Chapter Text
Nick Nelson parks his car in the in the short stay car park having left his mum at the drop off point for the south terminal. Gatwick airport is in chaos, although listening to the radio on the way to the airport it appears the whole country is in chaos. The threatened train strike has gone ahead, last minute negotiations having fallen though, bringing the country’s rail service to a standstill, with thousands of people potentially stranded on this, the night before Christmas. To add to the misery an I.T. failure has ground Heathrow to a halt with nothing being able to land or take off until it is fixed, with planes in the air being diverted around the country. The border control force are on strike making getting through passport control a nightmare and unofficial twenty-four hour walk out by baggage handlers has made boarding impossible for some passengers unless they are prepared to risk travelling without their luggage. Some of the ground crew and air traffic control are refusing to cross the picket line, Nick isn’t at all sure that his mum’s flight to Lyon will even take off.
He leaves the car, paying the extortionate fee for a couple of hours, and makes his way over to departures. Sarah has already checked in on line and has taken the precaution of only carrying hand luggage. She is waiting for him just inside the doors, and she smiles when she sees him,
“Don’t feel you have to wait Nicky, I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not leaving until you are safely in the air… see, it looks like your flight is delayed again... Okay, only by fifteen minutes though… maybe not too bad.”
He doesn’t try to persuade his mum to cancel her trip. If it was at any other time, she would probably have taken the decision herself, but nine months’ ago David’s partner Monique gave birth to their son, Laurent, and Sarah isn’t about to miss his first Christmas, baggage handlers be damned.
“Are you sure you are going to be okay? I wish you were coming with me.”
“No, you don’t, you know David and I can only cope with each other in small doses, and they really don’t have room in their apartment for me as well as you. I met Laurent in the summer and no doubt I will see them when I visit dad in February. You have a great time.”
“Promise me you’ll drive carefully, to Anna’s.”
Nick wills himself not to give the game away, he has never had a poker face but fortunately his mother is distracted once again by the departure board.
“I’ll be fine, mum, the car could almost drive itself there.”
“Yes, but the weather…”
“It seems like down here has got the worst of it.” To add to the general misery, there had been a vicious cold snap over the past week, with minus temperatures even in the daytime, “and Scotland, but the middle of the country seems to have escaped… Hold on, isn’t that your flight… hadn’t you better go through.”
Sarah throws her arms around her younger son and squeezes tight, “Have a wonderful Christmas, give my love to Anna and her mum and dad, don’t forget to thank them for having you.”
“I will,” Nick returns the hug, “and give Laurent a cuddle from me, and love to Mon, and yes… give my best to David.”
“You don’t have to wait.”
“But I will, I’ll only have to come back and get you if your flight does get scratched in the next half hour.”
Nick watches his mother’s retreating back as she heads through to the departure lounge, goes to the loo, and then gets a cup of tea. He sits with his drink for half an hour, flicking though a discarded copy of the Evening Standard until he hears that the gate has closed. He completes the quick crossword and has just started the sudoku when he sees from the board that the delayed 15.25 British Airways flight to Lyon has departed. He drains his tea and tucking the paper under his arm, to finish the puzzle later, he heads back to his car.
******
Nick has not been entirely honest with his mother. When Nick realised that Sarah was genuinely torn about her decision to spend Christmas with David and his new family, he had quickly wangled an invite to spend the festive season with his girlfriend at her parents.
He had met Anna in his third year at Leeds, Nick had been studying sports science and psychology, Anna had been in her final year of a photography degree. Although they had been at the university for the same length of time, their paths hadn’t crossed until Anna had asked the university rugby club to help her with material for her final year exhibition. Besides, Nick had been with Peter for most of his first and second year at Leeds, and not been looking.
Anna had followed the rugby team for a season and got to know all the players well, joining them in the bar after matches, just like one of the lads, although it turned out she liked one of the lads rather more than the others.
Anna graduated in the summer and was offered a job in Manchester at the firm she had done her second-year placement with. Nick stayed on at Leeds to do his teacher training. They decided to give long distance a go, Manchester wasn’t so far from Leeds, but their hearts hadn’t really been in it. Thus, when she was offered a secondment to her firm’s New York bureau, Anna had told Nick she didn’t want to tie him down, and it was best if they called it a day. There were no hard feelings on either side, Anna had even repeated the invitation for Nick to spend Christmas with her, but he had declined, thinking it would be uncomfortable, he just hadn’t got round to telling his mum.
So that morning, after he drops Nellie round at his grandparents’ where she would be staying for a few days, Nick fills up the car with petrol and makes the decision to go back to his rooms in Leeds for the holidays. He is aware, from his position as sports rep on the Students Union welfare committee that the Chaplaincy Team are putting on a Christmas lunch for some of the international students, and others who for whatever reason can’t or won’t go home. His friend Tara is staying in Leeds, her mum and dad have gone to Barbados to deal with some or other family crisis, while her girlfriend, Darcy has been estranged from her parents for years. They are both involved in the welfare committee and Nick is quite happy to join them peeling spouts or serving mince pies or any other menial task that may be asked of him. It should be a laugh, and his mum will be none the wiser.
He just has to get to Leeds.
******
The queue of traffic to get out of the carpark has been stationary for thirty minutes. Nick is beginning to wonder if he will end up spending Christmas Day in the car. The news from the radio is depressing, the train strike started officially at five o’clock and the police are on duty at the stations preventing passengers getting in and allowing staff to leave unmolested. The journalist is reporting from an eerily quiet New Street Station in Birmingham, supposedly one of the busiest in the country under normal circumstances, now with locked doors and the lights off.
The weather doesn’t sound very promising either, sleet and patchy fog on the M25 although it sounds like it is clearer on the M1. Nick’s not keen on driving in those conditions, but he’ll just have to take it steady. He is fiddling with the car radio to see if he can find an updated weather report when the traffic ahead of him begins to move.
He hasn’t got far on the road out of the airport, when the queue of cars grinds to a halt again, leaving Nick sitting in his Honda with the engine idling, close to where the taxis pull in. He is just thinking this could be awkward when his rear passenger door is jerked open, and a bag thrown in, swiftly followed by a curly haired young man.
“Oh, thank Christ, I thought you would never turn up. Euston Station, as quick as you can… I’ll make it worth your while.”
Nick is so gobsmacked by this event that he is slow to react, a car beeps its horn behind him, and then another, and Nick realises he has no choice but to edge forward a few yards, which he does before stopping and addressing the intruder.
“You’ve made a mistake, I’m not an Uber.”
“What?” The man looks as if he has been struck. He looks vaguely familiar to Nick, but then, that might be because Nick has a habit of noticing young men, or women, with dark hair, blue eyes, and dimples.
“You need to get out of the car. I’m not a cabbie and this isn’t a taxi. Please leave.”
The young man doesn’t answer him, just pulls the seat belt round himself, and buckles himself in. Nick thinks he will have to get out and physically drag this stranger out of his car. He switches his engine off, but just at that moment the cars ahead begin to move again, and his attempt is greeted by a cacophony of car horns. Defeated he drives on.
“Euston station, and quickly.” There is something imperious about his tone, as if the guy is used to having people run around after him. It properly puts Nick’s back up.
“Fuck that, I’m driving you to the nearest lay by, or place I can park safely, and you are getting out. Wanker.” That last muttered under his breath. Nick has a five-hour road trip ahead of him and no time to be ferrying privileged arseholes around the country, even if they do look cute.
A few yards crawled further on, and the car comes to a halt almost immediately under a street light. It illuminates the car and glancing in the rear-view mirror, Nick takes a good look at his trespasser. He is thin, gaunt even, dark shadows under his almost black eyes. He looks exhausted while that might just be the sleep deprivation from the flight, Nick can see the lights reflected off the tears that are rolling down his face. Nick is a softy at heart and doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. Although he has no wish to take a detour into central London, he could perhaps find somewhere where the man could get a cab.
“Are you meeting someone? Is there someone waiting for you there? Your mum and dad? Anyone?”
“No-one, Mum and Dad are in Spain.”
“Isn’t there someone you could phone? Someone who could collect you, give you a lift…” Nick thinks he is clutching at straws, he doesn’t want to abandon this young man, who is oozing vulnerability from every pour but at the same time, he really doesn’t want to get dragged in.
“Phone’s dead, I left my charger in the hotel… But I just have to get to Edinburgh,” the guy sounds distraught, “Tonight. It is an emergency… I was booked on a flight from Heathrow, but it was cancelled and the plane I was on diverted to Gatwick. But if I can get to Euston, I can get the train.”
“Mate,” Nick says, not unkindly, “You’re out of luck, the trains stopped running an hour ago, its Christmas Eve and there’s an all-out strike. Even if you get into central London, there’s no way you’d get out again… unless…”
The traffic is moving on again, Nick spies an access road and takes a sharp left into it, despite suspecting no one will let him back in again. He pulls up and switches the engine off, his passenger begins to cry in earnest.
“Please… Please… just get me to Euston, or Kings Cross, I promise I can pay…”
He takes his wallet from his jacket pocket and starts waving a wad of notes about, “I’m sorry it is in dollars I have just flown in from LA. But we can stop at a cashpoint, and I can get pounds…”
Nick’s protective streak kicks in. Of course, it might be a scam to trick an unsuspecting bloke into giving him a free lift but somehow, he doubts it, otherwise he is a bloody good actor. Nick supposes if he did drop the guy at Euston he might, just might, find a cabbie willing to take him somewhere, but as far as Edinburgh? Nick has no idea of the likelihood… and… if he keeps flashing that amount of cash around to men in strange cars, he’s going to end up dead in a ditch.
“Look, you won’t get a train tonight, there’s a strike.” Nick remembers something else he heard on the travel updates, “London City airport is fogbound, and I’m not sure if you would even get a flight to Edinburgh from there. If I take you into central London there’s a good chance we’ll get held up in the fog too, and even if I get you there you’ve still got to find a cabbie to take you on.”
“You could do it.”
“What?”
“Drive me. I’ll pay you, a thousand pounds… two thousand… to drive me to Edinburgh tonight.”
“Do you even know how far that is? It’s gotta be four hundred miles.”
“Please I’m begging you, I have to get to Edinburgh.” The young man starts crying in earnest now, and Nick’s heart, which was never that hard in the first place, just melts.
Nick thinks… two thousand pounds would make the next couple of terms a lot easier, he could give up his bar job and concentrate on his PGCE and his rugby, and still cover his rent. It was tempting… if it wasn’t a scam.
Nick isn’t particularly worldly, the fact he drives a four-year-old Honda Accord, is only due to his grandad swapping his car for an automatic. He likes nice things, but he never spends a lot on them, however he learnt a thing or two about designer labels in the year he was going out with Anna, and he is pretty certain that the bag the young man so carelessly threw on to his back seat is a genuine Louis Vuitton.
And come to think of it… that watch looks like a Breitling.
Nick makes a split decision,
“Look, I’m about to drive to Leeds, I’ll take you as far as Leeds-Bradford airport and we’ll see what the score is when we get there. Okay?”
“Thankyouthankyouthankyou.” The guy sounds delirious, and Nick almost begins to regret his impulsive offer. He knows nothing about the bloke, apart from the fact he is appealing to Nick’s compassionate nature. The man could be a runaway, a bank robber, or even an axe murder. Nick looks again at the Louis Vuitton bag, with its priority LAX label, perhaps not an axe, even in first class and with a label that actually says axe, you’re going to struggle to take it in hand luggage.
“Right,” Nick switches the engine off. “Get out of the car.”
“But you said…” the young man, hardly more than a boy, looks like he’s about to cry again.
“I did… but I’m not a bloody chauffer, you can sit in the front with me, where I can keep an eye on you.”
The guy doesn’t move, Nick feels himself riling up again, he wants to get on the road, but then it dawns on him what might be the problem.
“Look, key’s out of the ignition, you can get out of the back and into the front before I can start her up again and drive off.”
In the rear-view mirror, he can see his intruder weighing up Nick’s words.
“Come on, we haven’t got all night, otherwise I really will throw you out at the next junction.”
This seems to make his mind up for him. The young man is out of the car and back in the front in an instant. He sits in the front passenger seat, arms folded around his thin frame, shivering.
Now that Nick can see him properly, he realises the man is wearing ridiculously inappropriate clothes for the weather, artfully ripped jeans, a skimpy top and a thin jacket in some kind of suede material.
Nick scoffs lightly, “haven’t you any warmer clothes?”
The man shivers, “I only have what is in my carry-on case, the baggage handlers are on strike… I couldn’t wait for my luggage.”
“Not even a jumper, in there.” Nick gestures towards the bag, still on the back seat.
“I’ve been in LA,” the guy replies as if that answers Nick’s question.
“I have no idea what that even means.”
“It was 26 degrees when I left.” He replies through chattering teeth.
“Bollocks!” Nick says with feeling, he switches the engine off, and gets out of the car himself, careful to take the key with him. He goes round the back, opens the boot, and takes a hoodie out of his bag, before returning to the driver’s seat.
“Here put this on. It will be cold to start off, but it will warm you up eventually.”
His passenger looks dubiously at the garment but puts it on, it drowns him giving Nick his first light moment of the evening.
“Right, seat belt on, M1 here we come.”
******
It takes a while to reach the M23, and even longer to get to the M25. Nick is relieved to see that although the mist is slightly disorientating, it isn’t as foggy as was forecast. It is well into Christmas Eve now, and while the train strikes have probably increased the amount of traffic on the road, anyone with any sense has completed their journeys already.
Halfway to the M25 Nick suddenly says, “I’m Nick by the way.”
His companion replies, “Charles.”
That figures Nick thinks.
A while later Nick says, “Tell me if you need to stop before, otherwise I’ll try to get to Newport Pagnell before we take a break.”
Charles only replies, “Okay.”
They hit a slow spot on the M25, although they’re not far from the junction for the M1, Nick says “You going to tell me what’s going on?”
But his passenger is asleep.
Two hours down the line, Nick is pulling into Newport Pagnell services. The night has turned frosty, but there’s no sign of snow, and it isn’t really icy. He parks, turns off the engine and shakes Charles gently.
“Wake up, time for a coffee and a slash. Stretch your legs, come on.”
Charles resists, grumbling but not opening his eyes. Nick observes the long eyelashes, and the fluttering beneath the delicate eyelids. If he wasn’t such a massive pain in the neck, he’d be cute. Nick shakes him by the shoulder again, the guy is really quite deeply asleep, he wonders if this is jet lag, he’s never been to America, or further abroad than a lads trip to Greece, he doesn’t know how it works. But he’s not leaving Charles in the car, and he doesn’t want to have to stop again before Leeds if possible.
Charles’ eyes flutter open, “Where are we?”
“Services, we’ve just gone passed junction 14. We’ve done about 110 miles so far and we’ve another 150 to go. But I need a piss, a cuppa and a stretch in that order, and you could probably do with the same.
“I’m okay.”
“Seriously? Well, I’m not leaving you in the car, so out you get.”
Reluctantly, like every move will be his last, Charles unbuckles his seat belt and emerges from the car.
“Put you hood up, if you’re cold.” Nick says, as Charles begins to shiver quite violently once he is out of the car. Charles does so, and starts to walk towards the services, wobbly at first from sitting down so long. Nick catches up with him, after he’s locked the car.
They use the loo; Charles finds a cash point and then Nick goes in search of a hot drink and food. The Starbucks isn’t busy, but the service is slow, and it is a while before he returns to where he has left Charles waiting for him. Nick hears the girls before he sees them. There are three of them, late teens he guesses, surrounding Charles and shrieking at him, while he sits there, giving off all the vibes of a rabbit caught in the headlights. Nick moves a little faster, until he’s close enough to hear what is being said. There are not that many people about but those that are, are beginning to stop and stare.
“Just one,” the tallest girl is saying, “just one selfie, please Charlie.”
“Each,” the second girl insists, “a selfie each.”
“And one with all three of us,” the third girl, a red head adds.
“Look, I keep telling you, you’ve made a mistake. I’m not who you think I am.”
The girls are obviously not to be deterred. Nick can see the panic in Charles’s eyes, despite the overlarge hood, and plans an intervention. He speeds towards them and just hopes the guy can follow a cue.
“Pete, not again mate,” Nick makes an exaggerated turn to face the young women, “I’m sorry girls, he trades on the resemblance, but really, he’s just a loser, who’s studying maths at Leeds University, and who’ll say anything for a chance to get laid.”
The girls look dubious at Nick’s words, they are not convinced.
“But he said he wasn’t him… was denying it anyway.”
“Yeah, he does that, works like a charm he says. He denies it to keep you keen, until he suddenly confesses, ‘you’re right’, and then he’ll start trying to get you interested in a… foursome… in the nearest Travelodge”
“Travelodge!” the taller girl, who seemed to be the main spokesperson for the group, spits out in disgust, she’s obviously used to better things.
“Isn’t Charlie Spring gay?” the red head asks, uncertainty in her voice.
“Nothing works better than setting a girl a challenge, according to Pete, does it mate?” Nick wiggles his eyebrows, lasciviously, or at least he hopes that’s the effect. “Or so I have heard, perhaps I might find out one day.”
“Arsehole!” the second girl says dismissively, she’s quite a pretty brunette, and Nick feels a pang of regret to be so low in her estimation. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Might have known,” the tallest girl says, emphatically, “Charlie Spring wouldn’t be seen dead in a ratty old hoodie like that.”
Nick takes offence on behalf of Leeds University hoodies everywhere, but he says nothing. He thinks the tide is going their way.
“Pete, apologise to the ladies, and let’s get going.”
“Sorry” Charles mutters,
“It’s not his fault,” the redhead says, “he did try to tell us we’d made a mistake.”
“Yeah, so he could get into our knickers!”
The girls go off, arguing between themselves, whether they were at fault or had just had a lucky escape.
Charles murmurs a thank you. Nick hands him his coffee and a toastie,
“I was going to suggest we eat in here as it’s warmer, but I guess it might be better if we headed back to the car. Okay?”
Charles, or Charlie as Nick supposes he prefers to be known just nods.
Back in the car, they drink their drinks and Nick eats his toastie while Charlie plays with his, pulling it into increasingly smaller pieces until it looks even more unappetising.
“I have no idea what it is you’re going through but it will almost certainly be worse on an empty stomach. Try to eat some of that, and at least drink your coffee.”
His passenger takes a small piece of his sandwich, breathes in, breathes out again and puts it in his mouth. He does this with around half the toastie, interspersed with sips of coffee, Nick notices the colour is returning to his cheeks.
“Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, at the risk of sounding like a cliché, we’ve got all night.”
“Okay, but could you please start driving again, we’re wasting time.”
Nick takes a moment to consider this, agrees, starts the engine, and turns the car in the direction of the exit, ready to rejoin the M1.
Charlie is quiet, but Nick isn’t in the mood to let him get away with stalling,
“You were saying?”
“I’m not sure where to begin… Perhaps you could tell me how much you’ve guessed.”
“Okay, that sounds fair. Well, I guessed you’ve money, unless that bag is a very good fake, my ex- is a photographer, she knows her labels and I picked a bit up when I was with her. Not just the bag either, I think just what you’ve got on under that hoodie cost more than every item of clothing I possess… and then some probably.
“Those girls knew who you were, they recognised you which means that you’re more than just wealthy, you’re famous. Charlie Spring one of those girls called you. I think I’ve seen that name before, in the papers…
“You’ve just flown in from Los Angeles, and you’re in a desperate hurry to get to Scotland. You might be on the run from the police, but then you’d hardly draw attention to yourself by travelling first class. It could be a sick relative, or even that someone had died, but if that was the reason why didn’t you get your people to meet you at the airport, Gatwick’s not so far from Heathrow. But you don’t want anyone to know you’re here, do you? I bet all that business about your phone being out of charge is a ruse... So, what are you doing here, Charles Spring, and why do you need to get to Scotland is such a hurry?”
Nick is concentrating on the road, but there’s not a lot of traffic and he risks a glance at his companion.
“You’re right,” Charlie says, reluctantly, “I may be famous, though I suppose I should be grateful not everyone recognises my face, or even my name.”
There is a touch of chagrin in his voice, “Have you ever heard of a band called Guilty by Design?”
Nick isn’t sure and says so.
“They got to number one with the song Painted Faces.”
Charlie sings a couple of lines, even sitting in the cold car, sleep deprived and cried out, his voice is sweet and true,
“painted faces, leaving traces, memories like a lipstick stain;
growing older, growing colder, love gives way to pain…”
Nick does recognise it, the song had been all over the place two years ago when he’s been splitting up with Peter, it doesn’t have particularly happy associations, no wonder he doesn’t remember the artist.
“You sang that?”
“I wrote it… along with another member of the band but, yes, that’s one of mine.”
“It’s good, but sad though, it kind of reminds me of splitting up with my ex.”
“The photographer?” Charlie asks,
“No, the one before that… you could say relationships are not my strong point.”
“Me neither.”
They drive on again for a few miles, in silence, before Nick hazards another guess.
“Is that what this is all about then? A relationship, flying halfway across the world to be with the one you love at Christmas?” Nick tries to keep the bitter undertone from his voice, he doesn’t quite succeed.
“Not exactly…” He sounds close to tears, Nick risks another glance, the guy’s face is doing a thing, as if he is wrestling with some inner turmoil.
“Can I trust you?” Charlie asks, the temptation to unburden himself, vying with his innate sense of self preservation.
“I guess so,” Nick replies, “Seeing that I have already got you out of a tight spot. Twice.”
“I’m gay… it’s not popular with my management, but I was outed at school so there was never any hiding it, and in any case of the other members of the band, three are straight and one’s bi, so there is enough of us to keep the fanbase dreaming, so it has never been a real issue… but… they weren’t keen on any of us ‘going steady’.
“I have a boyfriend…” Charlie pauses and then says hurriedly, “I can’t tell you his name!”
“I don’t expect you too.”
“We met three years ago, just as the band were making it… I… I… well, I don’t… we were never public… he’s not out, but sometimes… sometimes I didn’t even know if he thought we were boyfriends. Sometimes we would be at the same events, and he would just ignore me. Even when I was with the band, or other friends, he would pretend we had never met before... But then when it was just us two, he was fine, wonderful, loving… the sex was mind-blowing… sorry that last bit is probably too much information.”
“That’s ok, I’ve no objection to mind-blowing sex, except I’m not getting any. So, you’re going to Scotland to see him. Is he expecting you?”
Nick can feel Charlie’s hesitation, “Not exactly.”
“I think there’s a lot you’re being cagey about, it’s okay to tell me to butt out, but if it helps to get it off your chest, then feel free.”
Charlie says nothing for such a long while, Nick thinks he has decided that he is done with sharing. He wonders about putting the radio on, he might even find a track by Charlie’s band, what were they called again.
Nick’s reverie is disturbed by Charlie saying, “he’s an actor… my boyfriend… he’s an actor. We don’t get to see that much of each other… with him trying to make it in the business and me touring so much, and then in the studio the rest of the time, but I thought we were solid. He had this plan, once he got his big break, he’d come out. It’s possible to get a leading role and be gay, it’s not the fifties. But…”
“But?”
“I have a friend, Tao, we were at school together, he got his first job in film, third assistant to the assistant producer’s assistant or something like that. Up in Scotland, on the film my boyfriend was working on. He said… he said that it was common knowledge on the set that the star was shagging one of the new boys, I realised what film it was, but didn’t think… then yesterday it was all over the internet about this woman and her new love…”
Charlie, is crying again, and Nick finishes the sentence, “… it was your chap?”
“Yes.” Charlie ineffectually wipes his eyes with on the sleeve of Nick’s hoodie. “I tried calling him, over and over again but with the time difference… But it’s going to be okay, I’m going to get to Scotland, and I’m going to get him back… It’s not his fault, this woman, she’s bewitched him with her glamour and connections, but I know he can’t be in love with her. He just thinks he needs her to make it in the business… What are you doing?”
Nick is slowing down and changing lanes, “This actress your friend mentioned, it wasn’t Marina Langella, was it?”
“How do you know.”
“Trust me, I just do. Charlie, I don't think you should go to Scotland.”
“I'm not asking for your advice.” Charlie snaps, tears forgotten.
Nick flicks his indicator on, still in the near side lane, following the signs for the services and the A42.
“Where are we going?”
“Services, Donnington Park.”
“But we’ve only been going an hour, why are we stopping again?”
Nick has had enough already of the questions, he is tempted to say, ‘because it’s my car and I’m driving,” but he holds his tongue and follows the road round to the car park. Once the car is stationary and the engine off, Nick turns to his passenger and says,
“Because I didn’t want to have to say this to you while I was driving. I don’t think you should go to Scotland, because I think if you do, you’re just going to end up feeling more humiliated than you do already.”
“You don’t understand, Ben and I are good together… I’m sure once I see him, talk to him, it will turn out to just be a misunderstand… oh, I didn’t mean…I shouldn’t have said…”
Nick interrupts his floundering, “Charlie, I’m sorry, but I think it's too late for that.”
Nick undoes his seat belt and reaches over to the back seat, underneath Charlie’s bag which is still where he had thrown it when he climbed in the car and pulls out the copy of the Evening Standard that he had picked up in Gatwick Airport just a few hours earlier. Nick switches on the interior light,
“Charlie there isn't in any easy way to tell you this so perhaps you better read it for yourself…”
Nick hands Charlie the newspaper, there on the front page is a grainy photograph of a smiling couple toasting each other with champagne, the woman in a white dress, wrapped in fur, the man in a morning suit, the headline reads:
Whirlwind Winter Wedding for Hollywood Star.
Hollywood actress Marina Langella (34) has married promising newcomer Benjamin Hope (24) in a lavish ceremony at Forres Castle in Scotland, after a whirlwind courtship which began when they met on the set of her latest blockbuster Until We Crash in the autumn. Ms Langella, who after a number of minor roles including Elena in the 1999 film Sympathy for Alsan and Carrie in Mighty As One catapulted to fame as ‘The Whisperer’ in the Christopher Nolan epic Taken to the Edge said, “Ben is an old soul, I believe we were together in a previous life, and I have finally been reunited with him in this one. We were destined to be together; we are totally simpatico.”
Hope, who is best known for playing Ronald, in the Netflix series, Spellmasters, said “Marina has blown me away, she's the gentlest, most loving, and supremely talented woman. I am still pinching myself that I get to wake up on Christmas morning with her as my wife. She is the best Christmas present ever, I have never loved and never will love, anyone like I love her.”
Among those seen arriving at Forres for the ceremony earlier today were Sir Rod Stewart and wife Penny Lancaster, Jerry Hall, David Furnish, Stormzy and H from Steps. Ms Langella, who wore a dress by Stella McCartney, and her new husband are enjoying a reception with 500 guests at the 13th century castle, before honeymooning at an undisclosed location.
The newlyweds are due to begin filming in Darren Aronofsky’s latest production, provisionally entitled The Stories, in the Spring. /end
Nick never wants to witness anything as devastating as what he sees next again. Charlie crumples before his eyes, closing in on himself, arms wrapped tightly around his body, keening. Nick has no idea what to do, he has never had his heart broken. Yes, he’s been dumped (Imogen and Peter), drifted apart (Anna), and had his share of hopeless crushes, (Jonathan, Chantelle, Kiera and Orlando) but his heart was never really affected. But he cannot imagine what it must feel like to find out that your boyfriend of three years has married someone else, by reading about it in a newspaper.
Nick is kindness personified; it is what got him into this mess in the first place. He looks around the half-deserted car park as if to gain direction from the lights of the services, advertising Greggs and Costa and WHSmith and he wonders what to do next. He has dealt with emotional crises, Christian’s break up with Sarah, Otis crashing his teaching placement, he is used to being a shoulder to cry on, but never anything on this scale. He takes a deep breath and thinks what would Mum do?
He reaches out to the sobbing man, presses the button that releases his seatbelt and holds his arms as wide as he can within the confines of the front seats of a Honda Accord.
“Would a hug help?”
Charlie looks up, startled, and then nods.
“Come’ere then.”
Charlie collapses into Nick’s embrace, and the sobbing begins again in earnest.
Nick isn’t entirely sure how long they sit there, ten maybe fifteen minutes, but eventually the crying quietens down. Nick can feel that his hoody is damp where Charlie’s face has rested against it, the occasional swipe of the sleeve over his face being ineffectual against the sheer volume of misery. Charlie hiccups a little, wipes his face again and begins to apologise.
“You have nothing to be apologise for, you’ve had a bad shock.”
“What am I going to do? What am I going to do?”
“Charlie, I know I asked you this before, but is there anyone I can call, anyone who you could go to, who would look after you.”
Nick feels Charlie shake his head against his chest.
“What about your Mum, Dad, siblings, anyone?”
“All in Spain, with my grandparents, for Christmas.”
“Friends?”
“Tao’s in Scotland still, post production, Elle, that’s his girlfriend is up there with him. But I don’t know where… I have a friend called Isaac; he lives in London but then he might have gone home to his Mum’s for Christmas, I just don’t know.”
“We could go back to London, I guess, but it is late,” Nick is thinking aloud, uncertain of the logistics and bitterly regretting his decision to give the guy a lift, “and I would have to turn round and drive back too, after I dropped you off. I’m not sure I could do that.”
“I don’t want to cause you any trouble, I can stay at the Holiday Inn.” Charlie points to the hotel, “I just want to be alone.”
“I’m not going to desert you at the services,” Nick protests, “At least in Leeds there are taxis and decent hotels.”
Nick starts the engine and turns the car around. They are almost a hundred miles from Leeds, another hour and a half at least on the road.
The M1 is pretty quiet at this time on Christmas Eve, blessedly free of accidents or roadworks, the Honda, while no patch on the kind of car that Charlie Spring is used to, gobbles up the miles. They travel on in silence, Charlie exhausted by a day and a night of travelling, and the emotional upheaval that followed, Nick brooding on the supposed relationship between Charlie Spring, musician, and Ben Hope, actor.
“I don’t understand…”
Nick doesn’t get a reply, and when he sneaks a look at his passenger, he sees that Charlie’s eyes are shut. Asleep? He carries on talking.
“I don’t understand why he kept you a secret. I get the closet thing, but it is 2022 not 1952, and he’s no Rock Hudson. Sure, it might make it harder to break into Hollywood, but there are plenty of gay actors who are doing all right.”
Nick pauses, he tries to think of a gay leading man, but without success, but that could be because he’s not that into films, apart from Marvel.
“He didn’t want to be pigeonholed;” Charlie whispers, “He wanted to succeed as an actor on his own merit.”
Nick privately thinks Ben Hope is on a hiding to nothing. He’s caught a bit of Spellmasters, on Netflix, Otis was quite into it at one point, but Nick wasn’t that impressed. He makes a note to ask Otis what he thought of the bloke who played Ronald. What Nick actually says is,
“Instead, he gets where he wants to be by marrying up!”
It is a mistake, Charlie immediately defends his love rat boyfriend, after which they lapse into an uneasy silence.
They reach the outskirts of Leeds, just after eleven on Christmas Eve. Nick heads towards Headingly where the house he shares with three uni friends, Sai, Christian and Otis, is. For the last couple of hours Nick has been becoming increasingly concerned about his passenger and the thought of abandoning another human being who is obviously in such a fragile emotional state is weighing on him. Visions of Charlie being found dead in some anonymous hotel room are crowding his thoughts, they escalate when he pulls onto the carpark of the Premier Inn and sees the reception is in darkness, it appears too late to book a room there. Nick looks at Charlie anxiously,
“I’m not so sure about booking a hotel this late on Christmas Eve. We could try the city centre I suppose.” He sounds dubious, even to his own ears.
“I’d rather not go anywhere where I’m going to be recognised.”
“I’m not sure how you can escape it, those girls spotted you straight away at the services. How do you usually avoid it?”
“Our management team handle everything when we’re on tour. Before we were famous, we used to sleep in the van.”
Nick laughs, “Well I’m not letting you sleep in my car… But look, I’m going back to my student house, it’s about five minutes in the car from here. It’s got four bedrooms, but my housemates are all away for Christmas, you can stay there with me. At least until the morning.”
“I don’t want to cause you any more trouble, you can leave me here.”
“Don’t be stupid. Charlie, if I was about to murder you, or phone the paparazzi I would have done it by now.
“Why are you so nice?”
The question startles Nick, he suspects despite his wealth and success, Charlie Spring hasn’t been on the receiving end of much common humanity,
“You’re a person in a fix, I promise not to murder you in your bed if you promise not to do the same.”
******
Nick’s student rent is a typical terrace house with three bedrooms on the first floor and another in the attic, there’s a communal lounge and kitchen on the ground floor. Nick opens the door and lets Charlie in first with the Louis Vuitton, before following him with his own much humbler luggage and a Sainsbury’s bag with a few provisions, milk, crumpets, pringles, he has brought from home. The house is cold, and Nick goes straight to the kitchen and flicks on the boiler and fills the kettle, while Charlie hovers in the hallway, he looks dead on his feet.
“Let’s sort you out a room, come with me, bring your bag.”
Nick climbs the stairs to the first-floor landing and hits a snag. All the rooms are let separately, and each has it’s own lock, Nick had been counting on one of his housemates leaving their room open, but that isn’t the case.
“No worries, you can sleep in my room, I’ll be ok on the couch downstairs. This way.”
There is a flurry of protests from Charlie, but Nick ignores him leading the way up another flight of stairs, pointing out the bathroom, “You look dead on your feet, and like you haven’t slept in a bed for days, I’ll be fine on the couch, I’ve done it before.”
Nick opens his bedroom door. It’s the largest room in the house, as Nick is the longest serving tenant, with a double bed, a huge wardrobe and a desk tucked under the eaves. He walks across the room and switches on the bedside lamp, then goes to the wardrobe and takes out a sleeping bag, blanket, and an extra pillow.
“The sheets are clean,” Nick hangs his head and gives a rueful smile, “I changed them so I could take my washing home to mum.
“Okay, then, I’ll leave you to it, put the lock on the latch so you don’t lock yourself out if you use the bathroom. But I’ve a key if you do.”
Downstairs again, Nick remembers he was going to make a hot drink, but overcome with tiredness after the evening’s events, he shakes out the sleeping bag, makes a nest on the couch, strips down to his boxers, and is asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.