The Most Difficult Thing. Charlotte Philby
alone?’
‘Yeah.’
It was too late to turn away, to shield him from the circles under my eyes, the unwashed skin.
‘Would you like tea?’
He nodded, his eyes smiling. ‘You feel like shit, right?’
‘I don’t know what happened, I’m not usually—’
‘Course you’re not.’ His laugh was familiar. ‘I’m just glad you’re OK. That’s what I came to check. The club, I couldn’t find you anywhere and then I saw Meg and she said you weren’t well and had to go home and …’
The moment our eyes locked there was a rush through my body and I instantly felt like a fool for imagining whatever it was I had imagined might have happened between him and Meg in the time that they were lost in the club.
He settled himself on the sofa as my grip tightened slightly around the handle of the kettle.
‘How did you know where I lived?’
‘You pointed it out last night, on the way back from the pub.’
‘Really?’ It was unlike me to forget things. Besides, everything else from the night before remained clear, before the club. Or did it? How would I know – was it possible to intuit where the holes in your memory lay? Harry’s claims were hardly surprising given the number of shots we’d consumed at the bar. Something about his presence had lured me into a state of off-guardedness, my usual restraint failing to kick in. The drinks had been endless, David galvanised by the presence of another male into buying round after round, each more elaborate than the last. If nothing else, this was a lesson. Or fate, perhaps. If I hadn’t passed out, would Harry have been here now? At the time, the thought struck me as reassuring.
He took the cup of tea I had made for him from my hand and our fingers touched.
‘Have you eaten?’
‘I still feel pretty sick.’
‘You’ve got to eat.’ He stood up straight, pulling his wallet from his pocket. ‘And have a drink. Trust me, it will make you feel better.’ He winked, taking a sip of his tea and passing it back to me.
‘I’ll be back in ten, buzz me in?’
I watched him pull the door closed behind him, and it was all I could do not to scream.
‘So how’s work?’
The question came out before I realised what I was saying. We were facing each other on the sofa, the box of pizza wedged between us, a half bottle of brandy on the coffee table, alongside the mug of hot chocolate he had stirred it into at first, to soften the impact.
Harry’s face straightened all of a sudden, and he shrugged. ‘Ah, you know …’
It was silly to imagine he would want to go into the details of his being fired with a relative stranger, yet I could not help feeling disappointed at his lack of confidence.
Sighing gently, he placed a half-eaten slice of Margherita back on the box, taking a swig of his drink. ‘Well, if you really want to know, I’ve been sacked.’
He continued chewing, his eyes locking on mine, and I held my body straight.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Deadly.’
‘When?’
A half-smile appeared on his face.
‘The day before I met you guys, believe it or not. That’s why I was … You know, shit-faced, on my own … That’s not my usual style, I’ll have you know. I had come in for a meeting with the editor, trying to get my job back, but what can I say, the man’s a prick. Still, he ran my story the same day though, didn’t he? Not too moral to miss out on a final scoop …’
He shrugged again, taking another bite of pizza.
‘What happened?’
He paused then, as if he had changed his mind. For an alarming moment I thought he was going to stand, but he simply lifted an arm to his cheek for a moment before carrying on.
‘That story, the one about the undercover charity investigation? One of the protestors I embedded myself with is claiming we were in a relationship.’
There was an authority to his delivery that dampened the shock.
‘OK.’
‘Well, it might have been, except it turns out she was fifteen at the time.’
His words hung in the air.
‘The time of what?’
‘There’s a photo, she says it shows us “being intimate”. I mean, Jesus, it’s nothing. I’ve seen it, we’re just talking. But she says it was more than that. Her parents, they threatened the paper, said if I wasn’t disciplined, they’d take the case to court. It would be my word against theirs, but apparently that doesn’t mean anything. With things the way they are in the industry, there isn’t the kind of cash needed to defend a law case. And, like I said, the editor’s an arse. He had been looking for an excuse to get rid of me …’
Harry’s face lifted suddenly, turning, his eyes narrowing. ‘Shit, I don’t know why I told you that. I’m sorry. It’s intense, I know. I just … Something about you, I just felt I could … I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have put that on you, we hardly know each other.’
His face was parallel with mine, something passing between us.
‘It’s bullshit, you should know that. I mean, Jesus …’
I nodded, my hand instinctively moving towards his, ‘I do.’
As he opened his mouth to speak again, a key jangled loudly against the front door. Lurching back, his legs swung forward off the sofa as Meg’s face appeared.
There was a moment of doubt and then she spoke, her features recomposing themselves.
‘Hi!’ Her eyes briefly flicked between the two of us, and then she smiled. She did not ask aloud what Harry was doing there. At the time I didn’t either.
Harry had suggested it, all of us meeting up again the following week. We had been saying an awkward goodbye that evening in the flat, he, Meg and me. By then, my hangover had been usurped by an urgent fizzing in my gut.
‘I’ll be working near here in the afternoon if you fancy a drink afterwards?’ Harry had looked at me and then, out of politeness, at Meg.
‘Bring your friend David too if he’s around …’
If he spotted my disappointment at the mass invite, he didn’t show it.
David was already there when I arrived at the pub, as planned, the following Friday. It was the first time I had seen him since the incident at the club and he was holding his hands under the table when I arrived. Standing up, he presented me with a large, purple, gold-embossed bag, the plush cardboard soft and soothing as it swept against my fingers.
‘I just wanted to apologise for what happened. I—’
‘David, what …’
His face fixed on mine as I tugged at the ribbon that had been pulled tight in a perfect bow, protecting whatever was inside, unable to keep the smile from lifting the corners of my mouth.
The material was a light grey wool, which hung just above my knees, with a soft shearling lining. From the label, it must have cost more than the rest of my wardrobe combined.
‘It’s