Page 64 of In the Frame

“It’s okay. I’m just fucking worried about you.”

“Sorry.”

I glance back at Gabriel after he goes quiet. He’s wiping at his eyes with a tissue, then blows his nose. Florian turns the radio to classical music as we drive to Euston once I give Florian my address.

As we pull up in front of my house and I go to get out, Florian clears his throat. “I’ll text you details about the gala,” he says. “And you can let me know if in a few days if you wish to attend as my plus-one.”

“Okay. Thanks for the lift. We’ll catch up another time.” I give him a reassuring look.

Florian gives me a wry look. “Good night, Matty.”

“Night. And, um, good night, Gabriel.”

“Sorry again to be a mess and interrupt your night,” Gabriel entreats, looking intently at me. He pats my shoulder. “Oh, don’t forget your flowers? These aren’t for me, I’m sure.”

“Thanks.” I flush and take the offered flowers in their bag.

I slip out, and as I glance back when I unlock my door, feeling bittersweet as I hold the flowers he gave me, Gabriel’s taken the front passenger seat. They talk for a moment, and then Florian drives away.

Chapter Thirty-Six

The arrangement still goes strong after three days in my room. I stare at it, working on my sketch. It’s the first real sketch I’ve done since arriving in London, aside from drawing the still life with Florian. All I can think of is Florian when I see the peonies. The internet tells me white is the color of forgiveness, and it doesn’t make me feel any better. If anything, it makes me feel worse knowing he feels bad too. I add touches of watercolor to my sketch for shading between the petals in blues and pinks. There’s no way a photo captures, for me, the way the peonies make me feel.

We haven’t talked since Thursday night. I haven’t wanted to intrude on things, figuring Florian must have his hands full between his brother and work. I really hope his brother’s okay. But with Florian’s take-charge energy, I’m sure he must be doing everything he can for Gabriel.

I’m picking up all the shifts I can this week. I want to be too busy to think. But Monday and Tuesday are quiet nights, and there aren’t any extra shifts on offer from Alexander. The thought of staying home alone in my room with only my thoughts for company guts me. I haven’t texted Florian back. I don’t know what to tell him.

Once more, I set down my paintbrush and pick up my phone. I scroll through my messages. From my mum, checking in on me. Nothing from Florian.

And a text back I didn’t expect to see. Earlier, I texted my friend Michael from the village, something triggered in my memory since the night we picked up Gabriel from near the Royal Opera House. Michael dances for the Royal Ballet. I should have thought of him sooner.

Hey, heard you were in London now from my parents. Want to catch up over drinks?

How could I have forgotten about Michael being in London? Something surges in me, a feeling like hope. Maybe he can give me tips on how to adjust to life here after the village.

Sounds great. Free tonight or tomorrow?

Tomorrow’s great. How’s 5pm for drinks?

Perfect

We make plans to meet. Michael texts me details. Feeling a little more cheered, I flop back on my bed. And I feel marginally less lost.

I meet Michael at a pub in Covent Garden as he’s wrapped up his work for the day. I can’t help but imagine Gabriel distraught nearby where we picked him up.

Spotting him in the pub, I refocus. Michael’s got wavy, dark hair, which falls over his brow, and dark blue eyes and cheekbones that would be the envy of anyone. His mum had been a model before she launched the family bookshop years ago in the village. But more than anything else, Michael has a genuine grin. He rises immediately to give me a big hug on sight as soon as I put my drink down.

“Matty! I can’t believe you’re here now,” Michael enthuses, at last letting me go. He booked a reservation, so we have a table in the corner of the pub with its dark panels and air-con, which is very welcome in this heat wave. Outside, patrons spill onto the pavement, holding their drinks and seated at tables out front.

“So good to see you too. I’m very relieved to see a familiar face, I can’t even begin to tell you,” I say honestly and slide into the leather banquette beneath the dark wood paneling, while Michael takes the bentwood chair where he had already been seated with his drink.

He flashes a grin. “I never expected you’d end up in London. I thought maybe you’d stay in Brighton.”

“A lot of my friends stayed on there for now. I thought maybe I had a better chance in London for my work since there’re so many people and opportunities here. But the so-many-people part’s really getting me. Not knowing anyone.”

“Well, you know me,” Michael says cheerfully. “And I’m thrilled to see someone else from Glynde. We’ll start a revolution.”

I laugh. “Of introverts hiding? A very quiet revolution. We’d hate to cause a fuss.”