by Molly Ringle
Tony grinned and nuzzled my nose. “Lucky me.”
He was so good-natured. I had forgotten how pleasant a boy could be, what with the impudent Gil and the tart-tongued Laurence as my male companions lately.
I shot them a glance. They each held a suit jacket on a hanger, but looked each other in the eye and spoke in undertones, as if arguing, or having a heart-to-heart. Or both. With what I’d entangled them in, the conversational possibilities knew no bounds.
Gil took a few suits into the dressing room. Tony and I wandered over to Laurence.
“Any messages from Amber today?” I asked him.
Laurence shook his head. “Probably still asleep. Her daddy trauma wore her out.”
“Daddy trauma?” said Tony.
I sighed. “We better fill you in.”
Laurence and I explained the situation. Gil came out toward the end of the tale, tugging at the cuffs of a dark gray tweed suit.
“Who’s schizophrenic, then?” he asked, having caught the last sentence.
“Amber,” I said. “Well, her grandmother. So maybe her.”
“Ah, right. How’s this one?”
“Hmm. I’m not sure tweed is you.”
“And not the gray,” said Laurence. “Try the black.”
Gil nodded and returned to his mirrored cell.
“In any case,” Laurence resumed, “I bet Amber will be interested to hear about your little surprise today.” He cocked his head at Tony, then shot me a malicious smile.
I smiled back, with gritted teeth. “Yes. Won’t she?”
Unfortunately, Tony caught the look between us, but misunderstood it entirely. He laughed. “I know, I know. Don’t worry, I won’t get into a religion debate with her and ruin everyone’s good time.”
“Whose good time could you possibly ruin?” Laurence said congenially.
I picked up a sale-priced shoe and considered chucking it at his head.
A few minutes later Gil came out in the black suit, shaking his feet free of the trouser cuffs.
“Better,” said Laurence.
I nodded. “Good.”
“Can’t go wrong with black,” Tony added.
“Aye. I suppose it fits. Do I need a tie now?”
Laurence hummed in thought, and started picking up ties from a nearby rack to hold them against Gil’s front.
All at once I had to snort down a giggle. I was standing in a Marks & Spencer in Edinburgh, shopping for suits with Tony, Gil, and Laurence, and, so far, nothing catastrophic had happened. The boys were actually getting along. Neither nightmare nor sweet dream. More like surreal foreign film.
As my panic receded, my opportunistic brain caught up and told me, All right, here they both are, in front of you. Compare and contrast. Choose already.
Because, seriously, wasn’t it high time I chose?
I tried. Honest. As the boys discussed the discomfort of formal wear, I looked from one to the other. Tony tipped back and forth on his widely set feet, his eyelids puffy from air travel and his grin zany from caffeine. Gil peered into his own armpit to read the suit’s price tag, his long hair flattened to his skull from its confinement beneath an elf hat.
I stole a glance at Laurence. He alone looked like a put-together young gentleman: wavy hair, smooth; titanium glasses, smart yet cool; long coat, a flattering match for his tall frame.
Okay. It was weird to think Laurence looked fetching, but this was good. I finally saw what Amber saw in him. If nothing else, I could reconcile with her on that point. We could be happy girl buddies again.
Then, between ties, Laurence shot me an all too knowing look, and I nearly grabbed that sale-priced shoe again.
I swear, I thought. If he says one word to incriminate me, there will be bloody revenge.
Chapter Twenty-Four: The Shelly Invasion
“Lunch?” Laurence proposed as we left Marks & Spencer.
“Bit early,” I grumbled.
“My clock’s all thrown off,” said Tony. “I could eat whenever.”
Gil readjusted his new garment bag over his shoulder. “Better choose somewhere. All the restaurants are jammed with tourists. We’ll have to wait for a table.”
He probably meant the tourist remark as a slam against Tony, and for that matter all us troublesome Yanks, but Tony only chuckled.
“They’re probably not lucky enough to have a local along to tell them these things,” he said. “Hey, where’s your pub? Do they do lunch?”
“Aye, well, it’s up the high street; and yes, but...”
“You probably don’t go want to your workplace unless you have to,” I said, hoping to spare Gil any further annoyance today.
“If you get that interview job,” said Laurence, “it won’t be your workplace much longer.”
“Hopefully,” said Gil.
“And don’t you get an employee discount if you eat there?” Evidently Laurence didn’t mind nettling poor Gil.
“We don’t have to,” offered Tony. “I’m just curious to see it.”
Gil sighed. “Oh, might as well. It’s quiet at lunchtime generally.”
We arranged ourselves around a booth by the window so Tony could gaze rapturously out at the street. Squished beside him, I picked up the increasingly familiar Borthwick’s Tavern menu and channeled my mind into deciding between potato-leek soup and the ploughman’s platter.
“Gilleon,” hollered Dave, the bearded co-worker behind the bar. “Quite the entourage today!”
Gil leaped up, muttering to us, “I’ll go order for us. He’ll be a right nuisance if we let him come out here. What’s everyone want?”
Tony brought his attention back into the room. “Oh. Um...I don’t know...”
“Get him the soup,” I told Gil, folding up the menu. “Platter for me.” Keeping Dave out of our hair was vital. He’d seen me cuddling with Gil far too many times for safety.
“Ham sandwich and chips,” Laurence said.
Gil nodded and jogged to the bar. He leaned over it to talk to Dave, pitching his voice beneath the low level of Radio 1 playing on the bar speakers. I bet dire Scottish threats were invoked on the topic of Dave saying anything in Tony’s presence about the Gil-Eva cuddling. Perhaps something to do with slicing off body parts and stuffing them into eye sockets.
Gil came back, tucking his hair behind his ears and dusting off his coat as if having just successfully taken out the garbage. “Right.” He sat down beside Laurence. “Lunch, tea, and Cokes on their way.”
The pub door burst open. Cold air bathed our booth.
“Gil!” shouted a young woman.
She stormed to our table, all five feet of her, curves wrapped in a shiny silver quilted coat, short hair sticking out in artful spikes from under a hat so furry it resembled a lavender Persian cat. She looked familiar, but surely I’d remember meeting someone this flamboyant.
She slammed both hands on the table, staring straight at Gil, ignoring the rest of us. “I want the truth.”
“Shelly.” He spoke in hollow shock.
“Why’d me dad fire you? What’d you do? What’d you say?”
Shelly. It took me a few seconds, but I worked it out. The woman from the recording studio, the owner’s daughter. Gil’s old crush.
Laurence remembered, too. I’d told him that story. His gaze moved from her to me, and his eyebrows flickered in a tiny movement of recognition.
Gil flushed pink. “I don’t work for you no more. What does it matter?”
Tony whispered in my ear, “What’s going on?”
“Uh...old coworker. From somewhere else,” I whispered back, hastily.
“I’ve worked hard to track you down,” she said. “You wouldn’t answer my calls. Now I finally got some information out of Graham. He found out where you’re working, and had some rumors to share about why you got fired.”
“Fine,” snapped Gil. “What are these rumors, then?”
“You and me dad had a fight about me. I went to him. He admitted it. But
he can be a lying bastard and I know it, so I want to know what you really said.”
“Well, what does he say I said?” Gil appeared to be shaking--possibly with anger, possibly with some emotion more tender.
She flung one of her arms up, sending her spiral-silver earrings swinging. “Oh, all kinds of sexual harassment shite. You were going to do this to my arse, or that to my tits, or whatever.”
Gil flushed deeper still. “Oh, that is completely--”
“Aye. I know. You said it to Graham, supposedly, so it was Graham I asked. He told me it wasn’t like that. He said it was more like a compliment.”
“Look, that’s nothing to do with it,” Gil said. “John accused me of being totally incompetent in a thousand ways. I accused him right back, and I used the words ‘bugger’ and ‘bastard’ and others I shouldn’t have. But again, what does it matter? It’s over. Why can you not leave me alone?”
“I like you, you eejit. I always did. And you liked me, too, or else you led me on completely. Whichever it is, you owe me an explanation. Now give it!”
Gil was definitely shaking. I saw it when he stood to place a hand on her arm. His gaze finally included the rest of us for a moment, then returned to her. “All right. Let’s go over here and talk a bit.” He looked at me, and added, “Sorry.” Then they retreated to the opposite corner, where they stood beneath a whisky advertisement and talked.
Tony gazed after them in fascination. “Wow. That was awesome. Hardly here an hour and I witness my first Scottish pub brawl.”
This remark on top of everything else was evidently too much for Laurence, who toppled into a spell of helpless laughter.
Me? I just wanted to overturn the table and run out, alone.
Instead I sat there while Dave brought us our tea, Cokes, and lunch. I nibbled and sipped and echoed words of conversation as Tony and Laurence talked. Shelly and Gil stayed in their corner, from which her loud laugh now barked frequently.
So what now, Eva Sonneborn? Seemed a good time to drop Gil, since he’d likely enough found his true sweetheart. And how convenient, here was my actual boyfriend to comfort and distract me. Maybe after all this separation I could even lure Tony into more than just chaste kissing. He was a good Catholic, sure, but he was also a seventeen-year-old male. Nothing to it.
Trouble was, I couldn’t summon up the enthusiasm for the seduction, and I couldn’t entirely let go of the idea of Gil being my Scottish treat rather than someone else’s. Did this mean I needed to haul Gil over to a corner myself, and insist on the knock-down, drag-out lovers’ argument in which he declared his love for either me or Shelly?
If I did that, he’d reasonably enough like to know why I’d resisted any further sexual exploration with him after the one time. And, if I wanted to resume doing those things, he’d demand that I declare my love for either him or Tony.
Breaking up with Tony now, during his surprise week-long vacation, wasn’t within my abilities. I had a heart. I liked Tony very much, even if I wasn’t sure I loved him. He was cute and good-natured, and did kiss well...
Oh, damn it all. Why couldn’t I decide? Why couldn’t fate throw the dice and make the move for me so I wouldn’t have to shoulder the responsibility?
The rest of lunch answered none of my quandaries. Over in their corner, Shelly and Gil pulled out their cell phones and compared screens, very much as if checking each other’s current numbers for accuracy. She hugged Gil goodbye, and breezed past our table on her way to the door, calling to us, “Sorry to barge in on your lunch, everyone. Must get back to work. See you round!”
Gil sat down at his now cold fish and chips and ate them with as much relish and cheer as if they were the best meal he’d ever consumed.
“No bruises,” Tony said. “That’s good.”
Gil chuckled. “Aye. It’s all sorted. I’m quite chuffed.”
Laurence wagged a slice of tomato. “So you two are, uh...”
“Nah, nothing like that. But we’re friends again, and she’s to see what she can do to get me working back at the studio.”
I gaped. “But your interview. Your suit.”
He shrugged. “Interview isn’t till next week. I’d much rather have me old job back, and perhaps Shelly’ll call me before then. Can return the suit if I never wear it.”
“What about her dad?” I asked.
He shrugged, chewing a chip. “She says she can handle him.”
“I bet,” Tony said. “Looks like she could handle anyone.”
When we left the pub, Gil hesitated on the street. “I’d best get home and hang up the suit. Mustn’t get it all dirty hauling it about, especially if I’m to return it.”
“Not going to join us for dinner?” Laurence said. “I was going to make haggis.”
Gil smiled. “In that case, definitely no.”
“Haggis!” Tony jumped up and down. “Yes! I have got to try that.”
Catholics. They like suffering.
Gil nodded to Tony. “It was good to meet you.”
“You too.”
Gil’s eyes flicked to me, and he gave me a smile I’d call sober, even regretful. “Have fun, then.”
I only nodded. Bitter words wanted to surface; I didn’t trust my mouth.
Gil swung around and strolled down the street, garment bag across his back, his breath rising in clouds in the winter sun. I couldn’t help wondering if it was the last time I’d ever see him.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Dishes with Laurence
Tony wanted to surprise Amber and Shannon in person, rather than letting us text them about his presence beforehand. So I returned to the hostel with him while Laurence detoured into the grocery store for the haggis and whatever side dishes one dressed it up with.
Despite his cheeriness, Tony was in fact exhausted, especially after his coffee wore off.
“Here,” I said, recklessness overtaking me. “Climb up to my bunk. We’ll snuggle.” The room was empty except for us, and I felt like taking revenge upon Gil--a totally imbecile thing to do, but the day was too crazy for normal moves.
“Fun!” Tony climbed up, sat beside me, and hugged me.
I turned and found his mouth.
“Mm,” he commented as I deepened the kiss. He tilted his head.
I tasted the remnants of leek soup on his lips, and my neck hurt from the tension, but I kept at it. This was my boyfriend and I had the right, damn it. I wormed my hand under his sweater and stroked the bare skin of his back.
He chuckled. “Miss me?”
“Been a while,” I said. Evasive but true.
He let me stroke his chest, but when I started playing with his nipples, which I’d never done before, he guided my hand back out into daylight. “Okay. Couldn’t someone just walk in?”
I rolled my eyes. “Around here, people do way more than this, without caring who’s watching.”
“Well...” He patted my questing fingers. “I’m flattered. And tempted. Really. But it would feel really weird and wrong. And...” He yawned. “I’m really tired. See? I said ‘really’ like ten times there.”
In defeat, I leaned back against the wall. “Okay. You sleep.”
“Thanks.” He nestled down, head on my lap, and closed his eyes. “You’re awesome, Sludge Head.” His voice slurred the words together, and five minutes later he was asleep.
I stared at the wall across from me, and wondered what on earth fate was trying to tell me with all these little failures.
Luckily I wasn’t left alone long with my depression. After another half hour, Amber banged into Room 17, still surrounded by December air, chewing off her lip gloss and perhaps brooding about schizophrenia.
She stopped when she saw the dark body across my lap. “Who the...” she started.
Tony, taking the deep breath of someone freshly awakened, sat up and turned toward her. His features creaked into a smile. “Hey, Amber.”
“Oh, my God.” She laughed, dropped her purse, and came over to slug him on the shoulder. �
��Anthony! What are you doing here?”
“Surprising you guys.” He yawned.
“Damn straight. Did you just get here?”
“Flew out from Portland and took the red-eye from Chicago.”
“Sweet. Seen the sights yet?”
And on and on. This was the friendliest they had ever been with each other. Apparently absence made the heart grow fonder.
Within five minutes she was offering to show him St. Margaret’s Chapel up at Edinburgh Castle, and St. Giles, and St. Mary’s, and High Kirk of Whatnot, and he was becoming alert and interested. Amazing--they’d found something that excited both of them. Amber liked ancient churches because they were packed to the rafters with blood-drenched history and martyred screams. Tony liked them because they were, well, churches.
Soon after Amber’s return, Shannon arrived too. She shrieked with delight to see Tony, and spent about fifteen minutes bouncing around and hugging him.
Then, while we were on our way to the kitchen to see if Laurence had returned with haggis yet, she whispered to me, “Surprise visit?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Is this okay, with Gil and all?”
“We worked it out. They met.” I intercepted her look of panic by adding, “Said he’s just a friend. Don’t say anything.”
“Of course.” She patted my shoulder discreetly before dancing ahead to open the stairwell door for us.
Laurence was indeed back, wearing his lab coat and cooking something that smelled much tastier than I expected from haggis. “Hey, kids,” he greeted. “Hope you’re ready to try my experiment. I got enough for everyone.”
We crowded around a table, and Shannon helped Laurence bring over our feast: haggis, red potatoes, and asparagus.
Admittedly, haggis didn’t taste that bad, somewhere between sausage and meatloaf. I dismissed my food worries and simply ate--the best I could, with my other worries.
For the first half of dinner I was a knot of apprehension, sure Laurence would drop sly hints about Gil, or say something outright incriminating. But he didn’t.
Even when Amber learned that Gil had been among our lunch party today, and said significantly, “That must have been interesting,” Laurence didn’t take the bait. He changed the subject, in fact. And when he glanced my way during conversation, I found no flash of amusement or mischief like I expected to see.
