by Lily Morton
He shrugs, something cold showing in his eyes. “She knows the score.”
“She’s not a fucking umpire. She’s a person with thoughts and feelings, and to be honest I really don’t think you should marry her.”
“Because you want me?”
“No, because she deserves more than you’re capable of giving her.” I pause, acid running through my stomach. “Oh my God, he was right,” I say slowly.
“Who was right?”
“Jesse.”
“Why? Did he get the answers for the homework you set him?” he says snidely.
“He said you were trying to get me back. We actually had a fucking row over it because I said you’d never do that.” I stare at him. “He was right.”
He stares at me for a long second, and I think we both see the years we had together fading away like sparks from a fire. Then he straightens up and buttons his jacket. “Whatever. I’m not terribly interested in that boy’s opinions. Thankfully your stupid relationship isn’t my business.”
I nod slowly. “And Jesse isn’t either. Please don’t speak to him again unless it’s just bland civilities. He’s not your concern.”
Spite crosses his face and I marvel that I ever thought I loved him. “I don’t think he’s yours anymore either, Zeb. Not after seeing his face a few minutes ago.”
I go cold. “What do you mean?”
He smiles. “He saw us, Zeb. Stayed long enough to watch us kiss and then fucked off sharpish.”
I feel vomit rise in my throat, and panic fills me. I dash towards the door just as he comes to life. “Wait, where are you going?” he shouts.
“To find Jesse.”
“But I’m getting married.”
“Not to me, thank goodness. You are now totally someone else’s problem.”
“What about my fucking best man?”
“Ask someone who still gives a shit about you. Good luck.”
Chapter Thirteen
Zeb
I bang into the flat. “Jesse,” I shout out. “Jesse?”
But the silence mocks me with the knowledge that he isn’t here. I don’t even need to look. He has a way of infusing a place with his presence and I always know where he is.
I see a scrap of paper on my desk and draw near, almost afraid to pick it up. It’s a page that’s obviously been torn from his exercise book and his messy scrawl fills up the page with impatient letters. I draw in a breath that hurts my chest and read it.
Dear Zeb,
I’ve left. To be honest it’s looking like I never should have been here in the first place. I saw you and Patrick on the balcony earlier. I think that, along with your behaviour when I tried to stop you seeing him, tells me everything I need to know.
I lower the page and suck in a sharp breath, feeling moisture burn at the back of my eyes. Fuck. It just gets worse. I go back to the letter.
I realised when I saw the two of you that this whole month has really been about you and Patrick and never about me, which just goes to show my arrogance because I thought differently. I thought a lot of things which I’m glad I never said now.
Anyway, I wish you happiness. I’m not sure you’ll get it to be honest because Patrick is a complete arsehole, but maybe that’s what you need. And I realised today that I’d like you to have what you want because you spend far too much time catering to everyone else’s needs and ignoring your own. So, if a spoilt man child is what you’re after, then have at him.
Just please be happy. I don’t think you are or have been for a very long time, but I don’t think you pay any attention to that, which is sad. Be happy, Zeb, in whatever form it takes.
I won’t be coming back to the agency so you can take this as my resignation. I’m presuming you won’t hold me to anything. I just can’t see you anymore. I don’t want to. I’m going away for a bit so don’t call round at the flat.
Jesse
My hands are shaking, and I push them behind my back as if to hide them. The idea that he thinks I’ve been using him to get back with Patrick is horrifying. My stomach clenches until I think I might throw up and I want to hold him so badly. He must feel dreadful. What did he feel when he saw me on the balcony? I imagine all that lovely vitality in his face dying away and I feel sick.
I want him suddenly and desperately. I want to say sorry for doubting him. I want to hug him and hold him close, listen to him laugh and inhale his scent of green tea. But the silence of the room seems to mock me with that wish, and I sink onto a chair, still holding his letter. This can’t be over. I won’t let it.
I think of this month. All the wonderful silly dates. Laughing together. That slow dance in the candlelight. I’ve never felt so alive or so seen. Jesse seems to notice things about me that no one else does. He seems to care more than anyone else has either. My childhood was so chaotic, and I clung to the notion that my father loved me. But he didn’t really know me. No one does apart from Jesse. He is the only one who’s ever cracked the shell I grew around me as a matter of survival when I was small. And even when he sees everything, I don’t feel naked and exposed because he’s seeing me with those warm brown eyes of his. Those kind eyes.
At times, this month has been scary because I have so many feelings for him. It’s such a leap of faith to invest your heart with someone. It’s something I’ve always resisted doing fully. I cared for Patrick, but it was nothing compared to what I already feel for Jesse. And it’s only now I’ve lost him that I realise just how much he’s come to mean to me. The thought of never seeing him again fills me with panic, and all my fears of him leaving me when bored fall away to nothing beside the pain of actually having lost him.
I stand up and pace over to the window, staring unseeingly out onto the yard. Where would he go? I think back to our conversation this morning and stiffen suddenly. He wanted to go to his mum and dad’s house earlier on. “That’s where he’s gone,” I say out loud. Then I frown. “But where the fuck do they live?”
A few minutes later I steam through the packed office downstairs, still dressed in my morning suit with my top hat under my arm and my gaze fixed straight ahead.
“Oh Zeb,” Felix drawls. “When did the office uniform become so formal? Can’t we talk about this?”
“Nope,” I say.
One of my perennially dissatisfied customers, Miss Higgins, stands up, her face set in its usual querulous lines. “Mr Evans, can I just say–?”
“No,” I say succinctly and bang into my office, slamming the door so her displeased whine is cut off.
I look around wildly. I’m sure the address I need is in the computer somewhere, but I’m also pretty certain it was on a piece of paper he gave me recently. But where is it? Deciding to leave the computer until last, I rummage wildly through the tidy paperwork on the desk, throwing it off when it proves useless. I scrape some of the files off and watch them cascade to the floor, so absorbed that I don’t quite manage to catch the iMac that goes sailing past me too. It crashes to the floor, exploding in a bang and a flurry of sparks.
I hear the door open behind me, and Felix comes to stand next to me. “Redecorating?” he asks calmly.
I glare at him. “I can do without the customary backchat.”
“That makes me sound quite a character.” He pauses and winks at me. “I like it.”
I run my hands agitatedly through my hair before bending to start going through the desk drawers. Felix stares at me, immobile until a stapler and a hole punch sail past his nose. Then he activates.
“What are you looking for? Also, much as I love this new devil-may-care side of you, do you think you should maybe have saved it until you’re actually due in the office and not, say, when you’re supposed to be at the church?”
The door opens and we both turn to watch Max edge into the room. “No,” he says loudly. “No, you can’t see him.” He makes a gesture like a lion tamer, so I know he’s talking to Miss Higgins, and then slams the door shut.
He looks up and grins at me. Th
e smile manages to intensify for a brief second as he looks at Felix, like the last flare of a star, and then it dies as Felix glares at him.
I stare at Max. He’s wearing a morning suit, but his hair is loose and longer than it’s ever been and his beard is quite wild.
Felix sighs loudly. “Great. Who ordered the Jesus?”
“Felix,” I sigh, rubbing my nose. “Can we concentrate on more important things?”
He shrugs. “He doesn’t exist for me, so I’m a go with that plan.”
“Oh, so I don’t exist unless you’re making unpleasant and quite anti-Jesus remarks about my appearance,” Max drawls, sitting on the desk and folding his arms. “I’m actually offended.”
“You’re an atheist,” I say baldly.
“It’s the point of the matter,” he says primly. He stares at me. “I have to query your pre-wedding game, Zeb. I must say I don’t think I’ve come across many best men who’ve managed to fit in a spot of office reorganisation around their duties.”
“I thought you were allergic to weddings, Max,” Felix says coolly. “Or was that commitment? What a silly twink I am.” He smiles. “Ah, but now I remember. You’ve been a best man before. Now that memory is still evergreen for me.”
Max winces, and I lose it.
“Shut up, both of you,” I shout. The room stills and they both turn their heads at the same time and same angle. It’s like talking to meercats. “Good,” I say. “Now, I need an address in Devon and that is all I need from you. No backchat. No smart remarks. Just the address.”
“Any address or something in particular?” Felix asks, showing absolutely no sign of being cowed.
“I need Jesse’s parents’ address. I’m sure they live in some small village there.”
“Well, that narrows the field,” he says. Over-sarcastically, in my opinion. He pushes me out of the way. “And did you manage to find it before you became involved with chucking stationery and Apple products about?”
I scuff my foot. “No.” It’s more of a question than I’d like, but Felix is a scary person. The only person who isn’t wary of him is Max, but then he did used to run towards gunfire, so he obviously has a death wish.
“It’ll be on his employment records as his next of kin,” he muses. He looks down at the sad sight of my computer. “Oh dear, maybe we could attach a string to it and shout the answers through the gaping holes in your keyboard.”
“We’ll use yours,” I say decisively but he puts a hand up to stop me.
“Absolutely not until you calm down. You’re not touching my computer in this current mood, and if you go out there you’ll lose more customers if you don’t watch it.”
“I don’t care,” I say impatiently. They stare at me and I huff. “What? I don’t.”
“Why?” Max asks. He’s staring at me as if I’ve gone mad. Maybe I have.
“Because I need to find Jesse, and I need to do it as soon as possible.”
“What about the wedding?” Felix says slowly. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the church soon?”
I shake my head. “I’m not going.” They gape at me and I grimace. “What? I’m not going. I’ve got more important things to do.”
“And to clarify, Jesse is that important thing?” Felix asks, folding his arms and leaning against the desk. I nod. “And what about your promises?”
“I’m an idiot,” I say despairingly. “I don’t care what promises I made to Patrick. Jesse is the important one.”
He grimaces. “I’d give a rousing rendition of ‘Hallelujah’, if I thought the world was ready for the perfection of my voice, and if I wasn’t also completely sure that there’s more to this story than you’re telling me.”
He gestures to my seat and I slump into it. “I think he saw me and Patrick kissing.”
“What?” The two of them shout it in unison and then very obviously avoid looking at each other. Well, Felix does. Max does what he does normally. He stares at Felix hungrily.
“He saw Patrick kiss me,” I correct. “I shoved him off as soon as he landed on my lips, but I think it’s given Jesse the wrong idea.”
“Probably exacerbated by the fact that you’re still keeping him at arm’s length,” Felix observes.
“I’m not,” I say. Then I slump further. “Okay, maybe I am a bit. I can’t help it. I think I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.” I bury my head in my hands. “He asked me not to go, and I didn’t listen. He said Patrick was up to something and asked me to go home with him instead.”
“What?” Max says. “Why would you ignore his request?”
Felix stirs as if he’s definitely wanting to say something, but he restrains himself and focuses his attention on me which always makes me a bit nervous.
I shrug. “Because if I’m not the man who keeps his word and his promises, then who am I?”
“A human being,” Max says angrily. “And a bloody fine one too. Zeb, your dad broke every promise, and mostly everything he said turned out to be a lie. But that doesn’t mean you have to keep every one of yours either. That makes you as stupid as he was.”
I gape at him. “What?”
Felix shrugs. “Much as it burns with the force of twenty thousand suns to have to admit this, he’s right.”
“Hang on,” Max says. “Let’s just pause the conversation while I savour that.”
“And you’re back to being a dickhead.” Felix turns back to me. “The trouble with you is that you’re looking for structure with love.”
“Is that my only problem? It sounds quite painful.”
“If we don’t focus on just the one, we’ll be here all year.” Max snorts and a smile tickles the corners of Felix’s mouth. “You’re looking for things that can’t be there with real love. There aren’t any rules in it.”
“What about fidelity?”
“That’s a promise, not a rule,” he says. “And promises depend on both people in the equation.”
There’s a very strained silence, and Max is now doing the very opposite of looking at Felix.
“I feel like a whirlwind picked me up and shoved me through a steel fence headfirst and then rammed me into a cow pat next to a rose bush,” I say sadly. Max and Felix blink. “It’s too soon for me to have f-feelings,” I finally say. “I don’t think it’s right to feel like this so soon.”
“Like what?” Max asks.
“Like there aren’t any rules.” I pause. “And that I quite like it like that,” I finish reluctantly. “Even though it makes me feel like I’m upside down on a very rickety and not properly policed fairground ride.”
Felix laughs and shakes his head. “There aren’t any rules for it. That’s the point. It has to be taken on trust because sometimes in your relationship that trust will be all you have to keep going.” He shrugs. “There’s no billeted list to check things off. It just happens. You have strong feelings for the person, you don’t want to be away from them, you smile when you think of them. And away you go.” He makes a flapping gesture with his hands.
“Surely that’s infatuation?”
“Call it what you like, Zebadiah, but eventually you’ll let it be love.”
“Let it?”
He smiles affectionately at me. “I’ve always liked you, but God, you’re an idiot.”
“An idiot boss, I think you meant to say in a hyper-polite voice,” I say faintly.
Felix carries on remorselessly. “An idiot who’d put the army to shame. You analysed and strategized and overthought everything and pottered along thinking that you had complete control. Then bam!” I jump, and he grins mischievously. “It hit you right between the bloody eyes. Jesse is perfect for you. Yes, he’s younger than you, but you need that. He’s funny and charming and impulsive, and he’s stopping your slow roll into the grave through fear of feeling out of control. And you’ve let him in. You just haven’t realized it yet.” He rolls his eyes in quite a condemning manner.
“He’s right,” Max says somewhat piously. “You sh
ould listen to him.”
“Ha!” Felix says.
I shake my head. “How is it that I’m sitting here letting you two lecture and advise me on love? It’s like Henry the Eighth advising people on how to keep women happy.” Felix opens his mouth, but I hold up my hand. “I just want the address,” I say slightly pathetically. “That’s all I want. I know I’m in love with him. I’m coming to terms with it slowly. I just need to get him back, explain things properly, and tell him to come home with me.”
Felix and Max look at each other. “Good luck with that,” Felix says slightly doubtfully.
“The address?” I say loudly.
“Oh, it’s St Mary’s Church in Dunsford.”
“You knew it all along,” I say indignantly.
He shrugs. “Of course. I knew at some point you’d fuck up on a grand scale and then need to complete a dramatic race to forgiveness.”
I stare at him. “You’re actually scarily clever.”
“I know,” he says over-loudly. “So clever that murdering someone and concealing their body would be very easy for me.”
“I’m off,” Max says quickly and within seconds he’s gone.
I use the journey to Devon to overthink what I’m going to say. It’s an abject failure. Normally, words come easily to me. They roll off my tongue, and I use them to soothe people. It’s ironic that for the first time in my life I need them to serve a purpose and they’re deserting me.
I try to marshal well-thought-out arguments, but all I can concentrate on is how Jesse must have felt seeing me with Patrick and how stupid I’ve been that I’ve somehow given him the impression that I want Patrick at all when the truth is very far from that.
I can see now that even though I’ve let him in this month, I’ve still done it with a hand holding him away slightly. So focused on how I’d feel when he eventually realised I was too old for him to see that I was actually making him go.
Eventually, I drive down a sleepy village street. It’s typical of Devon, with old cottages set back from the road with vivid gardens full of flowers. I find the vicarage at the end of the high street marking the entrance to the old Norman church.