Commitment Issues by Ali Ryecart
Chapter Two
Freddie
“Hold on a minute. You want me to go away, to a wedding, with somebody I’ve never met and pretend to be his boyfriend? Is this some kind of joke or have you been smoking something you shouldn’t have?” I stare at James’ video-call face. Have I heard him correctly? James’ serious expression tells me I have, every single word.
Instead of answering me, he draws deep on his cigarette, blowing the smoke slowly upwards, all the time keeping his eyes on me. Virtual James may be on the other side of London, but the virtual ciggie smoke still makes me want to cough and splutter.
“No, Freddie, it’s not a joke. In fact, the situation is as far from funny as it can be.” He runs the fingers of his free hand through his ruffled hair, making it stick up further and reminding me of a toilet brush, and the sheet that only partially covers his bare chest slips down further.
The last thing I’d expected when Cosmo, my friend and landlord, had thrust his phone at me, was to be confronted by his half naked, dishevelled cousin. I’ve only ever seen James fully suited and booted, every immaculate hair in place. Next to me on the sofa, and squashed-up tight, Cosmo tries his best not to laugh, and makes a complete hash of it.
“A very good and dear friend of mine finds himself in something of a fix,” James says, taking another drag on his cigarette, before adding, “he of course doesn’t see it that way, but a fix is most definitely what it is. He has a wedding to attend, which he absolutely refuses to step back from. His ex will also be in attendance—”
“His ex-boyfriend? So, you want me to be your friend’s bit of arm candy to make the former boyfriend jealous? Are you mad, bad, or just dangerous to know?”
There’s no way I’m going to breathe in the noxious fumes of somebody else’s toxic relationship. James can take a long walk off a very short pier.
“Oh, all three, and often all at the same time, but this isn’t about me, it’s about Elliot. I’d rather not see him attend on his own. Especially as I have it on good authority that his ex will be there with his new boyfriend. You would be helping Elliot out in his hour of need, providing a little moral support. That’s all. You’d earn my gratitude, and a whole lot more in the form of a rather handsome financial incentive.”
I shake my head and huff. It’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard, but curiosity’s sitting on my shoulder and whispering in my ear. And as for that financial incentive, well, those words have the ring of magic about them, because there’s no denying a much-needed financial incentive would get me out of my own fix… But what he’s suggesting is a farce.
“James, just think about what you’re asking. It’s crazy, because stuff like this doesn’t happen in real life. It sounds more like some cheesy rom com and—”
“Life, if lived well and to the full, should be packed with drama.” James smiles and carries on smoking, his eyes narrowed against the tendrils of smoke as the cig dangles from his mouth. He looks both debauched and sated, and the reason for that is no doubt the owner of the deep, masculine voice rumbling in the background. A hand comes into shot, and plucks the cigarette away, and James’ lips purse in a little, sulky moue.
“And should you really be talking to me about this when you’re half naked and have a man in bed with you?” I blurt out. Next to me, Cosmo explodes in spluttering laughter, and I shove him off the sofa. Landing hard on his arse on the hardwood floor does nothing to stop his glee.
“Why not? And how do you know it’s only the one man?” James’ lips lift in a wicked, taunting smile. He sits up straight and tugs the sheet up to cover his pale chest, his louche, just-been-fucked expression falling away.
Staring out at me from the screen, his face is impassive and unreadable, and I shiver. Behind his flippancy, there’s something hard and steely about this man. He’s a former high-ranking policeman, although I doubt he ever trod the beat on some skanky sink estate, but who is now ‘something in the government’.
“Elliot needs help. He doesn’t know it, but I do. But you need help too. I know you’re having money troubles.”
I shoot a glance at Cosmo, now sprawled out on his front on the floor, his chin propped up in his cupped hands. He gives me a vaguely apologetic shrug.
Thanks, Cos…I go to kick him, but his cat-like reflexes get the better of me. I’ll deal with the little fucker later.
“I’m a student. Students are always hard up,” I mutter.
Hard up? I should have a big red rosette pinned to my chest declaring that to be the No. 1 Understatement of The Year.
“You’re up to your eyes in student loans, and barely existing on the pittance you earn from stacking supermarket shelves, or something equally as ghastly. And please, don’t tell me that the pennies you get from helping to mark the illiterate offerings of first-year undergraduate students in medieval boot making —”
“Norse Studies,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Vikings? How terribly butch. But, as you young things say, whatever.” James waves my interruption aside. “My proposal could alleviate some of the pressure, make things better for you in the short term. Plus, a long weekend staying in a sumptuous villa in a very exclusive part of the South of France, and just a moment from the beach. You’d be treated to the best of everything, all expenses met. For a while, you’d leave your dreary existence and live a life of luxury. Please forgive my indelicacy, but if you insist on making a career out of studying Dark Age pottery techniques, you’ll never be able to afford much more than an off-season weekend in some dreadful caravan park.”
Oh, that stings. But he’s right. The way my finances are going, that off-season weekend’s shaping up to be a prize to aspire to. It’s true, I need the money. Desperately. My face burns at having my financial inadequacies laid bare.
But it’s still a lunatic idea.
“Can’t he hire an escort?”
James laughs. “Elliot would be mortified at the suggestion. He’s determined to attend alone, and essentially tough it out. Which is an appalling idea, so that means the only way to persuade him is with a fait accompli.”
“And that’s what I am, is it? Jog on, James. I’m not doing it.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what you’d be.” From the other side of the screen, his eyes laser into mine. “You’d be the perfect companion. You’re known to me, which is essential. That couldn’t be said of an escort, no matter how handpicked. You also have more than a handful of brain cells rubbing together, and I’m confident you’d be discreet. A modicum of attractiveness also helps.”
“Thanks — I think.” I’m not sure whether being informed that I’m just about above brain-dead level and not completely pug ugly is an insult or a compliment.
“This is a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
James’ mouth turns downwards, and for a moment he seems uncertain, something I’ve not encountered before in this urbane and confident man.
“Elliot’s as sharp and savvy as they come, and he can be hard as nails. At least when it comes to business. But he took a hit when his turd of a boyfriend walked out. The turd who will also be at the wedding celebrations. The turd who is the second best man. Elliot needs armour if he’s going to get through it unscathed, and that means not going into battle alone. Think about it. I can’t force you to agree, but I hope you will. But I need to know by tomorrow. Oh, and by the way, you’re not expected to sleep with him. Or not unless you want to.”
The screen on the phone goes black as James cuts the call.
* * *
“Was this your idea?” I back Cosmo into a corner in the kitchen.
Cosmo shrugs. If I expect some kind of guilty embarrassment or contrition, I can expect it until I’m blue in the face.
“Jimbo,” he says, referring to James, who is the least like a Jimbo of anybody I could ever imagine, “called me yesterday and asked if you might be persuaded to help out. Given your, erm, straightened circumstances, I thought it was worth a punt. A bundle of cash, and a few days in the Mediterranean sunshine, I’d jump at it, but it wasn’t me he asked. Shame, because Elliot Hendricks is mouthwatering. For an older guy.”
Older?
My stomach tightens. Older guys… they’re my jam, my Achilles heel, the pusher of every single one of my buttons. And I’ve vowed to stay away from them ever since… a shiver rips through me. I don’t want to think about what happened, ever again, the last time I’d got involved with an older guy.
“You’d no right to let James know money’s tight.” I push the words out through gritted teeth.
“Tight?” Cosmo’s mouth drops open in shock. “The only thing that’s tighter than your finances is a nun’s snatch. Or maybe not,” he says, shuddering.
Planting my hands on my hips I take a step closer. It’s a frankly pathetic attempt to intimidate him, and a waste of time. Cosmo might stand at a less than lofty five foot five, but a man doesn’t walk the earth who’s less likely to be intimidated.
“Coffee?” He swings around me, picks up the jar of instant on the worktop, and gives it a shake.
“What? No. Yes. Oh, whatever. Don’t try and change the subject. Why’s your lunatic cousin asking me to sign up to this crazy scheme of his? It can’t just be because I could do with the money.” Cosmo knows my financial state as well as I do. He’s my friend, but also my landlord, and I’m late with the rent. Again. It doesn’t bother him, but it bothers me, and my face throbs with heat. “I don’t even know him that well.” My words sound weak and limp.
“You know him well enough.” Cosmo smirks.
“Yes,” I say, as I glare at my friend, “if you count him trying to talk me into bed every time he turns up here. Which I’ve always managed to sidestep, I should add.”
“Which is probably one of the main reasons why he’s asking you to do this. If you were easy, I don’t think he would have.”
“I don’t understand.” Not the not being easy part, I get that because Cosmo thinks I’m prudish. He puts it down to me growing up in East Anglia. No, it’s the why me part. A posh wedding and a swanky villa in the South of France isn’t what you’d call natural territory for a twenty-four-year-old Norse Studies PhD student. Which involves a lot more than leather working and pottery making techniques.
“It’s because he’s crazy protective of Elliot. They’ve been friends for years, so he’d have thought hard about who might be suitable. Which isn’t me. Shame, I’d be very happy to help out the very lickable Elliot in his hour of need.” Cosmo switches on the kettle and heaps coffee granules into two large mugs. “Biscuits? Custard creams or Bourbons? Or we might even have some Hobnobs.” He turns and rummages through a wall cupboard.
“What? Lickable? You mean likeable. But how likeable he is isn’t the point. And no, I don’t want biscuits.”
“You sure? But Hobnobs are your favourite. Well, after Wagon Wheels.”
I don’t bother trying to hide my bone deep sigh of frustration.
The pair of us have been friends since university, when we met in Freshers’ Week. Well, I was scared but Cosmo was just — well, Cosmo. I’ve had plenty of time to get used to his sudden changes in direction and random utterings, but they still manage to throw me. But they’re not going to this time, despite the offer of coffee and Hobnobs.
“Stop talking about my biscuit preferences. Why would my refusal to sleep with James make me an ideal candidate to be his friend’s bogus boyfriend?”
The kettle, belching steam, switches off with a click, but Cosmo doesn’t fill up the two waiting mugs. Instead, he leans back against the counter, crosses his arms over his chest, and stares at me. At first glance, you’d never spot that Cosmo and James could be related, or not until you look into their eyes. Only then does it hit you. The same mossy green, the same cool, feline assessment.
“In his view, it means you have integrity and aren’t easily swayed. That you have a mind of your own and you do what you think is right. Cousin Jimbo, for all that he’s partial to shagging anything with a pulse, would respect that. He’s asked you because he’s an excellent judge of character. He trusts you. Simple as.”
“So, I’m supposed to be impressed that he doesn’t think I’m an easy lay? Talk about damning with faint praise.”
Cosmo doesn’t answer, as he pours the boiling water into the mugs and slops in milk.
“Here you go.” He thrusts a mug at me, picks up the Hobnobs, and leads the way back to the living room, where we sit down on the sofa.
“Do you really think somebody with integrity would agree to a scheme like this?” I chew on a Hobnob, because who can resist its buttery, crumbly allure? “Being paid to lie, essentially. And, if his friend doesn’t want some stranger hanging off his arm, why doesn’t he just tell James to go to hell? I mean, it doesn’t say much for this Elliot guy.”
“There are two ways you can look at it.” Cosmo stares at me over the rim of his mug. “One way is to dismiss it as a lunatic idea, and in some ways it is. Or, you can see it as somebody doing his best to help out his best friend in his hour of need. That’s exactly what James is trying to do. Just like I was trying to do when I said you might consider it. You and Elliot are both in a fix, so this could benefit both of you.”
I look away, unable to hold Cosmo’s steady gaze. James and Cosmo, two men each in their own way looking out for their best friends.
“Oh, God.” I run my fingers through my hair. I’m going to be paying off my student loans for years, and honestly, they’re the least of my worries, because I’ve got more pressing, immediate bills and expenses I can’t ignore. A bundle of ready cash could take care of them. And the South of France… My skin aches to feel the heat of a hot, foreign sun. It’d be a chance to get away from London for a few days and escape the cold, dank, late spring weather. But I could never pull off being a stranger’s boyfriend, even just for a few days.
Could I?
And there’s that last line of James’, before he cut the call… If I was just expected to hang off Elliot’s arm…
No, there’s no way I can do it.
“Before you dismiss the idea, take a look at this.” Cosmo opens up his phone, his fingers flying over the screen, before he hands it to me.
“Fuck.” Lickable? Oh, yes, and a whole lot more.
Next to me on the sofa, Cosmo chuckles. “I think that’s optional, but why wouldn’t you want to?”
The guy who stares out from the mobile is featured on the cover of what looks like a business magazine, under the headline game changer. My skin prickles and my traitorous dick perks up, because isn’t Elliot Hendricks everything that reduces me to mush?
A sharp suit, the knotted tie very slightly loosened. Short, salt and pepper hair that’s a lot more salt, slightly longer on top and swept back from the brow. Pushing fifty, or thereabouts, I reckon. Fit and strong looking, a guy who takes care of himself. A man who’s cool and sophisticated, a man who knows the world. A man who’s described as a game changer. He’s everything I should step away from. I should hand back the phone to Cosmo, but instead pull it nearer, studying every inch of Elliot Hendricks.
He’s closely shaven, but it’s not enough to disguise the hint of dark scruff on his high cheekboned face. Intelligent, clear, light blue eyes stare out at me, like the eyes of a man who could sniff out a fraud at a hundred paces. The combo of ice blue eyes and sharp cheekbones could have made him look hard, but his full lips with the tiniest impression of a lopsided smile soften the edges. He’s gorgeous, and the more I stare at his picture, the harder all my buttons are being pressed. And for a few days he could be mine.
“He’s—”
“Yeah, he is. Look, Freddie,” Cosmo throws an arm around my shoulder, and pulls me into him. “I know things went bad with Paul, but he was a turd. He was probably born a turd and will die a turd. Turds come in all ages, shapes and sizes. A man’s measure on the Turd-O-Meter isn’t defined by age.”
Paul Stringer, sophisticated, worldly wise, and over twenty years my senior, the man who took my heart and, in the end, used it to wipe his arse.
“I’d never lie to you Freddie, you know that. I can say with my hand on my heart that Elliot isn’t a turd. I first met him when I was a teenager, and I’ve run into him from time to time over the years. If I didn’t think he was a decent guy, I would have told Jimbo to take a hike. I know you can do with the money, but that’s not the whole reason why I think you should say yes. You should say yes because it’d be good for you.”
“What do you mean?” I pull out of Cosmo’s embrace and look at him.
He smiles, but there’s none of his usual mischievous good humour in it. Instead, there’s a kind of sadness I’m not sure I’ve seen before.
“I think it’s about time you had a bit of fun.”
“What do you mean by that? I have fun. Didn’t I go to birthday drinks two, three, okay five weeks ago, in Soho?”
It had been fun, but I’d been careful not to get into rounds, and I’d done that by turning up a bit late, and buying myself an overpriced bottled beer that I’d made last until it was warm.
When the pub closed, everybody was going clubbing and they’d done their level best to try and persuade me to go with them. I couldn’t, because I had an early shift at the supermarket, so there was no way I could stay out until the early hours of the morning. Plus, I’d some work to assess, from the first-year undergrads, on the Norse mythology module. Those had been my reasons, but the truth was they’d just been lame excuses. I hadn’t gone to the club because I didn’t have the admission money and I certainly didn’t have the cash to pay out for pricey drinks.
“You don’t, not really. When you’re not working on your PhD you’re barely eking out a living piling up cans of beans, or dog food, or whatever it is, and being used as cheap labour by your departmental professor whenever she feels like throwing you scraps of work.”
“It’s good experience, you know it is. If I’m going to make a career in academia—”
“Why will saying yes to James stop you from doing that?”
I don’t have an answer for him.
“You’re skint, all the time. You live the most humdrum life I can imagine, and I think this is an opportunity for you to cut yourself some slack. If Jimbo had come to me with the proposition, I’d have been at it like a rat up a drainpipe. Elliot Hendricks is one fucking gorgeous man. And he’s a really nice guy. There isn’t even the whiff of turdiness about him. If you see what I mean. Jimbo wouldn’t be talking to you about this if he didn’t believe you were the right person for the job and I mean right in the widest sense of the word. Somebody who can be trusted. Somebody smart.
“I know you have your reasons for being wary of doing this, but constantly being hard up, being as poor as a church mouse, never going out and mouldering away isn’t doing you any good. Jimbo’s trying to look after his friend, and I’m trying to look after mine. Now, are you going to tell him you’re up for this, or shall I?”
