage began, this time of James and Zoe.

‘I wish they would stop replaying clips I’ve already seen.

I want to know who wins.’

‘Anyone want more wine?’ Oliver asked feebly, heading for the kitchen without waiting for a response.

He stuck his head in the fridge, keeping it in the cool air for a long moment.

By the time he returned with a glass of wine, Darcy was getting ready to announce third place.

She made unnerving eye contact with the camera, and Oliver gulped involuntarily as the live crowd cheered.

‘In third place…’ Darcy said dramatically, ‘we have… Declan and Imogen!’

Declan and Imogen smiled graciously from the side of the stage.

The camera didn’t have a good angle on Declan’s face, but Oliver thought he looked almost relieved.

‘Declan,’ Darcy said cloyingly, ‘how does it feel to get so close, and lose it all?’

‘Well, Darcy,’ Declan started, his voice oozing with charm, ‘you know how much I hate to lose out on anything.’ He paused to look fondly at Imogen.

‘But somehow I still feel like a winner right now.’

Darcy frowned, turning to Imogen.

‘Imogen, you fell for Declan the moment you entered the villa. How does it feel knowing it simply wasn’t enough?’

Divya snorted. ‘No holds barred, huh?’

Imogen made a face like she was stifling a laugh.

‘It was enough. I have the best boyfriend in the world.’ Declan draped an arm around her shoulders and she beamed.

‘And now,’ Darcy said abruptly, looking back at the two remaining couples, ‘for your Summer of Love winners! Which couple has the British public voted their favourite?’

The camera cut between the final two couples: Jack and Meave and James and Zoe.

‘Jack looks like he’s going to piss himself,’ Max said.

‘The winners of Summer of Love Season 10 are… Jack and Maeve!’

A burst of confetti engulfed the contestants, torrents of gold paper blocking the camera’s view.

When it cleared, Jack and Maeve were embracing, with James scowling in the background.

‘Good on them,’ Oliver managed to get out.

He was aware that the others were waiting for a reaction, but his eyes were trained on the sliver of Declan’s face visible in the commotion.

‘You okay?’ Hanna asked.

She turned towards Oliver, not looking at the TV.

‘Great,’ he muttered, knowing not a single person in the room would believe him.