Take My Breath Away by Ali Ryecart

Chapter Forty

PERRY

“Jimbo!”

The stocky young guy almost throws himself at James, who laughs and gives him a big hug.

I hang back a little and watch the two cousins.

Cosmo’s around my age, maybe a little older, and the family resemblance isn’t striking. Or not until Cosmo unwinds himself from James and lets his attention fall on me. It’s the eyes. The same moss green, feline and assessing. His smile, when it comes which probably only takes a second or two but feels like hours, is bright and friendly.

“And you must be Jerry?” He sticks out his hand for me to shake.

“Nearly. It’s Perry.” It’s a common mistake people make and I’m used to it, and Cosmo’s wince followed by a sheepish smile is enough for me to know it’s a genuine oversight.

“I’ve already had a couple of cocktails,” he says, by way of an explanation.

“A couple?” James quirks his brow, at the same time he shrugs off his coat.

Cosmo pouts and tries to look put out. “I’m allowed because it’s Christmas.”

It isn’t, it’s a few weeks off yet, but I’m getting the impression Cosmo doesn’t need excuses for a party.

“Drinks and food are in the kitchen.” He takes my and James’ coats and stashes them in a wall cupboard already overflowing, before disappearing into what looks like the fairy light lit living room, where dance music’s playing.

“Jimbo?” I say to James.

He rolls his eyes, but his smile’s fond. “He’s always called me that, ever since he was a young kid. I’ve never broken him of the habit and never will. Come on, let’s get a drink.”

We dodge our way through the press of bodies. It’s noisy and everybody seems to be well on the way to being drunk, but that’s not surprising as we’re late by a couple or more hours as James got caught up on a work call he couldn’t get out of.

“There’s enough stuff here to open up his own cocktail bar.” I look at the array of bottles, some containing neon hued liquid, many of which I’ve not heard of.

“I think I’ll settle for a glass of wine. You too?” He opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of white.

“A bit too early to say Happy Christmas, whatever Cosmo says. Cheers.” James chinks his glass to mine.

I give him a cheery smile, but to be honest it doesn’t feel very cheery. He could have said to us but he didn’t. He hasn’t said that for a little while, certainly not since he returned from the leaving party he went to a week ago. In fact, it feels like he’s not said very much to me at all since then, but I guess that’s hardly surprising since I’ve barely seen him.

He’s spent long hours at work, and we’ve reverted to how it was when I first moved in, with me leaving a note about dinner before I’ve made my way to the bed we’re sharing. I’m asleep before he comes home, and he’s gone before I wake up. At times, I’ve even wondered whether he’s come to bed with me at all.

Tonight, at this party where I know nobody, is the most I’ve seen of him in the last few days. He’s insisted on coming, but I’ve the creeping feeling it’s been as much to do with us not spending the time together, just the two of us, as it is about wanting to come for his cousin. We’re out of kilter suddenly, and he’s not giving me the chance to find out why.

“Do you know anybody here?” I ask, looking out over the throng in the kitchen. Cosmo must have a varied group of friends. Men and women of all ages, and all of them shouting over the noise, which has got louder.

“There are a few I recognise.”

I turn to look at James. He sounds distracted, and he’s not looking at me, but at the other guests. His gaze is intense as though he’s looking out for someone in particular and I look, too, to see if I can pick out whoever it is. Somebody he knows well, perhaps, an old friend, an old—

I look away, not wanting to know.

The table’s within reach, and it looks like the remains of a battle. A few cocktail sausages are scattered on a plate and I reach out for one, but the thought of it makes my stomach turn over, and I let my hand fall to my side.

“Perry?”

James’ voice is warmer than before, and I instinctively turn to face him. He’s smiling and he’s studying me, not in his cool and inscrutable way, but in a way I’ve not seen before, something I can’t put my finger on, something indecipherable.

“What?” I croak.

“Just this.”

He plucks my glass from my hand and places it along with his own on the table. Cupping my face between his palms, like he’s done so many times before, and as though I’m something precious and worthy of reverence, he tilts my face up and lays a soft kiss on my lips.

The sounds of the party fade to nothing. Here and now, it’s just us.

I close my eyes as the heat of his hands warms me and the brush of his lips over mine flips my heart and sends a wave of flutters through my belly. I want to fall into him, I want to feel his arms encircle me and hold me tight, so tight I can feel our hearts beat as one. The words rise up in me and tingle on my tongue. I want to go, I want to leave this house where I don’t know anybody, I want us to go home where it’s just us, and where we can turn the lights low and kiss and touch, entwine our bodies and make love and try to bridge the gap that’s broken the ground beneath our feet and is pulling us further and further apart.

“James, can—”

His hands slip from my face and I open my eyes. He’s looking not at me, but over my head, his eyes dark and intent. My heart plunges and for a second I feel dizzy and faint, but I turn and search the crowd for what — or who — he’s looking at but—

James’ face lights up, and he grins.

“I thought it was you,” he says, as Freddie pushes his way through, a bottled beer in his hand. He’s grinning and red-faced.

“Not interrupting anything, I hope?” Freddie’s swaying a little, and he bumps into me. “You looked pretty…” he frowns as though searching for the right word. “Intense,” he says with a decisive nod, before he takes a glug from the bottle.

“Is Elliot here?” James asks, and Freddie shakes his head and snorts.

“No, he said he had a stomach ache and didn’t feel well, but I know he wants to snuggle up with Jasper and OD on a Line of Duty boxset. Or maybe Drag Race. He thinks he can fool me, but I see through him every single time, ‘cause he’s pretty easy to suss out, isn’t he, Perry?” Freddie grins at me, blinking his bloodshot, drink-fogged eyes.

“Well, I suppose it’s my job to work him out so—whoops.” I catch hold of Freddie.

He’s gone to put his empty bottle down and almost tripped over. He slings an arm around me and leans down. Like Elliot, he’s tall. When he speaks I have to stop myself from veering backwards from his beery breath.

“You’re so sweet. Has anybody ever told you that before? He is, isn’t he?” Freddie shifts his very out of focus gaze to James.

“Very sweet indeed.” James unfolds Freddie from me.

“Unlike you.” Freddie staggers into James, who has no option but to wrap his arms around Freddie to stop him falling. “You were always trying to talk me into bed, whenever you came round here to see Cos, but I didn’t fancy being just another nutch… nitch…” Freddie’s face scrunches up in a frown. He’s pissed as a fart, and everything he says is down to that, but his words make my blood run cold.

“Notch.” Even above the noise of the party, my voice is clear, the word cutting through like a rapier.

Notch on James’ bedpost.

“Yeah, that’s it, Perry. Got it in one. Never did give up the goods though. Didn’t want to be a… notch.”

He takes his time with the word. I can hear the grin of triumph in his voice, whether for saying the word correctly or because he’d resisted James’ seduction, I don’t know. Because I’m not looking at Freddie, I’m looking at James, who’s staring back at me.

“It was a game, that’s all. Flirting. The more he resisted, the more I pushed.”

Like me? Except in the end I did give up the goods… My stomach rolls over, the few sips of wine I’ve had burning my gut like acid.

Still clinging onto James, Freddie mutters something. Neither of us take any notice.

“You were a free agent; you both were.” I shrug my shoulders in an attempt to look unconcerned. James flirts, he always flirts. It’s built into his DNA.

Then why does a winter chill wrap itself around my heart?

James’ eyes bore into mine, but Freddie shifts suddenly and James has to steady him, dragging James’ gaze from me.

“I think you need to sit down and have a coffee,” James says.

There’s a chair in the corner of the kitchen, near the door leading to the back garden, but Freddie refuses to budge.

“Don’t you dare let him make you a n—n—nudge… oh fuck it, you know what I mean,” Freddie says, ignoring James, swinging around to me and almost stumbling. He locks his gaze to mine. His hazel eyes may be drink glazed but they’re steady. “Fucks anything with a pulse. That’s what Cosmo says. James and his slutty ways. Elliot says so too. Fucks ‘em and leaves ‘em. James—”

“That’s enough Freddie. You’re drunk and you need to sit down and get some coffee in you.”

James barks out the words, as tight as his face, and he tries to steer Freddie to a chair in the corner, but Freddie shakes him off.

“Cosmo said you were going to get married, ages ago, but you couldn’t keep it in—”

“Married?” The word feels like glue in my mouth.

James pushes Freddie down into the chair, his hand planted on Freddie’s shoulder stopping his attempts to get up.

“That’s not true. I don’t know where Cosmo got that idea from.”

James’ attention is all on me, Freddie forgotten. His gaze is fierce, and I look away fearing I’ll be burnt.

“Don’t bother with the coffee,” I mumble, looking at Freddie. He’s fallen asleep.

James doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“I can only think he’s talking about Alex, but civil partnerships and same sex marriage weren’t even thought of, let alone legal, when we were together. But you know we were serious, until I screwed up.”

He winces as though realising how apt the use of the word screw is. Because that was the problem by his own admission. James had loved Alex, but hadn’t loved him enough to not screw around, adding notches to his bedpost.

“You know all about him, and why it finished.”

“It’s not my business, what you did or didn’t do before we got together.”

James sucks in a deep breath, his jaw clenching, eyes narrowing. He looks away as though he’s trying to steady himself. As though he’s trying to tamp down on a rising anger, but when he turns back to me his words are measured and though quiet, are sharp and crystal clear.

“Everything he said… Look, I’ve got a history, Perry. You know the kind of man I am.”

I force myself to meet his hard and unflinching gaze, looking out at me from a face that’s as still and unreadable as granite.

I am.

Not, I was, but I am.

“I know.”

And I do know, because he’s never tried to deny who and what he is.

It’s not James who’s deceived me, it’s myself.