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“Hey, Flor.” Nico pointed a finger at me, his tone sharp. “Not now, okay?”
His eyes flashed a warning and mine flashed right back. They could all go to fuck. I was tired of listening to this shit. I was tired of caring for people and I was tired of being told what to do and I was tired of fucking everything. “Yes, now. He wasn’t talking to my grandmother, because…”
“Florian. I said leave it.” Nico’s chair skidded noisily on the tiled floor, drowning out the rest of my words.
“Papi,” Jerome butted in, “Let me pour you another glass of wine. And I need your advice about bringing up children. Specifically, when to buy them their first set of boules.”
I stomped up the stairs, Nico hot on my heels.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
I flung my bag against the wall and myself across the bed. Hot tears pricked at my eyelids, and I covered my face with my hands.
“Do you want to get absolutely smashed then shout and scream and hit something?”
Mon dieu, yes. Then sleep and never wake up.
“Well tough. Because that’s not going to happen. Tell me how he is. Not good, obviously.”
I shook my head. That was one way of describing it. “Very, very not good. Fucking horrific, actually.”
I let out a dry sob and the bed dipped as Nico made himself comfortable next to me. He made a patting noise. Turning over, I crawled onto his chest and he wrapped me in his arms.
“We’ll pretend I never did this, okay?”
I treated his shirt to a snotty snort.
“Let me explain what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me all about it, have a good cry, and then tuck yourself into bed and get some sleep. Jerome and I will sort out Papi. And then tomorrow, you will get up, put on your clothes, collect your tools, open up your shack and rake some salt. And the day after you will do the same. And the day after that.”
“I’ve messed up with Papi, haven’t I?”
Nico laughed, rumbling under my ear. He rubbed my back with his warm hand, causing my hot tears to breach the last barrier. “No, because he’ll have forgotten all about it by tomorrow.”
The back rub turned into a tight cuddle. Nico was one of those rare straight men who hugged other men without a trace of self-consciousness. Nonetheless, he must have been worried about me if he was doing this. He let me sob into his neck for a while, and I tried not to imagine where Charles was at that moment. I hoped he was being treated with utmost kindness. Marcus had promised his money would buy him the best care available, and I guess I had to trust him on that.
“There’s a box of tissues by the bed,” I said. I had a feeling I’d be needing more than a box over the coming days.
Nico chuffed as he reached for a handful. “I can’t imagine what those are usually used for. Putain, and the box is nearly empty.”
“My boyfriend left me; I’ve been very lonely. Haven’t you heard?”
“I’ve heard nothing else for the last month, Flor.”
I blew my nose, noisily. “I think I’d like to develop temporary dementia. So I could forget the last fucking twenty-four hours.”
“That bad?”
I gave my nose another unattractive blow.
Nico winced. “I’m beginning to appreciate why he left you.”
“Whatever you’re imagining happened in London, times it by ten. And what’s worse, I think that was probably the last time I’ll ever see him. Marcus—his friend, allegedly—said if it’s like his previous episode, then he won’t be allowed to see people for a while anyhow. And it’s not like he was great at keeping in touch before.”
“Perhaps that was because he was ill? From what you said, his head was all over the place. People like that, once they sink down, they don’t remember to call friends and arrange visits and all that polite stuff, do they?”
Nico was most probably right. Even if he wasn’t, it was a soothing way of looking at things. Until Charles’s panicked phone call, I’d been bereft, but also annoyed he’d dropped me like a stone, even as part of me knew it was because he wasn’t coping well. And now, I had my answer. Not abandoned, just lost, as the illness took hold, along with his ability to cook and wash and manage his affairs. I’d take it as an explanation.
