Trust (London Love #5)

“What would you do instead?” Reuben asked as he picked up a potato and dropped it into the puddle of gravy on my plate.

Fuck. I wanted to be like this. To be able to have a simple meal with easy conversation and nobody paid to sit here and watch my every move. And there it was again. My old friend, Guilt, along with his mate Anxiety jumping around in my chest, soon to be followed by Disaster and Impostor Syndrome and all those other feelings I carried around like a set of fucked-up designer baggage.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Probably go up north and see my parents and buy some remote farm and go totally insane in peace and quiet. And every so often, there would be one of those Whatever happened to The Dieter from Blitz? articles where some locals would recount quirky anecdotes from meeting me running naked in the fields or something.”

“Sounds idyllic, actually.” Stewart nodded. “I wouldn’t mind some remote farmhouse up north. Wind and sea and…we could keep sheep.”

“Dad, you couldn’t even keep my goldfish alive. And all our houseplants are dead.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Stewart laughed. “But I kept you alive, didn’t I, son?”

“You did.”

There was a bond there. A sparkling line of connection. Something I’d always wanted. My parents were great, but there was a whole bunch of years between us. They lived in a different era. I lived a life that they couldn’t even comprehend.

“I’ll do the dishes,” Reuben said, getting up.

“I’ll get the telly on then.”

I wanted to cry with the familiarity of a normal life.

I had nothing like this.

I must have sat there for ages, prick that I was, because it wasn’t until Reuben lifted my elbows off the table to wipe down the surface that I re-joined the land of the living, coughing in embarrassment.

“You’re shattered, aren’t you?”

I liked that he cared. I really did.

We watched some rubbish on TV. Ate something sweet and chocolatey out of plastic pots. Then Reuben went for a shower while I sat next to his dad.

“You’re always welcome here,” his dad said, flipping through the channels.

I managed to get out a weak thanks. My stomach was full and my chest was calm. If I’d had a choice, I’d have chosen to spend the rest of my life on this very sofa.

But that was when I got shoved towards the shower with a towel in my arms. Nothing unusual there. It was always like this. Like I’d completely forgotten how to look after myself. To be fair, I probably stank, having not even gone near the bathroom in the hotel apart from to pee.

Clean and smelling of something fruity, thanks to one of the bottles in their bathroom, I stumbled into Reuben’s room. He offered me one of his T-shirts and a pair of shorts from my bag. I still had clean stuff in there. Another win.

“This is the weirdest sleepover ever,” he said, smiling from under the covers where he was resting his head against Mr Snuggles, reading something on his phone. All that hair spread out like a halo. He had a nice face. Strong features. Eyebrows that any self-respecting make-up artist would have plucked to death, but I loved that he hadn’t. And he smelt lovely, of shampoo and soap and the scent of this house. It was probably riddled with damp as most of these old houses were. But to me, it smelt homey and safe. If only I could stay here forever.

I shuddered, knowing I couldn’t.

Then I pulled the covers back and crawled in next to him, lay my head on the pillow right next to his shoulder. “Is this…okay?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we? I mean, we’ve established the boundaries, haven’t we? Shoes off in bed. Don’t steal the covers, and Mr Snuggles is mine.”

“And I’m gay and you’re not, so no funny business.”

His laughter was nice. Letting mine rip was freeing.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“No worries,” he said softly, handing me the charging lead for my phone. I didn’t even need to ask.

“I think someone is picking me up…tomorrow,” I said, reading the stream of notifs on my screen. God I hated this phone. Would quite happily throw it away and never get another.

“You okay with that?” He turned so we were almost nose to nose, Mr Snuggles awkwardly between us. I shuffled closer, far too close, really, so I could get my head in a more comfortable position.