Eighteen

Later that evening

Freddie set a plate crowded with runny fried eggs, veggie sausages, and beans in front of Mark.

“Urgh, mate.” Mark gagged. “The smell.” He covered his nose and mouth then slumped his shoulders away from the cramped breakfast bar in Freddie’s north London flat.

“Care for something else?” Simon raised an eyebrow. “A conscience, some truth serum, an STI test?”

“Si…” Freddie scowled.

Mark squinted, avoiding Simon’s leer. “What are you doing cooking a fry-up at nine at night anyway?”

“Turning your stomach, are we?” Simon’s knife and fork slashed his eggs and a blob of Worcestershire sauce into a swirly abstract design of yellow, white, and brown. “Imagine how Alex feels.”

“I haven’t thought of anything else.”

“You still determined to head to Lucy’s?” Freddie gulped tea and patted Moriarty, slinking along the counter past a cluster of prosecco bottles and two trays of half-eaten vol-au-vents. The black feline poked his nose in one and recoiled.

“Why are you encouraging him?” Simon slapped organic honey on his multigrain toast as he stared at Freddie. “What’s he going to say to her?”

“I am in the room, Si.” Mark nudged his untouched plate.

“Unfortunately.”

Freddie whipped off his Licence to Grill James Bond apron. “Si, please—not helping!”

Mark’s eyes began to water and itch. Great. Thanks, Moriarty. “Whenever you’re ready, Freds. Thanks.”

“We can go now.”

“Yeah, cheers, Freds.” Simon nodded. “You swan off. I don’t need any help cleaning up your party.”

“This mess can wait. Mark’s can’t.” Freddie grimaced at his best friend. “God, remember that New Year’s when I barfed up a brewery, snogged the face off some rando at midnight?”

“Ah-choo! Ah-choooo!” Mark half-smiled, holding back another sneeze. “Yeah, sickly suave, mate.”

Freddie caught Simon’s disapproving eye. “I was much younger then.”

“How’s your hangover?” Mark asked, cradling his throbbing head, his allergy to the cat not helping.

“Barely there.” Freddie sipped his tea. “We went for Thai, and I skipped the bubbly at Bespoke. Stuck with white wine and switched to club soda when we got back here.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”

Freddie laughed and went to scrape Mark’s plate into the trashcan. “Have you remembered anything more—”

“Christ, how good would your memory be after absinthe, tequila, and God knows what else?”

“So why should Alex take you back?” Simon’s honey-covered knife clanked against his plate. “Talk about falling down the rabbit hole of celebrity self-indulgence. Hardly reliable boyfriend material.”

“Simon!” Freddie said over his shoulder.

“No, he’s right. I deserve that.” Mark’s bloodshot eyes stared at a photo of Alex, Freddie, and Lucy on the wall. “But I have to make her see, this was all a horrible, drunken mistake. I never meant for anything like this to happen…”

“You’re wasting your breath.”

“Si, I know, okay. I know. You don’t care, but hopefully Lex still does. I hope I haven’t completely lost her trust, though I wouldn’t blame her if I have.” He leaned on the counter, propping up his head with his hand. “Christ, I’ve really fucked up. I’ve kept her in the dark about so many things.”

“Like what?” asked Freddie.

“Austria for starters…”

“Oh, Keegs, you didn’t—”

Mark clenched his jaw. “No, Freds, I didn’t. I fell on some rocks—from a horse.”

Freddie sputtered on his tea, all colour draining from his face. “What? You could’ve died.”

“I dislocated my shoulder. Hit the ground at the wrong angle, and it just…popped. Lex was always worried about the stunts.”

“For good reason.”

“Freddie, if she knew the truth, she would have panicked the entire shoot. It was better that she didn’t know—for both of us—but in Brum, she saw the bruising. I tweaked the truth a bit, but it wasn’t a total lie. I said I fell during a snowball fight.”

“A snowball fight?”

“Sometimes it’s best to gloss over the details, you know?” Mark sniffed his runny nose. “The occasional white lie? It’s easier on both of us…”

“I guess…” said Freddie.

“But this time, I should’ve been completely straight with her. If I had told Lex the truth about that chemistry read, who Fallon was, the sex scenes in the script—”

“You have sex scenes with her?” Freddie lowered his tea. “Proper nudity with grinding and orgasm faces—the whole meal deal?”

“Yep. Bare butts, breasts, you name it, you see it—well, almost see it.”

“Shit, Keegs. No wonder Lex got blotto when she found that out. You should have told her.”

He slowly sat up. “Don’t you think I know that? She wouldn’t have been too happy about it, but at least it wouldn’t have come as a shock last night. New Year’s would have been completely different.”

“Mate, be honest.” Freddie leaned on the counter. “Did you know Fallon was coming to that read?”

“No. Fuck!” Mark winced, unable to get comfortable. “I don’t stay in touch with her. I haven’t seen her in four or five years. Last time I saw her was at her mum’s funeral. I didn’t know she was coming to read until she showed up. I have wanted to tell Lex everything, but she hasn’t been herself lately. That morning in Manchester, Lex seemed…distracted. I asked her what was wrong—a few times—but got the same answer every time: she hates us being apart. Maybe there’s more to it?”

“Like that’s not enough…” Simon chomped his toast.

“You haven’t noticed anything, have you?” Mark rubbed his eyes. “Panic attacks?”

Freddie shrugged. “Don’t think so.”

“Carrying this movie has been so fucking stressful. When Lex left the party, I just…let loose. I thought I could handle it…stop before I went too far, yeah? I didn’t plan on blacking out or waking up starkers in Fallon’s bed.” His Adam’s apple bobbed heavily. “I lifted the duvet, saw her naked…I just…knew we must have…” He closed his eyes tight and inhaled slowly. “I panicked—got out of there as quick as I could. It was only when I slipped into bed beside Alex, I realized I could still smell Fallon’s perfume on my skin.”

“Oh, Mark,” said Freddie.

Simon stopped chewing.

Mark glared at Simon. “Fallon was as horrified as I was, by the way. She was in tears, worried about Duff.”

“Duff?” asked Simon.

“Some rugby player she’s been seeing a few weeks.”

“Nice, more casualties.” Simon snorted. “Where was he when you had your tongue down Fallon’s throat, then?”

“He left after Lex. Curfew—” Mark fought back a sneeze. “He had a match today.”

“So, you just missed spending New Year’s in a full-body cast.” Simon shook his head. “Luck of the Irish.”

“Right. Come on, Mark. Get ready to grovel.” Freddie slammed his mug on the counter.