I take a deep breath, uncertain why he’s offering this. Does he think I’m incapable of getting back, or is he worried about me? “Don’t pretend you care now, Gloatman,” I say, remembering the words he said to me as he faded in between the ruined castle walls.
He frowns. “You haven’t got a phone. I don’t… I just… When you get in will you let me know?”
“How?” I laugh. “I don’t have a phone.” James sighs, pulling something from his pocket. He passes a business card across to me. I blink. “Seriously? You’re giving me yourbusinesscard?”
“Use a flatmate’s phone. Just to let me know you get home safe.” Then after a moment, he adds, “As a friend.”
“As a colleague.”
He laughs, blinking away from me. He’s doing that Austen stance again, his jaw flexing. “Can you not be a dick about this? Did I… Have I done something wrong?”
“No.” I bite on my bottom lip for a moment wondering what to say. “We agreed, didn’t we? That being colleagues is better?”
“We can’t be friends?”
“Is that what you want?”
“No,” he says, sharp and blunt. “I don’t think so, no.”
I can’t ignore the way that hurts. It’s not a surprise really. He never did like me before. Didn’t he admit he considered abandoning me by the roadside only two days ago? “Right then. Colleagues.”
James makes a frustrated sound. “Yeah, Fliss. Colleagues.” He shakes his head. “As mycolleague, please can you text me whichever way possible when you get home? Please.”
“Fine. Yes. Goodbye, James.”
“Bye, Felicity,” he says, turning and striding in the direction of his platform. I’m sure I see him shrug as if I’ve personally offended him.
*
The flat is quiet when I arrive, I imagine my flatmates are all out working, or home with their families. They all tend to get away from the flat more than I do. It’s annoying because I was hoping at least one of them might have a phone I could borrow. Instead, I drop my bag in my room then nip out to the nearest store.
I return an hour later with a new phone and groceries to get me through to Monday. Thankfully the technician was able to get all my data across, including contacts, photos and apps. I make myself a blessed cup of tea with three sugars, sighing as the caffeine soaks into my arteries, and cross my legs. I finally text James.
Home, I write. No kisses, no emotion.
Thank you, he replies.
I frown at the screen. I don’t know where I stand with him. How would colleagues text? I write a few things then delete them, finally giving up and closing the app. Instead, I call the one person I’m eager to speak to.
It only rings twice.
“Flissity!?”
“Mum,” I say, but it comes out weepy.
“What’s wrong, darling? How was your work trip?”
“It was good.” I always say this, don’t I? Isn’t that the problem? I never want to offload my problems to Mum. “Well, actually, it was strange. And, well honestly, I’m really confused,” I say with a gasp as my eyes start to blur. “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. I lost my phone.”
“Oh, it’s ok. I’ve been busy sorting the garden out. Such lovely weather this week. What’s your plan tonight then? Resting up?”
I sniff, wipe a tear from my cheek. I don’t know why hearing her voice has made me emotional. All I can think about is how much I’ve missed her. How much I want to tell her everything that happened, and yet I don’t. Because I carry her emotional baggage, not the other way around. She rarely wants to hear my difficult things. I think she likes to believe I’m living this huge exciting, happy life that I’m totally in control of.
“Mum I…” A sob racks my chest.
“Flissity? What is it?”
“I’ve just had such aweirdweek.”
