“Yeah, I saw him. You know, he was pretty upset you left him there. Work stuff or whatever. He needed you to be there for support.” Her tone is now stern, as if she’s telling me off.
This girl is trying to give me relationship advice? The girl who has slept with half of London? Cool.
I’m too tired to get into it with her so I ignore her comment. “Do you know where he went?”
“Harri, he probably went and had a good time. If you’re that worried, call him yourself.” Her tone is sarcastic and rude, like always.
She puts the phone down not waiting for a reply. Wow, some self-declared best friend she is. But also, not out of character. Lauren has never been a morning person, especially with a hangover.
I try Greg’s phone which goes straight to voicemail. It must have died in the night, or he’s turned it off just to make a point. I decide to take a shower and get myself sorted. I have zero plans for my day but if I sit and mope about, it’s not helping anyone. I get myself in the shower and then dressed in a pair of jeans and a white shirt with my Birkenstocks. Greg hates them. Calls themmy old man sandals so it’s a nice little fuck you to him.
I grab my phone and keys and head for the door. As I open it Greg is stood there with his key in hand.
“Where are you going?” he asks, looking pretty rough. His suit is dishevelled along with his golden hair. He must have stayed out all night.
“For a walk. Might get a coffee and some breakfast.” I try to walk past him, but he blocks my path with his arms on either side of the doorframe.
“I was hoping we can talk?” He gestures for me to go back into the apartment.
“I mean, you didn’t want to talk last night, but sure, I won’t be the one to be a dick about it.” I can be petty.
We both go back inside. I sit on one of our breakfast bar stools and Greg leans against the kitchen counter. Awkward silence fills the room. He really does look rough. His eyes are red, his shirt is untucked and buttoned wrong, and all I can smell is alcohol and cigar smoke.
“I want to say sorry for last night,” he sheepishly whispers.
“OK. Well, it was shit, Greg.” I place my hands on the island in front of me.
“I know, I know. I just wanted my old Harri back. You’ve changed so much recently and it’s a bit of a mind fuck.” He looks down and places his hands in his pockets like a naughty school child.
“So, it’s OK for you to be a dick to me? That’s what you’re saying?” I question. After last night the fire in my belly seems to be ignited still.
“No, it’s not, but maybe a bit of understanding on my part? It’s been hard for me too. You’re like a whole different person.” I can hear his temper rising in his throat.
“I get that, but I can’t change how I feel, Greg, and I’ve needed you. I feel like you just want me to pretend everything isOK, so you can breeze through life and paint this perfect picture for all your rich mates.”
“I have an image to keep up, Harri, and you know that. You used to have that too. Look at your wardrobe, anything in there off the rack? No. How about all the lunches, nights out, holidays? All for your Instagram to show how good you’ve got it. So don’t come at me about image.” I can see the anger in the back of his eyes.
“And I have appreciated that, Greg. But the more I think about it, the more I hate it. It’s superficial and false and it’s not who I actually am deep down. I feel like I’ve been that person because it was what my parents wanted. And it’s also what you wanted.”
We stand there again soaking in another round of awkward silence. Greg looks hurt. I feel slightly sorry for him. I’m not a horrible person and I don’t want to hurt him, but I’m tired of being false to make those around me like me more.
“I need to take a shower. Will you wait? Maybe we can go and grab a coffee together and talk some more?”
“OK.” I sigh and watch him walk away.
He slinks off into the bedroom to use our ensuite. I make myself a tea while I wait which I clumsily spill over my white shirt. I whip it off, pop it in the washer and make my way to the bedroom to grab another shirt from the wardrobe. Greg has left his clothes in a pile on the floor. The wash basket is in our room, but he would just leave that for me or Marcy to clean up. I scoop up his stuff and walk towards the wash basket. Something falls out of his trouser pocket. I dump his clothes in the basket and turn around to grab whatever has fallen.
I look down at an emerald green lacy thong. I know exactly whose it is. I was there when she bought it.
Perfectly timed Greg steps into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, his Greek god physique glisteningwith water which to anyone would be arousing. But right now, all I want to do is throw up. He instantly sees what I’m staring at on the floor.
“How long?” I mumble.
“Harri, I—” There is panic in his voice.
I cut him off. “How long, Greg?”
“What do you mean?”
