Buy Me, Sir

“It was cold out there,” she says. “But worth it. I love working with the homeless. It makes you so grateful for what you have, right? I’m just glad I can do something to help, even if it’s just a little.”

“I fell into it,” I admit and her eyebrows lift.

“Fell into it?”

But I don’t want to expand on that. Not today. Maybe not ever.

I finish up my drink and she follows my lead.

“I’ll give you the tour,” I say.

She holds out her hand and I take it.MelissaThis is so much harder than I thought.

My heart is pounding despite my easy smile, so worried I’m going to give the game away with some silly oversight. Like knowing the way his dog barks.

Knowing where his bathrooms are.

Knowing the names of his kids when he unavoidably points out their pictures on the mantelpiece. I ask about them as though I don’t know.

“Thomas and Matthew,” he says. “They live with their mother in Hampshire.”

“That must be hard.”

“Very,” he admits, and I see a flash of pain in his eyes. “But it’s for the best. They’re thriving. Happy.”

“They must love the dog,” I say, and that makes him smile.

“They do, yes. And he loves them.” He lifts one of the photos as though he’s looking at it new. “My ex-wife isn’t quite so fond of him.”

I don’t think it’s my place to ask about his divorce, so I don’t.

The pressure of acting ignorant is building up behind my eyes, but I don’t show it. I keep my questions light and vague, oohing and ahhing over the place as though I’m seeing it all for the first time.

“I love the smell of orchids,” I say, and a shiver zips up my spine as he angles one to my face for a sniff.

“My cleaner gets them,” he admits. “She’s excellent. They’re a nice touch.”

She’s excellent.

My smile feels ridiculously bright on my face, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

I don’t know if I can really go through with this phase of my master plan, not now it feels so personal in here. Not now I feel so… overwhelmed.

As we step past the entertainment unit I’m forced to make my decision.

I make it in a heartbeat.

I spin so quickly towards his selection of CDs, my expression one of pure fake-shock as I pull out an album from the pile.

“Oh my God! You like Kings and Castles?!”

My fake-shock has nothing on the surprise on his face. “You know them?”

“Do I know them?! Hell yeah, they’re my all-time favourite band!”

I hate this even as I’m doing it. Hate the shock in his eyes. Hate the fact I feel so obliged to perform like a circus monkey to make him fall in love me.

“That’s extraordinary,” he says. “Hardly anyone knows they exist.”

“Crazy, right? I’m always saying it. I mean take Casual Observer, that song is my all-time favourite. How it doesn’t get more radio airplay I have no idea. Criminal, don’t you think?”

“Criminal, yes.” He stares right through me. “That’s my favourite too, actually.”

I put a hand on my heart. “Wow. What are the odds?”

“Slim,” he tells me, and he’s not kidding.

I rattle off my imaginary history with the band, how my dad loved them, how I knew the singer dedicated a song to his dying grandmother, how I think their first album is seriously underrated, and how terrible the first mainstream music journalist who tore them to shreds in his column was for destroying their chances before they’d really started.

He listens. He nods.

I tell him how I love the lyrics in Casual Observer. How deep they are. How well they capture the loneliness of being surrounded by people and yet feeling so utterly misunderstood. So alone.

He’s barely even nodding now. Just staring. His eyes piercing and raw.

“Sorry,” I tell him. “I get a little carried away. I just love them so much.”

“That’s ok,” he replies. “I do, too.”

I slide the CD back in the collection and hold out my hand for the rest of the magical mystery tour.

He shows me his office, and the conservatory, and the dining room he barely uses. He tells me he has a bit of a gym set up downstairs, but doesn’t take me down there.

I comment on the little things, the innocuous things, being so careful and considered.

And fake.

I’ve never felt so fake in my entire life.

My heart is in my throat by the time the downstairs tour is finished, choked up with guilt and the crazy desire to tell him I’ve already been here. That I really do like Kings and Castles, but it’s because of him. Because I heard them here.

To tell him that I already know him.

But he’s no longer awkward or guarded, not like he was when I first pulled out that CD. He looks relaxed, even excited now the shock has left his beautiful face.