“I’m going to what?” I say, my voice breaking, my nose and eyes prickling with building tears.
“If you keep doing all this shit with him . . . sneaking off and giving BJs in the toilets, snogging him pitch-side, showering with him, sleeping naked with him . . . you’re not just going to break his heart . . . you’ll totally destroy him.”
I purse my lips together and hold my breath to stop myself from crying.
She’s right. Of course she’s fucking right. I don’t want to lose him as a friend, and I can’t offer him anything more than friendship, but really, who would want to be friends with me?
Everyone I have ever loved, or wanted around, has left . . . or not wanted me back. We’re four months into the year and I’ve seen Daisy—my best friend since I was five—a handful of times. I get that she’s busy now, working full time as a bar manager for her dad’s pub, and that all her time off she wants to spend with her girlfriend, but what about me?
“What if . . .” I realise I’m thinking out loud, but Daisy pauses, listens. “What if I don’t fuck with him any more? What if . . . I don’t lead him on?” I know I promised he could practise certain things with me, but it doesn’t have to be like that. “What if we’rejustfriends?” I put a lot of emphasis on the word “just.”
Daisy smiles. She actually looks relieved, as though everything she’s been trying to tell me over the past year is finally sinking in.
And then I have a really wild idea. One that, if I pull it off, will tear me apart. Guaranteed one hundred per cent total devastation.
But it also could fix everything. And let the world know where we stand.
“What if I help Harry find a boyfriend? I could chat with Lionel and . . . yeah. What if I helped him to . . .” Fall in love with someone else. Move on from me. Ditch me like every other person who has ever meant anything to me. “Recentre his attention.”
“Um . . .” Daisy’s speechless.
Behind me, Serasi pipes up. “Actually, I think that could be great for both of you, and you could carry on being friends. Feels win-win to me.”
Yeah, nah. That second thing can’t—won’t happen.
Daisy slowly nods. “Maybe. Maybe this is what you both need.” Without warning, she leaps forward and hugs me. “I’m proud of you, Lan.”
I pretend the little praise whore inside me doesn’t preen at her compliment, even if the rest of me is dying.
“Sorted, then,” I say. “I’ll see you later?”
“Sure,” Daisy says. “Love you, babes.”
“Love you too.”
We push our trolleys in separate directions, and by the time I get to the self-service checkout, tears are streaming down my face and splashing against my plant-based cream of tomato soup.
The sky has clouded over into an ominous blanket of charcoal grey when I pull up to Harry’s flat.
I love this place, by the way.
I love the sleek, black-painted door. I love the high ceilings, and the plasterwork, and the entrance tiles. I love the roll top bath and the view from the top of the hill out over the city. I love the proximity to the hustle and bustle, to the shops and restaurants and nightlife.
I love that it’s Harry’s place, and despite the fact that he needs nicer furniture, I feel so safe and welcomed here.
Even though I know his door code, I still buzz for him.
“Lando!” Harry’s stuffy voice crackles through the speaker. “Why are you here? I’m sick.”
“I brought you soup.” I hold up the Waitrose bags. “And biscuits.”
“You’ll get sick too.”
I’m about to tell him that I don’t care, but Daisy’s face floats through my head and my stomach churns.Stop leading him on, Lando.
“I’m already sick,” I say instead. “Thought we could sweat it out together—uh, beside each other on the sofa watching a movie or something.” Not like that. Jesus, fuck.
The door buzzes and the lock clicks open. I climb up to Harry’s flat, and he’s already waiting for me at the top of the stairs. He’s wearing a blue Cookie Monster hooded blanket, socks, and I suspect, nothing else.
