Take My Breath Away by Ali Ryecart

Chapter Twenty-Nine

JAMES

Perry always looks so serious when he’s working, even though today his work’s taking place at the kitchen table. He’s even dressed in smart trousers and a shirt, although the tie and jacket he wears when he’s in the office are missing. With a headset on, and a small frown wrinkling his brow, he’s the picture of concentration. He looks up, his eyes widening and battening on to mine. I make a sign for tea, and he answers with a wan smile and nods.

“You’re early,” he says, a few moments later, removing the headset before standing and stretching. The movement tugs out his shirt from his waistband, revealing a strip of pale torso.

“Hmm. My meeting finished sooner than expected, so I called it a day.” I hand over the tea which he takes, smiling his appreciation as he takes a sip before he sighs and stares down into the mug.

“What’s the matter?” I ask. His smile’s limp and there’s an air of dejection about him.

He shrugs. “Oh, I phoned my mum earlier, to talk to her about the promise to help out — or so-called promise. They can’t do it, because they’ve bought more bars and a restaurant.”

“So no assistance from them at all?”

Does this mean he’s going to give up on the idea of moving to Brighton? It’s a spike of excitement in the pit of my stomach, but it’s a shitty thought that his plans might be scuppered, and it’s especially shitty when his mouth is turned down and he’s staring at the floor.

I could help him…And I could, but I’d be helping him to go when it’s the last thing I want… Yet the new home, the new business, the new start, it’s what he wants so much. I put my tea down, and get ready to say what I don’t want to.

“Pe—”

“It’s a kick in the teeth, I can’t deny it, but maybe I should be looking at it in a different way. A more challenging, but ultimately more positive way.”

“What do you mean? I’m not with you.”

He’s sucking in his lower lip, a frown settling between his brows. It’s a look I’ve come to recognise, of Perry thinking hard.

“I was doing some calculations earlier, after I picked myself up off the floor,” he says with a huff. “I can increase my mortgage — I’ve not gone for the maximum amount, so there’s room to do it — and although things will be tight, it’s doable. I’ll just have to live with an avocado bathroom suite, pink tiling, and the orange shag pile carpet.”

Those horrible photos of that grim bungalow. I force a travesty of a smile onto my face.

“But doing it all myself, it means I won’t be beholden to anybody, except the bank of course. Despite what they always said, about helping me, I know my parents. They would’ve wanted a big say in how I run the business, so at least with them out of the picture it means I can do what I want, in the way I want. Sorry,” he says, shrugging. “I know I keep beating on about this but perhaps not getting my parents involved is a good thing in the long term. If I could get the bungalow for the right price…”

He’s sucking on his lip again, and the frown’s back, as he thinks about his second visit tomorrow. I set my tea aside because I think I’ll be ill if I take another mouthful.

“I’m off for a shower,” I say, but he doesn’t answer as he sucks harder on his lip and his frown deepens, as he contemplates a future life for himself that has no place in it for me.

* * *

As soon as I come back downstairs I know something’s not right, something more, something beyond the disappointment of his parents. The light’s off in the kitchen and there’s an absence of anything delicious cooking.

“Perry?”

There’s no response. The house is deathly quiet and for a second I wonder if he’s gone out, but the door to the living room’s ajar, and just visible over the top of the sofa is a shock of dark hair — and it is only just visible as the room’s in deep shadow. Something isn’t just not right, it’s very, very wrong.

“Perry?” I say again, switching one of the lamps on. He’s staring at his phone.

“Just got this.” He holds it out to me, and I take it, reading the email from an estate agent in Brighton.

Cash buyer… no chain… offered full asking price… cancel the second viewing… other properties which might be of interest…

The horrible, ugly bungalow where Perry would lose all colour and light, will now blight somebody else’s life. He’s not going, he’s not going to Brighton tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. The selfish bastard in me wants to punch the air in triumph that his plans have fallen through and it’s back to the drawing board, but it’s the other man who wins through, the man who’s Perry’s friend, the man who’s so much more even though Perry doesn’t know it.

“I’m really sorry.” I hand him back his phone. He takes a last look at it, before he stuffs it in his pocket.

“What a shit storm of a day.”

He looks up at me and my heart threatens to break, he’s so bleak. He’s had his legs kicked out from under him twice today, and all I could do was feel glad that his plans are unravelling.

“Come here.” I pull him into me, and he doesn’t resist, and I hold him tight and kiss the top of his head. I could offer him platitudes and say I’m sorry, but I know he wouldn’t want to hear them and I don’t want to say them.

I’m not sure how long we’ve been sitting here, like this, as I card my fingers through his hair. He’s so still and silent I suspect he’s fallen asleep and I’m just about to untangle myself when he speaks.

“You must think I’m pathetic.”

“What?” I jerk from the shock of his words. “What makes you—for goodness sake, Perry, look at me and tell me why you believe I would think of you like that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“No, the question is why would I. You’ve had two major setbacks in one day, you’re entitled to feel like a mushroom.”

“A — mushroom?”

“Had a load of shit dumped on top of you.”

He stares at me before a smile lifts his lips. “You can say that again. Back to the drawing board, I suppose. I know I’m in the same position I was just a couple or so days ago, but I really felt like I’d taken a step closer.”

No, he’d taken a step away. I bury the thought along with the words tingling on my tongue. He doesn’t want to hear that, not now, not any time. He needs cheering up, to be given a good time to help him forget about today. There’s one way to do that, but there’s another.

“Go and get ready. I’m taking you out for the evening.”