Trust (London Love #5)

I took a seat on a bar stool—at least we had those—and started to unpack the food from the plastic bag.

“Picnic.”

“Shouldn’t a picnic be eaten on the floor?”

“Yes,” I decided, scooping everything back into the bag and dumping my tired arse right on the floor, back against the wall. He joined me, curling up against me as I handed him a soggy sandwich.

“Mum always puts too much chutney in her cheese sandwiches,” he said. “But it reminds me of home. Packed lunches. School. Easier times.”

“I hated school. Never really felt it was for me.”

“Yeah.”

We ate, and a comfortable silence fell. Home. It felt strange. New. Unfamiliar. Yet with his head against my shoulder, I wasn’t stressed out by it.

How was I so calm? I knew the answer. Him. He calmed me. The bastard.

“Before we went on the last tour, I lived in a small flat, for years. It was just a bed and a kitchenette really, but that’s where we’d been put up, and I wasn’t really bothered about moving, but then when I realised I could actually buy something, I bought this really big posh place, thinking that’s what was expected. Like I should have a mansion with space for ten cars, and I kind of imagined having parties.” He laughed. A spluttered, happy laughter. “Can you imagine me? Having a party? I mean, the last party I threw was probably for my tenth birthday.”

“I had birthday parties,” I said. “With Dad’s brothers and my cousins and lots of food and silly gifts. I have no idea how to throw a grown-up party.”

“Don’t really want one,” he muttered, squeezing Mr Snuggles against his chest as he picked up another sandwich. “Reuben?”

“Yeah?”

“The first time I saw this house, I thought of you. And just like all those stupid party dreams, I had all these visions of us. I mean, that other house was just a house. This? I saw the home we could have here. The life I could live. Honestly, it was like my entire future swooshed before my eyes. A real life. A really different life from what I had back then. And…I still want that. I really want us to try…to make that life.”

A real life. I had one. But I got what this meant to him.

“I know what you mean.” I was trying to focus, get my brain into gear. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” He smiled. “I already know what I want, because I’d already decided that, way before you turned up today. I want to be with you, and if that means I have to sell this place and move to Peckham and permanently sleep on your sofa? So be it.”

I sighed and turned to him. Stroked a strand of hair from his stupid face.

“I’ve already said I’m moving in here.”

“A house is just a house. It’s the people in it that make the home. And a home is where you make a life.”

“Is that another one of your song lyrics?” It felt wrong to tease him, especially when he was looking so sincere. So vulnerable. So…

“I think I need a lot of help.”

“We all do. And I will help you, and you’ll have to help me, but Gray?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself.” Another of my dad’s little snippets of wisdom. “You have to be good to yourself. You have to deal with what you’ve got, and you need to talk to me. Don’t just run off when you freak out.”

“And you have to stop throwing me out whenever you freak out.”

I laughed. We were both so full of shit. “Yeah.”

“We’ve talked today. About a lot of things, good things. But there are bad things too.”

“There are no bad things. You’re just a bit scared because of your experiences.”

“Mostly when it comes to things I don’t understand.”