Page 69 of Seen
He huffs a laugh. “Not even. So, I think we’ve established how you’re spending this afternoon.”
“Okay. I’ll go. But, for the record, I still think Derek’s a dick.”
“He probably thinks you’re a dick, too.” He flicks my ear. “Who knows? He might be on to something.”
My neck kissing becomes raspberry blowing. “I think I preferred you below par, young man. Will you come with me, so we can bitch about him together?”
“If it means you won’t run out, then yes.”
Luke’s hand rests lightly on my elbow—a subtle tether—as we disembark the busy Tube at Earls’ Court and take the next to Warwick Avenue. Most of the population of central London seems to be hellbent on travelling in the opposite direction. Most of them are carrying heavy suitcases too, stopping in the middle of the concourse without warning. Everywhere I look is a potential trip hazard for the visually impaired.
Luke’s probably expecting me to shrug him off. Instead, I lean in slightly, trying not to smile. His guileless eyes meet mine, steady and warm.
“You scared of being out and about in the big smoke, rash whisperer? Is that what this is?” Drawing his elbow into my side, I squeeze my hand against him. “Or is this a feeble excuse to fondle me some more?”
“Idiot.” He nudges my shoulder with his head. “Something like that.”
Lounging against a red brick wall next to the library entrance, feet crossed at the ankles, is a tall, slender man with a shock of ebony hair and clothing to match. He’s scrolling through his phone, occasionally glancing around as if waiting for someone. When he spots Luke and me approaching, he stands taller. I almost trip over my own feet.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Ezra winks at Luke. “A little bird informed me this was where the cool guys hang out on Saturday afternoons.”
“Derek and cool don’t belong in the same fucking city, let alone the same sentence. Haven’t you got anything better to do? Like a bar to run whilst your business partner is off sick?”
Pretending to think, Ezra strokes his chin. “Nope. Not a single thing. Jess reassures me she has everything under control.”
“Well, prepare to be bored,” I grump. “You won’t learn anything useful. These days, everything you need to know about anything is on the bloody internet anyhow. Liaison officers like Derek will be redundant by the time AI gets its act together. Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m here. It’s dull as ditch water. Even the oldies only come for the tea and biscuits. I mean, I’m only here because someone,” at this I glare at Luke, “thinks I should.”
With a grin, Ezra takes my other elbow, far more firmly than Luke would ever dare. “Fortunately, I love me a rich tea biscuit and a cup of char. Lead the way, sweetie pie.”
Fighting Blindness is set up like any other community meeting; rows of uncomfortable chairs and a few tables lined with big silver urns, full of lukewarm tea and weird tasting coffee. A desk at the front has pamphlets fanned across it. The only obvious differences here are that the chairs are set with military precision to avoid anyone tripping over a jutting out leg, and a young lad withvolunteeremblazoned across his sweatshirt greets attendees, giving each one a quick description of the layout and location of the refreshments and toilets. The refreshments themselves—tea, water, milk, sugar, biscuits—are laid out in logical linear fashion. I assume the dots on the massive handwritten labels are braille.
They’re stark reminders as to why we’re here, and as I push my entourage towards the row nearest the back, sweat pricks along my spine. I grip Luke’s hand as if I’m trying to break it.
“I can’t do this,” I mutter.
“Yes you can,” Ezra answers before Luke has a chance to say something placatory. “You’re fucking amazing, Neil, and don’t start believing otherwise.” He shoves a biscuit into my hand. “Now, have one of these and bloody behave.”
“Remind me why you invited this arsehole?” I scowl, though at least my hand uncurls in Luke’s so he can regain circulation.
A brightly clothed man—yay!–Derek, claps his hands. Then, pushing the pamphlets aside, he perches his bum cheek on the desk at the front. He beams at his audience. The place is three-quarters full. For sure, our little group lowers the average age, but another guy of roughly my vintage is sitting on his own a few seats along from us, and a woman on the front row, patting a docile guide dog, seems even younger.
“Hello! And welcome to old friends and new!”
There’s a smattering of responses. On a deep exhale, I fold my arms. Ez elbows me sharply.
“We have a lot to get through today seeing as it’s the last one before the holidays. And the sun’s shining, so I won’t waste any more of your time.” He rubs his hands together. “And can I just say that having so many of you here– friends and family– shows that we never have to fight blindness alone. Let’s start with?—"
The heavy door behind us bangs open. Thirty or more heads swivel in silent judgement as someone bursts in, a bumper cup of coffee in hand and swearing about the traffic.
“Hi! Hi, everyone!”
For fuck’s sake. Dr Alaric Alvin. Five feet nothing of pure confidence and optimism.
“Sorry I’m late. You wouldn’t believe how many people were crammed onto the Victoria L…oh my God. It’s you! Hi! Derek! Hi! Long time no see!”
I groan, covering my face with my hand. Ezra snorts. Stage whispering apologies left, right, and centre, Alaric hurries overto us until he wiggles his skinny arse into the vacant seat next to Ezra and huffs a sigh.
