‘Oh. That, yes.’
‘We’ll talk about your drunk explanations when I’m back.’ Loris zips up his collar over his scarf. ‘Don’t make a mess.’
‘I won’t invite more than ten people at once.’
‘Bye, Charles.’
‘Bye, Loris. With one L and two V-lines.’
Loris smiles and Charles closes his eyes to preserve this memory rather than the sight of him leaving.
When the door of the building slams downstairs, he grabs his phone. He checks that it’s not on silent mode – in case Elsy tries to contact him – and sets his alarm for noon. He toggles the light switch and pulls up the duvet, because Loris took some of the ambient warmth with him. Curling up on his pain-free side, Charles sinks his cheek into Loris’ favourite pillow, which feels exactly the same as the other one.
Loris is just another creature of habit.
Hopefully, they will make a habit of early morning fondling.
EIGHTEEN
Charles is waiting for a lift in the entrance hall of George’s building when his phone chimes. Elsy’s timing isn’t ideal, as the football match is about to begin, but if she’s willing to speak to him, which wasn’t a safe bet, he will stay downstairs to—
It’s not Elsy. It’s a message from his mother.
13:51 ALICE L.The Griffiths are coming over for roast dinner, we are expecting you home at five o’clock.
13:52Expect me all you want, I’m spending the entire day with George.
He puts his phone back into the pocket of the red quilted jacket he borrowed from Loris and steps into the lift, shoving his nauseating feelings towards his family out of it.
He’s already a bit queasy now that his digestive system is reacting to his excesses, and he has a more pressing preoccupation. He’s three floors away from justifying his behaviour to George.
Charles rehearses one more time.
He went to Loris after Liv shared shocking facts about Fred. It made sense to go to Loris, whose presence has been helping him clear up memories of his brother. Charles already told George about that. It’sa coherent explanation, close enough to the truth not to trigger his friend’s bullshit detector. And if Elsy reaches out, Charles will give her the same, with additional background information.
He won’t say more and doesn’t want to analyse why he doesn’t want to say more. The mere idea of talking about what happened, is happening and may happen with Loris is disquieting, which is a valid reason not to. He won’t risk the precious amount of bliss he managed to sneak out of the flat.
He will just watch the match and daydream about what happened, is happening and may happen with—
‘Hello, dickhead!’
Elsy punches his arm, slaps his head, then kicks his bum when he shrinks away from the shower of blows.
‘Ow! Els! Stop! No, not my hip!’
‘Why not?’
‘I hurt myself and— Damn it!’
She struck the bruise so hard, stars take up most of Charles’ field of vision. He lurches aside and makes a beeline for the open door of George’s flat.
His friend walks out of his kitchen. ‘No, I’m not getting involved.’
He’s wearing a silky dressing gown and carrying a bowl of cereal so soaked in milk, it would turn Charles’ stomach if he weren’t too busy running for his life. He takes shelter behind the sofa and raises his hands as a shield.
Elsy’s tired eyes are throwing the sharpest daggers.
‘I will behead you!’
