Page 39 of The Only Way Is Up

‘Cooking not your thing?’ Tom looked about him, wondering, not for the first time, how anybody could ever relax in a house that was so cold you could see your breath. No wonder Will did his homework in the pub.

‘I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever cooked a meal in my life,’ replied Gerald, like this was some kind of stellar achievement. ‘I went from Winchester to Cambridge then back to my mother’s house in Surrey, and they all kept me fed and watered until I met and married my first wife. Melanie is a much better cook than Felicity ever was.’

‘Well, I just wanted to check in,’ said Tom. ‘Let you know I’m always happy to keep you company while Melanie and Will are away.’

Gerald looked at Tom thoughtfully, like he was seeing him for the first time. ‘It does feel a little lonely, I suppose. Not what one is used to, I keep expecting them to wander in.’ He glanced at Tom, his cheeks reddening. ‘I’m sorry. I suppose being alone is something you’d know about.’

Tom gave a sad smile. ‘It’s definitely one of my fields of expertise.’

‘Except in my case, they’re coming back.’ He poked the shepherd’s pie dolefully. ‘Well, at least I hope so.’

‘Was that ever in any doubt?’

‘My dear Tom,’ said Gerald, his face bleak. ‘Currently British television’s most shining star is showing my wife and son the high life. I don’t think that’s ever going to be good news for me, do you?’

Tom leaned forward and looked at Gerald intently, wishing he could shake him by the shoulders and make him realise how lucky he was. ‘They’re your family, Gerald,’ he said. ‘Melanie has stood by you through . . . everything.’ All he knew about Gerald’s transgressions was what he’d read in the papers, but he suspected that wasn’t the half of it.

‘I suppose that’s true.’ Gerald stood up and put the half-eaten food container into the fridge.

‘They’ll be home in a week, and you have a choice. You can spend this week feeling miserable and bitter about them being away, or you can decide how to welcome them home.’ Tom felt his voice catch, thinking about all the things he’d have said to Tessa if she’d come home for just one more hour.

Gerald rubbed his hand across his jaw, then reached out to shake Tom’s hand. ‘You’re a good man, Tom. I know it was our wives who were friends, really, but I’ve always respected you. And Will does, too.’

Tom patted him on the shoulder in what he hoped was a show of manly solidarity. ‘Come and have dinner with me next week.’

‘I’d love to,’ said Gerald. ‘Shall I bring two of Melanie’s meals?’

Tom laughed. ‘Sounds like a plan.’

‘I forgot to bring salt,’ said Marcus, poking his fork glumly into Justin’s pork and vegetable stew. ‘Tom, did you bring any?’

Tom shook his head and sipped his glass of mead, his head still full of his messages from Daisy, his conversation with Gerald and thoughts of Tessa. It felt all jumbled together somehow, like a tangle of sheets in a tumble dryer.

‘Schoolboy error,’ Justin grinned at them both. ‘Sorry it tastes like shit.’

‘It’s fine.’ Marcus stabbed a carrot. ‘I’m trying to imagine the flavour.’ He chewed, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

‘You’re a twat,’ said Justin genially, ‘and you’re welcome to fuck off and eat elsewhere.’

Marcus snorted with laughter. ‘You’d miss my company and my sparkling conversation,’ he said. ‘Or have I been replaced by Stella Crawford?’

‘Hardly,’ said Justin. ‘My relationship with Stella is purely professional, but I still hold out hope that one of you two might fall for my many charms.’ Justin winked at them both playfully.

Tom shook his head and rolled his eyes. ‘I love you, man, but I’m afraid you’re not my type. Also you’re a bloody terrible cook.’

‘You wait,’ said Justin. ‘When I’m back in London I’m going to cook you an epic dinner. The full works. You’ll both be in my bed before dessert, begging for my dick as an amuse bouche.’

Marcus put down his fork, apparently no longer hungry. ‘It’s never going to happen, my friend. I’m a woman’s man through and through.’

Justin huffed, looking dubious. ‘Hmm, if you say so. What’s so great about women?’

‘Women are magnificent.’ Marcus’s eyes glazed over as he revisited the parade of women he’d bedded over the years. ‘Take Daisy, for example. She’s rich. She’s famous. She’s got a body to die for. You’d take her home to meet your parents, then fuck her on the sofa as soon as they left for church.’

Tom clenched his fists and took deep breaths, reminding himself that Marcus was nothing but hot air and testosterone. The easiest way to kill this conversation dead would be to tell them what had happened in his kitchen last night, but that definitely wasn’t happening.

Justin raised his eyebrows at Marcus. ‘I don’t know much about women, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t fancy you, mate.’

Marcus sighed and folded his arms, looking first at Tom, then at Justin. ‘She’s definitely a challenge. I’ve been trying to get her back on the tennis court but haven’t had much luck so far. I even got my mum to leave a note when she cleaned Willow Cottage, just to give her a nudge.’