“If I were you, I would never speak to me again,” I started off as he sighed softly.
“If I never spoke to you again? That would make me sad. Remember, I am nursing a tiny little stupid crush on you.”
“Tiny little crush,” I teased, finding a small strain of courage somewhere in my stomach. “That was a full-on kiss. That wasn’t anything like a tiny little crush kiss. That was a big-arsed full-on crush kind of kiss you had going on there.”
“I didn’t use tongue,” he teased back, keeping his voice low as he looked over my shoulder to check on the couple who were chatting quietly behind us.
“I’ve already had all your germs,” I smiled..
Thank god for that. He was laughing again, and the ache in my chest was starting to hurt a little less.
“You can have all of my germs, any time. There are lots of lovely things we could do to each other to exchange germs. Sex and kissing and blow jobs and other nice things like that. But, oh yeah. You’re not into men or gay shit and all that. Sorry. My bad.”
He was smiling, but those were my exact words, and he was just echoing them back to me with an edge to his voice. Yes. I’d hurt him. I knew that. I was stupid and rude, and said all those things with added anger and disgust.
“I’m not…”
“Yeah, you’re not,” he snarled back, chewing furiously at his thumb.
“The gay thing is not problematic.” I tried to find all those smart sentences I had practised in my head. The sensitive and supportive words you were supposed to use. The ‘love is love’ shite that people posted on social media, all things that had suddenly disappeared from my head, leaving my brain an empty hole of mush.
“I’m not attracted to men,” I tried, cringing as the words left my mouth.
“I’m not attracted to men either,” he said, looking completely serious. “I am attracted to women, and I am attracted to men, and sometimes I am attracted to people who don’t necessarily identify with either of those genders. I don’t fucking care who I fancy, I just—you know—meet people who are lovely, and then my stupid heart decides that I would most probably enjoy kissing them. Sometimes, they even enjoy kissing me back. So, I kissed you because, whatever you think right now, you are lovely—when you’re not being an arse.”
“You said you would forgive me for being an arse.”
“You haven’t grovelled enough yet.”
His voice was a little louder than I would necessarily have preferred, right now, as I turned around and checked on the couple behind us, who were—just as I expected—staring at us.
“Mrs Harris, would you like another pot of tea?” Charlie asked graciously, leaving me to stew in my misery over by the bar-ception-thingy of doom. Because that was what it felt like as he cleared the cups from the table, chatting excitedly with Mrs Harris, offering suggestions for little walks and the best gift shops to browse for their grandchildren’s presents.
He still made me smile, with just the sound of his voice. He made my body warm up just with him being near. It was crazy, I decided. It was some strange hormonal surge brought on by the shock of my divorce. It was my body reacting to the stress of the move. It was the inhumane pressure of having to live up to Mrs Hallet’s expectations and the constant passive-aggressive critique coming out of Mrs Pasankar’s mouth. I told him all of this in a pathetic attempt at apologising for my out-of-order comments and inexcusable behaviour.
Charlie just shook his head and crossed his arms.
“It’s a particularly good curry. I used organic coconut milk and fresh coriander. You will have to try harder than that if you want dinner.”
“You kissed me. You invaded my personal space and did not ask my consent before you made your advances.”
That, at least, made him smile.
“You are so full of shit, Daniel.”
“And I know it,” I said, banging my head on the tabletop. “Can we just not just… forget that yesterday evening ever happened?”
“Yesterday evening? Can’t remember a thing.”
“Charlie…”
“I think it must be sugar-induced amnesia. I seem to remember a giant dessert with chocolate sauce. I remember absolutely nothing after that.”
“Nothing?” I laughed.
“Nothing. Now, do you want your chutney on the side or just a big slob of it on top of your rice?”
“Am I forgiven?”
“Forgiven? For what?” he said as he disappeared into the kitchen and left me alone with a pint of beer sat in front of me, mocking me with bubbles.
So, it was all forgotten. Strangely, it didn’t feel forgotten at all.
We ate, chatting awkwardly about the weather. I finished another pint as Charlie read from the essay he was working on. I said goodnight before ten o’clock, sighing with relief as the door to my room closed behind me.
I sat on my bed for what felt like an eternity before pulling myself together enough to shower the day from my skin.
Then I just sat there, wearing a clean t-shirt and boxers, feeling dirty and abused. I didn’t know why, but his indifference had rubbed me the wrong way. His easy forgiveness, too easy on my stupidity. I didn’t like that he didn’t shout at me. I didn’t like that we didn’t fight. I wanted him to fight me. I wanted him to fight… for me.
I just sat there, and again, wondered how I had become this dumb.
I didn’t even have his number so I could rant at him in badly thought-out texts, and I was not dressed enough to walk back down into the lobby. I didn’t want to get dressed again. Well, I was too chicken to get dressed again despite the need to shout at him because I was picking a fight, wanting someone to shout at me, needing all this anger and sadness to somehow get out in the open. All this stupidity, and all my mistakes. My weakness, my ridiculous demands and all the things that went wrong in my marriage, now infecting my brain with things I could no longer control.
I stood and placed a hard kick against the wall. Then I felt stupid, as it made nothing but a faint dirty footprint on the wall.
I needed to control my anger, and I was definitely no Joe Wicks, as my foot now ached from its non-existent impact with the wall. I was not fit, nor strong. I was weak and pathetic and unlovable and stupid, and I couldn’t even sustain a simple friendship that I had come to treasure. Instead, it had become something I couldn’t handle, and now…?
I deserved every pathetic thought in my head. I deserved none of his kindness nor forgiveness.
So, I sat there in a haze of thoughts, surrounded by crisp pillows and posh-looking throws, wondering how on earth someone like me ended up like this. I’d had a good life. A fantastic education. The best job in the world. A beautiful wife. Twice over.
Then there was a knock on the door, no doubt Charlie asking me not to kick at the walls, thus disturbing Mrs Harris’s beauty sleep.
It was Charlie, of course, because who else would it be? And he was carrying a cup of ginger tea with lemon, his coat buttoned up and his scarf tightly wound around his neck.
I immediately missed seeing all the leather straps and silly pearls against his skin and tried to not look at him at all.
“You forgot your tea,” he said, walking up to the bedside table, placing the cup down on a coaster he had magicked up from his coat pocket. “I’m heading home, so I thought I would bring it up to you.”