It’s just that stupid dream,I tell myself.Pay no attention to your poor scrambled brain.I’m superimposing dream Gil on real Gil. I have to separate the two. But it’s hard when he’s determined to act more like the fantasy than the reality I thought I knew.
‘Erin …’
I lift my head and look at him. Time seems to slow, suspend … I feel a familiar prickle of electricity in the air around us. Gil swallows.
Stop it. Stop feeling like this. Stop thinking like this. It’s Simon you want to hold you and tell you that you’re okay. Not this man.
I’m about to take a step backwards when Gil’s hands drop away from my arms and he moves first. ‘It’s late …’
I nod and swallow. Oh, God. He sensed it too … He could tell that I was having weird mixed-up feelings for him. How absolutely mortifying. I look down at my feet. ‘Yes. I’d better go.’
I hurry down the stairs, only realizing when I get to the bottom that I’ve left my glass of water up there. I’ll have to get myself another.
I do it as fast as I can before Gil follows me down from the roof, and then scurry away to the safety of my bedroom, where I bake and sweat for the rest of the night with not much more success of sleep.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Five years ago
He stayed at the pub until closing time, choosing to give Erin and Simon plenty of space, but it’s killing him not knowing what they’re talking about, or how she is. She’s probably upset. And why wouldn’t she be, after flying thousands of miles to get dumped a few hours before Valentine’s Day? He’d want to punch his best friend if he wasn’t so relieved the deception is finally over. How he digs himself out of the hole he made for himself is another matter. But even if there is no hope for him and Erin, she deserves better than what Simon has been dishing up. She deserves to know the truth and be free.
He finally returns to the house he shares with Simon and another guy just after midnight. He walked the long way home, almost enjoying the way the chilly night air pinched at his face and hands.
There are no lights on when he opens the front door. He walks through the ground floor in darkness. They share a tiny Victorian two-up, two-down in Telegraph Hill. Simon and Mizhir have the upstairs rooms, one either side of the flight of stairs that goes up the middle of the house, and he can see no hint that anyone is awake or even that either of them is home.He could knock on their doors, but he’s guessing Simon’s best tactic for dealing with the uncomfortable emotions produced by dumping Erin is to wipe his short-term memory of the evening with a shedload of alcohol, and he probably won’t be home for another couple of hours.
He checks out the kitchen-diner at the back of the house – also empty – and then heads to his bedroom.
Once in bed, he pulls out his phone. He wants to message her so badly, to find out how she is, but there’s no point. He’s still got Simon’s old number. It makes him feel sick when he realizes he’s already had his last message from her. That she might never contact him again.
Is she awake too? Is she crying? He hopes not. He’d go and find her if it wasn’t so late and, of course, if he knew where she was staying.
Patience, Gil. You can’t rush in. You’ve got to give her time.
And so he puts his phone away and sleeps in fits and starts, but at 4 a.m., when he’s been awake for more than an hour, he gives up. He pulls on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and shoves a hoodie on his top half, leaving the zip undone, then heads into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He’d have something stronger, but someone nicked the bottle of bourbon he had stashed in his allotted kitchen cupboard.
Perhaps after he’s had his tea he’ll go for a run. That ought to eat up an hour or so. Knowing Simon, it’ll be past noon before he’s a) conscious and b) hungry enough to force him to leave his bedroom. Gil knows he probably won’t get a sensible conversation out of his best friend until mid-afternoon. It’s going to be the longest day of his life.
Not wanting to wake himself up any further, he leaves the lights off. The glow from next door’s security light through the kitchen window is enough to pick out the table and chairs, the layout of the units.
He’s just rinsing his mug out when he hears a creak on the stairs. Quickly, he places it on the drainer and turns around. Someone’s coming this way. It has to be Simon, because he’s suddenly remembered Mizhir is back at home for his sister’s engagement party.
A dark figure draws closer along the hallway and as it reaches the threshold, Gil opens his mouth and prepares to ask, in the most nonchalant way he can manage, how it all went. But then the figure steps further into the kitchen and the neighbours’ security light illuminates them more fully.
The first thing he sees is one of Simon’s T-shirts, but those aren’t Simon’s hairy legs underneath. They are smooth and nicely toned, ending with toes tipped with dark nail polish.
DefinitelynotSimon.
Definitely his worst nightmare.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Present Day
Simon arrives, as promised, for a visit the following weekend. By that time, the walls of the back bedroom are painted a lovely bluish-grey, and Gil has moved in there. I have been painting every afternoon instead of having a nap. I find the swish of the brush over the paper soothing, even though my passion far outstrips my talent. If it’s fine, I paint on the roof, and if it’s cold or rainy, I set up the easel Gil found me in the corner of the living room, where I get light from both of the long, horizontal windows.
Simon arrives as he usually does, with a fanfare of movement and noise. Ever since I’ve known him, he’s always seemed to bring more light, more colour, into any room he enters. He presents me with a huge bunch of flowers, and hauls me into his arms and spins me round.
Simon is keen on going out to the Ferryboat Inn, where he might bump into old friends, but I can’t face it on a Saturday evening, so Gil cooks and we choose a film to watch. I fall asleep before the end and crawl off to bed while the guys pick anotherone full of car chases and explosions. When Simon eventually comes to bed, I don’t even stir.
