‘You look high now.’
‘I feel high.’
Charles has never been high, but he imagines weed would plunge him into a similar state of carefree drowsiness.
Loris disappears into the bathroom, and Charles closes his eyes again. The splashes of water coming from the sink remind him of Mediterranean waves hitting his back. They weren’t strong enough to sweep him along, so Fred would push him under.
‘You’re about to fall asleep.’
‘For a minute. Can you work with that?’
‘Yeah. At least you’re relaxed.’
‘Understatement of the year.’
Smiling, Charles huddles against the pillow.
He will need more answers. Some about Loris and his journey, that he will get by investigating. Some about himself, that hewon’t ask for and obtain anyway. But there’s no rush. He will spend many more moments with Loris in this flat.
He’s made himself artistically indispensable.
Charles wakes up when Loris slams his pencil case closed.
Sheepish, Charles doesn’t beg to see the drawing, already hidden in the portfolio. He hurries to change back into his clothes, because Loris has to get ready to join his friends.
‘I swear I’ll be better company next time. Saturday? Supposing that you need me to pose again?’
‘I do.’ Loris brings their empty bottles to the kitchenette. ‘But it’s gonna have to wait until next Saturday.’
‘Seriously? You won’t have even half a day off until then? Should I report Patty to labour authorities?’
‘It’s not on her. My ex is coming to London and crashing here for a week. So my free time isn’t gonna be art time.’
‘Your ex will crash here?’
‘Yeah, we’re friends. Charles, I’m sorry, but can you get moving? I’ve got to hop in the shower.’
Charles stores a new series of questions into the Loris drawer of Charland but can’t set aside the muddle of frustration and concern swelling in his chest. He wouldn’t have wasted so long napping if he had known it was his last visit for a while.
He’s adopted the routine of seeing Loris every few days. The nine to come will drag on, filled with soul-sucking moments that might erase his recent certainties. He will be counting minutes, while Loris won’t be working on his drawings and will perhaps forget why Charles is indispensable.
Unless Loris has a brand-new reason to think about him.
Charles buttons his coat, a prick of excitement superseding his bitterness. ‘You never asked for my full name.’
‘I don’t ask personal questions because I can tell they make you uncomfortable. Why? Is it relevant?’
‘My passport reads Charles Henry Thomas Ledwell.’
‘Cool…’
‘You’re not wondering how—’
‘Wait.’ Loris freezes in front of him, his eyes popping – incredibly blue and wonderfully shocked. ‘What?’
His mind isn’t blown yet, it’s still connecting dots, but the sparks preceding the explosion are flying, and it’s more satisfying than Charles daydreamt it would be.
‘See you next Saturday.’
