Eggo pretends to weep. “This is too much exercise for the off season. What the fuck is with all the hills in this city?!”
“Suck it up, man. Aren’t you a professional rugby player? Think of it as leg day.”
“But it’s the off season!” he whines. “Besides, I’m sure we can come up with more enjoyable ways to condition our quads, Captain.”
Captain.There’s something about the way he says it that just . . . gets me going. I’m still not used to the title, but I guess it’s one of those things that will take time, and encouragement from my vice.
Or maybe it’s just him. He could call me a filthy fucking animal and spit on me, and I’m sure that would also get me going. Not that we can act on any of our urges, though, not with—
“Alright, you crusty wank-sock?” Abs says opening his front door. “Alright, Eggs? Thanks for helping with this.”
“Hey, am I not a crusty wank-sock too? What’s with the favouritism?” Eggo says, barging into Abs’s new flat.
Trekkie runs in ahead. We find somewhere to dump his dog bed, his bowls, and the bag of toys, and Eggo plonks the box of kibbles and treats down beside it. The place is otherwise empty. Wooden floors stretch throughout, and it smells of fresh paint and sun-warmed dust. Our voices and footsteps echo off the walls.
“This is everything you’ll need for two months,” I tell Abs, who’s already on the floor hugging my dog as though he belongsto him. “If you have to buy anything else for him, keep a tally, and I’ll give you the money when I get back.”
Abs hardly hears me. “Oh my gosh, you are so pretty. Who’s my pretty boy? It’s you. You’re the prettiest.”
I look at Eggo. He smiles, but it drops a second later.
“What time’s your flight to Australia?” Abs asks. “Is it tomorrow? Where’s your layover?”
“No, it’s Sunday. Six o’clock. So I don’t need to leave too early, and layover’s in Singapore,” I reply.
Eggo walks over to the window and peers out onto the tiny courtyard garden in the front. He hasn’t asked me about Cornwall since “Pink Pony Club,” but I can tell he wants to. I want to talk to him too, but . . .
“Are you flying from Heathrow?” Abs says. I nod. “Need a lift there?”
“Eggs is gonna pick me up and take me, but thanks.”
Eggo walks back into the centre of the room, completely ignoring the last two minutes of conversation. “We should go grab the rest of your shit, Abs.”
Harry pushes himself to his feet. He gives me an“Is he okay?”look.
I reply with an“I’ll tell you in a bit”glance.
“It’s only across the road,” Abs informs Eggo once my whippet is secured out the back.
Eggo nods, evidently pleased we don’t have to traipse up and down this godforsaken hill again, but when he learns that Abs’s old flat is on the fourth floor, up eight flights of stairs, he’s . . . less than thrilled.
“Fucking fuming, mate,” he hisses to me when we reach the penthouse.
The good news is that Abs doesn’t own any furniture larger than a couple of bean bags, and there aren’t that many boxes. I’d spent most of the week helping him and Orlando pack theirbelongings into a labelled and highly organised system, so even if it’s a thigh-killer, it should be straightforward.
“Where’s your lanky streak of piss boyfriend?” Eggo asks, surveying the stacks with a narrowed gaze.
“He’s in town,” Abs replies. “He’s got a job interview in a while.”
“Bit convenient, isn’t it?” Eggo says.
I kick his runner. “Well, fingers crossed Lan gets it,” I say.
Over the past couple of years, I’ve spent a fair deal of time with both Abs and Orlando, and I’d never seen the latter nervous before. He’s always been one of those guys who seems to cruise through life—designer clothes, brand new car, house the size of Greater London. Nepotism scored him a job at his father’s firm, but as far as I know, he’s never truly worked a day in his life. Yet to Orlando’s credit, he’s invested the last week preparing for an interview at a clothing shop in central Bath.
So whilst helping his boyfriend pack up the contents of his kitchen cupboards, I’ve been forced to sit through fashion show after fashion show until Orlando had selected his “most capable looking ensemble.”
Then came the am drams of the practice questions.
