Commitment Issues by Ali Ryecart
Chapter Twenty-Two
Elliot
The wedding breakfast, set up under a shady arbour on the patio, is beautiful, almost like the set from a film. All the elements are in place. The cloudless blue sky, the gentle breeze, the beautiful villa that looks out over the shimmering Mediterranean, and all of it in soft focus from the best champagne.
There’s no top table, instead the whole of the wedding party is seated around one huge round table.
“We’re over here.” I lead Freddie to where I saw our place settings earlier.
“Erm, I don’t think so. Look.”
Freddie picks up an embossed card and hands it over. Not Freddie Jacobs, but Gavin Childs.
“This has been swapped.” I want to throw the card away, and push Freddie down in the seat next to me, but the rest of the party are taking their places. It’s too late to do anything about it.
“It’s okay,” Freddie says under his breath. “You can send me lovelorn looks across the table. I’ll see you later.”
It’s not okay, but I have no choice. I take my seat, and seconds later Gavin takes his next to me.
“Was this your doing?”
“What are you talking about?” He sounds as smooth and reasoned as ever, and I grind my teeth.
“Oh, I see. You think I swapped the place settings? Do you really believe I’m that juvenile?”
I do, on both counts.
Gavin gives a weary sigh. “No, Elliot, I didn’t. I don’t know how it happened. Maybe it was an oversight. Or a sign.”
“A sign?” I splutter. The man on the other side of me gives me a curious glance. “A sign of what, exactly?” I angle myself towards Gavin and lower my voice.
“Well, we were originally coming here as a couple so—”
“You put paid to that.” By lying, cheating, fucking around with anything with a dick.
“And don’t you think I don’t regret every stupid thing I did?”
His head’s bowed, his shoulders slumped, a picture of perfect dejection. Does he? My stomach muscles tighten, and for a moment, for the smallest, tiniest moment…
No. He knew what he was doing, every time. He made a choice.
“We need to talk, Elliot, when we’re back in London. Not here, not with everybody hanging around. You know we do.”
Talk. No, I don’t want to talk to Gavin. I don’t want to talk about us because there is no us, not any more. Three months earlier, less probably, I’d have said yes. But now?
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I force my words to be quiet and calm. “Whether it’s here or back in London, there’s nothing to talk about. We tried that, remember?”
Gavin looks up, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Once I’d have believed the pain I see in them, but not anymore.
“That was a mistake, a stupid mistake. I felt sidelined and forgotten and unappreciated and—”
“Unappreciated? How the hell could you feel unappreciated? I gave you everything you asked for and willingly.”
“Materially, yes, you did. But you never gave me your time. I hardly saw you. You spent every minute of the day working. It was like your work was the other man in our life.”
His words hit me low in the stomach. My hands scrunch the napkin the waiter has laid across my lap.
Yes, I work hard. Yes, I put in just about every hour God gives me. I have to, I’m the CEO of my own thriving company and I’m determined to drive it from success to success, not just for me but for all the people who work for me and who rely on me for their livelihoods.
“I couldn’t drop everything on a whim to do what you wanted and when, so you thought you’d find solace by having somebody else’s dick up your arse?”
“Elliot—”
“Just leave it, Gavin. You’ve got no right to say any of this, not after everything you did. And not here, and now, for fuck’s sake.” I glare down at a plate of food I can’t remember arriving, breathing in deep, willing myself to be calm. “It’s finished Gavin, it’s over. The door closed on us and there’s no unlocking it. Don’t make a fool of yourself—”
“A fool for loving you?” He stares up at me, through his lashes, and again there’s that tiny twist in my gut, and I don’t know what to say, not anymore. “Elliot, please…”
Bright laughter, full of sunshine and warmth, slices through all of Gavin’s bullshit, and I turn away from him.
Freddie, across the table where he’s laughing and chatting with his neighbour. So bright and intelligent and full of life, a breath of air as fresh as the sea breeze. He catches my eye, as though he can feel my gaze on him, and his smile’s enough to melt the ice caps, and nothing in the world can stop me from smiling back.
“Do you really think you and him have a chance together? You’re old enough to be his father.”
My eyes dart back to Gavin. His words are calm and measured as he stares, deadpan and expressionless, at Freddie, but there it is, the giveaway twitch of muscle in his jaw.
“I don’t know, but we’re having fun seeing where it goes.” I turn away from him, shutting him out, the way I should have shut him out long ago.
* * *
The wedding breakfast passes in a blur. Andrew and Marcus have thrown convention to the winds, and opted for no speeches from myself or Gavin, choosing instead to say a few simple words themselves and I’m more than happy with that.
I’ve been chatting with the guy on the other side of me but I’m on autopilot, and I haven’t a clue what I’m talking to him about, but whatever it is he seems to find it amusing as he giggles into his champagne.
Food’s served up in front of me, and I eat without tasting a thing. My head’s nothing more than messed up mush, piled on a hard base of anger. I’ve had no contact with Gavin for three months. He walked out without looking back, leaving his key behind him on the hallway table. And now this, here, choosing our friends’ wedding to declare he’s made a mistake.
My eyes seek Freddie and he turns to me as though sensing my need of him. His smile’s dazzling and genuine, but I see a shadow of concern there, too, and it’s enough to quell the angry sickness boiling in the pit of my stomach. Just being on the other end of that smile is enough to calm me.
Eventually the wedding breakfast comes to an end. Somewhere along the line the cake’s cut and toasts are raised, but it’s nothing more than a blur. As soon as I’m able, I scrape my chair back to go to Freddie.
“Thanks for rescuing me,” he says under his breath, as he gets up. “I really don’t know how many more stories about Strictly Come Dancing I can take, along with Craig’s self-tanning regime.”
I laugh, letting go of all the pressure waiting to blow within me. “Do you need rescuing? You don’t strike me as being the type.”
He shrugs and a little smile I can’t decipher tugs at his lips. “Sometimes, because don’t we all, at one point or another? It’s so beautiful here,” he says, flipping the conversation. “It’s good to feel the sun.”
He tilts his head back, and his golden hair, so thick and heavy, tumbles back. My fingers tingle and I wonder with a sharpness that’s the tip of a knife against my skin, what it would feel like to run my hands through it, to scrunch it up tight in my fists as—
“Cosmo was right.”
“Cosmo? Sorry, what?”
“He said I needed a break, and he was right, even if the circumstances are unusual. But it’s back home tomorrow.”
Back home. Back to the known and familiar. Back to the ordinary. Back to being lonely and alone.
Loud clapping cuts through my sudden gloom. The caterers have removed the table, and the space has been transformed into a small dance floor. Andrew, his jacket abandoned, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his tie missing, holds out his hand to Marcus and amidst claps and cheers, announces they’re taking their first dance together as married men and everybody, he says, voice booming, is to join them.
It’s impossible not to grin when Andrew and Marcus take to the floor. They’re an odd-looking couple, but they are a couple and always have been. I may have my reservations about Marcus, but he loves Andrew with a passion. Together, they look loose and relaxed as they fall into each other’s arms, and the small band, which arrived unnoticed by me, plays a slow, bluesy number.
As early evening creeps in, the flares from our first night are lit, casting soft shimmering shadows. The sky’s long lost its vibrant blue, but the air still holds the heat, yet now there’s a close, dense quality to it. I look behind me, out towards the sea, but if there’s a storm coming it’s way off.
Other couples join them on the dance floor, swaying slowly to the mellow saxophone. Out of the corner of my eye I see Gavin accept the invitation to dance from a tall, thin guy. Even after everything I’ve said to him today, I expect to feel some jolt, some anything, but there’s nothing.
“We ought to join them,” I croak.
Without a word, Freddie slips his hand into mine and pulls me onto the floor. His arms coil around my waist. Cheek to cheek, each of us holding onto the other, chest to chest and heart to heart, we fit together like a lock and key. I close my eyes as we sway to the music, barely moving.
“Sorry, I’m not really much of a dancer,” I whisper in his ear. He laughs, sending a tremor through my body.
“I’m terrible. Cosmo always says I have two moves: somebody who thrashes around like he’s just been tasered, or like I’m trying to wade through concrete that’s setting around my feet. I just think I have my own unique style.” He chuckles, and I pull him closer.
“Oh, I don’t know, I think he’s wrong. You’re nothing like that good.”
Freddie snorts, but I know he’s smiling. The music ends, but we stay as we are, holding on tight. I don’t want to let him go. He feels good in my arms, just right. I breath in deep and saturate my senses in the light citrus of his shampoo, wishing for this moment never to end.
The band strikes up another number, faster and livelier and made for dancing. Freddie eases back out of my arms and I’m already missing the warmth.
“I think this is where I do my impression of a human taser.”
The beat of the music’s infectious and Freddie starts to dance, taking my hands and pulling me further into the improvised dance floor. He and Cosmo are wrong. Every move he makes is sharp and clean. He’s smiling and his face is flushed, whether from champagne or the dance we shared, I don’t know, but he’s full of life, and that’s infectious and I dance, in what feels like a lifetime, for the sheer joy of it.
All around us, the dancing grows more unrestrained and wild, and we’re part of it, caught up in the maelstrom. Somewhere along the way, we’ve discarded our jackets and ties, and loosened our shirts.
We dance, number after number, hips and arses and cocks nudging, every little bump into each other lightening up my body. It’s uninhibited and carefree, but I dance for Freddie and he dances for me, as though we’re the only two on the dance floor. The music comes to an end and there’s an announcement that the band are going to take a small break. Like everybody, we cheer and clap them, before we stagger, laughing, over to a small table. I beckon to a waiter for a couple of cold beers.
“Oh, that was great. I can’t remember when I last had so much fun. In fact, I can’t remember when I last danced.” The beers arrive and I upend my bottle, glugging back the cold lager, before I press the bottle, damp with icy condensation, to my brow.
“I can’t remember either. I hardly ever go out. If I’m not at my studies, I’m stacking up tinned beans on a night shift in the supermarket.” Freddie’s mouth twists into a wry grin.
“You’re too young not to go out and have some fun. When we’re back in London we’ll go to a jazz club I know. The food’s great and the music’s to die for.” His eyes widen and his lips make an O. “We could do that as friends, maybe ask James and Cosmo if they’d like to come,” I say hastily, covering my gaffe.
“James and Cosmo? Erm, yes. Okay.”
We both glug our drinks back, and I beckon for two more without asking. My cheeks are burning, and I’m relieved he won’t spot that in the flickering lights.
The band returns from their break and dive into another number.
“Do you want to dance again?” Freddie asks, and I shake my head.
“But don’t let me stop you. I said from the very beginning I wanted you to have a good time on this trip.”
“I am having a good time.”
“But wouldn’t you have a better time up there?” I nod towards the dance floor. And he would, because he’s young and should dance as much as he can.
“I’m very happy where I am.”
A simple statement. He wants to stay with me. It goes straight to my heart, and I have no idea what to say.
We sit back and watch the goings-on on the dance floor. Andrew and Marcus are doing something strange with their bodies, getting into knots as they attempt to do what looks like some sort of salsa. Next to me Freddie shifts in his seat and yawns and when I turn to look at him, he gives me a small smile.
“Sorry. It’s been a long day. All the champagne and beer have caught up with me. The weather’s changed, too. It feels hotter now than earlier, and kind of heavy.”
And he’s right. It’s a close, sticky hotness, and electricity crackles in the air.
“I think we’ll have a storm in the night.”
“I hope so because I love them. All that power. Like the Norse gods fighting,” Freddie says, with a laugh. “I’m ready to go back, if you are? Maybe we could have some of that tea you’ve got hidden.”
I am happy to go, and a cuppa sounds like a good idea, but admitting that would make me sound too much like an old man. A cup of tea before bedtime, maybe add a custard cream or two, and put my slippers on. Jesus Christ. I look around for Andrew and Marcus, to say goodnight, but they’re now stumbling around the dance floor, clutching onto each other like two wrestlers.
“Come on.” I stand and hold out my hand to Freddie to pull him up, and we slip away, along the path towards the cottage, leaving the wedding party behind us.
