To: Gabe Foster

From: Dylan Mitchell

 

One Month Later

I right click on my document, and a second later the whirring sound tells me it’s printing. I reach over and slide the sheets into a folder, and then, gathering the other paperwork from the corner of my desk, I stand up and knock on my boss’s door. Hearing her shout to come in, I pop my head around the door.

“I’ve got the contracts you asked for, and the printout of the book from your slush pile that we were talking about.”

My new boss, Morna, looks up over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses. She’s a tiny, middle-aged woman, who, with her steel-grey bob and short stature could be mistaken for a grandma. However, if anyone treated her like that they’d be in for a world of pain, as she’s a formidable woman. She’d been at the forefront of women in publishing and is now a very renowned senior editor with a famous publishing house. Sharp tongued and fierce on behalf of her clients, she apparently had a habit of going through staff like a wild fire, or so the temp agency had told me.

However, I had worked in the front line of grumpy bosses with Gabe, and to our surprise, we’d found that we meshed extremely well. After I’d been with her for only a couple of days, she’d asked me to work for her full time, and it had been a surprise to find that I actually enjoyed the work. It was varied and interesting to be doing something that I didn’t know like the back of my hand, and lately, she’d even taken to asking my opinion about work that she’d received from new authors and prospective clients. I’d dived into this, and this week she had made a comment about training me to be an editorial assistant.

She smiles at me. “Thank you, darling. You’re so good, Dylan.”

“I know,” I say calmly, making her snort with laughter. Then she propels her chair back after retrieving a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

“You’re going to get busted one day,” I warn, as she moves over to the window. “Health and Safety will string you up for violating the clean air agreement.”

“I didn’t agree to the clean air agreement, so I will not be held to ransom for someone else’s stupid ideas. I’m too busy and too old to run up and downstairs every time I need a cigarette.”

I suppress a smile because there are shades of Gabe here. She pulls the contracts to her, and begins to sign them. “Aren’t you going to check the corrections?” I ask, surprised.

She shoots a grin at me, with her cigarette clenched between her teeth like Clint Eastwood. “No need, darling, I’ve been watching your work, and you are meticulous to a fault. I trust you.” She pauses and shoots me a keen glance. “Makes me wonder what that old boss of yours was thinking about to let you go.”

I flinch slightly, covering it with a cough, but not well enough as her beady eyes analyse me.

“Hmm, I suspect there’s a big story there, and I should know, I’ve made a career out of big stories.” She waves her hand, dropping ash all over her desk. “You’ll tell me in the end I hope. I fancy myself a fairly good listener for those people I like.” She looks at me. “You’re one of them by the way.”

I’m absurdly touched. “Thank you. I like you too.”

She shakes her head and gives a cackle. “You’re one of the few, darling, apart from my clients.” She shoots a look at me. “Go and get off home now, sweetie. You look tired.”

I am tired. I haven’t slept well since Gabe walked out of my life, and I know my face reflects the fact.

I move towards the door. “If you’re sure?”

“I am. Another thing I’m sure about is the old quote about getting over your man by getting under another one.”

I laugh incredulously. It feels wrong to get love advice from someone who looks like she should be knitting, but in truth, she’s incredibly ribald with no sense of barriers.

She smiles at me. “I’m not joking, Dylan. If this person you’re breaking your heart over isn’t coming back, there is no point in walling yourself up in a monastery. Get out there again, because with the benefit of my long years I know there will always be another one along if you missed the last one.”

“He wasn’t a bus.” I shake my head at her, and she cackles again. Waving goodbye, I shut her door and stroll back to my desk, gathering my bag and switching off my monitor. I hear a noise, and looking up, I hold back a sigh.

Richard is also an editor, but Morna detests him. He’s lean and dark-haired, sporty and very pretty, and made no secret of his interest in me the other night at a book launch. He comes across as very self-possessed, which I think could pass very quickly into self-absorption.

“You done for the day?” he asks happily, and I nod. “Fancy going for a drink?”

“Oh, Richard, I’m sorry, but I don’t think -”

“Come on,” he cajoles. “One drink, and I promise to spill all the gossip from this place.”

I consider him for a long second. It’s been a month, and Gabe has made no effort to get in touch with me. My things had been packed and delivered from the office without a note, and that was it. Not a lot to say for two years and a lot of love. I have no doubt that he’s moved on. In fact, I’m sure that after losing his temper on that night, he’d raced right off and fucked someone else. He’d been angry enough.

Which beggars the question: why have I put myself in isolation? Jude had demanded to know that last night, and I’d had no answer. Perhaps this is the start of getting back to me again, and God knows I like to make friends where I work.

I smile at him. “Maybe one drink, and you promise all the gossip?”

He looks astonished for a second, making me wonder how standoffish I appear at the moment. “Oh, absolutely,” he says quickly. “All the dirty stuff.”

I throw my messenger bag over my body. “Lead on then.”

He takes me to a small wine bar near work where the walls are exposed brick. Old advertising pictures hang everywhere, and the rough wood tables have hurricane lanterns on them, giving the room a warm glow. I look around while I sit down at a table. It’s filled with mainly business men in suits relaxing after a hard day, mixed with a spattering of the fashion crowd as a large magazine has its headquarters nearby.

When Richard asks me what I want to drink I order a Budweiser, then watch as he wrinkles his nose. “Really? Bit studenty for you, isn’t it? Okay then.”

I stare at him. In what universe is Budweiser a student drink? I pause. Maybe it is. Maybe Jude and I are those types of students - the eternal ones. Should we be holding dinner parties and sipping sherry? I snort as I imagine us in smoking jackets, sipping from tiny glasses with our little fingers held up, and saying things like ‘chin chin old boy’.

Pulling out my phone while I wait for Richard, I check my messages and see one from Jude.

Jude: Where the fuck are you?

I stare at it and shrug, before typing quickly.

Me: Having a drink with a colleague from work. Why are you so concerned, Mother? Have I overshot my curfew?

A second later my phone beeps.

Jude: If I was your mother I would spank you.

I snort and tap quickly.

Me: If you were your dad, I’d let you.

I chuckle thinking of his reply, and the phone beeps obediently.

Jude: FFS. That’s disgusting. Anyway, never mind that. I need you home ASAP.

Me: This isn’t the same situation as when you had Billy the model round the other day is it, because I’ve only just de-bleached my eyeballs.

Jude: No, it isn’t. Bloody Billy. One watch of Fifty Shades and he thinks he’s the master of BDSM. I knew he wouldn’t be able to get that knot untied.

Me: It puzzles me why he couldn’t just use a pair of scissors, rather than contribute to my future therapist’s workload.

Jude: If he’d used scissors I could have fallen and hurt myself. Anyway, stop changing the subject. Please come home ASAP.

Me: Why?

Jude: Because I said so.

I stare at my phone, but there are no more messages. Hmm. I’m interrupted in my thoughts by Richard, who comes back from the bar carrying a bottle of red wine. “Sorry, they didn’t have Budweiser, so I thought we could share this instead.”

As if red wine is a substitute for Budweiser I think sourly. I’m already starting to form the opinion that dear old Richard is a bit of a prick. Then I tell myself off. He’s not Gabe. No one ever will be, but I should move on. Everybody keeps telling me to go on dates. This is me, putting my toe in the water, so I should cut him some slack.

Well, I do cut him some slack. I cut him enough slack to suspend Nellie the Elephant from the Eiffel Tower, and it still doesn’t work. Richard is an opinionated wanker. He spends the entire two hours talking about himself and his views on the world, which are slightly fascist in tone.

I listen politely, trying to drink the wine as quickly as I can to get this over with, but unfortunately, this has the effect of him buying another bottle while I’m in the loo.

By the time we leave the wine bar, I’m fairly unsteady, and we’re holding onto each other like we’re walking in a hurricane. “Where now?” he asks happily. “Shall we eat?”

At this point, my phone beeps, reminding me of Jude and the emergency I’ve forgotten for two hours. “I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to go home. My flatmate keeps messaging me, asking me to go home.”

“Oh, great, I’ll come back with you.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think -”

“Nonsense, it’s a good idea. I can come back to yours and meet your flatmate. Is he as pretty as you?” he slurs.

I feel quite drunk by now, and in no mind to stand around arguing. “Prettier,” I say firmly, briefly trying to remember what a good friend Jude is, before shrugging and throwing him under the bus. “He’s a model. An underwear model,” I add deliberately. “And he’ll absolutely adore you.”

I throw out my arm for a taxi, and as I slide into the cab, he follows closely behind like I’m the pied piper of underwear models. I shrug. Jude can deal with him. I’m too drunk.

I stare out of the window at London rushing by as he talks in a monotone about how wonderful he is. I wonder what Gabe is doing at the moment, but I shy away from the thought of what, or who, he’s probably doing. However, like sticking my tongue on a loose tooth, I keep coming back to that thought and growing more morose. When will I be over him? Will I ever be over him?

We fall out of the taxi when we reach my apartment, and bypassing the elevator which is broken again, I point Richard to the stairs. He huffs and shakes his head, starting to talk about health and safety and landlord laws, but after five floors he can’t talk anymore apart from panting. I mentally fist bump the elevator.

He follows me down the corridor. “Fucking hell, what a bloody dump,” he exclaims.

“Oh, Richard, you sweet talking devil.” Once again it goes over his head. The man literally has no sarcasm detector.

He comes up close to me. “I am quite silver tongued thank you, Dylan. Wait until it’s in your arse and you’ll find out.” I put my key in the lock, but to my astonishment he pushes me into the door, leaning hard on me so that I can feel the outline of his cock against my arse. “Let’s skip dinner, Dylan, and stay in.”

I shrug him off crossly. Cheeky, fucking wanker. The only company I want tonight is my dildo and some porn, where I can turn the sound off the way I wish I could do to you. I swallow hard as his face goes slack with astonishment. “Oh shit, I said that out loud didn’t I?”

He nods. His face is flushed, which is probably more to do with my mentioning a dildo in polite company than any offence. He doesn’t seem to register at all that I’ve just called him a cheeky wanker. “Fuck, Dylan, you’re so fucking beautiful. I noticed you as soon as you started working for Morna, but I didn’t see any point in getting to know you because the rancid old bitch chases every assistant off. Then you stayed, and I figured I’d get first go.”

“First go!” I splutter and then jerk. “Morna’s not a rancid old bitch. What a fucking rude thing to say.”

I twist the key, but as the door starts to open Richard presses forcibly against me again. Too forcibly for someone who has just drunk a bottle of wine on an empty stomach. As if in slow motion we fall through the door, landing with a colossal thud on the hall carpet.

“Oh, fuck,” I groan as Richard’s full weight lands on me, and then for a few seconds, we lie there as if too surprised to move. Then, unfortunately, Richard regains the power of speech.

“This is much more like it,” he exclaims. “Let’s just fuck here, Dylan. Maybe get that pretty flatmate involved. I haven’t had a threesome in ages, and you said your flatmate would fancy me.” He nuzzles my neck, licking a very wet stripe along my jaw. It’s like being mauled by a golden retriever.

“Richard,” I begin, but we’re interrupted by a rage filled voice.

“What in the ever-loving fuck is going on here?”

I jerk my head up so quickly I crash the back of my skull into Richard’s jaw, putting a stop to the licking, but giving me an instant headache.

“Fuck,” I mutter as sparks dance across my vision. I look up and shake my head in stupefaction. “Am I seeing things?” I ask no one and squeeze my eyes shut. However, when I open them, Gabe is still standing over us, with Jude hovering behind him.

I stare hungrily at him. He’s thinner than when I last saw him, and looks absolutely terrible. I’ve never seen Gabe look bad before, apart from the time that he was ill, but he does now. He’s wearing dark jeans and a blue and white striped shirt, but the jeans hang from his hips, and the shirt looks too big. His face is pale, and he has massive black circles under his eyes. For a brief second, I feel the most incredible sense of gladness at seeing him. Then concern floods through me.

“Gabe, you look terrible,” I say, but at that instant, his whole expression changes, becoming utterly rage-filled as Richard groans against me.

I try to push Richard off me, but oblivious to our company he starts to grind against me. “Richard,” I hiss, but before I can say more he’s torn off me, and I gape at the sight of Gabe with his hand around Richard’s throat, pushing him into the wall.

“Gabe, what the hell are you doing? Put Richard down,” I shout, and then remember a few salient facts. “Gabe, I have to work with him. Don’t hurt him.”

Gabe turns a snarling face to me. “It didn’t take you fucking long, Dylan. You’ve moved your schedule along. I waited two years. What’s it taken this bastard, a week? You’ve obviously lowered your fucking standards.”

I struggle to my feet. “Now wait a fucking minute, you utter twat. What gives you the right to lecture me on my sexual partners? You’ve got no fucking right.”

Shafts of pain cross his face and still my words before the blinding anger comes back and fills his face. “I just want to know -” He stutters to a stop as if he can’t say the words, but unfortunately he finds them. “I want to know if you’re fucking this idiot?”

“Now wait a minute,” Richard mutters, and squirms.

“Shut up!” Gabe and I shout in unison, and for a second I see him in his eyes again, before the rage-filled twat comes back.

“Is this what you want? Is he giving you the nice, boring sex that you really wanted?” He shakes Richard like a rat. “Are you settling down now, getting a dog and adopting two-point-four children? Is he better than me? Is he going to give you that life you tried to trick me into?” I gasp, and he shakes his head. “You’re worse than a fucking whore, Dylan. At least I got a bill for them. Instead, you’re a fucking liar.”

“Oh, I don’t think -” Jude begins, but when we turn murderous faces to him he shuts up, but not before muttering, “And don’t think that we won’t be having words later about pimping friends out, Dylan.”

I ignore him. “Oh, I see the problem now,” I say sweetly, turning back to Gabe with my rage going ice cold. “It’s that you didn’t pick this one for me.” He flinches, and I laugh. “How dare you mock the things I want. You, who couldn’t hold a relationship down, even with cable ties.”

“Dylan -” Jude warns, but I’m on a roll.

“Of course he’s fucking better than you. Because he wants a real relationship with me.” I’m conveniently ignoring the fact that I’ve only just met Richard, and would rather form a relationship with Charles Manson. Richard looks startled and mutters something about just wanting a threesome, but I tune him out, my rage filling me like I’m the Incredible Hulk. “He could be a complete idiot but I’d still want him, because he’s not you. Too fucking scared to do anything apart from fuck men who are little more than toys. You should have kept that Fleshlight, Gabe. You’d have more of a relationship with that and your fist than you would with a human being. Why the fuck would I want to be with you, when I can’t trust you with me? I should be able to trust the man in my life to have my best interests at heart, but you don’t. You only think about your needs, because you’re so fucking selfish.”

I come to a stop panting, and suddenly it’s as if all the rage I’ve felt against him drains away. I’m suddenly aware of the utter stillness of the hallway, and the way his face has gone the colour of milk. I think about what I just said, and shame and regret fills me. How could I throw that at him?

“Gabe,” I say hoarsely, but he shakes his head, and moving like an old man, he releases Richard who promptly loses his balance and slides down the wall. Gabe shoves his hair back, and I dimly notice that his hands are shaking. “I’m sorry,” I try again.

“No, I’m sorry,” he says in a dead voice. “I’m sorry for everything. I wanted to see you so badly, but I had no right to throw that fit. I don’t own you, don’t have any rights over you, and I don’t know what I was thinking.” He looks at Richard who is struggling up with his mouth open to say something, and a tiny ember of rage kindles again. It’s enough to have Richard sitting back down again quickly. But then Gabe blinks, and all that’s left is a fathomless loneliness before he shutters even that.

“I’m glad I came,” he says suddenly. “I had to see you, and now that I know you’re alright I’ll leave you alone. You won’t have to see me again.” He looks up at me, and says almost formally, “I’m so sorry for the way this ended. I should never have started it with you. It was never my intention to hurt you, and it was all so pointless because I’ve done the very thing that I was most frightened of anyway.”

“What were you frightened of?” I ask, but he shakes his head and moves to the door. Suddenly the knowledge sweeps through me that this is it. Somehow I’d always known we weren’t quite done, but now I know with certainty that after this day I will never see him again. I’ll never be in the same room, I’ll never hear his grumpy wit and see his badly hidden smiles. I’ll never smell his scent of spiced oranges, or feel the sturdy warmth of his body that offered me safety and warmth, but only as an illusion. The knowledge sears me, and I feel a pain as if someone is trying to cauterize a killing wound.

“Gabe,” I say entreatingly, but he opens the door and goes through.

On the threshold he turns back and I feel a sudden hope which is killed instantly at his dead expression. “I wish you a good life, Dylan. I hope you find that someone who’ll appreciate you the way you should be appreciated. Someone who will look after you and make you happy the way you deserve. I hope that someone knows what a gift he’s been given. Someone warm and loving and loyal.” He looks hard at me, as if memorising my face. “I’m so sorry for everything. Be happy, and I hope at some point you can remember me fondly. I won’t forget you.”

The door closes, and like a puppet that’s lost his string, I slide down to the ground. “Shit,” I murmur through a throat clogged with tears. “Shit.”

“That about sums it up,” Jude says calmly, coming to sit next to me and drawing me into a tight hug.

Richard struggles to sit up. “Dylan, is this the flatmate you mentioned? He’s very pretty.”

“Shut up!” we both shout at him, and he subsides, muttering. For a second I can almost see my new career going down the drain, but then I remember that Morna hates him.

Jude shakes his head sadly. “I really thought you were going to get back together. He’s just spent two hours talking non-stop about you. He went on and on about every little thing you ever did. It was blindingly obvious how much he missed you.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me he was here? I wasn’t doing anything with this prick.”

Richard says hey indignantly, but we ignore him.

“I did,” he says patiently. “Check your texts.”

I fumble for my phone and swipe the screen, and there, clearly, is his message.

Jude: Gabe’s here. GET BACK NOW!

I’d heard the beep and forgotten to check the message. “Too late,” I whisper, and his arms tighten.

“You might be right, Dylan.”