Guy Frobisher was a very handsome man. He had a slightly lined face from too much sun and not enough interbreeding with other social classes, but if you were looking for good hair and symmetry in face shape, he was that.
He stood in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of light green chinos and brogues. Summer election wear for the modern hug-a-hoodie Tory.
“May I come in?”
“Of course.” I stood aside to let him pass.
“Hello, boy. Who’s this?” he asked as Kennedy jumped on him.
“My ferocious guard dog, Kenny.” Said dog licked Guy’s face and then tried to stick his nose in his crotch.
Guy made an inscrutable facial expression at my guard dog comment, but said nothing. “Coffee?” I asked.
“Please, God, no,” he said. “I’m having thirty cups a day at the moment. Campaigning is basically caffeine addiction writ large.”
I stood awkwardly then, unsure of what to do. Guy picked up on this, stopped stroking Kennedy to stand up fully again, and looked at me.
“I’m sure you’re aware that Tarquin is planning on pleading not guilty.”
“Yes,” I said, my voice doing an involuntary crack. “I was aware. God only knows how he thinks he can.”
“Because he’s a narcissistic sociopath who thinks he can bring others down with him if he has a trial. He’s hoping for some eleventh-hour reprieve.”
“You’ve spoken to him?” I asked.
“Lawyers,” he said, calmly. “Anyway, as family we get informed of all the developments, but I wanted to let you know what was going on. It looks like it’s all going ahead to trial. They are going to start calling witnesses, the whole shebang.”
“Shit,” I said.
“Yeah,” said Guy. “Yeah, it’s all a bit shit, isn’t it?”
I sighed. “I’m sorry he’s dragging this out for you and your family.”
Guy shrugged. Wary resignation washed over his face. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
“Is that the reason you’re running?” I asked.
He shrugged again. “Some of it.” He made to leave. “I wanted to let you know … Anyway, er, will I see you at the vigil tonight? For JedRev?”
“Yes, I’ll be there.”
He made his way to the door. “Oh, um, Arden.” He had gone bright red.
“Yes?”
“Everything that’s gone on the past few months …”
I stood very still, waiting for him to continue.
“My feelings haven’t changed,” he said.
“As in your feelings for …” I said, stumbling over the words, my brain not quite working.
“For you,” he said. “When I asked you out a few months ago, I said I liked you. I still do.”
“Guy, I’m not really sure this is the right time—”
“I know,” he said. “It’s shit timing. But you dated Tarquin and Tarquin murdered Arabella, and he was my best friend, and now I’m trying to be an MP. The timing is never going to get better. The timing is going to be as shit now as it is in a year or five years’ time. That’s why I have to tell you this. Because if I don’t, I’ll keep on finding excuses not to.”
