I don’t tell her that Kitty isn’t alone. Marilyn doesn’t need any more ammunition for her teasing. Besides, I’m busy watching that bus disappear into the far distance, and I don’t do that watching alone. An almost feral cat jumps onto the windowsill to join my vigil.
Marilyn leaves us to it with a final comment. “Think she wanted him to stay for longer.”
Me too, Kitty.
Me fucking too.
10
Dairand I don’t reconnect until the end of the week. Isn’t that a fucker?
We’re ships that don’t even pass in the night. By the time I’m done with work for the day, he’s already at a care home, chipping away at what I’ve guessed must be one hell of a legal bill still hanging over his head, given how many extra shifts he takes on.
At least it means he gets to do what gives him comfort, like the very first time I paid him a visit and got a great big dose of caring. I hear the same care in messages that arrive each night while I sleep. They become my favourite way to start each morning, even better than Harry’s frequent check-ins, because Dair doesn’t text me. He sends rambling voice notes, and if I close my eyes and hold my phone close, it’s almost like we’re in bed together.
This extended version of verbal snuggling is so much better than any hookup. I don’t mean because we sext each other and swap dick pics. Dair uses his work breaks to share good news from one of those businesses I found online with some help from Siri. They’ll take his furniture as long as he can deliver.
I’ll transport those chairs and tables for him, and I don’t care what Kev thinks about me working for nothing. I’ll pay for the fuel myself to carry that load for free.
Dair also uses his work breaks to tell me about his slow progress with the rest of his sorting. And about the residents he takes care of while the city is sleeping. They remind him so much of Alice. Sometimes those reminders roughen his soft whispers.
My voice does the same. I hear it each time I fill silences in his voice notes.
“Get it all off your chest, mate. You go ahead and feel all your fucking feelings.”
That’s an echo of Harry.
The last time I saw him, I couldn’t make myself do any of the opening up he said would make me feel so much better. Me wanting the same relief for Dair means the very first thing I do on my next day off is dial Harry’s number, even though he’s in a whole other country, selling speedboats to high-powered people.
Harry picks up so quickly he might as well turn to face me from the next pillow.
“Darling. Is everything okay?”
Like Dair does in his nightly voice notes, Harry sounds so close and familiar, if a touch worried about me taking the initiative and calling him for a first time. My phone is full of regular contact from him, chock-a-block with photos of boats, crab-related memes, and reminders that I can talk to him anytime, all because he’s…
A good friend.
Maybe a better one than I deserve, considering the very next thing Harry asks is, “You heard from Flynn?” as if I need defending.
“Nope.” Blocking that dickhead was my best decision. He knows where he can leave a message. “I just...” I stare up at the ceiling, feeling about as naked as the bulb hanging above me allover again, but this needs saying. “I just wanted to say thanks, mate.”
I can’t see Harry’s smile. I definitely hear it. “Thanks for what?”
“For checking in. You don’t have to keep messaging me.”
“Of course I don’t have to.” He must be at work already. Gulls cry in the background, and yeah, emotions have to be contagious—I could join in with those gulls when Harry adds, “Iwantto.”
I should be used to getting slammed in the chest. It’s happened so often lately, no wonder I sound fractured. “I’m just saying, I’ve figured out why I got all weird about Flynn taking everything with no warning. It was?—”
“So he has been in touch?” Right away, Harry apologises for interrupting. “Sorry, sorry. I mean, if you’re finally ready to talk about what happened with him, let me switch to video.” Someone shouts his name in the background. “Dammit.”
“Nothing happened between us. And you’re busy. This can wait.”
“No, no. Give me a minute. I’ll video-call you straight back. Let’s have this convo face-to-face. I’ve been wanting to.”
I don’t need to see Harry’s face on my phone screen. I can already guess I’ll only see more of what he left London wearing. I’m done with being a reason for him to worry. “No need, honest. Plus, I haven’t got time. I’m meeting?—”
The wordclientnever fit Dair. Nor doesfriend. The realist in me knows thatboyfriendcan’t be an option, and not because I’m strictly a fan of no-strings nookie. That old train has left the station. What I can’t deny is that the end of the month will rush up and where Dair will head then isn’t exactly on any Tube line.
