CHAPTER EIGHT
The drive across town would’ve been horrendous in rush hour traffic, so Charlie had decided to leave straight from Kath’s and work in the cafe down the road for a few hours while he waited for Tim to get home.
Home.
He rubbed at his chest, easing the ache. They’d picked that house together, small but with a biggish back garden that had sold them both on it. Charlie missed that house. He’d only been in the flat a week, but already he missed having an upstairs, missed going out in the garden, even though it was too cold to do it much at the moment.
As he turned into his old neighbourhood at seven on the dot, Sam reminded himself how tense it had been the last month or so, both trying to give each other space and hang onto their friendship at the same time. With a sigh, he accepted the truth for what it was. It’d stopped being Charlie’s home long before he moved out.
Tim’s black BMW sat on the driveway, and Sam parked on the road outside.
Tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel, he took a moment to compose himself. It was going to be weird not seeing any of his stuff there, wasn’t it? He hadn’t paid much attention when they’d been loading up the van, too eager to get out of there and be done. But this time he’d have no choice but to see it all.
Might as well get it over with.
Charlie got out of his car, steps heavy as he walked up the drive to the front door. The doorbell looked new—the old one had never worked—so Charlie pressed it, not all that surprised when it chimed loudly.
Footsteps sounded inside, and moments later Tim’s blurry figure appeared behind the glass. “Hey,” he said, opening the door wide.
Charlie shoved his hands in his pockets, not knowing what else to do with them. “Hey.”
“Come in.” Tim shuffled back and ushered him inside.
Charlie stepped over the threshold and wiped his feet like always, then stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh.” The hall was tiny, a rectangular space with doors to the living room, kitchen, downstairs loo, and garage, and access to the stairs. While they’d lived there it had always seemed dingy, the dark-beige paint sapping all the light. Charlie had meant to paint it but never got round to it.
Now though, the space was light, airy, and far more welcoming, the soft off-white walls making all the difference.
“You decorated,” Charlie muttered, looking around.
“Yeah.” Tim sighed and shrugged. “I needed something to do, keep me busy. It was quiet after you left. Took me a few days to get used to it.”
“Looks good.” Charlie kicked his shoes off by the door—Tim was a stickler about things like that—but didn’t know what to do next. Did he wait for Tim to lead the way? Did he walk past him and go get his stuff? It wasn’t like he didn’t know his way around. But it all felt so different now. More than he thought it would. So he stood there. And so did Tim. They lapsed into silence, so odd for them when before they used to talk for hours about everything and nothing, even before they got together.
“God, this is ridiculous.” Tim reached for Charlie and pulled him into a quick hug. Charlie had just enough time to reciprocate before Tim let him go. “How’s the flat?”
“Not too bad. Bit weird having no stairs.” Charlie relaxed a fraction. They could do this. It might take work, a lot of work and time, but they could get back to the good friends they used to be.
“What about Storm? She all settled in?”
“Yeah, seems to be getting there.”
“Figures,” Tim muttered. “She always liked you more.”
True. Charlie laughed, words coming a little easier now. “That’s because I gave her tuna and let her on the bed.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Tim sighed. “I miss having her around the place but can’t say that I miss her fur all over everything.” She did shed a lot, not that it bothered Charlie, but Tim was picky about that stuff too. “And why are we still standing around in the hall, for fuck’s sake? Come on.” Not bothering to wait to see if Charlie followed, Tim opened the door to the living room and disappeared inside.
Charlie had no choice but to follow.
The room looked mostly the same, Charlie hadn’t taken much from in there, but after seeing the hall he kind of expected everything to be different. The sofa had a new throw rug and cushions on it, but that was it.
The coffee table had gone with Charlie—it’d been his mum and dad’s—and Tim hadn’t replaced it. Instead, the space was taken up by two medium-sized cardboard boxes.
The last of Charlie’s stuff. Bits and pieces that Tim had found after they’d moved the bulk of Charlie’s things. He bent to pick up the first one, but Tim stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Sit down a sec, I want to talk to you about something.” Tim gestured to the sofa, and Charlie sat with his stomach suddenly in knots.
Nothing good ever came after those words. But hadn’t they done the hard part? What else was left to say? Finding his voice, he asked, “What’s wrong?” Thoughts flitted into his mind. Was Tim ill? Was it his job? His family?
Tim cleared his throat and sat forward, hands clasped on his knees. “I’ve met someone.”
Oh. He felt a flash of relief, and then the words sank in. Ooh. “That was fucking fast. Jesus.”
Yes, they’d technically been separated for almost three months now, but still. Charlie hadn’t even gone so far as to look at other men. The voice in the back of his mind whispered, “That’s a lie,” and he immediately thought of Sam.
That was different though, he hadn’t asked him out, or been close to doing it.
“I met him a few months ago actually.”
Charlie’s head snapped up, and Tim quickly raised both hands in supplication.
“Nothing happened then, I swear. It didn’t even cross my mind. You know I’d never do that.”
Reluctantly Charlie nodded for him to go on, because yeah, he did know that. Tim had never been a liar.
“Well, I ran into him the other night. Turns out he’s joined my gym.” He looked up and met Charlie’s gaze. “We got to talking and he gave me his number.”
“Oh.” Charlie couldn’t think of anything else to say. Who Tim dated was none of his business, but there was no denying it stung to hear about it.
“I haven’t called him yet. I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Why?”
Tim’s smile was tinged with sadness. “Because we were together for five years, Char. You were my best friend before that, and I want us to get back to that someday. If we can.”
“Me too,” Charlie whispered.
Reaching for his hand, Tim sighed. “If we’re going to do that, then honesty is paramount. I don’t want you finding out from one of our mates that I’ve started seeing someone. That’d be shit.” He glanced up at the ceiling and let out a harsh laugh. “I know it’s going to be shit anyway. Fuck, it feels weird for me.” Looking back at Charlie, he sighed again. “But I like him. I think I could maybe like him a lot, and I want to give it a try.” He gave Charlie’s hand a squeeze before letting go. “They say the best way to get over a relationship is to start a new one.”
“Do they?” Charlie wasn’t sure he was ready to do that yet.
“So I’ve heard.”
There wasn’t much he could say in light of Tim’s news. Charlie had no right to be bitter—they’d both known their relationship was over, had agreed to break up. But he couldn’t say he was happy for him. Not yet, anyway. “Thank you for telling me.” He stood and pointed at the boxes. “I’ll get these to the car and leave you to the rest of your evening.”
Tim nodded and stood to help him.
With both boxes safely stored in his boot, Charlie twirled his car keys on the end of his finger—a nervous habit he seemed to have picked up lately. “I guess I’ll be off then.” He really hated all this awkwardness between them but doubted it’d be going away anytime soon.
“Yeah, okay.”
Tim gave his shoulder a squeeze. No hug this time for which Charlie was grateful. “Take care, Char.”
“You too.”
Driving away felt more final than when he’d hauled off a lorry full of belongings.
CHARLIE SPENT THE remainder of Friday night sat on the sofa eating Dominos, watching TV, and generally feeling sorry for himself. He’d cried off meeting his mates, not feeling much like socialising after Tim’s revelation. They’d probably ask about Tim, and he just couldn’t face it. Storm joined him for the evening, seeming to sense his shitty mood.
“Claws away,” he hissed, as she started kneading on his thigh. He plucked her paws off his jeans, unhooking her claws, then set them back down again. “Do you miss him?” he asked her. She purred, nuzzling against his hand, then proceeded to fall asleep in his lap.
Do I miss him? Or do I miss being in a relationship?
Resting his head back against the sofa, Charlie let out a heavy sigh. Who fucking knew? He missed having someone to talk to at night, missed having a laugh in the kitchen as he cooked, or in bed. Yeah, he missed all that. But as much as he’d loved Tim, they’d grown apart, and his feelings had changed.
Maybe Tim was right to try and move on straight away instead of dwelling on what they’d lost. Charlie closed his eyes and let his mind wander. What else could he be doing if he wasn’t sat there moping about on his sofa?
I could be out at the pub making a new life, new friends.
The thought had some appeal.
No one would be all that interested in his past relationships. Nothing around here would remind him of Tim, or more specifically of their life together.
And there’s Sam. Don’t forget him.
Sam.
Charlie ran his fingers through Storm’s fur, picturing Sam in his work gear. It was nothing special, just old-looking jeans and a faded T-shirt. But the jeans hugged his arse and thighs, the denim faded in places—almost threadbare—and the material of his T-shirt clung to his upper arms and shoulders, revealing taut muscles that were used to working hard. Sam was solid and tall, and Charlie hummed to himself as he imagined being wrapped up in those arms.
Strangely enough, this time the thought didn’t bring with it all the guilt it had before. It still felt odd to think of someone else that way, but not like he was betraying anyone.
Maybe Tim was right.
Or maybe knowing Tim was already moving on was the kick he needed to start looking forward instead of back.
Either way, the tingle in his chest, the flutter of excitement from the prospect of starting something new, was a welcome change.
AFTER HIS USUAL Sunday lunch with his mum and dad, Charlie returned home and relaxed on the sofa watching Super Sunday football. Well, he was only half-watching as he didn’t care who won, but some of the players were hot, so he kept glancing up at the screen while messing about on his phone.
Running into Sam and Dave had got him thinking a lot over the past week about his school days and the people he used to hang about with. He’d lost touch with most of them as soon as they finished their GCSE’s. A couple of them stayed on to do A-levels with him, but both had moved away to go to uni. Charlie only kept in touch with one of them these days—Gary Smith—and it’d been a while since he’d spoken to him.
Feeling a little nostalgic and with nothing better to do, Charlie sent him a text.
All right mate, how’s things? Lucy and the kids ok? Just moved house the other week, and you’ll never guess who my new neighbour is? Sam Gellar. How’s that for a blast from the past? Do you remember him from school?
He pressed Send and settled back against the cushions. Storm joined him, and her warmth lulled him into dozing off.
Charlie startled awake sometime later to his phone ringing. Reaching for it, he answered without checking the Caller ID, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “’Lo”.
“Ah shit. Did I wake you up? I forget you work weird hours these days.” Gary’s familiar voice—his Bristolian accent now tempered by his years living in London—brought a smile to Charlie’s face as he sat up, dislodging Storm.
“Nah, that’s okay. Just fell asleep after mum’s Sunday dinner.” He yawned, jaw cracking, and Gary’s laughter sounded on the other end.
“Afternoon naps already? You old bastard.”
“Fuck off. You’re six months older than me, so shut it.” He yawned again but pulled the phone away this time. “So, everyone all right at your end?”
“Yeah,” Gary said, the smile in his voice obvious even to Charlie’s tired brain. “Jess started school in September, and Oscar talks for England these days. And both are already beyond excited for Santa’s visit. Well, Jess is anyway. Oscar’s probably a little bemused by it all.”
“Wow.” The last time Charlie visited, Oscar was two weeks old and Jess had just started talking. “How time fucking flies.”
“Yeah. You need to come see us again, mate. It’s been way too long.”
“It has.”
“Or I could come back to Bristol and see you.” The phone went silent, as though he’d put Charlie on mute or covered it with something. Then, “Yep, got the all clear for that. Be nice to catch up with everyone and see your new place. As long as Tim doesn’t mind me crashing with you guys for the weekend.” He laughed because, yeah, Gary and Tim had always got on like old friends.
Charlie sighed.
Fuck.
He’d forgotten that Gary wouldn’t know about him and Tim.
Running a hand over his eyes, he said, “About that… Me and Tim aren’t together anymore.”
Silence.
“Since when?” Disbelief laced Gary’s tone this time, and Charlie flinched. He should have told him. What a shit friend he was these days.
“I moved out almost two weeks ago, but it’s been over for a few months now.”
Gary blew out a breath. “Fuck me.”
“Sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s been a crap couple of months, and it never occurred to me to tell anyone who wasn’t here.” Might as well be honest.
“Don’t be daft, I’m not bothered about that. I’m just shocked. Thought you guys were lifers.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Silence again, and Charlie imagined Gary either quickly telling Lucy or taking a moment to let it all sink in.
“I’d still like to come and see you and your new house?”
“Flat.”
Then, “Oh shit. I forgot about your text.”
Charlie relaxed, grateful for the change in subject. “You remember him?”
“Gellar the Grass? Of course I remember him. Used to knock about with that prick whose name escapes me. Gellar was a right pain in the arse in year twelve. Always complaining about us to Mr Simms. Proper little snitch.”
Charlie sat bolt up, as flashes of memory returned. “Oh my God. I’d forgotten all about that. Jesus. Simms put me on report twice. All because Sam told him about us nipping out at lunch to get fucking chips.” He remembered his mum fuming about it. Leaving school grounds without permission was against the rules, but loads of people had done it. Not that it mattered to Charlie’s mum and dad. “Mum grounded me for two bloody weeks each time.”
“I always used to wonder what his problem was? Maybe he was just a dick,” Gary mused. “Has he changed much?”
Well, he still seems to have a problem with me, though maybe not so much after the last couple of days at Kath’s.
He didn’t say that though. “Same hair, that’s about it though. He’s a lot bigger now, filled out nicely. Bit like a rugby player.”
Gary laughed down the phone, and Charlie blushed, belatedly realising he’d probably meant personality-wise. “I see how it is.”
“Piss off. And he seems okay. Not really spent that much time with him to be able to tell.”
“Mhmm.” Gary sounded totally unconvinced. “Who’d have thought you’d end up fancying Gellar the Grass?”
Charlie didn’t bother denying it, Gary would only tease him more. Instead he decided to go ahead and ask him more about Sam. “I know it’s ages ago, but can you think of any reason why he might have had it in for us? For me especially?”
Gary hummed, and Charlie bit at his lip while he waited. “God, I can’t remember that far back. Why?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing, but sometimes I get the feeling he’s holding a grudge.”
“What?” Gary scoffed. “After all this time? I reckon I was right with calling him a dick.”
The need to defend Sam had Charlie answering without thinking. “No, he’s not that bad. I’m probably imagining it. It’s not like I know him that well or anything.”
“Yet.”
“What?”
“I sense a yet at the end of that sentence.” He sighed, and Charlie braced himself for a serious conversation. “Look, I’m really sorry about you and Tim. But maybe it’s not such a bad thing that you fancy Gellar. Get back in the saddle, and all that crap.”
Charlie laughed. “You sound like Tim.”
“You guys discuss this stuff? I always thought you two were oversharers, but Christ.”
Shrugging, even though Gary couldn’t see him, Charlie tried to explain. “I went round to pick up the rest of my stuff, and he told me he’d met someone.”
“Fuck me, he didn’t mess about, did he?”
“No.” And hearing someone else say it, stung. “But anyway, he said he wanted me to hear it from him, and that he figured it’d help him move on from us.”
“Fair enough, I guess.” Muffled voices sounded in the background. “Look, I’ve got to go. But let’s set something up for the new year, yeah?”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll sort out a few dates and text you details. Have a great Christmas.”
“You too, mate.”
They hung up, and Charlie slumped back on the sofa, phone in hand.
Gellar the Grass.
Well, fuck me.