Well, fuck them. I let them know in no uncertain terms what I thought of that.
Harvey wasn’t to blame for any of it. His self-harm and internal homophobia didn’t mean he wasn’t right; it just meanthe didn’t know how to deal with things. Hopefully, he’d had the help he needed. He certainly looked better last night. But who was the guy on his arm?
I needed sleep. I had another show later, and my throat was scratchy. Not what I needed with so many gigs coming up.
I made another drink and took it back to bed. I’d have another half hour then get up, but instead of settling down to sleep, I opened my phone and gazed at the message I’d sent.
So far, there’d been no reply, but I could wait.
Fuck, I’d waited three years for this day. I’d mentally moved on from our relationship, if you could have called it that. It had been all or nothing with us. No in-between; a whirlwind of emotions.
Then there it was: the bouncing three dots. What would he say?
Harvey: I’m free at any time. Where and when?
Killian: I’m performing in Liverpool again tonight. Before the show? We could meet in the theatre bar.
Harvey: Sounds good. I’ll be there at five.
Killian: Four would be better.
I had sound checks, and I liked to sit in my dressing room for half an hour with no interruptions before curtain up.
Harvey: Four it is, and thanks for agreeing to this.
What did I say to that?
I chucked the phone onto the nightstand and took a sip of my drink. It burnt on the way down, but the relief was palpable.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was coming down with something. I took some paracetamol and gulped down the rest of the drink.
About that half an hour...
I woke at two-thirty in a panic.
I’d have just enough time to shower and get to the theatre in time for my meeting with Harvey. I’d always called him Harv, but it didn’t seem right now.
Our familiarity had fled the moment he refused to see me in the hospital.
Despite being early, Harvey was waiting outside. He fidgeted with his gloved hands, stamping his feet on the cold floor.
“Harvey.”
His face lit up the moment he saw me, a far cry from the smiles I used to get. He seemed happy, but there was always an air of sadness surrounding them.
“Hey, Killian. It’s so great to see you again.”
Whatever.
“Shall we?” I gestured to the door, which was swiftly opened by security. “He’s with me. We’ll be upstairs in the bar.”
“No problem, sir. I’ll let Duncan know you’re here.”
Duncan wouldn’t normally attend every show, but he was local, like me. I doubted he’d come up to Scotland with me, although right then, I wasn’t sure I’d be going myself.
My throat had only got worse.
We climbed the red-carpeted stairs to the bar. The wooden doors were open, but the bar wouldn’t open for a while yet. Not until the doors opened downstairs.
