After Felix - Lily Morton Page 0,42
him, to hold onto him, to see if we could have something again. But then I remember his stumbling, drunken confession of love for Ivo, and my soft impulse hardens. I won’t be someone else’s second thought. I deserve more.
“Thank you,” I say calmly. “I’m sure I will be.” But when he turns to walk away, his hunched shoulders make me blink back tears. “You too.”
He turns back. “Me too, what?”
“You need joy.”
He shrugs. “Not sure if that’s in my cards.”
“Get another deck,” I advise him. For a second we smile at each other, and it’s so fucking right. But then I step back. “Goodbye, Max,” I say.
His face falls. I step onto the boat, and I don’t look back no matter how much I want to.
I tried to put that meeting out of my mind, but from that night onward, Max kept popping up in unexpected ways.
First there was the red string bracelet he sent me with a cryptic message. It had arrived in the post a couple of days after that meeting along with a note that said in his appalling handwriting, “Come freely. Go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring.” Please accept this last thing from me, Felix. It’s a small token, but it’s supposed to keep the wearer safe, and I want that for you more than anything. Safety and sublime happiness.
Originally, I thought that the first bit was him making a crack about sex, but when I looked it up, I found it was a quote from Dracula, which left me more confused than ever. I don’t know why I still wear the bloody thing, but it seemed important to him, and I like the bracelet. It feels like it brings good luck.
Then there was the way he began to take up all of my boss’s time. Max started to drink heavily, and Zeb’s chief occupation for a while seemed to be picking him up from whatever hotel floor he’d ended up on, and getting rid of the ever-present bloke who Max had bedded that night. It would have been hypocritical of me to be angry at the endless procession of men as I’d moved on, but I can’t deny it hurt like a fucker.
And finally there was the annoying way Max began to make my friends like him. First it was through Zeb and his boyfriend Jesse, and then even my cousin Misha and his boyfriend Charlie fell for his charm. It even extended to my aunts who adored him and fluttered over him whenever they saw him as if he was Tom Jones coming to tea. And so I started to find him at everything that happened - weddings, engagements, even just down the pub.
At the start, everyone had asked me whether it was okay with me, and my pride had refused to allow me to say that I didn’t want to see him. Well, pride and a desperate urge to actually see him and still have him near. I would affect disinterest whenever we met which ably covered my hungry eyes that coveted him wherever he was standing.
And slowly over the years, his magic has worked on me again. I maintained the distance for a while, but then we seemed to sink almost naturally into a sort of caustic flirty banter. It’s a very faint shadow of the humour we used to share, but it’s still addictive to be sassy or sarcastic with him and see that smile on his face. It’s as it always was - proud and fascinated - and it still works like a drug on me.
And I know it’s not healthy. I know it’s not wise. But I’m equally buggered as how to stop it. So, I do the best I can. I minimise contact with him. When he talks to me, I move away. I make sharp remarks about the endless procession of men that appear to run through his bed, and cooing comments about my latest man. I’m cold and calm around him, and I know he thinks me disinterested. But I know the truth. Nobody has ever stimulated my brain and body like Max.
My phone rings, and I reach for it eagerly, needing the distraction. But I groan when I see the name on display. Carl. My ex. Obviously, the universe has decided that it’s my turn to travel down the memory lane called “Shitty” today.
“Hello,” I say over-brightly. “How are you?”
There’s a long pause. “I’m fine,” he says coolly. “Just ringing