Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Eight days later…
Now that Laurence and I are officially lovers, I suppose it was only a matter of time before we also experienced our first lovers’ tiff. I’d hoped it’d take longer than a week, however. We’ve been driving for hours, mostly in silence, though we’ve just passed the junction for Sheffield, so at least I’ll be able to escape in just over an hour.
“We should’ve taken a plane,” I say, and I don’t even know why. Last-minute flights are stupidly expensive. It’s not something I’d ever consider. Unless, as fantastical as I think it will always sound, my wife had just told me to go and fight for the man I’m in love with, of course. I probably said it just to break this unbearable quiet.
“Why?” Laurence questions from the driver’s seat. “So you could ignore me in the sky instead?”
“No. Because we’d have arrived ages ago.” My tone is sour as I stare out of the window, refusing to even glance in his direction. Until anger takes over, and I twist in my seat. “You know what, how am I ignoring you? You haven’t said a bloody word since we passed Milton Keynes!”
He looks at me briefly, eyes narrow, before refocusing on the road. “Because you’re being unreasonable.”
“I’m unreasonable? I told you I didn’t need your help, Laurence. That I’m not interested in your money or your connections.”
Last night, Laurence contacted Andrew Cobbe on my behalf, which resulted in another job offer. A great job, like the last. Better, in fact, because this one isn’t freelance and I would be based at a television studio in Salford. Close to home. Less pay than the movie business, but more than I’ve ever earned as a day-to-day spark. It’s perfect, but…did I earn it? That’s all I can ask myself, all I’ll probably ask myself every morning for the rest of my career if I accept. So, that’s how the argument started, but I’m not sure that’s why it’s still going.
“For fuck’s sake. Andy’s a friend, not a connection. And even if he is, he was your connection first. You met me through him.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I’m not going to tell Laurence that because clearly, I’m a child right now.
“I have money, William. I can’t help that. I get to have nice things that, sure, lots of other people don’t. I’m nae gonnae apologise for it. I’m nae gonnae apologise for wanting to share it with the man I love, either. You trying to tell me if you had it, you wouldnae share it with me?”
The more he talks, the more sense he makes, and the more pathetic I start to feel for carrying this on.
“Seriously, how does this go in your head?” he asks. “If we go on holiday, do I fly first class and meet you on the runway after you get out of economy? Do we fuck at night, then I roll over in my nice bed, and you go home to a flat somewhere? ‘Cause God forbid you spend a night somewhere you couldnae have afforded yourself.”
“All right, all right,” I interrupt. “I get it, Laurence. But…you said…” I trail off, unsure whether to bring it up.
“I said what?”
No more secrets.
“It was a while ago. In your trailer for the first time, back at the studio. Remember?”
“Of course I remember.”
“You told me that night that you were wary of people because you never knew what they really wanted from you. Well, I’m not one of those people. I can’t have you ever think, even for a second, that I’m one of those people you need to be wary of. I’ve never seen you for your status. I just…need you to know that.”
Silence fills the car for too long after I’ve finished, and it worries me that my protest itself has cast reservation.
“I believe what I said was…being with you made me remember what it felt like for trust to be something that could be broken rather than earned.”
“You remember that?”
“I remember everything I’ve ever said to you, William. And, yeah, I have felt the things you described. I do feel it. But not with you. Never with you. I trusted you even then, in the trailer, and I trust you now. But I’m really fucking angry that we’re doing this right now when I’m travelling fifty-miles-per-hour down the bloody motorway and I can’t look in your eyes and make you believe it.”
He might not be able to see my eyes, but I see his. “I believe you,” I say, placing a hand on his thigh and squeezing gently. “And I’m sorry.”
“Aye, well, I’m withholding forgiveness. You’re gonnae have to earn it.”
“Oh yeah?”
Laurence nods, his eyes flitting between mirrors as he moves into the centre lane.
“How?” I ask.
“Undecided. Although, the probability that it’ll involve lubricant is strong.”