Page 67 of A Box of Wishes
“Always. Come on over. I’ll throw a pizza in the oven.”
Ryan hung up without another word. He didn’t want Alastair to hear the tears clogging his voice.
Alastair set the second pizza on the coffee table and topped up their wine glasses before he collapsed back into the couch. Ryan hadn’t asked whether Alastair had run out of whisky or if he was being considerate since Ryan had to work the next day. He just ate and drank what Alastair put in front of him and tried to ignore the grey haze enveloping his cousin like a cloud with rain on its mind.
“I’m sorry I landed you in it, kiddo.”
“You were just there. Ben would have found out anyway.”
“If you’d told him yourself, in a private conversation, it might not have felt—”
“Quite like so much of a betrayal?” Ryan took a bite of his pizza. He wasn’t in the least bit hungry but holding a plate and a slice of pizza stopped him from clinging to a wine glass. Despite being miserable, he hadn’t yet forgotten that his alarm would wake him at half past four.
“You didn’t betray Ben, you know? You didn’t lie, you just kept secrets.”
“How’s that any better?”
“I didn’t say it was. Just… there’s a difference. Besides, you trying to explain yourself pissed him off a lot more.” He sighed. “I’m sorry to say that making arses of ourselves is a family trait.”
Ryan jumped on that. Anything to take his mind off Ben’s shocked expression. “I’ve never seen you make an arse of yourself.”
“Lucky you.” Alastair drained his wineglass and refilled it immediately. “I should be fucking over it, you know? It’s been six years.”
“But?”
“It catches me every so often, like a punch to the gut. This time was at the airport. The guy at the check-in desk looked just like Troy. Haven’t really slept since.”
“And drunk like a fish.”
“That too.”
“What went wrong? With the two of you, I mean.”
“I went wrong. We were together literally from Freshers Week, and we were good. Comfortable, you know? But we never really talked. He was very private. He… he needed me not to ask questions, so I didn’t.”
“And you never told him whatyouneeded.” Ryan was sure of it. Alastair made other people’s needs his own, even if they ran counter to his true desires. Just as he’d taken Ryan to Ireland one summer, just because Ryan needed to find a means to protect himself.
“It didn’t seem important, at the time.”
“It never does. Then what happened?”
“I stuck to our unspoken agreement, too much of a coward to put my heart on the line and tell him what he meant to me. The day after I finished my finals I went home. When I came back three days later he was gone. He’d packed his stuff and moved out, and I haven’t seen him since.”
Ryan could picture Alastair, turning his back and marching in the other direction, never showing his hurt, or admitting to what he needed. Not even to himself. “You’ve never contacted him?”
“I wanted to. I thought I might, but… I’ve no idea where he is. I realised… oh, about six months later… that after all that time together I didn’t even know where he lived.”
“Social media?”
“I’ve looked, but if he is there, I can’t find him.”
“He wouldn’t have changed that much in six years.”
“True. But none of the photos that came up looked anything like him.”
“Anyone else you studied with?”
“No.”
