He'd probably hit me if I did. I’d most definitely hit me.
Or perhaps he’d set the dog on me. She doesn’t look particularly vicious, but then nor do I until I’m defending my own.
As I steal away, like the underhand false friend I am, it occurs to me Gerald would do neither. He’d be disappointed, that’s all. Those brown eyes would shift slightly, like a light dimming. He’d frown at me, then make an excuse to be wherever in the flat I wasn’t. After that, until I move out, we’ll go back to how we were before his attack of appendicitis. Two cool, indifferent strangers, strenuously avoiding each other like a pair of magnets flipped the wrong way. Which is a bummer, as I’m not yet ready for this new friendship with my fascinating landlord to end. Gerald’s cool in a way that doesn’t even know it’s cool; he’s not trying to be, he just is. I fucking one hundred percent dig it.
And I’ve behaved like a little shit. I stride swiftly across the park towards home, knowing there’s only one unpalatable course of action open to me.
CHAPTER 16
GERALD
I get home later than usual. Elsa, overjoyed to be doing what she does best, wanted to play. Alaric’s still up, which used to set my teeth on edge, but now doesn’t bother me one bit. The reverse, in fact; his incessant chatter has mutated into soothing background noise, like having talk radio on, but not really listening or being expected to engage. He doesn’t bear a grudge if I disappear into my room mid-soliloquy, or sulk when I re-emerge and don’t pick up where we left off. I think he understands my need to dip out every now and again.
He's FaceTiming his parents on speakerphone—both of them. I’ve already worked out from which parent he’s inherited his loquaciousness: his mother. She’s rabbiting on about the two sets of neighbours with whom they share a pool in Alicante. They’re not rich expats by any stretch, but their small apartment block near the beach sounds a hell of a lot better than a council estate in Dagenham. They’re always laughing and gossiping and teasing.
I can’t deny a pang of jealousy. We—my family—we used to be like that.
I throw Alaric a wave. Less enthusiastically than normal, he waves back. “Gotta go, mum, Big G’s home. See ya.”
Surprisingly, I don’t mind ‘Big G’ either.
Noisy kisses all round and they sign off until tomorrow. As soon as they do, Alaric’s bright smile fades. “Good walk?”
“Yeah.” I mean it. “Really good.”
My surgical scars feel fine. When Elsa wandered outside for a sniff and a widdle, I did some cautious planking exercises. I’ll probably ache a little tomorrow, but my fitness is bouncing back.
“Cool.” Alaric pats the sofa next to him. “Have you got a minute?”
“Sure.”
He’s going to tell me he’s found somewhere else to live, sooner than expected. Like he said, a young surgeon is exactly the type of solid, professional housemate other professionals seek out. He only ended up here with me because he’s trying to reduce his student loans and I was a cheap option. As he shuffles his belongings onto the floor to make room, I take the seat next to him. It feels terribly close. A fortnight ago, I’d have been more comfortable in the chair, but I’m starting to get used to sharing the sofa with him.
Ah well, it’s going to happen anyway. Telling me now is a kindness of sorts. I might find myself becoming attached to him if he stays any longer.
“Something wrong?” I ask, bracing for the words.
“Kind of.”
His gaze darts away. He fidgets with the baggy sleeve of his oversized hoodie, worrying at a loose thread. “I… um…I followed you tonight. After you picked up Elsa and went to the park and then the church hall. And then I…”
As time stutters, I experience a flicker of disbelief. Did I hear correctly? Why on earth would anyone bother following me?
He pulls his sleeves over his hands and takes a precise breath in. “I went around the back of the hall where the curtains weren’t closed properly and spied on you. You and Elsa. But mostly you.
“And I’m so sorry,” he continues. “I had no right to do that. To invade your privacy. I don’t know why I did, except that I was bored and restless and you always seem to have stuff going on, and you also seem to have all the answers. You’re so solidlycontent, Gerald, when I’m so solidlyuncontent,except with no good reason. Whilst you’re running a book club and cooking healthy dinners and looking after your elderly neighbour’s dog, I…I…I’m sitting here figuring out what I’m supposed to do with the next decade and whether I could squeeze a nervous breakdown into my unpredictable work schedule.
“Anyhow, I followed you because I’m a dick, the biggest dick that ever lived, which is ironic given that my actual dick is on the smaller side of average. And now I’m apologising. Massively. Unreservedly and wholeheartedly. To you. Sorry, sorry, sorry, Gerald. Stalking someone else is no solution to my own issues, nor is it a benign way of passing the time. In retrospect, I don’t know why I thought it was an okay thing to do. It’s an abuse of your trust in me, someone you have to live with. And so, from tomorrow, I’ll double my efforts to find somewhere else to live and keep out of your way until I have.”
When he runs out of steam, Alaric stares down at his feet, and I stare at mine. It's a good apology. The kind of apology that takes courage. The kind that’s about repairing what he’s done wrong at the expense of his own pride. Why am I’m not surprised? Alaric’s a good guy. Jittery, chaotic, and currently unsure of his place alongside everyone else, but, fundamentally, a good guy.
He unwinds from the sofa, running his hand through his short hair. “I’ll…um…it’s probably best if I go to bed.”
He gets as far as the door.
“What did you think?” I’m not sure I want to know, but certain I’m not ready for our tentative friendship to end this way. If he takes the piss, then I’ll probably knock the whole routine on the head.
“What?”
