‘Two days. Two days and then I’ll have to dig the farm out of whatever hole you’ve managed to land us in.’
‘I promise, Laurel. I promise you won’t have to.’
Nate
Nate hated Laurel being upset with him. His chest ballooned hopefully every time he saw her, but she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, smile. He had to fix this, but sitting in the restaurant at the end of Lower Houghton High Street by himself with a bottle of chilled white wine was not a good look for Nate.
Alex was late.
Not particularly late, but late, nonetheless. He hadn’t replied to Nate’s text asking if he wanted to meet in the pub for one beforehand, so Nate had gone straight to the restaurant.
Eventually, Alex did turn up, fifteen minutes late. It was a deliberate power play, making him wait to show how displeased Alex was that he was no longer top billing for Nate, no longer able to get away with whatever he liked. There is no way in hell Alex should have been saying those things about anyone, especially not in a professional environment. If he told the British Archaeological Society, Alex would be fully reprimanded and an investigation would be started. Alex had to give his dig, and therefore Little Willow Farm, a fair crack at the whip. Also, if he fixed it, then Laurel wouldn’t be mad at him anymore.
The question was, would his friendship with him ever be repaired? Did Nate really want it to be repaired? Yeah, sure, he obviously still wanted Alex in his life, but they’d grown apart over the last few years. The thing was, Nate wasn’t twenty anymore and didn’t want the lifestyle that Alex peddled. If that was good for Alex, then brilliant. But it wasn’t good for him, and that was fine.
‘Nate,’ Alex said, dropping into the chair opposite. He’d already had at least two pints.
‘Hey, wasn’t sure you were coming,’ Nate said, signalling the waiter to bring another glass.
‘Of course I came,’ Alex said, snatching the glass from the waiter and slopping wine nearly to the brim. ‘Wouldn’t miss dinner with my best friend, even if he did punch me in the face.’
Nate sighed. Alex was always so combative and antagonistic.
‘Yeah, about that,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I punched you.’
‘I’m sorry you punched me as well.’
Okay, Alex was still being a douche.
‘But you get why, yeah?’ Nate pushed.
Alex took a long drink of wine.
‘Whatever man, it’s done now.’
So, he wasn’t going to accept any responsibility for his words, then.
‘Okay, done.’ Nate smiled tightly. Knowing Alex, it would be far from done. Alex never let anything go. He may profess to have forgotten things, but it would surface again years and years down the line, like how he had written the celebrated opening of their joint Pictish Stylus paper. In fact, the whole thing had initially been Alex’s idea, which was something Alex never let him forget.
‘Shall we order?’ Alex called the waiter over.
Then followed the most excruciating dinner he had ever had with Alex. He had tried. God, he had tried to fall back into that easy pattern of the two of them. But Alex’s jokes, his stories, his anecdotes were immature and ridiculous, involving people he didn’t know and didn’t care to know. Nate’s own stories were met with boredom and sometimes outright derision.
In the end, Nate sat back, enjoyed his seafood linguine and let Alex talk about whatever he wanted, giving appropriate responses when required. He could not wait for it to end.
‘So, Lucia’s coming back for Jess and Owen’s barbeque,’ Alex said, draining his glass.
‘Yeah, so Paul tells me,’ Nate replied, sipping his wine.
Alex looked surprised.
‘Oh, you speak to Paul?’ Was there a hint of jealousy there?
‘Now and again.’ Nate shrugged.
‘Lucia,’ Alex started, a predatory grin crossing his face. ‘Now there’s arealwoman. Exciting, sexy, adventurous.’
‘Yeah, she’s all those things,’ Nate said neutrally. He wasn’t going to be baited into comparing Laurel with Lucia.
