The Piano Man Project Page 0,49

her off beyond measure. She glanced down at the razor box in her hand.

‘I have something for you, though I don’t know why I’m bothering seeing as you can’t be arsed to answer me. I’m getting pretty sick of this, for the record.’ She banged her forehead lightly in the silence. ‘Is this it, Hal? You’re going to keep giving me the silent treatment until I give up and go away forever? Is that what you do to everyone in your life? To your family, your friends? Treat them like crap until they stop bothering anymore? Because I’m there too now. Just so you know, I’m right on the edge of never knocking on your door again.’

Honey knew that she was probably overstepping the mark, but then wasn’t that the whole point to this conversation? To push his boundaries, to force him out of this interminable, painful silence? She wanted her nightly companion back. She wanted her five minutes of Hal-ness, that precious time that had all too easily become the highlight of her day. How had he even done that? He certainly hadn’t charmed her into wanting to spend time with him; he was borderline offensive most of the time. He called her Mother Teresa and mocked every aspect of her life, and then he kissed her until she saw stars and wanted to rip his clothes off. So yes. Maybe she did want to offend him a little. To piss him off the same way he pissed her off, to rile him out of his goddamn complacency and back into the real world, a world where people took risks and sometimes hurt each other and sometimes kissed each other until they felt better again.

At some point during these thoughts she heard him moving along the hall, and her heartbeat inched up several notches.

‘Open the door, Hal. I know you’re there.’

‘Don’t ever mention my family again, you hear me?’ He bellowed at her full force, making her step back from the door in shock. ‘You know fuck all about me, or my family, or my friends. You hear me, woman?’

‘Oh, I hear you, Hal,’ she shouted back, feeling her temper snap. ‘Is it even Hal? Or have you lied about who you are? Not that I’ve any right to ask, of course. I’m just the idiot who likes you enough to bring you food and whisky and take your shit when no one else does. Well. Excuse. Bloody. Me.’ The wine had loosened her tongue just enough to reach the point of absolute honesty, and it felt treacherously good to let the words out. Liberating, in fact. She considered storming back to her own flat, but because she knew with one hundred per cent certainty that he wouldn’t follow her she stayed where she was.

His door opened. Not the way she’d grown accustomed to; inch-by-inch, just enough to hear her. This time it was thrown wide on its hinges, and Hal stood there in the doorway, seeming to tower over her tonight in her bare feet.

‘What do you want from me? A potted fucking history?’ he blazed, his body stiff with anger. ‘What exactly is it you’d like to know, eh? My name? My name is Benedict Hallam, and yes, I have a family. A mother, a father, a sister. And yes, I have friends. Or else I thought I did, until the fuckers decided a friend who couldn’t see anymore didn’t quite fit in with their party image. I had a life, Honeysuckle, and it was a fucking good one. I was someone. Someone with a girfriend, with my own fancy fucking restaurant and my own fancy fucking customers, okay?’ His chest heaved. ‘And now I’m no one, just some sad bloke who can’t see and relies on the charity of his do-gooder neighbour for scraps from her table and schoolboy fumbles. Fucking pathetic, in other words.’

Honey stared at him, trying to process everything he’d said around the hurt of his dismissal of their kiss as a schoolboy fumble.

‘I don’t see pathetic when I look at you,’ she said quietly. ‘I just see someone in trouble.’

He laughed harshly. ‘And you just can’t resist the urge to jump right in and save me, can you? But who are you really doing it for, Honey? Me, or so you can feel good about yourself when you close your eyes at night?’

‘I don’t feel sorry for you, if that’s what you’re getting at,’ she said, wanting to shake him. ‘I mean,