Chapter Twenty Seven

G O O D N I G H T

Friday, July 24th

When Dylan opens the door I notice that his hands are shaking. As I step inside he quickly stuffs them into his jean pockets.

"Sorry didn't hear the door," he says ushering me in. His hair messy and cheeks slightly flushed. "Got music on."

"No worries," I reply, noticing how our breathing matches up - mine completely ragged from rushing to leave work on time and from being squished into a crowded bus. I'm not quite sure why his is so heavy though.

Taking the staircase two steps at a time he leads me up, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the silhouette perched on the sofa. Bleach blonde hair. Head faced away, hands regimented in her lap. A matching flush of colour on her cheeks.

My stomach drops with suspicion.

"Jemima you remember Felicity right?" Dylan says, megawatt smile turned on to one hundred, folding fringed blanket draped over the sofa. "From the party? We were just finishing up some work."

I tilt my head down towards the coffee table. There's magazine cuttings and photo negatives spread out across it along with two glasses of wine, or at least what I suspect might have been if they both weren't empty. Visible rings of red stain the rims.

"Yeah we've met. Hi, how are you?" I reply politely as Felicity rises to her feet and flashes me a wide smile. She's got dark denim overalls on again and a black and white polka dot blouse under. All of it jarring but working perfectly on her slender frame, complimenting her short fringe and icy blue eyes. I'd give her a round of applause for pulling it all off so well if the timing weren't so wholly inappropriate.

"Great thanks. A little tired," she stretches her arms up. Fakes a yawn. "Been a long slog today hasn't it?"

Dylan catches her gaze and nods like his head might wobble off. "The office is busy at the moment. Thought it might be more productive to work from home today."

"Have some peace and quiet for a change!" Felicity laughs taking over. "We're got a lot done but you know what it's like, there's always more! Just when you think you've got it all covered something else crops up."

I mimic Dylan's nod whilst my eyes steal glances towards the dark room door. Which is slightly ajar, the glow of the red safelight visible. They must have been in there today too, I think. Stomach sinking some more though I know it's a stupid feeling to entertain.

Because I can still smell Jack's aftershave all over and I've really no right to be feeling hurt.

Taking my coat Dylan offers me a drink before stopping half way towards the kitchen. "Or did you want to wait until we head out?"

"Can do."

Felicity approaches my side and I notice that corners of her mouth are missing the dark red lipstick the rest of her lips are slicked in. "You guys going anywhere nice this evening?"

"Jemima's been wanting to show me this speakeasy bar for a while but we've both been so busy that it hasn't happened," Dylan explains. "I think were gonna try it out tonight."

"Maybe. It's always busy. First come first serve and all that," I say aware that it's much too close to the office and where Jack and the boys from above will be celebrating Tim's tame stag do. Not taking any chances I shrug casually. "We could just go to a pub. I'm really not fussed."

Felicity chuckles. "Anywhere that smells alcohol." Like she's eager to finish off my sentence. This earns her a peculiar look from Dylan who is still hovering, hands in his pockets. I wonder if he's maybe told her that I like a drink. Pub being one a word I tend to over use.

"I find it helps yeah," I reply, my shoulders lack. My expression noticeably unimpressed and a little bored of small talk.

"I should probably get going so you guys can enjoy your evening," Felicity says picking up a folder full of cuttings and photographs. She holds them close to her chest as she walks towards the stairs.

Dylan cuts her off. "You sure you don't want to come with us?"

"Oh no, really it's fine. I'm out with friends tonight anyways."

I feel as if it's my duty to smooth out the sheer awkwardness, make some effort to be kind.

"Maybe we could make a rain check on the speakeasy bar. I'm sure Dylan can arrange something, maybe with Robbie too? The four of us?" I smile though I've no desire to see such a plan come to fruition. Still it helps soften the blow. Lift the crush of disappointment written all over her face as she hands onto the star railing.

At least it makes her perk up a bit. "That's sounds great Jemima. Thanks."

"Okay well I'll see you out," Dylan offers as she gives me a small wave.

"If you guys struggle to find anywhere tonight there's this place just off Carnaby Street. Just got refurbished. Big outdoor patio. Craft beers," Felicity says, the sweet sincerity in her voice making me feel bad for her. "Could be an option."

Dylan's ears prick up at the mention of craft beer and he gives her a big thumbs up. "Sounds like my kinda place, oh and thank you for helping me out today."

"No problem. Have a goodnight," Felicity sighs deeply though her tone is still polite. An obvious front for the mess of repressed desires neither can act on right now. Not with me absentmindedly making notes of the street name on my phone.

As he walks her down, I carefully lean back over the staircase but quickly loose sight of them. Because he's got his fingers on the edge of the door, holding it slightly ajar as he says goodbye outside in private.

A huge part of me wants to run down, throw my hand on my hip and say - guys it's fine. Really. I'm not bothered if there's something going on - but I can't exactly be hundred percent certain if my blazing intuition is correct. I've been wrong before.

It's a conclusion that might be best saved for later. Perhaps once I've given Dylan the news that I'm no longer fully interested or invested in a romantic way. Just in case he get's angry or weird with me.

A card I can potentially pull out if the situation calls for it, to say well it's pretty obvious there's something between you and Felicity. I just don't want to jump the gun until it's necessary. Which reminds me of the task at hand as Dylan emerges up the stairs. The light fabric of t-shirt clinging to every muscle. Muscles I had thought I'd made peace with, could cope without seeing again but ones that aren't actually that easy to forget.

"So you wanna chill here for a bit or grab some dinner out, before the pub?" he says, hanging on the last word to speak it in a British accent. Three months in and he still hasn't quite mastered it.

"I could eat."

"Great. I'll have a quick shower. Wash the day off and then we can make a move."

Internally I groan at the thought of plonking myself down on the sofa. Having to wait for longer when all I want to do is just get our chat over and done with.

Twiddling my thumbs to pass the time until he's done showering, I make sure I turn away when he steps out with a towel wrapped loose to his waist. Chest and hair wet, those damn muscles out on show.

"Don't mind me," he says reaching over to pick up a leather belt that's curled round the leg of the coffee table, holding onto the towel tight, like I must just take a corner and yank it off.

My intuition comes to some conclusions about why his belt might be down by the table, in the exact same spot where him and Felicity had been "working". The conclusion is the same no matter how many different scenarios I run through my head.

They're were fucking, my conscious screams, the part that's occupied by Jack, you should be happy. And I suppose I should. A little swift kick of karma can't hurt because it might just work in my favour. Perhaps Dylan's just biding his time to call things off with me too. If anything maybe I'm the one being lead into the lions den, completely unaware. Naively assuming I'm the only one to feel this way.

When Dylan's dressed and ready to go he takes my hand and walks beside me down the stairs. Not saying much until we reach the studio door. His hands clammy and eyes absent.

"You ok?" I ask as he fumbles to unlock it.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

It's not a tone I'm used to hearing from him. Sharp. Cutting. Like I've asked him to burn all of his favourite possessions.

"I dunno you just seem... a little off."

Releasing his hand from mine Dylan pauses, the key still stuck in the door. I think this might be it. Maybe he can't even go through with the pain of drinks before telling me his own truths. That he's going to bite the bullet and do it right here and now. Save us both the damn hassle.

But he as his hand slips under my jaw, and his other snakes to my back my assumptions quickly change. Dylan pushes his mouth to mine with a hardness that's been so very absent in our lip locking pursuits so far. It's as if he's trying to force something that's not there. No adventurous tongues. No sensitivity for seduction or teasing. Just a big fat kiss. Mouths together. My eyes wide. His closed shut.

I wonder if he's trying to convince himself that this what he should be doing yet it's not what he really wants. And so I gently pull myself away. His hands falling instantly, and with it his pained expression.

"What was that for?" I say quietly.

Dylan twists the key hard and shuffles me out, slamming it with a hard thud. "Just haven't done that in a long while. What with both of us being so busy."

It sounds exactly like the poor excuse it so clearly is.

"And was it worth the wait?" I laugh because I've no idea what else to do. Both of us slowly walking down the street, a foot of distance between us.

"Uh huh."

I don't press the issue further. The vibe he gives off as we head for the tube station speaks volumes. And I find that he's almost silent during the journey into Central London. His hand every so often brushing against mine as I pretend to hold onto the metal bars above or shuffle out the way to make room for those boarding.

When we come to a sharp halt, the carriage idling in a dark tunnel for longer than I can stand, Dylan breathes in deeply. Our bodies pushed together as commuters file on and off. My chest pressed to his, the muscles under his own firm and tight. Once a upon a time, pre-Jack this would have gotten my pulse racing or sent my dirty mind into overdrive but that times gone. Extinguished by the flames of another.

Instead it's tense and awkward. An atmosphere that continues all the way towards Carnaby Street and the newly refurbished pub that Felicity had suggested.

Approaching the door doubles we both grimace, because it's absolutely heaving and I can't see the bar over the tops of so many heads. The air inside much too stifling and hot. Dylan shrugs, loops his pinky finger to mine as we slowly try to part the crowds, clearing a path to the bar that takes longer than should ever be necessary just to get a glass of alcohol.

I'm about to suggest we go elsewhere because I'm aware that it's going to be a hard task to try and talk to him amongst the chaos and noise but Dylan's already got his wallet out, eyes busy scanning the row of craft beers on tap.

"Ah man they've got Firemans #4 on draft. Shit," he exclaims wildly, grin wide.

"What's that? Beer?"

"Yeah. It's an Austin Craft beer. Man I haven't had in ages. Not since I was back in Texas."

As he orders two pints, one for him, one for me though I didn't ask for it I give up plotting other establishments to escape to because the allure of Firemans #4 has sealed the deal.

Outside on the patio that's cornered off from each side our luck turns as a table becomes vacant, Dylan sliding towards it with eagerness, ready to pounce.

"You seem happy," I say as he takes a long sip of beer. The foam catching on his stubble.

He pulls his seat in close to the table and nods. "Tastes amazing. Like if I close my eyes I could be back there."

"In Austin?"

"Uh huh."

I take a quick gulp as he briefly closes them before sighing.

"It's loud out here too isn't it?"

Nodding my head I wonder if he'll even be able to hear me tell him that I think we should call time on whatever we are. If I should have bought a back up plan - like a megaphone. It's some small wonder that I hear my phone ring off in my bag. The vibration rippling through wooden table leg.

Slyly I dip my hand low and pull it half way out. Jack's name flashing up on the screen. When it stops another missed call is added to the three I've neglected. All from him.

I think of making a polite excuse to use the ladies toilets but Dylan has already picked up the food menu from the table. He points it my way.

"You wanna try and order some food before it get's even busier?" he asks.

My stomach rumbles back. The golden beer hitting it with force. It's a lot stronger in taste than I had been anticipating. My previous experience with American beers being akin to that of the watered down, super weak variety.

"Can do."

As he passes the beer stained sharing and light bites menu, Dylan's knee knocks against mine."You look really nice," he says eyes jumping back to the menu I'm still reading. "I mean you always do it's just I haven't seen you so I thought I'd let you know again. Not that you don't know already but... well you get what I mean."

He's rambling. This is could be a good sign, that he's going to serge into confessing that he's been shaking up with Felicity or has feelings for her, the type that he doesn't have for me anymore. Or it could be because he's just nervous in my presence, maybe he does feel bad for us not having seen much of each other recently.

"I do get what you mean. Thanks. Really, that's sweet of you."

"I know it's been a weird few weeks. Works just knocked me for six."

"Any news on the sponsorship?" I ask, hoping that no news means good news. Though I'm not sure which way I'd like it to swing. It's not as if I'll feel any better with him gone out of the country.

Dylan shrugs, compliments it with a extended sigh. "I dunno. There's been talk of it but there's always been talk of other options."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, well that's actually what I need to talk to you about," he replies before pausing.

I'm all ears. My back up straight.

Slowly he reaches for my hand under the table, rests his over and gently squeezes. "I really didn't think that I would be doing this right-"

"JEMIMA!"

My knee instantly jerks up and smashes against the hard wooden table crushing Dylan's hand which he quickly pulls away.

"Shit I'm so sorry."

The voice is getting louder. Approaching faster than I can fathom a way to escape.

"Oi! Jemima!" It's Tim. His tone distinctive. A shock. A surprise. Unwelcome.

As Dylan clutches his hand against his chest, my eyes scan the patio until they fall on a white tacky net bridal veil and the two plastic pink cocks hung off from it. Tim's hair tucked under, the pink L plates hanging round his neck and the matching tutu clinging to his waist confirming my wildest fears.

Oh crap.

He snakes through the tables and past drinkers that loiter close by, throwing up his hands as he comes to stop a foot a way. "I was over there with the lads and thought I spied you over here."

I fake a smile, lips sealed tight as he staggers and places a hand on the table. He is clearly drunk. The slurred delivery giving the game away.

"You on a date?" he hiccups. "This your boyfriend ey?"

Dylan looks up at him with a mixture of concern and bemusement. I do the exact same but with a hefty dose of panic kicking in. My whole body jittery and completely on edge.

When I don't answer Tim takes it upon himself to confirm that Dylan must be. "Ya tricky little thing. Never told me you had a fella."

"I didn't say he was-"

"Nah. Anyways you like my outfit? Adam sorted it. Just been for a curry, bit of a rip off. All you can eat but you got to eat everything on your plate before they bring anymore out. What's the fucking point of that? False advertising if you ask me," Tim rambles as I steel myself to scan the patio again, and the open doors leading inside and back to the bar.

I want to take Tim by the collar and whisper to ask if Jack's still with him but it's much too late. If anything it would look even worse. Me with two men, one who has protectively inched his hand across back to mine and another whose bending down much too close to moan about a lack of curry.

Tim doesn't have to say anything for me to witness Jack stood a few tables behind. Adam moving past him with us set in his sights. Some other guys from the fourth floor I recognise but don't know by name follow.

But Jack remains motionless. A pint in his hand that I can see slosh and sway about. Some of it spilled down his jeans. Eyes locked to mine. And the table and Tim and Dylan. His hand on mine. How it's gotten darker and more intimate looking than when we'd first arrived to bag the only table we could find.

I know how it looks.

And how it must feel. Jacks expression readable though there's many interruptions, like Tim who is grilling Dylan about why he's got a different accent to ours. The penny dropping when Dylan says the word American slowly like he's reciting it to a three year old.

"Blimey Jemima you got yourself a Yank!" Tim snorts loudly, as Adam comes to tap him on the shoulder and swap his empty pint glass for a freshly topped one.

Dylan is quite calm in spite of Tim's noisy interruption. I am anything but.

Hands shaking. Stomach flip flopping. Convulsing as I bow my head low away from Jack. The awful, sickening feeling of shame and guilt racking up. My fight or flight mode kicking in though I know there's nowhere else to run.

I've been caught out. Game over.

Jack is shaking his head. Not at me or us but to himself. Shoulders slack. The colour draining from his cheeks as he slowly turns away.

"Where's our Jack got to?" Tim slurs poking Adam in the ribs. "Sure he wouldn't wanna miss out on saying hello."

"Ah man he's gonna be crushed," Adam laughs giving me a wink. "He tries to hide it but we all know he's got a little thing for you Jemima."

I pray that Dylan is so disorientated by the overlap in conversations that he didn't just hear Adam's little omission. I pray again to a God I've never had any real interest in, because I'm absolutely fine with it being my time to be swallowed whole by a previously undetected sinkhole.

A sinkhole for one - made especially for a really shitty, sly person who completely deserves it.

By the time I can fathom words and syllables, the dryness in my mouth momentarily subsiding as Tim waves a plastic cock in my face jovially, Jack has all but disappeared back inside. The damage done. It's much too late to pull out my chair and chase after him.

"Think he's gone inside mate," Tim says rising up on his feet to peer back to the bar. "Ah well his loss right?"

Adam laughs, and starts to walk away from our table. "Come on mate lets go find a table. Nice seeing you Jemima and you're fella." He's already forgotten Dylan's name. The only positive in a pool of steaming crap that I am fast sinking under. Karma pushing my head under with glee.

"You work with those guys?" Dylan frowns once we're left alone.

"Uh... No. Well they work on the floor above. Same company but different site." I am tripping over all my words.

"The guy with the dicks, I'm guessing he's getting married soon," he laughs.

"Yeah."

Dylan sips his beer and his hand slides off mine. "Are you ok Jemima?"

"What?" I reply lost in thought. Internally screaming. Hating the feeling that's taken over. One that reminds me of being told off at school, accused of misbehaving. That squelching sensation of nastiness because you know that you are in the wrong. Completely and you've no fast way of undoing any of it.

"I asked if you're feeling ok because you've gone real white."

The real answer: Terrible.

"Uh huh."

Dylan shrugs but backs off. "Okay."

'Sorry I just wasn't expecting that. Them I mean."

"Interesting bunch," he chuckles, running a hand across his mouth. "That guy they were talking about?"

"Who?"

"The guy whose supposedly got a little crush one you. Jake or Jack or something, who is he?"

Who is Jack?

A question I've been asking myself for too long. No easy or simple answer obvious. A guy who I'd once thought of as nothing but a roaming, dirty Casanova. A player. A distraction. Someone I could count on to give me a good time between the sheets.

The truth is he is none of these things bar the last. Because between the one nights multiplied into many more and the wandering hands and the late night exceptions he has become something and someone so much more.

I realise that I've gone about this all wrong. It's not Dylan who I need to be talking to, it's Jack. I should have been sat with him tonight, to tell him about everything that's come in the space between since we stopped pretending and avoiding our feelings for each other.

I should of had the guts to be honest about Dylan and wipe the slate clean once and for all. The stupidity of believing that he'd never find out or if he did not care, a completely insensitive and gullibly naive attitude to have.

Instead karma has swung in and sorted it out for me. Swiftly knocking the wind out of my sails.

"Jemima?" Dylan says when I don't reply. "Look if you don't want to talk about it that's fine."

"He works on the fourth floor too. Just another one of the guys," I lie. Just stacking them up, another bold faced lie. What's the harm in one more? Lord knows I've caused enough harm for it to not even matter at this point.

"Okay."

I raise my pint glass to my lips and keep it there. Gulping down mouthfuls of beer until it's empty. Dylan crowd watching, treating his own pint with more respect. Sipping it responsibly.

"So do you want to order something? Are you hungry?"

I was. "I don't know. Actually I'm really not feeling great."

Dylan looks concerned. "Oh."

"I had some sushi for lunch, earlier. You know the cheap supermarket type and I haven't felt quite right since," I sigh, holding my stomach. Amping up the lie. "And well, it's that time of the month too."

If there's one thing I know it's that most guys instinctually want to run a mile when confronted with any talk about periods.

"We don't have to stay if you're feeling bad. I'm pretty beat as it is," he smiles sweetly. "We can do this another night."

This really isn't how I'd planned it all to go but the last thing I want to do is suffer through a talk with Dylan. I don't think I've got it in me to break two hearts. Though the night is still young. Anything could happen. I wouldn't even be surprised if Kit Smith walked out from the crowds, guitar in hand to warn Dylan of my knack for causing heartache.

It's what I'd deserve.

"Are you sure?"

"I'll walk you back to the tube station, come on it's fine."

Dylan keeps to his word and once we're away from the bustle of Carnaby Street I thank him for being so understanding.

"No problem. We can talk another time," he smiles giving me a short hug. "Make sure you take care of yourself. Feel better."

I nod, and hurry down the steps. Doubling back on myself once I know he's gone. Phone in hand as I multitask my way to the nearest bus stop whilst dialing in Jack's number. It's a fools errand. He doesn't pick up.

Three calls later and a trigger finger on the voicemail I hop on a bus and convince myself that it's not a horrible idea to turn up at his. Even if he is still out I make a promise that I'll sit outside. All night long if that's what it takes.

And when I reach his apartment block I spy a light on in his front window. My chest lifting as I press the buzzer. The sweat pouring while I nervously wait for his voice to come through. It doesn't. Numerous tries come up empty. He is avoiding me and has every right too.

When I attempt to call him once more I am momentarily silenced to find that he's actually picked up.

"I've only answered so I can tell you that you're wasting your time," he says, voice gruff. "And to stop ringing the buzzer."

"Jack, please. I'm sorry. I just really need to talk to you," I am wheezing and stuttering, holding onto the edge of the foyer door. "I can explain everything if you'll just let me in."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"But you've got the completely wrong idea. Tonight... that wasn't... I didn't think you'd be there. I wasn't expecting to see you."

Jack clears his throat, voice still low. "Yeah I gathered."

"Can you let me up? So we can talk. So I can explain that it's really nothing, please?"

"I don't want to talk right now Jemima."

My breath catches as he says my name. And not half of it. All of it. It breaks my heart.

"Okay, I get that you're angry and-."

"Angry might be one word to describe how I'm feeling right now but it ain't the only one."

"Of course, of course but still maybe if you just give me a few minutes I can tell you that you've nothing to be angry about," I reply, really trying. Every fibre of my being straining to show just how unbelievably sorry I am.

"I've had a few drinks. I don't want to say anything I'll regret. You should go."

"But I can't." This is at least not a lie. My overnight bag tucked beside his bed acting as proof. I pause for a moment before telling him that my keys are in there. Because I thought I would be staying. The next night too like he'd said. "I thought we would be spending the weekend together."

"I don't think that's a good idea. Not right now," Jack sighs, the phone suddenly cutting out as I cling to the static silence.

"Jack? Are you there? Please! Just talk to me for Christ's Sake."

One of the lower floor apartment's front curtains starts to twitch. Probably because I'm making quite a scene, voice raised, panic-stricken. So very desperate.

As I'm about to call him back the foyer door buzz's. Jack pulls it open and stands half way. Dark shirt still on from earlier. The small strip of light above the door illuminates his face and the redness of his eyes.

"Oh thank god," I exhale almost leaping forwards to wrap my arms round his shoulders.

Jack remains still, wary. He brings out my weekend bag from behind his back. "Here."

"Can we please talk now?"

"You've got what you wanted. Just go." His tone is resolute. Firm. Jaw tense, the little muscles in his neck taught.

"Thanks, but Jack that's not why I am here. Literally on your doorstep. I am begging you to just give me five minutes."

"I don't wanna hear it."

My hands instantly clasp together. "But you need to be because then I think you'll understand then just what's going on."

Jack drags a hand across his stubble, tuts in disbelief. "Oh no I understand perfectly. Makes sense that you never picked up my calls earlier, to let you know that I was leaving early after one last drink because I really wanted to get back and see you. Turns out you were too busy to pick up. Now I know why."

"No, you've got it all-"

"Please save it. I feel like an idiot enough as it is without all my neighbours watching," he nods towards the another large window, curtains slightly prised apart. "Here's your bag. Keys are in the side pocket. Goodnight."

"Wait, what's that?" I ask noticing there's a white envelope under the handles.

Jack shrugs. "Was for Saturday. Sure you can still make good use of it through. Take someone else."

I don't have a chance to ask any more questions or beg because he backs away and closes the door as my hand slams up against it. My calls for him to come back fall flat. I hear someone bang at their window. A woman with two small kids either side of her tells me to shut the hell up before she calls the police.

I want to shout back Do it then! I'm damn right guilty as sin!

Instead I slink off shamefully, heavy bag dragging along the pavement back towards the bus stop.

Once I'm tucked into the back seat on the upper floor of the double decker bus I gently open the envelope. Half my name written on it in delicate black pen. When the bus grinds to a sudden halt by the traffic lights my heart almost joins it.

Inside are two tickets.

Rooftop Cinema London - Saturday

Screening all summer long on London's finest rooftops.The perfect setting for a first date or romantic rendezvous, to watch cult classics out under the stars.

My heart sinks. The mini brochure that's fallen out showing a dazzling starry sky, and colourful deck chairs high above the city streets, skyline lit up all around.

A surprise I would have surely loved.

As the bus chugs along I nestle deep into the window. Head heavy with the night and it's consequences. As I approach my stop my stomach drops at the thought of going back to a flat that doesn't feel like home. How nothing is really mine.

And how worst of all, I've now got nothing else to call my own. Nothing but the shame and guilt of letting the one person who could have been slip away.

. . .