Isaac doesn't understand. How could he, when he hasn’t got the whole picture? Our closeness was built on me discovering Neil’s secret and his need to unburden to someone outside his immediate circle. His weird attraction to me was an unexpected bonus. Sooner or later, however, hiding his visual impairment won’t be an option. And then what? Will we still fit when we no longer need to talk in whispers? When Neil no longer needs saving? When he realises there are plenty of shoulders much, much stouter and more dependable than mine to lean on? Such as Ezra’s? Or the pair belonging to this calm, level-headed man quietly supporting me?
“We had a couple of dates,” I reason. “That’s all. And we’re chalk and cheese. He’ll soon cool off if I vanish like this every few months.”
"Don’t bet on it.” Isaac seems unconvinced. “He’s been moping around and generally being a real pain in the arse since you left. He’s drinking heavily again, too. Ez is worried sick there’s something wrong with him, but God knows what.”
“Yeah?” As I busy myself wringing out my swim shorts, I ride out a short, sharp flicker of unease. It’s almost a welcome sensation—at last, I have the mental space to consider someone else’s problems again.
It’s clear Neil still hasn’t told Ezra about his RP.
“He’s become quite erratic and irritable, actually,” Isaac continues, “but he’s a bloody closed shop whenever Ez starts to probe. And when Ez asks him about headaches and other symptoms, he practically explodes. I’m wondering if he’s developed a chronic concussion. I’ve seen him wearing tinted specs a couple of times, as if he’s photophobic. Concussion syndrome can lead to personality changes, even after a fairly modest injury.”
“I thought he’d pretty much stopped drinking since he hit his head,” I offer lamely. Shit, sounds like that good resolution has fallen by the wayside too.
Isaac shrugs. “Who knows? But it’s all pretty tense. Him and Ez have invested a lot of time going over their plans for the refurb. A big investment is at stake, they’re taking a significant risk, and yet Neil’s acting as if he doesn’t care what happens. He hardly reads the paperwork or engages in the meetings. It’s as if he doesn’t care if they gamble and lose the lot.”
I curse, hating the timing of my depressive episode even more. Hating myself. Hating this fucking neurologicalweakness. I should have been there for him. I should have found the strength regardless. Why is the right course of action always so fucking obvious afterwards, when I’m better? Why couldn’t it become crystal clear during my self-imposed exile in Wales, when I spent all that fucking time sitting doing nothing? All those unread texts and missed calls. Convincing myself he’d be fine, that I couldn’t possibly be any help whilst drowning myself.
“I need to apologise to him.” I’ve never felt so certain about anything. I need to say sorry for leaving him—without making it about me—and hope that somehow, we can pick up near where we left off. “And then I need to explain why I’m keeping myself in balance, why not taking any risks with my mental health is such a big deal for me.”
“He still hasn’t seen your scars either, has he?” Isaac deduces.
“No. Nor my hair.”
He shakes his head. “You know he doesn’t give a fuck about stuff like that, right?”
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
I time my arrival at Earth just after three, towards the end of the lunchtime shift. The bar closes from then until five. I’d be fibbing if I didn’t have ideas about how Neil and I could spend the intervening couple of hours. Ever since deciding I’m well enough for him to see me again, I’ve pictured this moment. Neil glancing up and his face softening, a flash of his boyish grin at the silly little gift I’ve bought him—a box of Maltesers. I’ve even rehearsed it a little. The way I’ll hover near the doorway until he notices me. Maybe a little cough. I might even make a light and witty remark if I can conjure something apposite.
Despite my eagerness, I’m having kittens. Everything about this surprise visit (personally, I hate being on the end of a surprise) pings my anxiety. For a start, as Neil received barely any texts from me in reply to his own, the tone of his slowly slipped from upbeat to concerned, to mildly frustrated. And then petered out altogether. So why will me visiting excite him? We’d hardly begun, really, and Neil’s never short of willing bed mates. He’s perfectly entitled to tell me to sod off.
But Isaac swears he hasn’t yet moved on and…yeah. Five weeks in, and I’m still thinking about his kisses every time I put my toothbrush in my mouth. Don’t get me started on the nipple piercing. So here I am, flicking my wristband until it hurts and trying to ignore my jelly legs. Sometimes, if you want something badly, you just have to dig deep and go for it. Feel a feeling, touch a hand, lick a wall.
Nonetheless, the second I arrive at the bar, I want nothing more than to turn heel and bolt. The raised voices hit first, mingled with the all-pervading aroma of stale beer and stubbornness.
“We’ve had the drawings for four fucking months, Neil. You know something? Maybe if you’d actually bothered to look at them, then you wouldn’t be asking such facile questions now.”
Ezra paces in front of the bar, all long lanky strides and sharp turns, a black streak of restless energy. Leaning against the optics, still as stone, Neil watches him, arms folded and jaw set like concrete.
“What’s the rush, Ez? You want us to sign our lives away today? Now, this minute? Before happy hour? Scribble the contract on the back of a cardboard coaster? Not all of us have access to trust funds to dip into when the going gets tough.”
“That’s bollocks, Neil, and you know it. None of this bar happened because of Isaac’s money. He didn’t invest a penny of it. This is us, Neil. We took the risks together. And we can do more. We’ve scarcely talked of nothing else the past year. Why are you suddenly stalling on me now?”
“Why are you determined to double the size of our bank loan?”
Ezra makes a withering sound. “It’s called ambition, Neil. I had no idea you were so committed to underachieving. If that’s the case, then please don’t drag me down with you.”
“Fuck you, Ez.”
I clutch the box of Maltesers, feeling foolish and with a heart pumping ten beats to the dozen. Can I back away, pretend I never heard this? Text Neil later when he’s cooled down?
Too late. Ezra’s head jerks up. Perhaps the rush of cool air caught his attention. His face flickers with a kaleidoscope of emotions there—worry, frustration, confusion—that I have no hope of interpreting.
“S-so sorry,” I stutter, backing away. “The door was still open. I shouldn’t have…you’re closing. It’s clearly a bad time.”
“No, it’s fine, Luke. Come in, good to see you back and healthy.” Ez thumbs towards Neil. “See if you can get any sense out of him. God knows I can’t. I need to go, before I say something I might regret.” Blowing out a breath, he turns back to Neil. “I love you, mate, you know I do. But…come on.Help a guy out, can’t you? You swear nothing’s wrong, but I’m floundering here.”
I know the feeling.
