Commitment Issues by Ali Ryecart
Chapter Fourteen
Elliot
Freddie was brilliant, but inside I’m seething at Marcus’ little stunt.
I’d expected him to be cool towards Freddie, because after all Freddie’s the man who’s — supposedly — taken what he regards as Gavin’s place. He’d been coldly polite, but that was all. Yet, it hadn’t put Freddie off his stride, and he’d flicked Marcus away as if he’d been no more than an irritating fly, with a breezy sassiness I’ve not seen before.
I swallow a sigh. I liked it, and I want to see more of it but Marcus, for all his faults, is one of our hosts. And there’s Andrew to think about. It’s because of him that I’ve tried my best over the years to like Marcus, but try is as far as I’ve got. I just don’t like him, and the feeling’s mutual. Yet Andrew loves him, and he loves Andrew back, and if that makes my friend happy then it’s good enough for me.
Freddie and I stand in front of the bar Andrew and Marcus have had set up, complete with a white-jacketed barman, and stare at the array of multicoloured cocktails. I like a glass of good red wine with dinner, occasionally a G&T beforehand, but most of all I like a cold beer. James says it betrays my plebeian roots, and he’s probably right, but that still doesn’t stop me from telling him to piss off.
“Have you any beer? I’m not really a cocktail drinker,” Freddie says to the barman. I smile because he’s reading my mind.
He turns to me with a sheepish grin. “I hope I’m not spoiling the image, but I just can’t drink any of this stuff. I don’t know what that green thing was that Andrew gave us, but it had more than a passing resemblance to something I got incredibly drunk on at a two-for-one cocktails promotion in the students’ union bar in Freshers Week,” he says, grimacing.
I laugh. “Make it two beers,” I nod to the barman, before I turn back to Freddie. “When I—”
“Hello, Elliot.”
My back stiffens at the voice I know so well. I catch Freddie’s eye before I turn and face my former fiancé. This is the first proper, face-to-face meeting we’ve had in almost three months.
Gavin smiles, that apologetic half smile he’s always used, the one that had got me every time. His eyes meet mine, and I hold his gaze for longer than I intend.
“Gavin,” I say, as I give a curt nod.
“It’s good to see you again, Elliot, it truly is, and on such a happy occasion, too.”
He leans in and gives me a quick peck on each cheek, resting one hand briefly on my shoulder, and I breathe in his signature cologne. Spicy and heavy, it always made my nose twitch, and it does so now. Memories suddenly tumble down on me, the good, the bad, and the very, very ugly. He’s taken me by surprise and before I can ease him away, he’s already stepping back.
“Perhaps we should start again?” he says, turning to Freddie and holding out his hand. “I’m sure you can understand I was more than a little shocked at finding my former fiancé in the back of a taxi with a man between his legs.” He laughs, and it’s like finger nails on a blackboard.
The stiffness in my muscles ramps up.
“It wasn’t how it looked,” I say, keeping my voice calm, but the grip on my bottled beer grows tighter. Christ, first Marcus and now Gavin. For all the spirit Freddie’s shown, I’ve no right exposing him to this, and I seek out his eyes to try, somehow, to apologise.
But Freddie’s not looking at me. He takes a slow and leisurely draught from his bottle, before sweeping the tip of a pink tongue across his lower lip and leaving it wet and shiny. I follow the slow glide, completely transfixed. He looks down at Gavin’s hand as though deciding whether or not it’s worthy to be touched before he takes it in what looks like a strong, firm, and painful grip.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Ells has told me a lot about you.”
Freddie’s gaze sweeps across to me, his mouth working in what looks like a barely held back grin, as though we’ve shared secrets and confidences. And there it is again, that shortened version of my name, and the intimation of late night pillow talk.
“Ells?” In the blink of an eye, Gavin switches his attention to me. He’s smiling but I know him well enough to see the tension in his muscles, and the sheer effort it’s taking to hold that smile in place. He turns back to Freddie. “Well, I hope what you’ve heard hasn’t blackened my character too much.”
“No, not too much.” Freddie laughs as he tilts his head downwards and glances up at me through his lashes.
Gavin’s smile falls away as Freddie links his arm through mine and snuggles close.
“How did the two of you meet? Oh God, don’t tell me it was internet dating?”
“We met through James,” I say.
Gavin snorts. “Really? I don’t doubt it.”
The insult’s barely even concealed.
“Have you come with anybody? Ells said you would be,” Freddie chimes, bright and breezy as he squeezes hard on my arm, making an exaggerated show of looking around. “Perhaps we could go out one evening, when we’re back in London? We could make it a double date, couldn’t we, hon?” Freddie’s face breaks into the widest, sunniest smile I think I’ve ever seen. He looks open and honest, and it makes me smile back, holding his gaze as though it’s just the two of us.
He’s good. He’s very good. But… Gavin is supposed to be with somebody, somebody who’s clearly very absent.
“I decided, in the end, to come alone. After all, it’s a small wedding party. Good friends only.”
I watch Gavin, waiting for the telltale sign he’s lying. And there it is, the tiniest twitch of muscle in his clenched jaw. It gives him away, every single time. He can lie with his words, with his eyes, with his body, but he could never master that traitorous little twitch of muscle.
“Elliot, we should get together, to talk about the ceremony as we’re the best men.”
I take a sip from my bottled beer before answering.
“Why? I don’t think there’s anything we need go over. You’re Marcus’ man, and I’m Andrew’s.”
“It’s a wedding, and we’re playing key parts. I don’t want anything to go wrong, I only want to make sure we’re on the same page.”
He smiles, and places his hand on my bicep, massaging gently the way he always used to. It’s an electric shock. We’ve had no physical contact for months, but we were together for a decade, and in that touch that once had been a sign of intimacy, of the lovers we’d been, there are memories of the good times. But electric shocks can burn. I step away from him, moving closer to Freddie, our shoulders, hips, legs bumping together. His hand slips down into mine.
And all the time, Gavin’s jaw twitching.
“Will you be joining the party tomorrow?”
“What party?” The switch in subject’s sudden, I have no idea what Gavin’s talking about.
“Marcus and Andrew have chartered a yacht, to take us all along the coast. We’re going to St. Pierre. You remember St. Pierre, don’t you?” Gavin’s eyes narrow in a secretive smile.
My jaw tightens. Of course I remember St. Pierre. Beautiful, secluded St. Pierre, the prettiest cove along the coast.
“Do you sail?” Gavin says, turning his attention back to Freddie. “Elliot and I had the most wonderful holidays together, sailing around the Med, and the Caribbean.”
“Sail? Oh God, no. The nearest I’ve ever got to sailing was when I went on one of those pirate themed all day drinking parties, when I went to Ibiza one year. The closest I get to being on water now is when I’m bouncing around on a water bed. Isn’t it, honey?”
Gavin’s eyes widen. “A water bed? Really? How… Never mind.”
“They’re great,” Freddie gushes, getting into his stride. “They get you all relaxed, and… well, all relaxed. You should try one. Shouldn’t he, baby? I can give you the number of the place where we got ours.”
Gavin looks like he’s found something unspeakable in a canapé.
“No, thank you. I don’t think—”
A deep boom cuts across Gavin, and silence replaces the hubbub of chatter around the pool. Everybody turns their attention towards the patio where a dapper little man, and clearly one of the caterers, holds up a gong in one hand, and a partially padded stick in the other, declaring in heavily accented English that the buffet has opened.
“Buffet,” Freddie says, his voice and smile full of glee. “Hope there’s cheese and pineapple on sticks, and those little sausages. I love those. What d’ya reckon, Gav?”
“I very much doubt it. And, please, it’s Gavin. I’d rather you didn’t shorten my name. Elliot, we’ll catch up tomorrow,” Gavin says as he walks off, stiff backed and very pissed off.
“Bloody hell, that was — well, not sure what that was, if I’m honest. If I go too far, you will tell me, won’t you? I’ve an ingrained habit of backchat when faced with an arsehole. Sorry,” Freddie says on a groan. “Not literally faced with one, of course, but you know what I mean. I blame it on living with Cosmo.” He frowns, his teeth worrying at his lower lip. “I don’t want to put you in an awkward position, with your friends. I’m here to support you, not show you up.” He rubs at the back of his neck, a gesture that’s already known and familiar.
Without thinking, I ease his hand away, not letting go but instead gently squeezing his warm fingers.
“You’re not showing me up.” My voice comes out hoarse, and rougher than I’d like. “You didn’t rise to any of the bait he threw out. You played him at his own game, and he won’t have liked that.”
“Is that — good?”
“Let’s just say I could get used to it. Come on, let’s see if I can find you some cheese and pineapple. Baby.”
“Aw, thanks hun, you’re such a sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. I can’t help grinning. I’ve never been that, but I know who is.
