Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

TOM

T he cocktail bar that Sal picked for our last night is like being in a Disney princess’s brothel. That’s the only way I can describe it. The walls are pink, the tables and chairs are pink, and the lighting is pink. Even the bar has a shiny pink counter, and the Christmas decorations are hot pink.

Jack stirs next to me. “This is the same colour as my mother’s bedjacket.”

I grimace. “You’re not selling it to me at the moment.”

He chuckles. “It fell on me once when I was two, and I panicked because I couldn’t find the way out.”

“Rather like talking to your mother.”

He laughs, unoffended. His parents are like what would happen if you crossed the rotary club with a tank. They’re never satisfied and never let up, always seeking perfection from him when he’s already pretty perfect. The fact that they like Steven is the biggest red flag as to how wrong they can be.

“So, is Steven coming back with us tomorrow?”

I’m hoping that Steven will have been abducted by aliens, but that would probably destroy interplanetary relations.

He sighs. “Yes.”

I want to say more, but I can’t. I’ve already said enough. Jack has to come to the end of the relationship himself, and I’ve seen signs of it happening. The thing is, I know why he’s stayed with Steven. He offers Jack the same sort of cold love he grew up with. I sigh and make a Christmas wish that Jack will find someone warm and real. Someone who will value him and make him believe in himself when he’s had a lifetime of the people closest to him denting his confidence.

My eyes are itchy, and I raise my hand to rub at them before stopping myself. That’s what happens when you fall asleep with your contacts in. But waking up with Bee’s naked body plastered to mine had been worth it.

Freddy reels over to us. He’s wearing a pink boa that a group of girls at the next table conferred on him. He’s also carrying a tray of drinks that are on fire.

“What the fuck ?” I mutter as he sets the tray neatly on the table. It’s one of his superpowers. No matter how drunk he is, he never spills a drop. “What are those?”

“Santa’s Smirnoff Sparklers,” he says, elongating the words.

“Tell Santa to burn his own place down, and please try to extinguish them before you take a drink this time.”

“Oh, what’s a little burnt nose hair when you’re having fun ?”

The last word is shouted, and Jack and I instantly move out of vocal range. Undeterred, Freddy offers us a sweet smile and wanders off to talk to the boa-gifting girls. I shake my head and extract my water from the tray. It looks sad and dull next to the others, so I take pity on it and nick a sparkler, setting it in my glass.

Jack snorts. “I told you I’d drive tomorrow if you wanted to have a drink tonight.”

“Nah, I’m fine. I’d rather have a clear head.”

“Hmm.” He sips his beer, which I’m amused to see is in a pink bottle. “A clear head must be useful when you’re conducting the romance of the century.”

I’ve just taken a sip of my water and promptly choke. “What the fuck ?” I breathe.

He starts to laugh. Finally, he sobers and turns a meditative gaze on me, making me want to squirm. If he puts his mind to it, Jack can get anything out of me, and it looks like this is one of those occasions.

“So, you and Bee?”

“Are we conjoined now?”

He wrinkles his nose. “For this holiday I’m going to say yes.”

“He’s very good company.”

He stares at me beadily, and I groan and slump down on the pink velvet booth. My gaze slides to Bee. He’s sitting with Ivy and Georgina and laughing at something one of them has said. The sight makes me smile. He doesn’t laugh enough.

I look back to find Jack watching me. As usual, there’s no judgement. Just my friend. “I’m still trying to work him out,” I confide.

“That’s not a job for a few days of a holiday. He’s a very complex person.”

“I know.” I shake my head. “I failed in my abstinence task too, Jack.”

His mouth twitches. “Yes, I rather gathered that from all the moaning and groaning coming from his room this afternoon. Either that or you were teaching him how to do Taekwondo.”

I blanch. “Don’t tell Bee you heard us, for Christ’s sake. He’s a bit shy. People’s attention makes him feel awkward.”

I’d snuck out of his room this evening to get ready and ensure that no one knew what we’d spent the afternoon doing. Not that this made any difference. I’m sure they all know anyway.

“You know I won’t say anything. So, he’s a love-and-leave-them sort of bloke. Ivy said he’s a one-and-done. By my reckoning, you’ve outlasted that moratorium.”

“I don’t know how,” I say a little glumly. “I’m not exactly on his level of brains.”

“And yet he’s fascinated by you.”

I look up. “Is he?”

His eyes narrow. “Don’t you know? Can’t you see? Look over at him now.”

I do as he says and blink as I find Bee watching me while the girls talk. A flush appears on his cheeks at being caught out, but then he drops me a saucy wink that makes me smile.

I turn back to Jack, and he grins. “He’s still interested in you, even though you apparently have sexual willpower that’s like a magpie with something shiny.”

I let myself revel in that bit, then shake my head. “I want to see him again. I’ve never met anyone like him and want to see where it goes. But do I tell him that or opt for stealth dating?”

“And that would be?”

“Where I think up more and more things to do that interest him enough to cover up the fact that we’re dating.”

“How long would that go on for?”

“ I don’t know,” I say, aggrieved. “How long is a piece of string?”

“Well, if you get into your eighties, you could see it as a success, but you’ll probably have broken Google by then.” He nudges me. “It’s nice that you want to interest him, but I don’t think you have to try so hard.”

“It’s not like that,” I protest. “I just like seeing him happy.”

“Babe, you do that anyway. You do it with everyone.”

Movement comes from our right, and I turn and smile at Ivy. She drags a stool over and settles down in front of us. “Alright,” I say. “Enjoying the night?”

“It’s wonderful. Isn’t the colour so funky ?”

“Funky,” Jack and I echo dutifully.

I look beyond her to see Bee has vanished and crane my head to see where he’s gone.

“The loo.” Ivy grins. It’s a crooked smile full of so much charm that I smile back. I like her. “He’s gone to the loo.”

“Who?”

She and Jack laugh. “Father Christmas,” she says. “He’ll definitely let you look at his sack.”

I shake my head as the two of them keep laughing like fools.

When she sobers, I ask her the question that’s been on my mind all afternoon. “Why were you so surprised when Bee showed me his Instagram account?”

She shrugs. “Because he doesn’t show it to anyone.”

“ Really ? But he’s so good at photography.”

She waves a careless hand. “He’s good at almost everything. It would be infuriating if he wasn’t so sweet and almost pathologically oblivious.”

“Almost everything? What isn’t he good at?” Jack asks.

“Ah, people are his nemesis. He’s not good at reading them.” She hesitates. “Some of that is his past, but I can’t say anything.”

I take a sip of my drink. “You don’t need to. He’s told me some stuff.” I set my glass down as she narrows her eyes at me. “What?”

“He told you?”

“About his childhood and uni? Yes.”

“Oh my god.” Her eyes are wide and excited. “This is amazing .”

“If you say so.”

“No, you don’t understand. Bee compartmentalises life more than a Tupperware container. He likes his work, his dad, and his men all to be separate and not touching.”

“Yeah, I got that impression,” I say sourly, thinking of that man he’d been with when at the beginning of the holiday. Bee had waved him off, his eagerness to be rid of him very obvious.

“Not with you, though.” She leans forward. “You seem to have avoided the compartment walls and got everywhere.” She pauses. “Like … like mould.”

“It's not the best compliment I’ve ever received, but thank you anyway,” I say faintly as Jack laughs.

“You’re very welcome,” she says grandly. She hiccups. “Just keep doing what you’re doing,” she advises me. “I’ve never seen him like this before.”

My heart starts to hammer. “But we’re going home tomorrow. We don’t exactly move in the same circles there.”

“Oh yes.” Her mouth droops. “That’s so sad .”

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Jack advises me. “Don’t scare him off, but finesse your way around it.”

“ Finesse ?”

He grimaces. “Yeah, not your best quality, babe.”

I think about that all night as the others drink, and I’m resolved to do as he suggested. But my plans are completely derailed when we get back to the flat, and Bee directs a very come hither look at me and pulls me into his bedroom.

Unfortunately, the blood flow draining from my brain and into my cock makes me forget all my resolutions, and I lose myself in his warm body, feeling his scent weave around me and hearing his moans and sighs in my ears. When I come, it’s almost painful in its intensity, and I shudder, jetting into the condom, clutching him close and feeling his spunk paint my stomach and chest.

We rest for a few seconds, and then I pull out slowly. He gives a displeased groan, and I get rid of the condom before turning back to him. He’s lying spreadeagled amongst the sheets, his hair a dark mess against the pillows.

“Okay?” I ask worriedly. “I was going a bit hard at the end. Did I hurt you?”

He smiles and gives a kittenish purr of satisfaction, which slightly reassures me. Then he opens his eyes and peers blearily at me. I wonder if he can actually see much of me without his glasses, so I grab them, setting them neatly on his nose. “Bee?”

He wrinkles his nose and gives me an almost shy smile, which is more charming than he’d like to know. “I’m fine. Thank you for my glasses.”

“You’re welcome.”

I stare at him for a moment. I need to go before I outstay my welcome, but as I turn to move away, he makes an inarticulate grumble and pulls me so that I fall against him. He immediately twines his arms around me. “No, stay,” he whispers.

My heart clenches. “Can I talk to you?” I say hesitantly.

I don’t know whether I’m relieved or disappointed when his answer is a soft snore, but the question is lost in the pleasure of him snuggling into me and falling asleep in my arms. I take my contacts out and then pull the covers over us, tucking them around him so he doesn’t get cold.

I’ll think about it tomorrow. There’s still time , I think sleepily.

BEE

I come awake to a horrendous banging on the door.

“What?” I whisper. “What is it?”

The banging happens again, and I grimace at the taste in my mouth.

“Bee, are you up?”

I blink. “Ivy?”

“Are you ready to go?”

The warm mass at my back shifts, and the arms wrapped around my torso tighten. “Mmm,” Tom says, pressing kisses to the nape of my neck. I shiver, leaning in, and then freeze as Ivy’s words register.

I raise my wrist to my eyes and peer shortsightedly at my watch. It takes me two goes before the horror of the situation sinks in.

“Oooooh, shit ,” I shout, vaulting out of bed. I stumble on a corner of the duvet and face plant on the floor. There’s a second’s silence before Tom pops his head over the edge to stare down at me.

“You okay?”

Ivy bangs on the door again. “Bee?”

“Coming,” I croak.

“What is happening right now?” Tom says. “Is there a fire?”

“That might be preferable. It’s nine o’clock in the morning.”

It takes a second for the sleepiness to clear, and then recognition dawns. “Oh fuck .”

“Yep, we’re late.”

He jumps out of bed much more gracefully than I managed, and I stand up, watching as he pulls his jeans on and shrugs into his shirt. “Fuck,” he says again.

“You can certainly say that again.”

“I haven’t even packed.”

“Neither have I, but in all honesty, I could probably leave half the shit I brought and never miss it.” I consider that and then add, “Not the prostate wand, though.”

He grins and, coming closer, kisses me without any consideration for our morning breath. “Mmm, definitely take that home.”

I blink and he’s gone, opening the door, sliding out, and saying something that makes Ivy laugh. I hear a distant cheer from someone in the lounge, and then the door opens again, and Ivy appears.

“Oh my god ,” she says, hands on her hips, looking at the wreck of the room.

“I know,” I say piteously. “You have to help me.”

“This is becoming a recurrent theme in our lives.”

“What?” Her meaning sinks in, and I grimace. “Yeah, it’s certainly not good for my savoir faire .”

“Alright, Terry Thomas.”

“I wish I was him,” I say morosely, thinking of our five-hour marathon of his films last week. “He was always so wonderfully blasé about everything.”

“He probably didn’t shag a different man every night, though.”

“Yeah, there is that. And it’s only been one man this holiday,” I say indignantly.

She grabs my case, and I start to draw things off their hangers and throw them in. She then takes them out and folds them neatly while I prepare another handful. “Yes, and why do you think that is, Bee?”

“What?” I dart into the bathroom and grab my toothbrush. Then I brush my teeth while cramming stuff into my washbag. It takes me three tries to get the zipper closed and then I chuck it to her. She looks at me expectantly and I remember her question. My stomach roils at the implications, and I groan. “Please, not now. I’m hungover, my arse hurts, and I’m late again.”

“You’re like a very louche white rabbit.” I scramble into my clothes and shoes and, as an afterthought, hand her my toothbrush. She tuts. “And sometimes you can be very trying.”

The next hour is full of bustle as everyone rushes about packing suitcases and cleaning the flats. I see Tom in passing, but there’s always someone with him, so I don’t have time to talk to him. It’s probably a good job because I’m not entirely sure what I’d want to say anyway.

Finally, everything is done, and we haul our cases downstairs. Theo hefts Georgina’s case. “Jesus, Georgie, did you buy Edinburgh?”

She shakes her head, and they start to bicker about luggage, both perfectly content.

Tom comes to stand next to me as Sal hands in our cards. “Alright?” he asks in a low voice.

I sneak a look at him to find him watching me with an expression I can’t quite work out. It’s a blend of anxiousness and affection that makes nerves squirm in my belly. Not for the first time, I wish people were as easy to work out as algebra.

“Yes,” I say. I hesitate, stuck for what to say with everyone around us listening. I wish I didn’t feel so awkward in groups of people. The trouble is I have too much going on in my head for anything to come out in coherent form.

“I need to talk to you,” he says.

Before I can respond, Sal approaches. “Shake a leg, everyone,” she says. “We’re done.” Tom glares at her but she just ruffles his hair. “Let’s go home.”

He turns reluctantly, and I follow, wondering what he was going to say.

We get outside and find Steven waiting in the courtyard. He’s dressed in a suit and long coat and checking his phone with his luggage neatly packed at his feet.

I sneak a look at my own case, where a shirt hangs out of the bit that we hadn’t managed to force the zip around. I put it behind me.

“Alright?” he says coolly. “Goodness, you do all look dreadful . I started the day with a gym workout and a swim. You should try and do that rather than drinking like alcohol is going to be outlawed at any second.”

“How lovely,” Sal says. “Maybe the cool water has shrunk your head. It’s getting a bit inflated again.”

He glares at her, and we start to walk to the car park. Tom looks as if he’s going to walk beside me, but when Jack says something he turns to his friend.

Ivy comes up next to me, and I grab her bag. She shoots me a grateful glance. “Did you get a chance to talk to him?”

I shake my head. “It’s not been the right time.”

“When is? Sixty years from now?” I stare at her, and she huffs. “ Boys .”

“I’ll talk to him in the car.”

“And say what?”

“Oh my god , Ivy, you want me to talk to him, and now I’m expected to know what I’ll say, too? Life is so complicated.” When she rolls her eyes, I insist, “I’ll talk to him!”

Steven positions himself by the passenger door when we get to the car. “I think I might get car sick today,” he says. “I’m sure you don’t mind me sitting in the front, Bee.” It’s said in a steely tone of voice that suggests I’d better not have a problem.

“Hang on,” Tom says. “Maybe he doesn’t want to sit in back.”

I exchange looks with him, feeling disappointed that I won’t be next to him. However, it’s mixed with a sense of relief that I now won’t have to think of what to say for a bit.

“I don’t mind,” I say quickly, jumping into the back seat quicker than a dog after a bone.

Ivy stares at me, and I grimace. “What was I supposed to do?” I whisper.

“Well, now you’re going to have to find a way to talk to him while we’re on the road.”

“Yeah, of course. I can’t see that being a problem.”

A few hours later, I shift in my seat, looking at the back of Tom’s head as he fights his way through the London traffic.

I’d wondered if we could talk when everyone fell asleep, but Steven appeared to be on a sponsored stay-awake campaign while talking loudly about his conference, which explains why I was the one who fell asleep, waking with a stiff neck and a bleary head.

I’d reassured myself that I could maybe talk to Tom when we took a break, but that didn’t work out either because his car started to overheat, and he spent the entire time at the services speaking to the man from the RAC. He’d given me a grateful smile that warmed me all the way through for the coffee I bought him, but that had been the extent of our interaction.

And now, we’re nearing my home, and I have no idea what to say or do. I should happily wave him off and feel relieved never to see him again, but the thought of doing that fills me with horror. Not to see his smile and hear his lovely voice. Not to curl up with him in bed at night or feel that funny calm I do around him as if he makes the world spin a little slower, so I don’t get so dizzy.

How can one person do that to me, and more importantly, how has that happened in a matter of days?

And that’s the thing. It has only been a few days. What if this is just a holiday romance, and when we get home, there’ll be nothing there? Maybe it’s best just to have this as a nice memory that will never end up hurting me.

I stare out of the window, watching the streets go by. They’re covered in snow, so we’re getting a white Christmas after all, but the snow just reminds me of Circus Lane when we’d waltzed on a snow-covered street. Will everything remind me of Tom?

My thoughts go round and round in my head as my hangover pulses at my temples, making my brain feel slow and sluggish. I have a feeling I’m missing something important, but I can’t grasp it.

And then there’s no more time. Tom turns the car into my street and pulls onto my carpark. When he switches off the engine, Ivy wakes up with a start. “Huh? That’s very interesting, Steven,” she says and then hastily wipes her drool off my jumper.

“We’re here,” I say tersely, and her eyes widen.

Jack stirs from his sleep and blinks at me. “This is you?” he says. I nod. “It’s been lovely to meet you.” He shoots a look at Tom, which I don’t think I’m supposed to see, and then back at me. “Hopefully, I’ll see you again soon.”

My throat tightens, and I smile. “Hopefully,” I reply, but it sounds stiff—as if I don’t mean it. I offer him a one-armed hug over Ivy, and he pats my shoulder.

“I know we will, so I’ll just say see you soon.”

Steven offers me a casual wave and starts to look at his phone, so I gather he’s not echoing Jack’s sentiment. I climb out of the car and Ivy follows. I look up at my flat. It seems like years have gone past since I came out of here with that bloke whose name I can’t remember. And then Tom had said hello to me, and I’d glared at him.

The boot opens, and Tom climbs out of the car. “Hey,” he says, coming towards me.

“Hey,” I reply awkwardly as I grab Ivy’s case and hand it to her, staggering slightly at the weight. “Have you got a dead body in there?”

She shrugs. “No. It’s probably the piece of your brain which I’m pretty sure is missing at the moment.”

“What?”

She just rolls her eyes.

I turn to Tom. “So?” I slide my hands into my jeans pockets, feeling suddenly awkward and very aware that Ivy, Jack, and Steven are all watching us. “This is it.”

He scratches his head, a flush on his beautiful face. “Yeah, can I just?—?”

“So, I’ll say goodbye,” I say, breaking in abruptly with a feeling of horror.

My body seems to be operating independently, because instead of saying I’ll miss him, I find myself holding out my hand. He blinks and slides his into mine, and then his mouth falls open as I shake it briskly.

“Well, it was very nice to meet you,” I say in a far too cheery voice. His eyes have widened. “Thanks for driving. See you soon.” Panicking, I drop his hand and stride away.

I don’t look back, and Ivy is at my heels as I open the door to the building and walk in. I propel us determinedly up the stairs, ignoring her puffing complaints, and open the door to the flat. I pull her inside and slam the door behind us as if we’re characters in a Stephen King film, and this is a safe place.

I stand still as awareness returns. “Oh shit ,” I say faintly.

“Oh my god .” Ivy stares at me with her mouth open.

“I know. What have I done?”

“Oh my god, you shook his hand .”

“I know .” My voice gets higher, and I run my fingers through my hair. “Oh shit.”

“You said it was nice to meet him. What was that about?”

“I don’t know. I just panicked, and everyone was looking at us, and so I…”

“Shook his hand.”

“Yes, thank you very much,” I snap. “Have you taken over as the voiceover on my life?”

“I’d need danger money to do that,” she replies tartly. “And if I did, I would be saying right now, ‘Unfortunately, listener, Bee Bannister behaved like a total twat.’”

I shake my head as if to clear it and race over to the balcony, struggling with the lock. I fling the doors open, ready to shout down and invite Tom in, but the car is gone, and the car park is empty.

I turn around. “He’s gone ,” I say unhappily.

“Oh, Bee.” I can hear the disappointment in her voice.

The flat is silent. The only noise is the hum of the fridge and Ivy’s soft breaths. There are no voices raised in laughter, no quiet chats, no twinkling eyes to meet mine, and no wonderful adventures to be had with him.

And suddenly, I know what that wayward thought was that I couldn’t grasp. I’d worried that he’d hurt me if we got together. I should have worried that I’d hurt myself by forcing us apart.