‘So you were never gonna tell me?’
‘I don’t know…’ Charles throws his coat onto the sofa and walks to the bed. ‘But what’s certain is that I wouldn’t have pretended to date Elsy behind your back. Please, don’t read anything into the terrible way I handled this.’ Now between Loris’ thighs, he cups his face with his hands. ‘I want to be your quiche and yours only.’
Loris pushes him back to get up. ‘You’re not irresistibly handsome at the moment.’ He stomps to his case of pencils, open on the coffee table, and crouches behind it. ‘So, how does it work? Your fake-dating arrangement? And why do you even have one?’
Charles takes a deep breath, staring at his broken portrait on the easel. ‘Because Elsy ditched me the week of my grandfather’s birthday party.’
He explains how she agreed to be his date for one more weekend, the social pressure they suffered during the event and the pact they signed with a hug by the river. He briefly covers the routine they fell into and their different stratagems. He mentions Elsy’s numerous affairs and how he was content to wait for her to be available. He tries to emphasise concrete occasions when it truly helped, but none of them seem to convince Loris, who’s undertaken a full reorganisation of his pencils. Whenever Charles glances at him, he meets dismissive scepticism, which is jarring and gradually irritating. So instead of moving on to why the secret had become a millstone, Charles decides against adding more fuel to Loris’ disapproving flames.
‘There, you know everything.’
Loris hauls himself back up. ‘That was a ridiculous idea.’
‘Yes, I believe I said so. I’m well aware. Keep the bitching for your tête-à-tête with George. If that ever happens…’
‘Uh?’
Charles edges towards the easel. Loris’ piece is truly extraordinary. Ready to be photographed and uploaded to Instagram. And perhaps soon to be shipped to France with all his belongings.
‘Are you mad now? Charles?’
‘I’ve known you more accepting of my shitshow of a life.’
‘Watching a woman smooch with the guy I like tends to affect my understanding.’
Loris is approaching, but Charles pictures him carried away by the waves in the drawing.
‘Listen, I know being a Ledwell is complicated, but why—’
‘When will you leave London?’
‘What?’
‘Patty said… She implied that your plan is to leave London.’
Loris blinks a few times. ‘How is that related to our conversation?’
‘You’re putting me on trial for withholding information. Isn’t it a bit hypocritical?’
‘It’s not the same thing!’
‘Answer me so I can assess that…’
Loris averts his eyes, and his reluctance to reply cracks Charles’ heart in more pieces than the mirror in the drawing.
‘Of course, take a minute, I’m having a blast here.’
‘My plan is… to leave London in May.’
‘Next year?’
‘No…’
‘Right. In three months. Great. Excellent.’ Charles starts laughing maniacally. ‘Indeed, it’s not the same thing as my secret, it’s way worse!’
‘It’s not!’
‘Don’t you think it’s more relevant to our relationship?’
