It’s funny how friends take on different roles in your life – the friend who makes you snort with laughter, the friend who tells you the truth no matter what, the friend who styles you, the friend who brings out the minx in you . . . With Gareth, I always feel I can relax and take a breath. I think it could be because I know that anything could happen and it wouldn’t phase him. Today is a prime example. And right now, I know he understands my concerns but he doesn’t let me dwell on them. If the hospital calls, we’ll respond swiftly. But for now, we are entering the sanctuary that is his home . . .
‘Hello to you too!’ I respond to the mewing as the cats wind impatiently around our legs, slightly impeding our path along the corridor.
As we reach the lounge Gareth raises Zazel high up above his head, her purring volume increasing as his arms lock and she reaches maximum elevation.
I give a little chuckle. ‘Do you remember when you did that move with Jay?’
Gareth buckles and clasps Zazel to his chest. ‘Not quite the under-the-radar debut I was hoping to make as the school newbie!’
I remember it like yesterday: our PE teacher had us working on iconic lifts from the movies and, of course, nothing is more iconic than Baby being lifted by Swayze in Dirty Dancing. The only snag was that Jay wanted to be Baby, and none of the boys would place their hands on his hips and raise his groin over their heads, no matter how balletic he promised to be.
‘So all those muscles are just for show?’ May had taunted the wannabe class studs but they refused to be baited and the others simply turned away.
We were about to move on to the twirl and catch from the barn dance scene in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers when we heard a voice coming from the back of the room: ‘I’ll do it.’ We all turned and looked at Gareth – pretty much his worst nightmare. He didn’t make a big show, just set his feet apart and gave Jay the nod. I saw May hesitate – you had to have full trust in the person doing the lifting and Gareth had only been there a week or so. But Jay has always been a good judge of character and so he just took off running towards him and in one move Gareth lifted him sky-high, arms dead straight, not a tremble or strain or waver.
‘I’m still kind of in awe that you did that!’ I say as I watch him feed the cats.
‘You know, Jay asked me to re-create that moment at the wedding?’
‘Oh my god!’ I hoot. ‘Our old classmates would have lost their minds!’
‘I didn’t think Charlotte would thank me.’
I give a little shrug. ‘I think she would have been cheering along with the rest of us. The mother-in-law maybe not so much . . .’
Gareth points down to where Frankie has managed to get his claw stuck in my flamenco-esque ruffles.
‘I am so over this dress!’ I tut as I free him. And then I squint up at Gareth. ‘You know how I always borrow your jumper?’
‘I do indeed. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that I sometimes smell of jasmine with notes of vanilla.’
I smile. ‘I was just wondering if you had something I could borrow for the bottom half this time?’
He thinks for a moment. ‘Is it too early for pyjamas?’
‘It’s never too early for pyjamas!’ I cheer.
‘Follow me!’
I look on as he jiggles open his heavy wooden dresser and pulls out a pair in a sage green check. ‘You’ll actually be christening the top half.’
‘Quite the honour,’ I beam, hugging the set to me on the way to the bathroom, eager to revel in their cosiness. Unsurprisingly they are huge on me, even with a roll-up on the trouser cuffs and sleeves. Not that I mind; I may even start shopping at men’s stores now, I’ve never felt so petite. However, with the braids pinned on top of my head I’m feeling a bit too like a kid playing dress-up. I think it’s time to take them down. In fact, it would be a relief to unplait them as May did pull the strands a little tight. I shake out the zigzag waves. And then fluff them to full Diana Ross volume.
‘How do I look?’
As I strike a pose in the door frame, the breeze from an open window lifts my hair and makes it dance.
‘Woah!’ Gareth looks delighted, insisting I hold the pose. ‘I’ve got the perfect song for you.’
He sets down the crusty loaf and rushes to the stereo, carefully sliding one of his vinyl records from its sleeve and then lowering the needle into position.
Kate Bush’s ‘Wuthering Heights’.
I duly flail around looking for Heathcliff. ‘Do I look like a woman possessed?’
‘You look perfect,’ he smiles.
For a second I just hear my own heartbeat. And then I rub my hands together. ‘How’s the cheese on toast coming?’
I could watch Gareth in the kitchen like other people watch a cooking show. Especially because his version comes with zero chatter or commentary. He likes to put on an old LP and get into the groove as he preps his dishes. Even something as simple as cheese on toast. He never rushes, every step is done with care – the slicing of the homemade bread, the grating of three different types of cheese for added flavour and texture, the golden bronzing under the grill.
‘Everything always tastes better here,’ I sigh as he hands me one of his enamel plates.
‘I did a little diced salad to have on the side.’ He sets down a bowl of cubed tomato and cucumber in a homemade vinaigrette.
‘Always with the extra flair.’
Gareth takes a seat opposite me and raises his glass. ‘To your mum’s good health.’
‘To Mum,’ I concur.
I take a bite and study the man opposite me. Something feels different tonight. Maybe it’s because we’re usually chowing down in front of the TV, maybe it’s because I don’t have to keep an eye on the clock to get the last bus home. Either way, we have time to talk.
‘Soooo, how’s it going with Peony?’ I ask.
‘It’s going,’ he replies, nodding at his plate, cryptic as ever.
‘I’m really sorry about you missing the play.’
‘Don’t be, you got me out of having a haircut.’
‘Was that part of the show?’ I frown.
‘No.’ He hesitates. ‘She was going to cut it prior.’
‘Really? Your wild, beautiful mane?’ I say, eyeing his tawny curls.
‘She says I’d look good with a buzz cut.’
‘Nooo!’ I gasp.
‘I’m kidding. I don’t know what she had in mind. She said she’d seen some picture,’ he shrugs.
‘You’re not concerned?’
‘It’s just hair.’
Hmm. I’m not keen on her remodelling him to suit some alternative vision she has but instead of interfering I go for a sing-song platitude. ‘Well, she’s very lucky to have you.’
‘I don’t know that she does have me . . .’ He falters as he reaches over to top up my ale.
Is that a small sense of relief I feel? I take a sip and then say, ‘I saw your new pet-friendly plant range on Instagram . . .’
‘Dharmesh did that, of course. He understood how important it is to let people know how toxic lilies are to cats.’
And back he goes, into his comfort zone.
*
After we’ve eaten, we move over to the lounge area. Typically, I lie out on the sofa and Gareth sits in his retro recliner but tonight Frankie has fallen sound asleep there, on his back, furry belly exposed, head lolling to the side. To touch him would risk giving him such a fright you might as well put your hand directly into a metal-pronged trap.
‘Do you mind if I join you?’ Gareth motions to the sofa.
‘I love how you’re asking my permission to sit on your own furniture!’
‘Well.’ He gives a little shrug.
‘Help yourself,’ I say, tucking my feet under me.
For the next hour our conversation weaves from least favourite desserts to childhood duvet covers, and how we’d both like to contribute to Habitat for Humanity. At one point I consider asking him whether Julianne has closed the deal on the house next door but it’s been a weird day with the knock-back from Ben, my mum’s fall and Tristan’s freak-out, so I decide I’d rather not add that to the mix.
‘Fancy a cuppa?’ Gareth yawns.
He looks ready for bed but I can’t help but want to prolong the cosiness so I hop up, telling him I’ll make it. ‘What’ll it be?’ I call from the kitchen, scrutinising the options from immunity-boosting to stress-relieving.
‘Surprise me.’
I reach for both the turmeric and the apple flavours, deciding to create a blend. It could work.
I smile to myself as I pick out a toning pair of misshapen mugs – one with an aqua glaze, the other looking like it’s been dipped in glossy caramel. As I lean back to wait for the kettle to boil, I muse upon what a mismatched kitchen we’d have if we co-habited – all his rustic, hand-hewn wares alongside my cheeky kitsch. Every item in his home has a history and a memory – a pottery class, an antique find abroad, a family hand-me-down. With me it would be more a case of, ‘Ah yes, I remember that trip to TK Maxx in 2017. The checkout queues were particularly bad that day.’
‘Here we go,’ I say as I walk back in with the steaming mugs, and then stop in my tracks as I realise he’s fallen asleep.
Oh-so-gently I set the mugs on the side table. And then I crouch down beside him, wondering if I should nudge him or let him be? My hand hovers over his. I look at the knuckles that punched Tristan, then up at the face I know so well – those soft lashes, that thick, tousled hair, the sculpted slant of his jaw. And then I notice the tiny dark line on his lip where I clunked him and experience a strange swirling sensation that makes me want to reach out and touch it. More than that. I want to kiss him. Which is ridiculous.
Or is it?
I mean, I’ve kissed practically everyone else, even May. What harm could there be in sneaking a peek at our premonition? It could be a fun anecdote to share – something we laugh about.
Of course, there is the issue that I’d be stealing a kiss without his consent, which technically would make me no better than Elliot. Not to mention the fact that he is seeing Peony.
Then again . . . It’s not like I’d be going for a big, invasive smooch, it would just be the lightest touch, a chaste goodnight. I feel myself drawn towards him, almost like my actions aren’t my own. I’m about to make contact when the wind from the open window suddenly whisks up my hair, sweeping it directly into his face.
‘Pwah!’ Gareth bats it away as if he’s walked into a spider’s web.
‘Sorry, sorry!’ I jump back. ‘That was just my hair! I was . . . I was going to put a cushion under your head!’
He looks over at the mugs. ‘How long was I out?’
‘Just a few minutes.’
He rubs his face then looks concerned. ‘Did I say anything? In my sleep?’
‘No,’ I reply, standing awkwardly by his side. ‘Why?’
‘I was just dreaming . . .’
‘Well, why don’t you get back to it?’ I suggest. ‘Definitely time to call it a night.’
He still seems a little disorientated but rallies and gets to his feet. ‘Okay, let me get my bed set up for you. I’ll sleep here.’
‘No chance,’ I assert. ‘You know how much I love this sofa. Just give me a blanket and I’ll be happy as Larry.’
‘It doesn’t seem right,’ he falters.
‘Oh, but it is.’ I scoot into place, the fabric still warm from his body. ‘See – perfect fit.’
He lingers beside me. ‘Are you sure? My bed is so comfortable . . .’
For a heart-stopping millisecond I think he’s asking me to share it with him.
But of course, he isn’t.
It’s like our teenage mistletoe misunderstanding all over again.
‘Honestly, I’ll be snug as a bug.’ I scrunch down, squeezing my eyes closed as if feigning sleep, but really just trying to bury my mortification.
‘Well, if you insist,’ he sighs. ‘Let me get you a duvet.’
When he returns, he’s also carrying a pillow and a towel.
‘Are you trying for a five-star TripAdvisor rating?’ I tease.
‘At the very least.’ He winks, floating the duvet over me. As I pull the pillow under my head, he crouches by my side, as I had done with him. ‘Can I get you anything else?’
I don’t want him to go. I don’t want to be alone. But I tell him I’m fine.
‘Okay,’ he says, scooping up Frankie. ‘I’ll leave Zazel with you.’
I smile gratefully. ‘Thank you for being such a wonderful friend.’
He gives a modest shrug and then pads over to his room. ‘Night.’
For a few minutes I am comforted by the amber glow at the base of his door but then, in one abrupt click, it’s gone.
There’s just moonlight now, seeping in through the lounge window. Everything feels so still. Even the breeze has settled.
I sigh to myself and place my hand over my heart. ‘Soon,’ I whisper to it. ‘Soon I will find someone who loves you.’
