Commitment Issues by Ali Ryecart
Chapter Ten
Freddie
“So, how do you know the grooms?” I ask as Elliot hands me a mug of tea. I need to get some solid gen on who and what I’m letting myself in for.
“I met Andrew at boarding school.” He sees my surprise and smiles. “It was very crusty and traditional, and its main aim was to prepare the offspring of the wealthy and privileged to be equally wealthy and privileged in turn, but in fairness it was fiercely academic. I stuck out like a sore thumb because I earned my place there. I won a scholarship,” he explains. “I don’t come from a background where private education’s the norm.”
He snorts a laugh, his eyes narrowing as though he’s thinking.
“In fact, my dad was dead against me going. He was a rough and ready working-class Irishman, a socialist through and through, and I think he saw my going as some kind of class betrayal. Mum had different ideas. She was all about what she called ‘bettering ourselves’, and she made sure I was packed off as soon as possible.”
“Did you mind that? Not sure I’d have liked leaving my family behind.”
He tilts his head, his brow crinkling as he considers my question.
“No, I didn’t. That’s not to say I wasn’t apprehensive, but I knew it was a massive opportunity. Even as a child, I was old in my outlook. So, I went from a council house and a rough around the edges concrete block of a school, to something that looked like Hogwarts. I’ve never forgotten my roots though. Or I hope I haven’t.”
“So, you’re not really posh, then?”
Elliot throws back his head and laughs, the creases at the edges of his eyes deepening.
“Not in the least. Andrew and I then went onto Cambridge, along with James who was also at school with us. Marcus, I met later, when he and Andrew got together, and it was through him I met Gavin.”
I sip my tea, and stay silent. A frown settles between his brows at the mention of his ex’s name. But Gavin’s the reason for this charade, and if I’m to play my part I need to know more about him than either James’ or Cosmo’s view that he’s a turd. I lick my lips, preparing to broach the tricky subject.
“What do I need to know about Gavin? Just so I don’t fall into any avoidable traps, or make some almighty gaffe.”
Elliot doesn’t say anything. It’s no more than seconds, but it stretches out like a wet bank holiday weekend. He shrugs, and exhales a long breath.
“We were together for ten years, pretty much, but you’d already know that. Gavin’s sharp. He can be very funny when he wants, and he could make me believe I was the only man in the world, but there was, and is, a flip side. He can use his intelligence to hurt, his humour to be cruel.”
He looks away, and thrusts his fingers through his hair, and tries to smile when he turns back to me.
“It wasn’t always like that. There were plenty of good times, over the years. But, somewhere along the line, I’d stopped giving him what he wanted or needed. It just took me longer to realise that he’d also stopped doing that for me. The last couple of years were — well, let’s just say they were difficult. But we tried to patch things up, because ten years was worth trying to save, but in the end we couldn’t, because there was nothing to save. When the split came, it was the best thing for us both.”
Elliot looks at me, his eyes narrowed. I know he wants to say more, and I wait.
“If he can trip you up, he will, so you need to be aware.” He offers up a small, dull smile. “But perhaps he won’t even bother trying. He’ll be there with somebody, so hopefully he’ll be too caught up. Who knows?”
Or maybe he won’t. The more I’m hearing about Gavin, the more turd is sounding like too good a term for him.
“But he’ll be curious about me. I mean, because you were a couple for so long, he’s bound to want to know.”
Elliot’s light blue eyes are as clear and sharp as diamonds. I shift under his scrutiny, and bury my face in my mug.
“Yes, he will. I think we can tell him you turned up here as a Viking strip-o-gram, flinging everything off before realising you’d got the wrong address but I, being the gentleman I am, took you in for a nice hot cuppa, and you never left.”
I spit out my tea, coughing hard as my eyes water. Elliot laughs and gets me some kitchen roll.
“Sorry,” I splutter, cleaning up the mess. “That wasn’t what I—”
He doesn’t mean that — does he?
Elliot’s grinning, and I can’t help but grin back. Oh, God, I wish he’d smile and laugh more. He’s got a smile that could light up the night sky.
“You had me there.”
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t resist. Forgive me?” His eyes lock onto mine, and my pulse throbs in my neck, but it’s not the only thing that’s throbbing. Yes, I think I could forgive him anything. “We should keep it simple,” he says, bringing me out of my haze. “We met through James, so that’s what we’ll say. If pressed, it was at one of his parties. Gavin isn’t the only one we’ll say that to. I don’t want to say anything to Andrew or Marcus, either.”
“What? I don’t understand. I mean, they’re the grooms, so shouldn’t you say something beforehand? It doesn’t seem right.”
“In other words, it’s deceptive. I can completely understand why you think that and, yes, it is. But they’ll have enough to think about with the wedding, without landing them with our secret. If they don’t know, they can’t slip up.” He shrugs. “It’s not ideal, but if I say anything beforehand, it’ll find its way to Gavin, not through Andrew but Marcus. If that happens, it takes away the whole reason for doing what we’re doing.”
“I suppose, if you put it like that…” It makes sense, it’s pragmatic. He’s right, if anybody found out, it’d take away the reason for me going with him. And I want to go, I want to go for Elliot and for myself. “Okay, then. And yes, keeping it simple is best. I’d, erm, prefer to say I’m a student if I have to say anything, otherwise I’m likely to forget my lines.”
“If that’s what makes you feel better, then I’m more than happy with that. The main thing is that you look good hanging off my arm, and what we’ve bought today will ensure that. Not that you don’t already, look good, I mean,” he adds, the words rushing from him. A light flush flares beneath the olive of his skin, and his gaze darts away, almost as though he’s shy.
Neither of us says anything for a moment, and relief blooms in me when Jasper totters over and throws himself at my feet and offers himself up for a rub.
“I’ll make some more tea,” Elliot says, clearing his throat, and I nod so hard it must look like I’m having a seizure.
“Who and what were you before you became a Viking expert?” he asks when he hands me a fresh mug a couple or so minutes later, the skin around his eyes crinkling in good humour.
“There’s more to Norse Studies than hairy, marauding Vikings, you know.”
“Really?” His brows arch. He’s having fun, but I know it’s not at my expense.
“Hmm, no, not really, if I’m honest.”
“You don’t believe that, and nor do I. I saw that documentary, remember?”
And it’s back, that bright carefree smile that seems to light him up from the inside out, a smile I want to see more of. We’re staring at each other, neither of us speaking, everything around us quiet, expectant, yet tingling with a low buzz of electricity. I jump at Jasper’s sudden, strangled bark as he scrambles up and weaves his way to his basket.
“Oh, erm, me,” I say, trying to untie my jumbled thoughts. “Parents, one brother, two sisters. Back in Suffolk, where I grew up.”
“A country boy, then?”
“Coastal. The family home’s on the edge of a tiny village, just across the road from the sea and a shingle beach that goes on for miles.”
“It sounds like you miss it.” Again that tilt of his head, that assessing gaze.
“I do. We’re a close family and I don’t ever seem to get home often enough, or for as long as I’d like. I love living in London, and I suspect if I had to spend more than a week or two back in the village I’d be pulling my hair out, but sometimes I miss the big sky and the flat, wide open expanse where I can really and truly breathe.”
I look down, feeling almost exposed and I don’t know why. It’s his soft, quiet voice that brings me back.
“I know exactly what you mean. In the school holidays, we’d go and stay with my great aunt in Devon, and the sense of freedom… It was something that never left me.” His smile’s as soft as his voice, and whatever he’s remembering, it’s happy. “Anyway,” he says, coming back to the present. “What are you going to do after you finish your PhD?”
“A career in academia, or that’s the plan. It’s the main reason I do some work for my department, at university. But I’ve also got an application in for a placement at a specialist institute. There’s only a couple given out each year, and there’s a lot of competition. I’m really lucky they’re even considering my application, because normally you have to have completed, or be close to completing, your PhD, yet I’ve still got a good way to go with mine.”
Elliot’s looking hard at me, his gaze focused and intense, concentrating on every single word. He’s truly interested, I know he is, he’s not just asking out of polite interest. He makes me want to talk about my studies, plans, and ambitions when before I’d tucked it all out of sight so as not to endure Paul’s glazed eyes, stifled yawns, and bored shrug of the shoulders. But Elliot, little more than a stranger, a man I’ve known for barely more than a day, is showing more interest in me than Paul did in almost a year.
“Where—?”
“Oslo, at the Institute for Norse Studies. For some reason, they were late starting off the application process for this year’s intake. Ordinarily, I’d already know if I have a place, but I won’t find out until later in the summer, to start in mid-October. It’ll be a rush to get sorted out — if all goes well, that is.”
“Oslo?” he says, his brows arching. “I do a lot of business there. Too much, it feels like at the moment. I’m attempting to acquire a company there.” He doesn’t offer any more information so I don’t ask. “Do you speak Norwegian? Languages aren’t my forte, so it’s just as well the language of business is English, which I know sounds insular, but it’s the reality.”
“I’ve got a good working knowledge, because I had to take it as part of my first degree. It was tough, because I was learning from scratch, but English is the Institute’s joint official language. I’ll need to improve my Norwegian, though. So, you know the city, then?”
“Yes. It’s great, you’ll like it.”
“If I get a placement,” I remind him.
“Oh, I think you will.”
I go to say something, maybe to ask him about Oslo, I don’t really know, when his phone bleeps and he pulls it from his pocket.
“Damn, I’d forgotten about this. There’s a call I have to make, in about fifteen minutes. This is my reminder.” His lips curve downwards. He looks genuinely sorry, but he’s probably just being polite. After all, he’s spent all day with me.
“Sure, I’d better go.” I push myself up from the table. “Thanks for today, and everything.” For spending a fortune on me, on clothes I’d never be able to afford in a month of Sundays.
“It’s been a pleasure. I’ve enjoyed it, all of it. I really have.”
“Me too,” I mumble, as I shuffle from foot to foot.
“I’ll text you the details — I’ll book a cab to take us to the airport, and I’ll let you know times and so on.”
“Sure. EasyJet, I guess, from Luton?” Luton to Marseilles, I’ve done that route two or three times.
He looks at me, at a loss for a second, as though he’s not sure what I’ve said to him.
“No, not Luton. We’re going from Heathrow. BA, Business Class.”
Oh fuck. Business Class… not a budget airline that specialises in a particularly nasty shade of orange. Why would I even consider that a man like Elliot Hendricks would fly…?
“Erm…”
Elliot’s phone bleeps a second time. Reminder number two for him, and the signal for me to get the hell out before I make an even bigger fool of myself.
“Sorry, I really have to…” he holds his mobile up, his smile apologetic.
Seconds later, I’m gone, face throbbing with heat, leaving Elliot to take his call and to no doubt wonder what he’s got himself in to.
