A very definite sense of sadness settles in the pit of my stomach. I know I’ve said it before, but I feel the need to say it again. “How is that possible?”
Giles offers up a slow shrug and an even slower smile. “Like I said, you can’t always believe what you see.”
I lean forward. “Are you telling me you have some dirty secret nobody knows about?”
His face blanches, like I’ve said something a little too close to the truth and I wonder what on earth that secret could possibly be. Feeling like Ihave two very clear options, I choose the one that’s most likely to have his moustache bouncing in a smile.
“You’re a secret hoarder, aren’t you? You have to climb over a mountain of accumulated unsolicited ads to get into your flat?”
“No judgement of hoarders, but no, my flat is quite minimal and leaflet free.”
“I don’t find that hard to believe at all. I bet you have a lovely home.”
“I do, actually,” he says and he looks almost proud. “You should come see it one day.”
I freeze but as soon as I realise I have, I loosen my shoulders. “I’d like that. One day.”
“Are you going to keep guessing?”
Encouraged by the possibility this is working, I make another what I hope is a ridiculous guess. “You are a secret D&D-er and have a whole set up that takes up your bedroom so sexy time always takes place under the watchful eyes of one hundred warlocks.”
Giles frowns, deeply. “I don’t even know what D&D is but no, I don’t have one hundred warlocks in my bedroom, although I agree that wouldn’t be conducive to a healthy monogamous relationship.”
“Monogamous, hey?” I cock an eyebrow and then drop it immediately. That probably should have been my inside voice.
“Keep guessing.” Giles nods at me.
“You’re an adult baby, aren’t you? Those suits come off and you put a nappy on and suck on a dummy before eating jarred puree and having a bottle of milk at bedtime. Am I right?”
The risk pays off when a quick side grin lifts his mouth and moustache. “While I don’t want to shame anybody who partakes in such a… hobby. No, that is not my dirty little secret.”
Again his face falls too quickly and I realise the best possible way to change this for good is to change the subject completely. I wipe my mouth again and throw my napkin down on my plate.
“I suppose I should actually take this bike for a spin,” I say. “Want to see if I can stay upright?”
“You want me to watch?”
“Sure. By which I mean, please stay because I will need you to take me to A&E. Especially now that delicious meal has bloated my man belly and will make me all unbalanced.” I pat my tummy and because it’s still a little tight on me, my vintage 1990 Italia football shirt rides up and flashes a bit of my hairy, podgy belly. I look up at Giles, ashamed, but Giles’ eyes aren’t on my face. They’re fixed on that strip of skin that was showing and his expression is confusingly empty again.
He’s probably horrified at how soft and plump and hairy I am there, I decide as I quickly tug the shirt down.
“Let me go pay,” I say, rushing to stand.
“No!” Giles holds a hand out in protest. “I suggested we came here, I should get it.”
“No way. You gave up your Sunday to be here, and I,” I blush in a way that is almost painful, “accosted you in the most tasteless way. It’s the least I can do to shout you lunch.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
And that seems to settle it so I turn and head to the counter. The whole time I’m standing there and paying, making polite small talk with the young man who served us, I can feel a heat on my back and the side of my face. I don’t look back to confirm it, but I start to wonder, and hope that it’s Giles’ gaze on me, even if that only makes me just as confused as when the day started.
Chapter Sixteen
Giles
Five days. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen Marcello. Five days, one hour and twenty-seven minutes. I just worked that out. What an almighty loser I am.
