“So, do you think you’ll be fit enough to help with the RSPB project?”
“Huh?”
Bernard’s eyebrows dance on his lined face. “The RSPB project. They’re setting up the heron station by the quarry, remember? But there’s a lot to do before that can happen, and we’ll only get it done with all hands on deck.”
“All legs, you mean,” I retort. “There’s nothing wrong with my hands.”
“Very funny. How did you get on with your practice climb the other day?”
I search for the words to explain that it was a shit show I had no business attempting just yet, but my brain is so consumed by Ludo that I can only shrug.He loves me.
Bernard rolls his eyes. “I liked it better when you had too much to say.”
“That’s never happened.”
“If you say so.”
Bernard insists on another pint, even though my glass is still full of the Coke he bought me the first time. He ambles to the bar and I take my chance to fish my phone from my pocket. I open WhatsApp and Ludo’s magic message. I haven’t replied. I want to, but I can’t bring myself to tell him I love him too via a stupid fucking message. I want him to see me when I say it, so he believes me. Because somehow I know it might take more than one attempt to convince him.
I click out of WhatsApp and put my phone back in my pocket. Leaving him with silence seems cruel, but I’m hoping he’ll forgive me.
Two pints of Coke later, I leave the pub and let the sugar rush carry me across town to Ludo’s house. His house is usually the quiet, messy serenity I need after a day with other people, but as I raise my hand to knock on his front door, I notice two things. One: the door is on the latch. Two: there’s music coming from somewhere inside the house.
I push the door open and immediately the scent of disinfectant hits me. It’s not quite the harsh, bleach-laced poison they use in the hospital, but there’s no mistaking what it is.
Curious, I step over the sofa cushions that are, for some reason, piled on the floor, and poke my head into the kitchen. Ludo is perched on the kitchen counter, surrounded by every pot and pan he owns, bent over his phone.
I knock on the doorframe. “Um, hello?”
His head jerks up and a smile splits his face in half. “Hey. You’re late. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, sorry. Bernard dragged me out for a drink.”
“A drink?”
“Uh-huh, but I had a Coke. Two Cokes, actually. I think my face is melting.”
Ludo laughs. He slides off the counter and throws his arms around me. His embrace is fleeting but fierce, and it’s all it takes for me to feel brand new.
I cast another glance around the kitchen. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning,” he says, picking up his phone again. “I couldn’t remember how many pots I had, so I got them all out, then I realised the cupboard needed scrubbing, and I couldn’t find my Zoflora stash, so I bought some more, and then I found it, so now I have too much.”
He stops for breath while I unpick the flood of information he’s chucked my way. “The fuck is Zoflora?”
Ludo jerks his head to the left. “Cleaning stuff that kills all the germs and smells nice. It comes in pretty boxes too.”
I follow his gaze to a plastic box hiding among his saucepan collection. It’s stuffed to the brim with decorated cardboard boxes, all holding small bottles of disinfectant.Damn.There must be more than a dozen in there, andwhy?I mean, Ludo’s place is clean enough, but he never struck me as particularly diligent when it comes to housekeeping. “What do you want for dinner? I was gonna offer you my terrible cooking, but I don’t want to make a mess if you’re trying to sort shit out.”
“I ordered pizza.” Ludo is staring at his phone again. “You can take a shower if you want.”
“Um, okay.” I back up and retreat to the hallway. “I won’t be long.”
He doesn’t answer, and I troop upstairs, chewing on my lip like he does when he’s nervous, still chasing the scent of disinfectant. In the bathroom I find the bath and shower spotlessly clean and the sink still smeared with Cif. I rinse it off and consider the heap of toothbrushes smack bang in the middle of the floor. For the life of me, I can’t think of a rational reason for them to be there, but I don’t move them.He’s left them here for a reason, right?
I take the quickest shower known to man and dry off in front of the bathroom mirror before wiping that down too and redressing in my tired jeans. Over the past few weeks, I’ve amassed a collection of clothes at Ludo’s place, but I have no clean T-shirts, so I don’t bother. It’s too hot anyway.
Eager to get back to Ludo, I hurry to the stairs, but a glance into his bedroom stops me short. When I left this morning, the room was a haven of quiet breathing and sex. Now it seems as though a whirlwind has passed through. The duvet is on the floor and the pillows scattered. Curtains half-open, clothes spilling out of drawers. The bed sheets are in a crumpled heap at my feet. I pick them up, slowly, deliberately, but I can’t seem to pull together whatever my brain is trying to tell me.
