Chapter 3

Ipress the button to open the bus door and climb in, subsiding into the single chair near the driver's seat. "Fucking hell. Stonehenge is exhausting, and all I had to do was get them to the entrance gate."

"Hmm," Darcy says, and I look at him and frown. He's staring ahead, looking intently at something. I look to see what has caught his attention, but there's nothing—just a lonely tree waving its branches over the parked cars.

My eyes narrow. "Yes," I carry on breezily. "It was tiring because after I'd fought a duel with the knight guarding the entrance, I had to train with the acrobats and then perform a solo rendition of Hamlet's first soliloquy while riding a pony and breaking up a fight between Brenda and Pippa."

He taps his fingers on the wheel. Then, realising there's been a silence, he shoots me a quick look. "Really?" he says dully, and I reach over and pinch him. "Ouch, what the fuck, Freddie?"

"What is the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

I lean back and cross my arms over my chest. "Really?"

"Yes. Leave it alone for Christ's sake," he says sharply, and I gape at him, suddenly hurt. Darcy is never angry with me. He's never even raised his voice at me. Not even the time when I threw up on his morning suit when he was a best man. I have to say the vicar didn't look too happy with Darcy borrowing a cassock, but my best friend just smiled and laughed.

Some of my hurt must show because he immediately looks contrite. "Shit, Freddie, I'm so sorry." He climbs out of the driver's seat and drags me up and into a hug. "I'm sorry," he says again hoarsely. "You didn't deserve that." I return his hug, forgiving him immediately. His arms grip tighter, and I nestle into him, loving the strength in his arms and the heat of his body. Darcy always runs hot while I'm cold. It's like nature invented us to go together, I think glumly, and then never did any more work to make it happen.

I nestle my face into his shoulder and inhale the scent of him. His body is tall and strong, and I have a sudden flash of having him cover me in bed, driving into me with all the muscles in his arms bunching. It's not the first time I've imagined it. Not even the hundredth. But it's generally in bed on my own with lube and my fist. Not in his arms held so close. To my horror, I feel my cock start to stiffen.

I break out of his embrace, and startled, he sways towards me. "You alright?" He stops and clears his throat. "You okay?"

"Yes," I say, nodding furiously. "Absolutely and utterly great."

He stares at me. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes doubtful. "You sure? Your voice has gone a bit high."

"I'm fine, but what about you?" I put my hands on my hips. "Tell me what's up. You seem sad." I think of his wanker ex-boyfriend. I'm sorry, I mean banker. Banker ex-boyfriend. "Did Carl upset you?" I say slowly. He hesitates, and rage fills me like dirty green smoke seeping in and spreading to my entire body. "Oh my god, what did that tosser do? Darcy, tell me now."

He holds up his hand staying my torrent of words. "No, no," he says quickly. "He didn't do anything."

I narrow my eyes. "So why were you sad?"

He hesitates and then shrugs. "I just realised something."

There's a beat of silence. "And? What have you realised?" I say impatiently.

"I've been talking online to someone and –"

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter."

"But–"

"No," he says forcefully. "I thought it might be something, but now I know it can't be."

I want to rage and break things at the thought of him talking to someone else, but at the same time, I can't throw stones in this particular greenhouse because I've been doing the same thing. Besides, this is Darcy - my best friend and the unknowing love of my life. And if there's one thing I know more than the fact that chocolate should be listed as a vital food, it's that I will do anything to see him happy.

"I'm sorry," I say softly, hearing the jagged edge in my voice and hoping he doesn't notice. "You'll find someone, you know."

He looks up, and for a second, words seem to hover on his tongue, but then he just nods and sits back down. "I already have done," he says brusquely.

My stomach drops and I wonder if I'm going to be sick. "What? Who?"

He shakes his head. "No one who's ever going to love me back," he finally says in a weary voice. "Which is why I know it's not fair to the online bloke to lead him on."

I hesitate, at a loss of what to say for the first time in our relationship. I actually just feel like crying.

"Let's drop it," he finally says. He gives me a nervous sort of smile and reaches for his phone. "I need to call Barbara about a job she wants me to do."

I blink. "But we don't do tours without the other one. We're a team." He licks his lips looking awkward, and I feel a stab of pain. It's like he's pulling away from me, and I don't know what's caused it. The sudden safe ground of my life looks more like quicksand this morning. "Where are you going?" I finally say.

"Haworth on the Bronte tour."

"You'll fit in there well," I say sourly. "With all the opium, high emotions, and tuberculosis."

He chuckles, and I watch as he starts to talk to the owner of Vista Tours.

Feeling like I've been hit by a brick, I wander back to my seat and slump into it, staring unseeingly outside. Darcy was talking to someone online, and I didn't know. And he's going to dump the online man because he's in love with someone else. Who is it? I run names and faces from our circle through my brain, but I can't think of anyone. I stiffen. Unless it's Jason Thompson. He's been after Darcy for ages. I swallow hard. I can't bear the idea of Darcy falling in love with someone other than me, but realistically I know he's going to. I'd just hoped it would be someone who'd make him happy, and Jason isn't that person. He's spoilt and selfish.

My stomach rolls like I'm going to throw up, and I think of what Darcy just said about not leading the other bloke on. Then I sigh, knowing what I've got to do. I pull out my phone and bring up the Heart2Heart app. My messages lie there innocently on the screen. I'd had so much hope about this, but Darcy's words have merit even if he didn't know they applied to me too.

I'm in love with my best friend. It seems like it's always been the case and always will be. He's so clever, but he's still kind. I love the sound of his laughter and the way he makes me feel safe and able to be me around him. I love how he's so gentle, as if he's compensating for his height and even the fact that he always asks for olives on his pizza because he knows I like them. It's not fair to drag some poor innocent bloke into this mess.

Darcy continues talking, and I smile sadly at the sound of his voice. Then biting my lip, I tap out my message.

I can't make the meeting. I'm so sorry to have led you on, but I'm in love with my best friend. He loves someone else, but it doesn't make a difference to my feelings, and I don't want to waste your time.

I read the message again and then press send without hesitation. I might be a sad sack, but I won't be a cruel one. I feel a sudden sense of peace and rightness within myself.

I look up as Darcy says goodbye. "Everything alright?" I ask. "Are you readying yourself for a day of wildness and extreme feelings?"

"Sounds like a night out with you when you're drinking Baileys." His phone buzzes, and my hands clench. Is that his mystery man?

He looks down, and I watch as, at first, he seems puzzled, then what looks like sudden realisation and shock cross his face quickly. Then a smile blooms on his sad pirate's face. It's wide and utterly joyous, making his amber eyes sparkle and shine. I thought I'd catalogued all his smiles years ago, but this is brand new and huge. Then he starts to laugh.

"What the hell?" I say. "What's happened?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing," he chokes out. "Just some really good news." He turns to me, and I catch my breath. He's utterly beautiful at this moment, seeming to be lit from within. "The best news I've ever had."

"Have you passed an exam?"

He bites his lips, his eyes full of joy. "You could say that."

"I just did."

"I'll tell you about it later."

"When?"

He looks at me, his gaze searching and full of so much warmth. "Soon. I promise. I just need to think how I can do this."

I swallow hard. Is this from the man he's in love with? I open my mouth to ask him another question he won't answer but a knock sounds on the bus door, and he presses the button to open it. Brenda and Pippa appear. They're wearing faces like thunder and valiantly ignoring each other.

"Oh dear," I whisper. They look over at me, and I offer a distracted smile. "Everything okay with Stonehenge? Still there, is it?"

"Yes, still there, as are certain people's attitudes," Brenda snaps and marches down the aisle, followed by her daughter.

I look down at Darcy, and he rolls his eyes. "Come on," he says cheerfully. "You can come and help me look at the luggage. Something's rattling around in there."

"Hope it's not a passenger," I say morosely, following him out of the bus. "If it is, can we just leave them there? They'll be less trouble."

He opens the hatch and peers inside before grabbing hold of a pink rucksack and strapping it back in. I stare at him as I help him shift the bags around. I need him to tell me what's happened, but I almost don't want to know. Happiness like he just showed always comes with changes, and I can't bear the idea that he's not going to be mine anymore. I fall into an unhappy image of him with another bloke and not wanting to see me anymore. "Freddie, who?" he'll say, and the other bloke will laugh and then they'll shag all day and never think of me again.

"Freddie?" I look up to find Darcy watching me with one eyebrow raised. "You okay? You seem very far away."

"I'm fine," I whisper and pull my phone out for something to do. I see a message that's come in. I didn't hear it so I must have flicked the switch on the side of my phone to silent. I'm constantly doing it by accident. It's from CrawfordFan22.

Don't worry about it. I hope he's worth you. Why don't we meet as friends, though? There's always enough room in life for more friends.

I tap my lower lip absentmindedly. Can I be friends with him? I think of his lively personality. The only one who's come close to keeping me interested is Darcy, and the years of friendship with him have certainly made me happy. Miserably in love but still happy to be around him. Finally, I nod and tap out my message.

Yes, why not? Same place and time. See you there.

I click to send and hear the sudden sound of raised voices. "What the hell?" I say, turning to Darcy, who's pulled out his phone again and is examining it with a smile. Is his bloke texting him?

He looks up. "What's up?" he says distractedly.

I shoot him an incredulous glare. "Can't you hear the shouting? This doesn't bode well for us beating Linda in the best tour competition."

"We lost that when you didn't whip up a batch of muffins."

"Why does that sound so rude?"

He shrugs. "It's my superpower."

The voices get louder, and I sigh. "I bet Kofi Annan never had this fucking trouble."

We climb back onto the bus, and I stop dead, making Darcy barge into me. "What is going on in here?" I say.

David and Maggie are standing up, looking over their seats to where the three old ladies are hovering over Grant and Yvonne. The ladies are red-faced with annoyance.

I blink. "What's the problem? Are you arguing over what Stonehenge was used for? I'll give you a clue. It wasn't a neolithic climbing frame."

Yvonne raises her chin. "Pippa was sitting in our seat," she says, pointing at the offender who's sitting cosily in Grant and Yvonne's seat having obviously decided to sit apart from her mother. Hopefully, it's to avoid matricide because I can't be dealing with that on this tour from hell.

Darcy squeezes my arm. "Ooh, I think this is your problem. I'll leave you with it, Freddie." He hums as he climbs into his seat. Wanker.

"Your seats?" I say, turning back to the group.

Yvonne nods. "We had to move forward because of her. The only other option was the single seats, and obviously, Grant and I can't sit apart."

"Obviously," I say faintly.

"So, we moved along as well."

"Yes, into our seats," Joan says fiercely. "And they must move now. We have to sit together as we need to discuss knitting patterns, and it has to be at the front. Dorothy gets travel sick."

"Why is she on a coach then?" Grant snaps. He's correct, but he's a bit of a wanker, so I don't give him too much credit.

"Oh no. She gets sick," Yvonne says, starting to stand up her face clouded with concern. "Poor lady."

Grant clutches her hand. "Don't move, Yvonne," he says snippily. "We're as entitled to sit here as anyone else."

"You need to sit somewhere else," Joan says.

Grant rolls his eyes. "Where? On the roof rack? This is a small minibus. There aren't any more seats."

I glare at the mother and daughter, looking studiously out of their windows as if this mob riot isn't happening because of them.

"Hang on," I say. "No one owns their seats."

All of them turn to me and burst into angry chatter. Apparently, they've managed to focus their rage. Unfortunately, it's at me.

"And Linda always said we have the same seats every day," Joan snaps.

"Well, Linda was wrong." She gapes at me as if I've denied Harrison Ford's sex appeal, which I'd never do. That man is hot. "There are no names on these seats," I continue bravely. I hope the company says nice things about me in my upcoming obituary.

She opens her mouth, but at that moment, Darcy stirs. "Freddie's right," he says. They all stop talking, apparently stunned that this quiet bloke can talk apart from bouts of swearing at random motorists. "It's company policy not to reserve seats, so please don't shout at him." He turns in his seat, his handsome face tanned and earnest. "If Dorothy gets carsick, maybe it would be a nice gesture to allow them to sit at the front. After all," he says loudly as Grant opens his mouth to object. "Nice gestures are always rewarded."

Grant pauses to consider that statement and then pulls his wife up so quickly that she sways. "Come on, Yvonne, let's give the ladies their seats back. Their need is greater than ours. I'm sure we can stand to sit apart for twenty minutes. Rewarded, eh?" he says, pausing by me.

"Yes, with a bottle of bubbles in your room," I say. His face lights up. "But only Asti," I say repressively. "It wasn't that brilliant a gesture." He opens his mouth, and I shake my head. "You weren't Sir Walter Raleigh. If you had been, Elizabeth the First would have face planted into that puddle."

Once everyone is seated, I look around. "Okay," I snap. "Are we ready?" They all nod rather shamefacedly. "Good. Let's Jane Austen the hell out of this tour."

I make my way back to the front. "And you're paying for that reward," I mutter to Darcy. "Why the hell did you, who never intervenes, decide to do it by costing us money?"

"They were upsetting you."

I gape at him. "They were upsetting me?"

He nods. "No one gets to do that."

"Ooh," Dorothy whispers far too loudly behind us. "That's so romantic."

"Fuck my life," I mutter.