Page 79 of Gideon
Gideon stares at him, an emotion I can’t identify crossing his face. “You’re the boss,” he says slowly. Frankie smiles, and Gideon turns back to me. He lifts up my hand and kisses it. “I’ll see you when I get back?” he whispers, a pleading tone in his voice, and I nod.
“You will.”
And then he’s gone, disappearing round the corner and leaving a heavy silence.
Frankie hesitates and then mumbles something about getting the suit for him and disappears after him. I jump as a hand comes down on my shoulder. I look around to find Silas watching me with a concerned look on his face.
“Don’t worry,” he says in a low voice. “It’ll be alright.”
“Will it?” I ask in a hollow tone.
“Yes,” he says with a firm nod. He looks at Oz for his opinion. It’s a totally natural reaction, as if the pair speak as a longstanding team. Oz has sat throughout this whole exchange without speaking, his eyes as intent as a cat watching mice. Now he smiles at his husband and then at me. It’s sharp with an edge, but still kind and encompassing.
“It’ll be alright,” he says clearly, the Irish in his voice thick. “I’ve been watching Gideon for a while. It’ll be fine.”
“But w-what if he lies and goes back to his very t-tiring version of normal?” Milo says, his stutter noticeable.
“Then he does,” I say sadly. “It’s up to him and not any of us. He has to do this himself.”
“And if he l-lies? And denies knowing you?”
I shrug. “Then he does that. It’s not like I’ve been lied to. He’s been honest from the word go with me about who he is and what he can do.”
“That’s why I’m sure it’ll be alright,” Oz says, getting up and leaning against Silas, sure of his welcome. As Silas wraps his arms around him, Oz looks hard at me. “You’re the only person Gideon hasn’t lied to. Ask yourself why.”
I stand up. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to go back to the cottage just in case he needs anything.”
“Don’t worry,” Milo says, squeezing my arm. “Do what you’ve got to do.”
“And then come up to the house,” Oz says. “We can watch the interview, and you should be with us when you do that.”
“Why?” I ask, wincing because it comes out rudely, but none of them look the slightest bit offended.
“Because you should be with friends,” Oz says, slapping me on the back and starting to walk towards the gate. “And family.”
I walk back to the house, pacing quickly along the gravelled path. The sun is low now and the smell of hawthorn is strong on the air. I remember Gid’s email about the scent and marvel at the fact that it was only a few months ago. So much has happened between us, and I feel as close to him as if I’ve known him forever.
I pick up speed so that I’m almost running, but I know as soon as I let myself into the house that he’s gone. It has the empty feeling of a stage set. Nevertheless, I walk from room to room checking for him. The bedroom is empty, his clothes from today slung onto the bed and the covers still tangled from when they’d wrapped around our bodies. I sink onto the mattress, lifting his T-shirt to my nose and inhaling deeply. The scent of vanilla and a trace of clean sweat fills my nostrils, and I close my eyes and lie down amongst the sheets that still smell of sex. I lie still for a while, listening to myself breathe in the stillness and feeling my heart beat fast.
I know I said he has to do what he must, and I truly believe that, but it doesn’t stop the desperate hope that he won’t lie and the knowledge that it will fucking devastate me when he does. When he looks into the camera and denies everything we are becoming to each other, I know he will break my heart, just as I know that I will still be here when he comes back because I promised, and I won’t break my promises to him. He’s had too much of that in his life and seen far too many people walk away from him easily.
After a few minutes, I sigh and open my eyes. I go still, because lying on my bedside table is a rose. It’s freshly cut, the petals starting to open. Darkly lush with a sweet, sensual smell, it’s the same as the ones he cuts for me every morning and leaves on my bedside table, waiting for me to wake up and see them. I have a vase full of them now.
I know it wasn’t there this morning, and hope stirs in my belly. He must have cut this for me before he left. What does it mean? I sag slightly. Fuck, I hope this isn’t a fucking goodbye gesture. I reach for it and see a yellow Post-it note underneath, and my hearts pounds so hard it’s like it wants to leave my body. In Gideon’s scrawling handwriting is written four words.Please don’t leave me.
“Never,” I whisper, but my fingers curl around the stem, and I hiss as a thorn cuts me. Blood wells out as I watch. Fuck, I hope that’s not a bad omen.
An hour later, showered and dressed in khaki shorts and a grey and white striped shirt, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be for this TV ordeal. I make my way up the steps and into the huge old house. Inside it’s shady, the flagstones cool and the air smelling of beeswax and furniture polish.
“Hello,” I call out, my ratty Converse squeaking on the floor.
Oz pops his head around a huge wooden door. “Hey,” he says, smiling at me. “We’re in the study.” He looks around. “Frankie is somewhere around,” he says, shuddering. “Talking very loudly into his mobile phone so we all know how important he is.”
“Gross,” I mutter, following him through a huge room with tall mullioned windows through which the sun dances lazily and shines on suits of armor. We march down some steps and into a large room filled with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. I stand back to let a stern-looking middle-aged woman out.
Oz smiles at her. “Are all the tours done now, June?”
“Just one left, Oz.”
