‘Sort of. I dropped off gifts to my nieces and nephews. The company I work for is doing a tie-in with Lego, so I wanted to share the joy with them. If I can’t impress the sisters, then I can at least try to get brownie points with the little people.’
I pour us two glasses of beer and I take a large sip of mine to steady my nerves. He’s in a hoodie, hi-tops and jeans, keeping it casual. He leans over the table and a slice of back and underwear is visible. I want to touch it. I won’t. Stop staring. Just focus. Say it, just bloody tell him everything already.
‘Speaking of family, that Christmas day with your folks. Them taking me in like a stray, that was so nice.’
I pause and take another sip of beer. ‘It’s all good. They like you.’
‘I like them. It’s been such a quiet, strange Christmas and it really pepped me up.’
‘Have you not been up to much then?’ I say, biting into a samosa. It’s slightly too hot, so I juggle it with my hands and puff out my cheeks, which makes him laugh.
‘Well, I’m supposed to be at a party tonight, but I opted out. Imogen and my ex-best mate will be there and I just don’t want to bring that drama to someone else’s house.’
‘Oh.’ I stuff some rice into my mouth, which I am aware makes me look like a goat shovelling in feed.
‘I guess no one wants to bump into an ex,’ I mumble.
‘Oh no, I don’t give two seconds’ thought to Imogen, but it’s Russ. I’ve known him since school. The lies, the betrayal. That I don’t get.’
More rice, just get more rice in, Josie. Shovel it in like sand.The lies, the betrayal.But as I look over, I see him visibly upset, almost moved to tears. I put my fork down and place a hand on his arm. He stops and leans into me. I hug him, drawn to the sadness this obviously stirs up in him.
‘Hey, don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong,’ I tell him.
‘I just feel like a bit of an idiot to be mourning him, you know? I miss him, despite everything.’
‘It just makes you a nice person, a decent person, a better friend…’
‘Maybe…’ A tear forms in the corner of his eye. ‘Now you’re going to think I’m a complete wimp. It’s the curry, the curry is too hot.’
I laugh. ‘I’ll think you more of a wimp for not being able to take this level of spice. It’s sag aloo.’
He uses the palm of his hand to wipe away the solitary tear that he allowed to escape.
‘Hannah McRoberts,’ I say. ‘Best mate at school. God, we did everything together. We stole cans of Coke from the petrol station, we had these huge nights out and I held her hair back on her eighteenth as she chucked up into the Thames…’
Cameron furrows his brow to hear that as we’re eating.
‘Apologies. But she went to university and I never heard from her again. The occasional Facebook like and hello, but that’s it. Friendship is a very strange thing like that. Sometimes we have friends we think will last a lifetime and sometimes it just doesn’t work. People grow, they move away, they change. It’s OK to mourn them, to hurt.’ It’s an unusual moment of clarity and wisdom from me that we will put down to the fact I’ve been drinking solid for a week so my thoughts are not my own. ‘His life will be poorer for not having you in it.’
‘That’s very kind.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I mutter, trying to lick away a string of mango chutney from my chin. Cameron reaches over and wipes away the worst of it with his thumb. His hands are cold, but I hold my breath to feel his touch, that surge of magic I always feel when he does that. Damn you.
‘So I do think there are some important things to discuss?’ he tells me.
I nod. ‘I was thinking the same…’
I break a poppadom with my hands. Do it, say it. But what does he want to talk about? Does he want to talk about where this is going and what we are? Does he want sex? I’d need a half-hour in a bathroom before that and to borrow Nan’s razor that I think she uses on her face. Just come out with it.
He puts his plate down and takes off his hoodie. He really is not coping with the spice levels of this curry. He downs a few gulps of beer.
‘I just don’t know how to tell you…’ he begins, getting more and more flustered. ‘I mean, I’m sorry I’ve not told you before, but—’
I take his hand again. ‘God, your hands are cold. Are they always so cold?’ I ask him.
‘No,’ he says, stretching his fingers in and out. ‘It is cold outside, though.’
I put a hand to his forehead. ‘Cameron… you’re really hot.’
