“Yeah?”
“Nothing. Was checking you were there. You haven’t said anything for, like, an hour.”
I laugh, slopping tea over my hand. “An hour? Okay. For your information, I was just coming upstairs to settle down so I can talk to you properly.”
“Properly, eh? Does that involve ignoring my messages for days at a time? Cos, mate, it’d be easier if you told me to fuck off.”
And there it is: the brutality of him that I find so refreshing. He didn’t press me in his messages because that’s not who he is. He does things right or he doesn’t do them at all, even if it means things go wrong. “I’d never tell you to fuck off.”
“Well, you can if you ever need to, so don’t be worrying about hurting my feelings or some shit if you need some space.”
I feel like we had this conversation before, but I can’t remember when or how. Déjà vu often haunts me. Keeps me awake at night. Taints my days with doubt. But I like it with Aidan. It’s as if there’s whole parts of our friendship that might come back to me later. Like shoring up my stash of him for a rainy day. “I don’t need space—” But that’s not true. A Valium and a top up dose of him hasn’t changed the fact that I’m frightened of how much I like him. “I’m sorry,” I say instead.
“It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t owe me your time. I was just worried in case you needed me and I didn’t know.”
I start to say that I don’t need him, that I can’t need anyoneever. But that’s a lie too. Because I do need him—I neededthis, a quiet conversation that doesn’t have to make sense. “Sometimes... sometimes I get a bit lost in my own head. I’m scared of the things I like in case I lose them.”
“Uh-huh. I get that, and I’m not going to promise the worst shit in the world won’t ever happen, but... fuck, I don’t know. I’m scared too, Ludo. I’m scared I’ll say the wrong thing and upset you more. I’m scared I’ll squeeze you so hard I’ll break you.”
“Do you mean literally?”
“I don’t think so. I think for the first time in my life I might’ve understood how a sentence doesn’t have to be, uh, literal to mean something.”
I curl up on my bed, clutching my phone to my ear hard enough to leave a dent in my face. Warmth spreads through me, and I wish he were here so I could smooth the frown lines from his face. “I’m sorry I ignored you. I didn’t want to, I just—I lost my head a bit.”
“Did you find it yet?”
“I think so. My CPN gave me a Valium.”
Aidan hums, deep and low like a gathering storm. “I could do with one of those after three days in Bernard’s office. Those women are bananas.”
I’ve forgotten that he’s started a new job he was sure he’d hate. More guilt bites me, but knowing he’s right there tempers it. I can say sorry for that when I see him. When I sit him down and feed him the biggest dinner ever and prod him into sharing everything I’ve missed.
We talk some more, but eventually Aidan calls time. “I get to leave the office tomorrow,” he says, and I can tell how much it excites him. “Bernard is letting me assess a tree and write up a plan for dealing with it.”
“Is that worse than not working outside at all?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Listen, I’m gonna go to the shop on my way home, then have a bash at making something that doesn’t look like road kill. If you’re hungry, come over. If you’re not, I’ll speak to you soon, okay?”
There are so many things I want to say, but I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Okay.”
And then he’s gone. A quiet click takes him away from me, but the lost sensation I’ve carried for days is no longer there. I can see Aidan tomorrow. For real.
I close my eyes. Excitement buzzes in my veins, eclipsing the disturbance of the last few days, and somehow, despite the fact that I’ve lost a whole day to a Valium coma, I fall asleep.
Eighteen
Aidan
I don’t know if Ludo will show up. And if he does, I have zero clue what we’re going to do. Common sense dictates that we’ll slide into the routine we’ve followed for weeks now, but a nagging in my heart tells me something between us has changed. And it has nothing to do with kissing.
Or not kissing.
Whatever.
