‘I’m really sorry Mum, if I ruined the party.’
‘Yes, well, I think it might be Stella that you have to talk to about that.’
‘I might need time to build up to that one.’
‘Hang on, your father wants to say something.’
He waited nervously as heard his mother pass the handset over to his father. Freddie couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to his dad on the phone. He wondered how much trouble he must be in to warrant it.
‘Son?’ His voice was solemn, and serious.
‘Hi Dad.’ Freddie wondered if he could maintain his composure, whether his new-found resilience would break under his father’s scrutiny.
‘It’s about time.’
‘I’m sorry, what?’
‘Look, I love my boys. I love both of you. And I’m never going to condone violence, you know that. In nearly thirty years, you boys have never once fought. Not physically at least. You’ve had your scrapes, and I recall David being heavy-handed when you were younger, yes, but you’ve never actually outright fought. Except, I always thought that it would probably be a good thing if you did. Does that make any sense?’
‘Not really.’
‘I think what I’m trying to say is that I know things have never been easy for you, that you’ve been . . .’ He struggled for the words. ‘I’ve always known that you’re a sensitive one. But I just figured that one day you’d realise what you needed to do and stand up for yourself.’
‘Dad . . .’
‘David will get over this. Give him time, and he’ll get over it. But how are you doing?’
‘I’m fine, Dad.’
‘Everybody’s talking about your Kate girl. Are we going to see her again? I never even got the chance to say hello properly.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure about that, actually.’
‘Well, you’ve always done everything in your own time, Freddo, never been one to rush things. That’s OK too, of course.’
‘I know, thank you, Dad.’
‘I’d better put your mother back on, she’s making one of her faces at me . . .’
‘Freddie!’ his mother yelled, drawing a sharp line under the tears that had been starting to form. ‘Just promise me that you’re all right?’
‘I promise,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go Mum, I’m at the Tube.’
‘Call me tomorrow, Freddie. Come and see us at the weekend.’
‘I’ll try. OK, bye.’
He wasn’t at the Tube station. He’d been walking down Georgian streets and around squares that loomed and cast strange shadows in the dark.
It felt good, being brave. It felt really good. And it had unexpected results. Hearing his father talk to him like that seemed like a rare, lucid moment within a dream, a flash of clarity before everything went back to being blurred and inconsequential. His father didn’t say much, didn’t get involved much, but he cared. When it mattered, he cared.
Freddie decided to walk home and, as he did, he thought about what he would say back to Kate right now, if he could. He imagined every possible way that he could tell her that she was wonderful, and beautiful, and that he wanted them to be together, always. As he walked, he started smiling, thinking about how if he found someone new, if the opportunity ever came up again, then he’d be ready, even if he had to wait another lifetime for it.
Chapter 24
‘I’m really pleased that you wanted to meet up!’
His name was Patrick, and he seemed nice. At least, Kate wasn’t getting any Ethan-like vibes from him. On his profile it said that he dabbled in an amateur orchestra (he played the bassoon) and his last holiday had involved Interrailing through Central Europe. His photos had revealed a cheerful, carefree smile and a readiness for fancy dress.
They were having drinks in a basement wine bar in Soho, a small place with low lighting and lots of cosy nooks to hide away in. Kate liked the place a lot, and was pleased when Patrick had suggested it.
‘So tell me about your day?’ she asked him.
He told her, and she listened as politely as she could, but barely took anything in. Patrick was as nice as Kate presumed he was going to be, but she had known the moment they met that it wasn’t going to go any further.
It’s not you, she told him in her head, as he explained orchestra cliques to her, and what you could tell about someone’s personality type from what instrument they played. I’m just not interested.
‘Can I admit something?’ Patrick said. ‘And I really hope that you don’t find it strange.’
‘Go on?’
‘I clicked on you, and I was really hopeful that you’d click back on me. I was thrilled when we matched.’
‘That’s really nice to hear.’
‘It’s just nice, when you’re going through these apps, to find someone you think might be on your level, someone who you can really foresee getting on with. I had that hope with you. Would you like more wine?’
Kate agreed to a top-up, felt she could do with it as her heart had started racing. She wished that it could be for good reasons, that her blood was pumping in response to his eagerness – he was so nice, after all – but the truth was that she was just dreading the moment when she would have to let him down.
One more glass, she told herself. She wanted to be polite, and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But every time he looked up at her, every time his body language suggested that he would like to get closer, that he wanted to know more about her, all she could think was: You’re not Freddie.
She’d felt the same when swiping through on the dating app.
You’re not Freddie.
You’re not Freddie.
When Patrick had messaged her, Kate had responded not because of genuine mutual interest, but because it felt like something Renee or Lindsey would suggest she do. A distraction to make her feel better. A rebound to help her move on.
But now she was here, and she knew it wasn’t going to work. Patrick was edging closer to her with every sip of wine he drank, and all she wanted to do was run away.
In the end they parted amicably. He suggested moving somewhere else to get food, she said that she should probably get home. He took the hint. But Kate hadn’t been ready to go home, so she decided to walk alone through Soho, watching couples on dates like she watched the paintings in the gallery, a lonely outsider viewing from a distance.
She thought about texting Freddie, about seeing what he was up to, but it felt cruel, to herself and to him. She didn’t want to confuse the situation more, for both of them.
A reminder came up on her phone with a notification for the next group meeting. Kate deleted it; she was no longer a virgin, so she didn’t think she’d have a place there any more. But it did make her think of the rest of the anonymous gang and, seeing as Hattie’s was the only number (apart from Freddie’s) that she had saved, she sent her a message to see if she was around and fancied a drink.
A twenty-minute bus ride across town later, and she was sitting in a pub with Hattie, watching as Hattie’s jaw slowly dropped further and further down in wide-open shock.
‘Look at you, dating all over the place. Who would have thought it a couple of months ago!’ Hattie said