Page 16 of AMS.TER.strum

‘Sleepover at the grandparents’.’

In the kitchen area, we sit at the large dining table, a memento from Corrie’s childhood home. ‘You’ll have to give them these yourself.’

‘I’ll put them away. You’ll give them when you come back. I have to work tomorrow, so will Tuesday work?’

‘Absolutely, a tourist’s schedule is totally flexible.’

Her hands reach over the table to find mine. My throat clogs momentarily at the effortless warmth of her gesture, but her next words are a kick back to reality. ‘Would you like a quick drink? I am afraid I’ve only got fifteen minutes.’

‘Am I keeping you from drinks with the ladies?’

Serves you right, dumbass, for not having checked! At least we’ve got fifteen minutes...

‘There’s still time. I’m not meeting them, although all this is their doing—I’ve been talked into going on a date.’

The rain outside is a balmy, relaxing bath, compared to the bucket of icy water that has just doused me. A fucking date? With who? When did this happen? Is it serious? The caveman inside me wants answers, debating about whacking unknown enemy No. 1 on the head before or after pissing a circle to mark his territory. But the well-trained fake-cool guy recurs to asking in a somewhat castrato voice, because it does feel as if someone has grabbed me by the balls.

‘That’s…new?’

Corrie rolls her eyes in a Don’t ask expression, then springs up, her chair scraping the wooden floor. ‘We have to proost to your arrival!’

She grabs two shot glasses for what I hope is strong alcohol from the cupboards lining the wall to the left of the sink, and continues telling me how she ended up going on a date, which was the last thing on her mind. When she gets to the point about the barrier almost landing on her head, my stomach clenches. The asshole is still enemy No. 1, but at least he was there, while I was…where was I almost two weeks ago? Too far to do anything about it. Which double-checks as a reply to why Corrie is going on a date.

‘Wow, fancy liquor!’ I say, more to distract myself from spiralling down the rabbit hole called shittiness of timing, but also because I am genuinely impressed.

‘Well, I’ve got a fancy guest here, don’t I?’ Corrie winks, filling our glasses with the fine Hibiki. ‘Birthday present from Dory.’

‘How are they?’

As I hear about them regularly, it feels natural to ask. Anything to distract me from the Corrie is going on a date information.

‘All doing well.’ Eyes half-closed, she takes a sip from her small stemmed glass, totally oblivious to how sexy she’s looking right now. ‘Bea is struggling with her job at that dilapidated hotel, but things seem to be good with her boyfriend; Dory’s catering business is thriving, as do her frustrations of online dating; and Lola is juggling single motherhood and her new balcony and terrace landscaping and plant-sitting business like a literal boss.’

She steals a look at the clock on the electric stove and I realise that the dreadful moment of her fucking date is approaching. In utmost disrespect, I gulp the divine whiskey. ‘Time to go?’

Her smile is apologetic. ‘The place is close by, but I’m afraid I have to leave soon.’

‘My fault for appearing out of the blue.’

‘Not at all, it’s a wonderful surprise! Had I suspected it, I would have rescheduled.’

Cancelled altogether and forever is the word I was aiming for, but tough…

We finish our drinks and head for the exit. Corrie goes for her shoes, the medium heels bringing her face temptingly close to mine. To be able to taste those lips…

Fortunately, she doesn’t give me time to ponder on the image of my mouth welded to hers. She grabs her raincoat and an umbrella, which she offers to me.

‘We don’t want the famous heartthrob Luuk Meiers to catch a cold.’

I know she means well. I know she’s been a fan of my career since the first day we met and I promised her I’d write a song she’d whistle to, like she did Knockin’ Boots on that day. I know I have no right to have any claims, let alone demands from her and her life. That I should be grateful for her presence and her friendship. I’m one of the few people in her inner circle, despite how social she is. And yet, I have a pouch of acid in my stomach that steadily leaks as we approach the bar where she’s meeting David, as enemy No. 1 is called. He is already sitting by the window, his expression baffled. Like mine would have been, had my date arrived with another guy, then hugged said guy, gave him a peck on the cheek and wiped the trace of lipstick, before entering the premises.

My legs don’t listen to the command to move, and I’m grateful that David’s eyes have turned towards Corrie as she enters. He gets up to give her a hug, and is his quick, triumphant glance at me my imagination? Corrie sends him a bashful smile and takes her seat. Her face lights up when she sees me still waiting and waves fast in pure enthusiasm.

Suddenly, I feel embarrassed and finally leave after lifting my hand in goodbye, the barb on my heart like that day I had to fly back to the States, five years ago, as the world was going on lockdown. Like every single time I have to say goodbye to her, leaving a piece of my soul behind.

Chapter Eight

Corrie