When She Was Bad(79)

31

Charlie



Charlie’s life was spinning out of control, and he was twirling round and round, grabbing at air, trying to hold it down. That’s how it felt. The weekend in Derbyshire had destabilized some elemental thing in the universe and now everything was out of kilter, everything was wrong.

To be completely accurate, the problems had started before the weekend. For days now, Stefan had been growing increasingly distant. When Charlie tried to phone him, he didn’t pick up. He’d return the calls hours later and always when he was walking to the gym or running a bath or some other activity that necessitated a curtailed conversation that rarely dipped beneath the surface. The one night they’d spent together the previous week had been soul-destroying. They were supposed to be meeting straight from work but Stefan had cancelled at the last minute, saying he had a dinner meeting and would call him afterwards, but it had been after 11 p.m. when he’d finally got in touch. ‘I imagine you’re safely tucked up with your camomile tea,’ he’d said, not altogether kindly. And Charlie, who’d been sitting on his sofa wearing the brand-new Calvin Klein trunks he’d bought for the occasion, had humiliated himself by pretending he’d only just got home himself and offering to jump in a cab to go round. Which he did, to find Stefan already in bed. ‘I’m exhausted,’ he said, coming to the door in a tatty old dressing gown Charlie had never seen before. He’d been asleep before Charlie had even had a chance to take his trousers off.

The sane, rational part of Charlie knew Stefan had already grown tired of him, was just using him for the occasional meal or when his ego needed boosting by Charlie’s undisguisable adoration. Yet, still he couldn’t let go. Meeting Stefan had been like pressing the ‘enhance’ option on his digital photos, so colours that had previously been drab and monochrome sprang suddenly, gloriously to life. He’d never known such agony, but equally he’d also never known such exquisite euphoria as when Stefan laughed at something he said, or surprised him with a hug from behind as he was brushing his teeth. Charlie stored up those moments, rare as they were, like an alcoholic hides bottles, bringing them out to savour when no one else was around.

But last Friday, the day before the Derbyshire weekend, he’d been supposed to meet up with Stefan for dinner. He’d spent hours online, trawling through restaurant recommendations before picking a place he thought Stefan would enjoy. It wasn’t the sort of place Charlie would have chosen for himself – too cool for its own good, too expensive – but it was new, and had featured in the gossip section of the free commuter paper the previous month when a hugely popular blogger Charlie had never heard of launched her new book there.

All day he’d been warning himself not to get too excited, reminding himself that Stefan would probably cancel at the last minute. He’d tried to manage his own expectations so that the blow, if it came, wouldn’t be too traumatic. And yet when Stefan rang at 5.25, to say something had indeed come up – a potential client who needed schmoozing – Charlie’s expectations hadn’t been managed at all. While he’d held it together on the phone, afterwards, alone at his desk, he’d felt a ripping pain in his chest as if someone was cutting him open, followed by a rage more powerful than anything he remembered feeling before.

On his way to the Tube, he’d logged on to Facebook, clicking on to Stefan’s home page. Stefan used social media in the same way most people used food or air – posting photos or updates was a normal physiological reflex to him, just like breathing. Sure enough, there was an automatic tracking update showing a little map of a small section of Soho marked with red lines and accompanied by an automated message: Stefan Lovato is at Buns ’n’ Roses with Jacob Collins.

Charlie knew exactly who Jacob Collins was – had observed the moment he and Stefan first met at a private view in a gallery a couple of weeks before. Jacob: early thirties, bearded, long hair tied up on his head in a topknot. Cool. Stupidly handsome. He was no potential client.

That little update on Stefan’s page turned a dial inside Charlie’s head. Click. And suddenly he wasn’t the Charlie who put up with disappointment, whose job it was to make other people laugh, or comfort them when they were sad and then go home alone. His heart was a wild, unpredictable animal released from its cage. Instead of going home, he’d gone to Soho. He’d tracked down Buns ’n’ Roses (which was every bit as hideous as its name suggested). He’d stood on the pavement opposite the restaurant looking in at the man he loved leaning over a small table so that his head touched his companion’s ridiculous topknot – and something had gone off in his head like a mini explosion.