Commitment Issues by Ali Ryecart
Chapter Twenty-One
Freddie
I poke my head around the corner of the door to see Elliot leaning against the French windows, looking out towards the beach. I feel a little shy about emerging from the bedroom dressed in my suit. I’m so used to wearing jeans and hoodies, sweatshirts and old battered trainers, I expected the formality of the clothes to feel constrictive; they’re anything but. The silk shirt caresses my skin, and the suit’s such a good fit it could have been made for me. And the shoes, black and polished to within an inch of their lives, feel like the softest slippers. I cough to catch Elliot’s attention, and he looks over his shoulder and smiles, before turning and walking back into the lounge.
“Come on don’t be shy, let’s have a look.”
I step into the room, and shift from foot to foot.
Elliot says nothing, only stares, and nerves butterfly in my stomach. This is the culmination, the wedding day, and I want to do him proud.
“You look amazing.”
He speaks quietly, almost as though he’s thinking aloud. I should laugh, make a joke, or tell him he’s looking good, too, because he is, he looks better than good, but my words lodge in my chest and instead we stand in silence as something indefinable shifts in the universe.
“It’s a beautiful suit,” I say, finding my voice at last. “Thank you. I know I tried it on in the shop, but wearing it for real…”
But wearing it for real, partnering him, being the man on Elliot Hendrick’s arm, that’s what makes it feel different, that’s what makes it feel real.
The punch that comes from nowhere hits me square in the stomach. It’s the punch of my own stupidity. Because it isn’t real, nothing about Elliot and me is real, and I need to remember that. Tomorrow, all this will be over and we’ll return to England and go our own ways.
“There’s only one thing that could make it better.” In a couple of strides, Elliot’s in front of me, just a hair’s breadth away.
We’re the same height, inch to inch, and our eyes meet in a level stare. My breath’s hard in my lungs and my heart’s banging with so much force I fear it’ll break my ribs. Tension binds me, as he brings his hands to my throat, his deft fingers knotting and re-knotting my tie.
“There you go, it just needed a little bit of work.”
His words are quiet and low and I swear I detect the faintest tremor in them. He doesn’t move back, he doesn’t drop his hands, and he’s close enough that I can feel the heat of his skin. His eyes darken, the pupils swallowing up their blue, as he leans in, a tiny movement, and I part my lips ready for the kiss.
A hard bang on the French windows jolts us apart, both of us jerking our heads around. It’s one half of the couple who only ever seem to hold hands, and it’s the first time I hear him speak.
“Everybody’s gathering up at the villa. We’re setting off on foot for the town hall. I don’t know why Andrew and Marcus haven’t laid on cars. You’re one of the best men so shouldn’t you be getting a move on?” he says, a querulous note in his voice.
“There’s plenty of time, and the mairie is a fifteen minute stroll along a quiet road. Why hire cars for that?” Elliot turns his back on the man, rolling his eyes as he does so. The guy scowls and walks off.
“But perhaps he’s right, we should be making our way up there.” Elliot’s voice seems louder with a hint of false cheer, but maybe that’s just my imagination.
Minutes later we’re walking up to the villa. It’s a breathtakingly beautiful day under a cloudless sky, the tables for the wedding breakfast set up and ready for our return from the mairie, the town hall where the marriage ceremony is to take place.
“I’m off to find Andrew,” Elliot whispers in my ear, before dashing off.
A waiter roams around with a tray of orange juice, and what looks like Buck’s Fizz. I nab a glass and make small talk with a couple of other guests.
“It’s time to go,” Elliot says when he returns. “Gavin and I need to chivvy everybody along. I’ve never seen Andrew so nervous. He’s been with Marcus for years, he knows the man inside out, but he’s like a quivering jelly. I lost count of how many times he asked me if I had the ring.” Elliot laughs and shakes his head.
A couple of minutes later the wedding party, with a hand-in-hand Andrew and Marcus at its head, is making its way towards the village. Next to them, on either side, are Elliot and Gavin. My stomach clenches as I study them. What’s Elliot thinking? That this, or something like it, could have been his and Gavin’s wedding day? Does he have regrets that it isn’t the two of them walking together? As though he can hear my tumultuous thoughts, Elliot glances over his shoulder, his eyes locking onto mine, and smiles.
When we arrive at the mairie, we’re all, except for the grooms and the best men, ushered into an austere, high ceilinged room, and we take our seats. The buzz of chatter is filling the air, but it falls to a hush as the grooms emerge from a side room, accompanied by a bald, skinny man, and with Elliot and Gavin in tow. A flurry of pronouncements mark the start of the ceremony. I’ve never got beyond je suis Freddie in French classes, and I soon zone out. But only from the ceremony unfolding in front of me, because all my attention’s on Elliot.
I think of his photo, the one Cosmo showed me on his phone. He’d taken my breath away then, and he does so now, just like he takes my breath away every time I look at him. But, it isn’t just how he looks, although God knows, that’d be enough in itself. It’s Elliot himself. The man he is. It’s as if he’s aware of me, Freddie Jacobs, for who I am beyond the deal we’ve made. There’s real respect in his voice when we talk, and in his eyes when he looks at me. But not only respect.
Every lingering glance, every eye contact held for a beat too long, every informal little touch, a hand resting just a little too long on my shoulder or arm. I have to remind myself it’s just for show, because it feels so real.
I look down at my hands, tightly knotted around each other in my lap. There can never be anything between us, any dreams of that are only that — dreams. Because he’s still bruised and battered from his break-up with Gavin. James knows that, so does Andrew, the two men who know Elliot inside out. But does Elliot? Yet aren’t I still bruised, too? Paul, his memory as welcome as dog shit on a shoe, made sure of that. When he walked away without a second glance, I told myself I’d never again be a rebound, a pale substitute for another man.
A sudden pause brings me back to the ceremony. Andrew, part pirate, part yeti, even in his suit, is wiping his eyes, his hand visibly shaking as he takes the ring Elliot holds out to him. All around me a collective sigh goes up. Opposite him, Gavin’s doing the same for Marcus. The grooms speak their lines in faultless French, and slip the gold bands on each other’s ring finger, and suddenly they’re in each other’s arms, no longer grooms but husbands, and the assembled company, me included, cheer as they kiss.
Handshakes, handshakes all around, and Elliot takes Gavin’s hand in his. Whether Elliot falls or he’s pushed, he’s in Gavin’s arms, the two of them holding tight, tighter than they should be, for longer than they should be, and again I’m on the outside looking in, nothing more than an interloper, just as I’d been on the beach.
They pull apart but don’t pull away. They’re close and talking, their heads bowed towards each other so the words they have to say are for them and them alone. They’re an island amidst the sea of activity and noise flowing all around them, and oblivious to everything and everybody.
I stare, transfixed, as Gavin’s face, tight with raw emotion, tilts into Elliot’s. An icy hand grips my heart. He’s going to kiss Elliot, and Elliot’s going to let him, all those years together rushing back like a wave crashing on a beach. Gavin wants Elliot back. How can I blame him? He’s back to reclaim his rightful place and Elliot’s going to let him take it.
I want to turn and run but I’m rooted to the spot waiting for the kiss that never comes, because Elliot’s shaking his head as he eases Gavin from him.
Turning away, and turning towards me, Elliot smiles, bright and beautiful, as he strides across, leaving Gavin to stare at his retreating back.
* * *
“Just one more photo, please,” the photographer says, back at the villa, as she clicks away before finally letting us go.
“Thank God that’s over.” Elliot grabs a couple of glasses of champagne from one of the waiters.
“The photos or the ceremony?”
“Both.” He takes a sip of his drink and sighs. “I don’t know who was more nervous, me or Andrew.”
“You didn’t look nervous. You seemed as cool as a cucumber. Have you done it before? The best man thing, I mean?”
He grins. “I certainly have. Three same-sex marriages, and four times for straight couples, including my brother. But they were all in the UK, so I could understand what was going on, unlike here. I seem to be everybody’s choice. If my business ever goes under, I’ll have a new career already mapped out. Normally I just breeze through them, but not understanding a word of French I was worried I’d end up married to Andrew.” He shudders but he’s still smiling. “Fortunately the two of them are fluent and every time I had to do something the celebrant, or whatever they’re called here, waggled his impressive eyebrows at me.”
“Hmm, are you sure he wasn’t hitting on you?”
“He’s really not my type, honey.” He laughs as he says it, but our gazes catch and hold.
And what is his type? I might look smart and suave in my suit, but it’s not me. I’m a hard-up student, which has got to be as far from Elliot’s type as it’s possible to get.
We’re saved from a protracted awkward silence when Elliot’s commandeered to carry out some further best man duties.
“Won’t be long. I hope,” he says, as he’s hustled away.
More champagne’s poured and I close my eyes as I savour the small bubbles bursting on my tongue. God, but it’s good, and I doubt I’ll ever have the chance to drink anything so exquisite again.
“Freddie.”
I open my eyes to see a beaming Andrew standing in front of me, the champagne flute in his big fist looking far too delicate.
“Congratulations. It was a lovely ceremony, and I should also say thank you for your hospitality.” Given the circumstances.
Our eyes lock for a second and I know Andrew understands the unspoken thought.
“I’m just glad Elliot’s not here on his own. You’re both doing such a good job,” he says, lowering his voice as his eyebrows raise slightly, “that nobody could possibly guess. He looks better than I’ve seen him for a long while. Looser and more relaxed. And I’d like to see that continue.” He hesitates, a small and sudden awkwardness falling over him when he’s the least awkward man I’ve ever come across. He licks his lips. “Freddie, I know it’s not my business, but stick around him. Please?”
“What? Of course I’m going to stick around. I mean, we’ve come here as a couple, well, claiming to be, so—”
“That’s not what I—ah, here he comes.”
A second later Elliot’s by my side.
“It’s hard work being a best man. Next time you do this, remind me to bill you for my time.”
“You got off easy, I was the one signing my life away, remember?”
They both laugh and fill the air around us with easy chat and, although I join in, I’m really thinking about what Andrew’s just said, and what he was about to. But I’ve got no time to dwell on it, as we’re called forward for the waiting wedding breakfast.
