‘Alright…’
‘You want me to?’
‘If you believe it can help.’
‘Okay. Shift to your left.’ Loris hops over the sofa armrest to sit on it. He wedges his knees against Charles’ sides and brushes different points on the nape of his neck. ‘Don’t slouch and breathe deeply.’
Charles feels tighter than ever, so holding his posture shouldn’t be an issue.
However, breathing will require a distraction.
‘So, what does the notebook say? Where did your dad hang out?’
‘My grandad used to take him to the North Haven, back when teenagers were served Guinness and no one cared. Patty’s father ran the place. She was around and already terrifying.’
‘And such intel led you to ask her for a joooohoooly mother of heeeeeeelp.’
‘Itled me there to have a Guinness,’ Loris replies, indifferent to Charles’ suffering, which is fair given he agreed to it. ‘They were desperate for staff and I needed a job. I had never worked a bar, but I could tell it wouldn’t take much to make myself indispensable.’
Loris’ confidence never verges on loftiness. It’s quite refreshing compared to some of Charles’ peers who believe that self-assertion involves belittling others. He considers pointing it out, but when he parts his lips, it’s a long moan that comes out, and by the time Loris is done with a stubborn knot on his muscle, the thought is gone.
‘What else?’
Loris pushes Charles back into position after he sank between his legs. ‘He ate out a lot. I’ve tried all the places that still exist. I’ve seen all the spots he wrote about. Except one that I can’t find.’
‘How come?’
‘He explained ten times how much he loved it, and he was really clear that he’d propose there, but he just mentioned a tree, a bench and a nice view of a pond. Thanks, Dad, that narrows it down on Hampstead Heath.’
Charles knows most trees, benches and nice views of the park. He could help if Loris’ massage hadn’t turned the world he’s familiar with into a smudged oil painting.
‘Anyway, it’s not like he proposed there in the end. My mum beat him to it during a holiday in Sainte-Maxime. It’s a town on the Côte d’Azur.’
‘Yes…’
The Ledwells used to spend holidays in Saint-Tropez and often sailed towards Sainte-Maxime on a catamaran. Fred pretended to be a pirate, swinging imaginary sabres and swearing like a trooper. Charles would split his sides laughing.
‘Okay, enough for today. I’m scared your skin is gonna bruise.’
‘Hmm…’
Charles slumps against Loris, who clenches the top of the backrest to keep his balance.
‘You okay?’
‘You’re hired.’
Loris laughs into Charles’ hair. ‘Let’s talk about my salary before you come back to your senses.’
‘I’m always clear-minded when it comes to business.’
Charles stretches his legs out on the sofa. He feels as if he were filled with helium and would levitate without Loris’ thighs around him.
‘Can I go back to drawing?’
‘Yes, do your thing.’ Charles ensconces himself against Loris’ chest. He closes his eyes, only to snap them back open with a brittle laugh. ‘Sorry…’
He leans forwards and allows Loris to stand up.
