“This day has been stressful, and I didn’t react well to this. I behaved really… I would say…out of character. I’m sorry. Honestly.”
I said nothing. What could I say? My chest was screaming with the pain of every breath I was trying to take. That’s all I could concentrate on. One breath in. Let the pain overwhelm me. Then let it out.
“We have all the time in the world,” he continued quietly. “And…” He let out a weird attempt at a laugh. “Meet-cute. What the… You know, I don’t give a flying monkey about the clowns running this circus, and at this point, I have given up on both myself and everything this is.”
He was well spoken, despite his earlier outburst. “And on top of my frankly inexcusable behaviour, I believe I may owe you a massive apology. I believe the expectations were for me to greet you with open arms.”
No shit, Sherlock. I did somefrmghpfsounding movement with my mouth again.Breathe, dammit!
I wasn’t sure how many minutes were passing. If time was actually standing still or if the cars moving outside were real or just a figment of my imagination. If this was a studio, shouldn’t it be insulated? But I could hear voices outside that door. Irritated shrieks. Another door slamming.
At least this room was still, and he’d stopped talking. Good.
Breathe. In. Out.
“I’m Peter,” he said softly. “You’re Oliver.”
Was this some kind of mind game? He could fuck right off for all I cared.
“Mmmh,” I tried. I couldn’t look at him. A new feeling was swallowing me up. Shame. All this behaviour, live on TV for the nation to see. Oh for fuck’s sake. What had I done?
“I’m not a terrible human being, not really. It was just a bit of a shock. I think someone’s made a big mistake here, and no doubt any minute people will burst through that door and tell us both to get up and they will rectify this.”
I snorted.
“I was expecting a woman. Someone my age. Instead I found you, and you look like you’re my sons’ age.”
“I’m…” I swallowed. My throat was far too dry. “Almost thirty.” I have no idea how I got the words out, still lying here on the floor, rocking against the dust that fluttered around in the light from the window. Dust. Building dust. Weird smells. Everything…wrong.
“And I’m assuming you were expecting a nice young…lady to walk through the door?”
“I’m gay.” My voice was croaky, but at least stern.
“A nice young man then. Instead you got me. An old geezer in this horrible jumper. Not my choice of clothes, I have to admit.”
He ripped the jumper off.
Good. The colour was giving me a headache. Or maybe the headache was just there.
Instead he was now sitting there, next to me, in a plain white T-shirt, his bare arms curling round his knees. Hairy arms. Strong arms. Granddad was fit. I almost snorted out loud but managed to swallow that down.
And he was just calm. Quiet.
“Shouting,” came out of my mouth, my voice strained. “I don’t like it.”
Oh God. I was still on camera, sat here spilling my truths out like a toddler. Next I’d be asking for a dummy and a blanket.
“Neither do I. I’m not that kind of person, not really. Today just got to me. This whole thing…”
“They wind you up until you don’t even know your own name,” I admitted, slightly surprised I could get the words out.
“Exactly. I didn’t even want to do this. My boys made me. My sons. They’re twenty and thought their dad needed a new lease of life. If they could only see me now. Less than an hour in and I’ve already made a complete tit out of myself. I really need to apologise. I didn’t mean to do all that…shouting. I was just…overwhelmed.”
“And a dick.”
“A hundred per cent a dick. Like I was somehow…repulsed by you. I can’t imagine how that made you feel.”
What did you say to that? Gee, thanks? I wasn’t used to…people not being dicks.
