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“Send the next in, Micky.” Tommy called, scribbling in his tiny notebook.
He wrote the last words quickly, sliding the thin pencil into the rubber band on the side, closing it delicately.
Taking his glasses off, he threw them on the table and stood, greeting the newcomer as the door creaked open.
Extending a flat palm to shake hands, Tommy caught the stranger’s eyes and froze.
Freddie’s familiar face slammed into him, landing heavily in his stomach and stealing his breath.
“It’s been a long time, Mr. Shelby.” Freddie noted, his grip firm as he shook Tommy’s hand, lingering just a little too long.
Tommy was about to hug him, to crush his head in the chest he had found so much comfort in so many times, when he noticed a strange feeling floating unnervingly around them. Something felt wrong. His other hand was already over Freddie’s shoulder, so he patted it, turning his overly familiar gesture into a more polite welcoming one.
It was Freddie, but his features were smooth. Dark circles didn’t eat half of his face and the creases on his forehead were faint. Washed of the traces war left behind.
He looked young.
The young man Tommy would have hugged without fear of being hit in the face. That one who hadn’t hated him with every fiber of his being.
He could sense it wasn’t real, but it differed from Grace’s appearances. He could feel the skin brushing his hand. Not just the warmth clawing in his body and luring him in another hazy place.
Focusing on the face in front of him, he could see his features slowly morphing into less edgy forms, less twisted by frustration and struggle. Into something less and less…. Freddie.
There were still his defiant stare, his pointy nose and dainty lips, decorated with a mischievous grin that reminded him so much of his best friend. Not that Tommy really knew about Freddie’s lips either way. It’s not like he looked at them for endless hours to know that. He was sure it was the same lips though.
The ones he wanted to kiss, and sometimes dared to let his eyes wander on for an instant.
In a cruel twist of irony, it turned out that the young lad was a communist, asking for an interruption of the wages cuts, by the gamblers who lost money in the Stock Market Crash.
Tommy couldn’t even remember what they talked about during the meeting. His brain was on autopilot, letting his ready-made answers do the talking for him.
He only saw one face the whole discussion. Stealing his focus without a word.
You won’t ask me to listen to the voices, Freddie. I know that... I know you’ll never want to see me again after everything that happened. But I always preferred when you insulted me, rather than when you were silent. You never ignored me before, at least...
“I hope you’ll speak about it at Parliament, Mr. Shelby.” The man tried again to gain Tommy’s attention, speaking a bit louder.
Tommy shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts of Freddie’s straight face.
“Well, I’ll see what I can do, Mister?” He paused embarrassingly.
“Mr. Ford, Mr. Shelby. My mom told me that I changed too much recently for you to recognise my face. She's probably wrong though, I saw it in your gaze when we shook hands.”
“Yes, we’ve known each other for a very long time.” He answered, confused about who they were really talking about.
Tommy forced a polite smile and stood up to salute him.
"Thank you, Mr. Shelby" he said, shaking Tommy's hand and heading towards the door.
Grace, and now you. What would Ada say if I tell her you were here too, eh?
Tommy avoided his eyes again as he accompanied the young guy to the door.
“Who’s next, Micky?” He called, taking a cigarette out of its case.
The waiter put his head through the little window of the booth, polishing a glass with a cloth.
“Mrs. Connors. She keeps babbling about songbirds.”
“Let her in. I’ll deal with it.” He rolled a cigarette over his lips and lit it before the door creaked again.