19. Jonathan

I t was only three in the afternoon, and I was already panicking. There was a lunch bag on the side, which I had opened but then became distracted and forgot about eating. Now I was tugging at my tie, wondering if whatever was in the bag was still safe to eat. It smelled good, whatever it was…or had been. Something sweet and spicy. I looked at the sticky label in my hand, and once again, the panic took over.

I would have to sleep on the sofa tonight, on my own, with side light on. I needed to stop stewing and figure out how to deal with everything. I hadn't heard from them, but even thinking about them hurt my head. I should probably text or give them a friendly call.

No, I really should not do that. Mabel said they needed to go home and get their head screwed on straight. Ducks. There'd been mentions of ducks.

The smile on my face felt more like a grimace.

Official reminder that you're having the kids tomorrow night. And let me know what you want for Christmas!

Jenny was my PA. I paid her to know what I wanted for Christmas. I texted her back to that effect and confirmed the babysitting duties. No sooner had I done so than my phone went again—some salesperson whom I had to ask to repeat themselves twice as I could make head nor tail of what they were saying.

I had a special office phone, the sound on it was so loud that people complained they could eavesdrop on my conversations down the road. Anything to be able to hear, but it was embarrassing with other people around. I was glad I was here alone without people laughing at my ineptitude and ignorance when I asked them to repeat themselves. I felt old. Old and grey. Damaged.

The interlude had done nothing for my panic, and I still needed to eat, but my stomach churned as I tried to swallow some kind of yoghurt I found in the fridge. I gave up and made myself another coffee.

Water. I was supposed to have two litres of water a day.

Good grief, as Mabel would say, but I gulped down as much as I could before I stripped out of my clothing and went next door to the gym, ran 5K without breaking a sweat. Then I threw up in the kitchen sink. Mostly water.

My life was governed by fear. Constant, nagging, debilitating fear.

I sat there, freshly showered, on my ridiculous sofa, and watched the lights of London herald the cool evening. Next week was the start of December, Christmas, and my staff would expect me to throw them a party, which I would—an excellent opportunity for me to meet my parents for lunch at their club, exchange the neatly wrapped gifts that Jenny would have organised for me and then come back here and get stone-cold drunk. That was as far as my festive plans went.

My heart was still going nineteen to the dozen.

I put some music on and tried to relax but had to switch it off. The noise annoyed me more than the silence, and the only thing left to do was to just lie here.

Trying not to remember how their body felt against mine.

How I've never had all those things I'd longed for.

All my life I'd wanted that. Someone next to me. Someone who would kiss me in the morning. Kiss me at night.

Someone who loved me.

I couldn't quite put my finger on why I wanted Mabel Donovan, not because it seemed outrageous to me. There were so many different things about them that simply made me smile. Their height. The heels. The clothes. All that blonde hair. Cheekbones. Lip gloss. All superficial things.

More than that, I loved the way they made me feel, and I wanted to be that kind of man. The one who got to care for someone, with no long-winded job description attached, no contract, no monthly wage. Just someone to lean on, who would lean on me too.

A companion. A partner…

A lover.

Sex intrigued me, and I wanted it. I didn't want to pay for it like I had in the past. It had been awful and unfulfilling, a business transaction, an orgasm for a fee.

I had faked it both times with the women. The men? Well, I'd certainly got what I'd paid for, but it hadn't felt good. Hadn't felt right . I'd felt cheap and awful and…

How could it be that I was fifty-one years old and had never experienced intimacy that was remotely fulfilling?

I'd tried apps, several times, but always chickened out at the last minute because I had no clue what I wanted or needed, let alone how to ask for it.

The minutes passed, the hum of the refrigeration unit keeping me alert. The sound of the city in the background. A car beeping its horn.

The click of the door.

I shot up, straight from lying to standing, as the door slid open.

"Oh, Pickle," I exclaimed as a flash of blonde hair caught in the entry light. Heavens, I felt faint. I fell back down on the cushion, my head in my hands. This was all too much, but thank God it was them.

"Hey."

I could hear them moving around, a coat being draped over a chair, a bag gently placed on the table. I imagined them unravelling a scarf, the swish of their hair as they swept it back.

"Sorry, I should have called or left a message, but I was watching TV with my dad, and he fell asleep, and all I could think of was…well, that I'd rather be here."

My senses were back. Or rather, I was less dizzy but still me, and it was a tremendous relief when they sat beside me and let me crawl into their arms, held me while I pressed my face into their…hoodie?

I'd never seen them wearing a hoodie.

"You're wearing sports gear," I observed, trying not to snivel too obviously.

"Sort of," they confirmed. "I mean, you wouldn't catch me dead in a gym, but my parents live in an old terrace, and the draughts are insane, not to mention it's almost winter, Jonny. I tend to sleep in things like this in winter, to keep me warm."

"I see."

"This is where you say something suggestive like, ‘No need to worry about the draughts here, Pickle. I'll keep you warm.'"

Their arms were around me, their chin resting on my head, fingers combing my hair, and I could smell their perfume, soft and clean, comforting. I said nothing, so they kept talking.

"I couldn't go to bed, knowing you'd be back on this sofa doing all this again, getting up to no good and then not sleeping. Those panicky moments you have—I don't want you to do this alone."

"Thank you," I whispered. I didn't dare move. I could probably sleep right here, bent awkwardly with my legs sticking out at angles, as long as I was next to Mabel.

"Did you eat this evening?" they asked.

"Not much," I admitted. "I need to find a new place to eat since my favourite headwaiter isn't around anymore."

"I'm sure they'd still feed you down there."

"Don't want to."

"Then it's as well that I brought you some dinner. Just leftovers, but I went to the supermarket with my dad today and picked up a few other things—breakfast stuff, fruit—you know, basic nutrition."

"Is that another small stab at my lack of hospitality?"

"Absolutely. Now sit yourself up and let me look after you. A little bit of food, then we're going to bed. In a bed. Properly."

"Will you stay?"

"Of course." They did it again, tipped my chin up, but this time, I knew what to do. It hadn't been as intimidating as I'd anticipated, that first little kiss, and I was more than ready for seconds as I looked up at them. Really looked. They smiled back at me.

"I have no idea what we're doing here," they admitted. "I'm not like this. I'm not impulsive or crazy, and I certainly don't just move in with people on a whim."

"Noted."

"But I like you, even though the first time I saw you, you were just this scruffy guy in a tracksuit, and you looked tired and pissed off. But then I got to know you, and it's like there was always something there?"

"A connection." I nodded. "I've never felt anything like it. That sounds a bit flaky, but it's the truth, Mabel. I felt it. I know you did too, and here we are."

"And you kissed me this morning."

"I did." I smiled, very proud of myself, as they blushed.

"Kissing is nice. And…well. I usually don't kiss on the first date."

"I think we've gone way beyond first dates here, Pickle. We've even slept together." I winked. They laughed. Good.

"What is this then? Date three?"

"Are we counting?"

"Nah."

My face was edged closer to theirs. Soft lips. Fingers on my cheek. And then we were kissing. Goodness, I'd forgotten how incredible this could be. No drunken snogs in student halls or silly juvenile mouth-to-mouths with strangers came close to what it felt like to kiss someone you wanted to kiss. Someone who felt right. Small, soft nibbles of my lips, their nose nudging mine, a hand behind my neck as mine slipped behind theirs. They changed their posture and I matched it, like we were dancing, right there on the sofa.

"Jonny," they whispered. "I need to feed you. Then…I'm going to take you to bed."

"Yes." I meant to all of that, but I was a little flustered.

"I really like this beard you have going on." More fingertips, stroking my chin now. Another soft kiss.

"Haven't shaved for a few days," I admitted with a shrug. "Had other things on my mind."

"What kinds of things?"

"You. The fact that I can't stop thinking about you. That you've only been here a handful of hours, and already the place is empty without you. And I know I shouldn't pester you or try to force your hand, but I could have cried when you turned up. I didn't think you would."

"I didn't think I would either, but as it turns out, I think about you too. And I missed you."

They got up and held out their hand for me to take. I did so and followed them to the kitchen counter. "I missed you too," I said, watching them unpack containers of food. "Last night was…good. Thank you." They handed me a fork and indicated one of the boxes.

"It's just chicken salad. Homemade dressing," they explained as I put a forkful in my mouth. Spices and something sharp hit my tongue as I haplessly chewed.

"Light and easy…" They paused to pull the hoodie over their head. "It's far too late for dinner, but you need to eat. You'll need your energy."

"For what?" I asked, a little fearful now. This was moving fast, and I wasn't sure I was ready for it, because Mabel Donovan in a white tank top was…well, they did things to my lower body that I hadn't felt in years. The way their shoulders moved. The outline of their chest and…God help me, there was lace peeking up from underneath that waistline.

"For me." They smiled, wiping something from my face as I gulped down another forkful. My hands were shaking, but I was doing fine. With them here, the world was full of light.