And Then That Happened by Liam Livings - Out Now

The Book

Dominic’s suburban, carefully planned life with his boyfriend Luke is perfect: his job as a nurse; his best friend Matt; his relationship with his parents. He clung to Luke for safety as they watched their friends die during the early nineties.

Fate throws Gabe into Dominic’s life. And then that happened. They click over a shared love of Goldie Hawn. Gabe shows Dominic there’s more to life than planned and safe. Despite this Gabe clings to his boyfriend, A even though he’s not happy because, well it’s complicated.

And Then That Happened is about looking for happiness, even if you think everything’s perfect. And how if you plaster on a fake smile, sooner or later it’ll fall off.

Word Count:	88,443
Cover Artist:	Meredith Russell
Editor:	Erika Orrick and Val Hughes
Genre:	Contemporary, MM Romance

Read Liam's inspiration for the book here

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Reviews

Multitaskingmomma - 5/5 - "....One of my favorite poems is Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken, I guess everyone knows this by now for I always go to those words when I meet unexpected challenges or changes in life. I may be bold in saying this but Liam Livings, you did such a wonderful job in giving life to this favorite poem of mine in And Then That Happened.

What could be considered a diversion from the norm, the author now takes his readers to the romantic side with the story of Dominic and Gabe. The two lovers who were not. The two men who saw friends die from AIDS. The two men who took their friendship to levels their boyfriends could not understand. Heck, they did not understand it either. The point is, they met, they connected, they loved platonically and they moved on....

.... Is this a romance? Is this gay fiction? I say it is both but not. It is life as from the words of an author who sees and writes about them.

This made me tear up!...."

Excerpt

Chapter One

Now

It was all so clear and simple. I knew where I was in my life: I was exactly where I wanted to be. Everything in its place, and in its place, everything. Until it wasn’t. Until it threw everything up in the air just to see where it all landed. Yes, me, Mister Organised, Mister Stable. I knew what I thought, what made me happy, what love was—until I met him. And then I didn’t know anything; I didn’t know anything at all.


31 December 1999

I stepped out of the shower, walked to our bedroom and closed the door. Music and laughter filtered upstairs as I walked across the hallway. The sound of the party starting to get up and live. Our New Year’s Eve party.

Every newspaper ran panic stories shouting about the Millennium Bug. At work the nurses worried about our holiday records and shift rotas being lost when the clock hit midnight as the ancient IBM computer in Matron’s office freaked out and lost everything.

I’m a Matron, it’s my office. Well, I’m a Charge Nurse really, as I’m male. Charge Nurse for two medical wards in a district general hospital in west London. Okay so it’s not a big teaching hospital with a double barrelled name or one of those you hear about on the TV all the time—‘A patient was air lifted to St Anthony’s after suffering a gunshot wound…’ We’re more, ‘An elderly man who’d spent his whole life living on clarified butter was wheeled to the cardiac department slowly for a long-term care plan.’

We’d drawn straws for who would work over the New Year. I drew a long straw, so worked an early shift and finished at three pm. I stayed afterwards looking after the patients and caught up with paperwork in my office, periodically interrupted by colleagues poking their heads around the door, asking me about my plans for the night.

‘Sitting in a bath of my own tears’ didn’t have much of a ring to it, so instead I told them we were having a house party, then became embarrassed with my lack of knowledge about it when they asked.

Luke had organised the party: invited most of our friends, decorated the house, bought the food, chosen the music; he’d even picked a film to run in the background for the whole evening, said it reminded him of Heaven, the London night club, not that we’d been there in years.

Although, I had been recently. I had been and I’d loved it. But not with Luke.

The party was all to keep up appearances. All to continue the show of being normal, nothing to see here, move on.

‘Dominic, are you nearly ready? I need a hand with the cheesy pineapple sticks,’ Luke shouted upstairs.

How long could I get away with ignoring him until he eagerly ran upstairs to meet me, bounding around the room like an enthusiastic puppy, despite what we’d been through at Christmas? I closed my eyes and counted slowly in my head: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven…

‘Did you hear me?’ he repeated.

I wiped the salty tears from my face with the towel and forced a reply to avoid him seeing me like this. ‘Nearly done, be down in a bit.’

Silence. I’d bought myself another half an hour’s delay before facing the party. Our party really. Although he’d done all the prep, it was still my house, our house—for the time being. Why was I dreading facing the party so much? It wasn’t the normal New Year’s Eve dread, the indescribable pressure to have a good time which suddenly thrust itself upon everyone, young or old, gay or straight, male or female, vegetable or mineral. People who’d never dream of going to a night club found themselves queuing up outside in the frozen December air, grabbing onto their friends and boyfriend for dear life, desperately hoping to have a good time. People who’d spent the whole year avoiding hosting dinner parties, suddenly thought it a good idea to invite their whole mobile phone address book to one. The pressure to put on a shiny happy face and enjoy yourself became larger than anything else in the room. It was bigger than the party itself.

And this wasn’t just any old New Year’s Eve, it was The Millennium. The New Year’s Eve to end all New Year’s Eves: computers would crash, traffic lights would stop working, and entire countries would cease to function all because of the millennium bug. A friend of a friend who ‘worked in computers’—I didn’t know any more than that, despite having known him for more than ten years—had made an absolute killing by charging other companies huge amounts of money, each working out of grey offices, making nothing, but selling information, to ensure they were millennium bug-proof for the big clock switch over. ‘So much money I won’t have to work for most of the year two-thousand,’ he’d proclaimed a few nights ago over jovial drinks.

Luke had laughed and told him how envious he was and mentioned our party to him again, recounting the preparation he’d done, the special millennium hats, glasses, tinsel, little bits of sparkly glitter he was preparing to scatter in corners of the house I didn’t know had any business having them. I’d just smiled and internally rolled my eyes, dreading the party even then. If I do nothing for it, it’ll just not happen, it’ll pass without note and the year 2000 will come and we can both get on with our lives.

Only now, I’d met him, I didn’t want to just get on with my life. Now, it wasn’t okay to just plaster on a fake smile, repeat ‘teeth, tummy and tits’ to myself and walk out into the party. Now I’d had a glimpse of what was possible and how that contrasted with what was reality. Now it was so much harder to just teeth, tummy and tits my way through my life. Now it all felt so fake, because the life I would be pretending to get on with didn’t really exist any longer.

I imagined pasting on a false smile and telling all our friends how 1999 had been such an amazing year again. ‘You’re so lucky,’ they’d say, gesturing around the house. ‘Ten years, it’s like a proper married couple. You’re so lucky.’ I would nod, and Luke would hug me from behind and smile over my shoulder. We would both continue the charade for all our guests.

Our double bed, perfectly made, with an indentation from Princess, our dog, stared back and mocked me. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d done anything other than sleep in it. I thought about the house; every room was a scene of perfect domestic bliss, like a show home at the Ideal Homes Exhibition.

Why this room? Why this house? Why those clothes?

I dried myself and threw the towel on our double bed, caught myself, stood naked in front of the mirror. Not bad for twenty-eight; I mean, I wasn’t eighteen anymore, but no love handles, a bit of muscle in the right places. I’d fancy this, not bad!

He had fancied this.

And Luke too. At one point we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I turned around and glanced at my bum. ‘Perfect and peachy’ Luke used to say. I blushed briefly at a memory from the first few months together, then tried to remember when anything similar had happened recently.

Blank.

He’d laid clothes out for me on our bed, for me in the shape of a man. White long-sleeved T-shirt with dragon motifs down the arms, smart dark flared jeans. Even after Christmas Eve, he was still being so nice to me, so sickeningly nice. But now I knew that wasn’t enough. Not enough, if there was no clothes ripping, blood rushing grrrr about it.

I closed my eyes and pictured his face. The face that hadn’t quite launched a thousand ships but had, in a few short months, made me question everything I had, everything I thought was constant and perfect. I opened my eyes and pushed away his face into a dark corner of my mind. Looking around the room, all my previous choices taunted me, laughing, mocking, taking the piss.

‘Are you nearly ready? I need a hand with the nibbles,’ Luke’s voice drifted up the stairs.

‘I’m having a shave. Be down in a bit,’ I shouted. Was I going to have a shave? I’d not bothered for a while and now had quite an impressive bit of facial foliage. Not quite a proper beard saying, ‘I’m not shaving and this is a beard,’ more like, ‘I’ve not bothered shaving, so this is what’s happened.’ Less a committed beard, more of a laissez-faire facial hair.

I walked to the en-suite and ran the hot water, gathered up my shaving things. It’s another ten minutes alone before having to face the reality of the party, so I’ll shave. It’ll help with the pretence of everything being normal.

Every time I looked at my reflection in the mirror, another thought popped into my head. On the one hand, this is good… but on the other, this isn’t so good…

Reflection, shave. But at least tonight I’d see my friends. That would make the party worthwhile, wouldn’t it? We’d recount memories of times during the past year, laugh at shared jokes, promise to keep in touch better next year than this. Adding at the end of each conversation that we’d see each other next year, and look at the clock as it approached midnight, the joke never became tired with some and we’d all laugh together. That would be something to look forward to; I could do that, couldn’t I?

Rinse the razor, reflection, shave. But there was so much I couldn’t tell them. So much I wanted to ask, but hadn’t dare tell any of them. Have you ever had a secret, or a thought so unthinkable, that you daren’t even say it out loud, never mind to someone else? Luke and I had agreed it was best to keep it all quiet until after the party.

Rinse, reflection. There was nothing more I could say to Luke; we’d already had that conversation and done it to death. I couldn’t say it to any of our other friends, friends we’d grown up with as couples during our life together. Friends who only knew Dominic and Luke, the perfect couple, the couple who never argued, never fought, had been together through thick and thin, through others splitting up and worse, we’d been a constant.

Shave, rinse, reflection. There was no way I could spoil that impression for them. It would be like telling a four-year-old there was no Father Christmas or that the Tooth Fairy was all bollocks. I could just imagine our friends’ faces, surprised at the revelation. ‘Completely out of the blue,’ they’d say. ‘I had no idea,’ they’d add. It was much better to get the party out of the way and tell them all in January. No sense spoiling the party, not after all the work Luke had put into it. It was a good plan: Luke and I had made a good plan together.

Reflection, shave. Of course Luke had had no idea, cos I’m all teeth, tummy and tits about everything. I’ve had a life of putting up with it, not causing a stink, just getting on with it, for the sake of everyone, even if it’s my happiness which suffers. Is it dangerous to regret your whole life? Could it cause cancer? What would I tell my GP if I wanted to speak to her about it? Where do you go with something like that?

Reflection. My normal face stared back at me, my non-caveman face.

He entered the bedroom. ‘That’s better,’ Luke said. ‘I wondered if you were ever gonna get rid of that. It didn’t suit you.’

Thanks! I smiled weakly and made eye contact with him in the mirror. Take off the towel and throw me onto the bed. Now. Go on, throw me about a bit, like you used to. Bend me over and remind me what it feels like. Go on.

‘Did you like the clothes I chose?’ He walked to the bed.

I nodded. ‘Very nice, thanks.’

You okay?’

I’m stood here in just a towel, freshly shaved, and it would have only taken a few skilful manoeuvres before I was primed and ready for sex. Men are always only ever a few moves or thoughts away from a full shag: any man who’s ever sat on a bus with an erection will testify to that.

‘Tired.’ I shrugged. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. Show me it’s not all dead.

‘I’ll make you a coffee. I know you don’t want to do this, but we did agree we’ll tell them all in January, not now.’

I nodded. Yes, that was what we’d agreed Christmas Eve after exhausting all the other options and talking until we couldn’t speak any longer. After that night, my previous position of disinterest about the party had seemed like nirvana, a state of perfection.

‘See you downstairs.’ He walked out of the bathroom, my towel still round my waist.



Chapter Two



November 1999

Luke had been going on about the New Year’s Eve party for months, and I mean months. Literally since September all he spoke about was the bloody party. I think the combination of hosting a party and it being The Millennium, with all that entailed, had combined to become an irresistible opportunity for a party. And Luke had grabbed it with both hands.

‘Shall we get some year 2000 hats and glasses?’ Luke asked as I pushed a trolley around a party shop.

I nodded and he threw some in the trolley.

‘What about a trifle? Or a special cake? Which is more Millennium, do you think?’

‘What sort of special cake were you thinking?’ I said, trying to understand the concept myself. Could a cake be Millennium?

‘Some sort of celebration cake, something with sparklers on top, layers of different coloured sponge. Maybe some bright coloured icing.’

‘Sounds perfect.’

Every night he would approach me with some more extraordinary ideas, asking for my opinion. Each time I just nodded then, he continued with more plans. It all seemed so pointless next to the thoughts swirling around my head.

‘Have you invited your list of friends?’ he asked over dinner.

The concept of ‘my friends’ and ‘your friends’ becomes quite blurred after ten years with someone, hence he referred to the list.

‘When was I supposed to?’ I asked, confused, searching my mind for the conversation when he’d asked me to make this particular thing happen.

‘Oh, Dominic, I asked you two weeks ago. I need to send out the invites tonight. You remember them, don’t you?’

I nodded.

‘So where are they?’

‘Where?’

‘Yes, as in, what have you done with them, we need to put them in envelopes, write people’s addresses on, and post them.’

‘Why would I have them?’

Luke stood up and put his hands on his hips. I knew I was in trouble now. ‘You are shitting me, aren’t you? We agreed the wording and clip art, and I asked you to print them at work during your lunch.’

Lunch, now I remember that concept, but not intimately. ‘I said I’d do that?’

He nodded.

I reached in my bag and found a three and a half inch floppy disk, covered in biscuit crumbs and dust. ‘Is it on this?’

He snatched it from me and walked out. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with you.’

No, you don’t, and you really can’t see it, can you?

After that, Luke hadn’t given me any mission-critical things to do, he’d just asked my opinions on various things: colours, shades, numbers, locations, cakes, that sort of thing. And I’d nodded and made all the right noises, and he’d run off excited and made things happen. After all, it was his party, I was just along for the ride. But he didn’t seem to think that. ‘It’ll be great to see all our friends together. We’re the perfect hosts, aren’t we?’ he’d asked, not wanting an answer. Which was fortunate, as I didn’t give him one.

I hadn’t really been involved in any of it; Luke had simply dragged me through it with my eyes shut. I’d given my opinions, but not fully understanding or listening to each one. I never fully believed it would really happen. I spent my days at work at the hospital completely absorbed, making sure I didn’t inject someone with the wrong drugs and kill them. So when I got home, I just floated through until bedtime. It won’t really happen. It can’t happen. Christmas felt like it was ages away. A different century even.

I just went along with it, for an easier life. That was what I did. That was what I’d always done.

Like I had gone along with Mother staying the previous Christmas.

Big mistake.

Huge.

This time last year, I was sitting on the sofa, alternating between the TV and one of Luke’s work problems, something to do with sales targets, when the house phone rang. On speakerphone, her voice filled the room: ‘Darling, I thought I’d call and ask what your plans were for Christmas. I wondered if you had space for little old me to squeeze around your table. Just a few days, I promise I’ll help cook. I’m sure that boy Luke won’t mind…’

Luke smiled at me before tackling his mother-in-law. ‘Hello, Carol Anne, this is Luke. Do you want me to pass you on to Dominic?’

I frantically made waving movements with my hands and patted my head.

‘I’m sorry, he’s not feeling well, he’s got a headache, can he call you back later?’ Luke smiled at me.

‘Darling, it won’t take long, just a little yes is all I require.’

He shrugged, mouthing ‘sorry,’ and left the room.

‘Mum, I’m not well so can we make this quick?’

‘Mother. I’ve no idea why you insist on calling me Mum. It’s so common.’ She said the last word as if it pained her even to utter its syllables. ‘Repugnant. I’ve spoken to you before about this, if you can’t bear to use my name, then it must be Mother.’

Since my grandmother had died in 1995, leaving Mother a sizeable inheritance, content that by then Mother had severed all ties from the ex-husband she’d married disastrously beneath herself, Mother had suddenly—overnight actually, the day after the funeral—climbed from proudly working class to upper middle class. Overnight, corned beef hash was no longer an acceptable meal in her house. Gone was her little Ford Fiesta, replaced by the first of a series of silver Mercedes cabriolets. Light kisses on both cheeks replaced warm lingering hugs. She threw out all her C&A and M&S clothes, replacing them with bright shoulder-padded suits and dresses from Hobbs, as well as acquired her own tailor ‘for special occasions, darling.’ Even the mere mention of the fact she’d at one point been joined to Dad made her shudder with disbelief.

And then that happened.


I was first introduced to this concept by a friend at work: we were at the nurses’ desk and she was telling us about a holiday she’d had with her boyfriend. ‘We were walking along the beach, holding hands, and he stops and says he wants to split up with me, he’s moving out next week. I asked him where this had come from, and he just shrugged. So he packed his stuff and moved out last Wednesday.’ My colleague had paused as we all took in what she’d just said. Before anyone could jump in with the usual ‘Oh, poor you,’ back rubbing and tilted head action, she added, ‘So yeah, and then that happened! Who’s doing tea?’ before returning to the kitchen for a round of tea and coffee.

Some people think there’s some cosmic plan for our lives, someone orchestrating what happens, like an ethereal puppet master. I don’t. I think it’s all random. I think you can plan until you’re exhausted, and something will still come from the side and knock you over. Because life’s random like that. You know when something happens that comes out of nowhere or is so big and shocking there’s nothing more to say, no ‘oh it’ll be fine,’ back rubbing. It is what it is. And that’s all there is to it. Because sometimes life’s like that. Well, that’s And Then That Happened.

Now, Mother knew I couldn’t bear to call her Carol Anne, since I was neither a new age hippy nor someone living in a 1970’s sitcom. We had been through this, so I refused to repeat myself. ‘Anyway, what did you want?’ I had asked, rolling my eyes at myself.

‘Just a few days, I’ll be no trouble. I’ll bring food, presents for you both, cook, everything. You’ll hardly know I’m there at all.’

‘You didn’t want to know us last Christmas.’

‘Rosemary’s on holiday this year, so… And you know how I get in winter. The doctor said it’s important I get out and see people, socialise, talk, laugh.’

There was a pause while I considered her offer.

‘Dominic, darling, are you still there?’

‘Of course, you can’t be on your own at Christmas. We can make a cake together.’ I imagined us in the kitchen, stirring the cake mixture, little bits of flour on our faces, Christmas songs playing in the background. Both wearing bright red festive jumpers, Luke walking in with reindeer antlers on his head. Where did that come from? We’re hardly the Brady Bunch. ‘And are you…?’

‘All under control. No need to worry darling.’

‘Don’t forget your light box and tablets.’

‘Of course darling, I simply can’t drag myself through winter without them.’

‘Come Christmas Eve, we’ll bake a cake.’

‘See you on the twenty-first, can you make sure there’s space for my car. I don’t want to leave it too far from the house, did I tell you how much Mercedes charged me for that scratch last time I stayed at yours?’

‘You can come on twenty fourth, we’re both working before that.’

‘You won’t notice I’m there at all. I will just disappear, a little apparition in the corner.’ The phone clicked and that was it.

So for an easier life I’d just gone along with Mother’s suggestions. I didn’t have the energy to argue with her, which at the best of times had always taken all my strength.

She had turned up on the twenty-first of December, empty handed, complained about having to walk from her car to the house. ‘It’s a very expensive car, I need it in sight from your drawing room. Can’t you ask someone to move their car? Some of them are more than four years old, and not a Mercedes in sight. I’m sure the owners wouldn’t mind.’

I’d requested the day off to prepare for her arrival, expecting to settle her in, then watch some TV, or read companionably in silence together. Instead, she took up the entire day. We drove around most of west London and the Home Counties looking for ingredients for the cake. ‘The recipe says ninety percent cocoa and so that’s what I’m getting. I’m not compromising. It’s not my fault your silly little Morrisons doesn’t sell it. And I want natural glacé cherries, not the common red ones, they’re full of E numbers. Terrible for your body.’

I didn’t mind that really. I was actually quite looking forward to some Mother and son bonding over cake batter, with or without natural glace cherries. Just as long as she didn’t ask to buy some wine.

We returned to our house, this time parking just outside as someone had vacated a spot. She put the roof up on her Mercedes coupe, carefully folding up her bright red scarf before it caught in the window. I shivered from the cold, which she’d insisted was character building and good for the circulation. ‘Why buy a convertible if you’re not going to use it,’ she exclaimed as I pointed to the vapour our breath made in the cold air.

‘Be a darling and carry the bags for me would you.’ A statement, not a question. ‘I’m not as young as I used to be… Just off to pick up a little something for the table.’

‘I thought you said it was all under control, after what your doctor said.’

‘I am, but it’s Christmas darling, and how much harm can a little sip of wine do? I don’t ask much, just a few little crutches to prop Mother up.’

I knew as soon as she started referring to herself in the third person, it would be downhill all the way.

I wasn’t wrong: she started with a little sip the next day. ‘Just to get me in the mood while we bake.’ And by lunchtime had finished the first bottle and two more for good measure. I made the cake alone while she slumped in the armchair, a party hat askew on her head, sleeping all afternoon. I put her to bed in the recovery position.

On Christmas Day she opened the gifts we’d given her—from a list sent to us in October, nothing costing less than forty five pounds or available from anywhere which could be described as ‘high street’. She smiled and piled them up next to her gin and tonic on the table, before returning her gaze to Luke as he handed out presents from under the tree.

We reached the final gift and had yet to find any labels proclaiming ‘Best wishes Carol Anne’ or ‘Merry Christmas, love Mother,’ so Luke asked the unaskable question.

‘Carol Anne, do you have any gifts for us?’

‘Me?’ she asked, incredulous, sipping her drink and swaying slightly.

I bit my tongue and noted the fairy lights twinkling in the tree.

‘I’m sure I’ve got something, I’ll check in my room. Can you help me up, I seem to feel a bit dizzy, is the central heating on too high?’

I helped her up and she wobbled to her room, returning with two immaculately wrapped gifts. She sat and asked for a top up, gesturing to the presents, then told us to help ourselves.

Mine was a silk handkerchief, bright pink and blue, with my initials D W: Dominic Wilson, and silver cufflinks, again monogrammed with my initials. Perfect for all the black tie dinners I went to every evening. I smiled weakly at Luke.

And Luke’s was a checked, padded lumberjack shirt. Luke held it up and said he’d hang it up with all the tailored jackets in the wardrobe. ‘For when I’m cutting up wood…’ He rolled his eyes at me, as Mother took another generous glug of wine.

We both smiled at each other, then Mother, before Luke looked at me and asked for another drink. ‘It’s going to be a long day.’ He smiled through gritted teeth. I went to the kitchen to make two strong gin and tonics, excluding Mother as she was already suitably soused.

We finally waved goodbye to her on the twenty-seventh at nine pm.


So this year, when Luke had suggested the New Year’s Eve party, I hadn’t the strength to refuse, my mind was too full of other thoughts. The first time he mentioned it, I was in the middle of a long soul searching bath with the lights off and eyes closed, quietly sobbing, away from Luke. He had shouted the suggestion and I’d just said, ‘okay’ from the bath. I didn’t have the words to talk to him about how I really felt; it was too large to grapple, and he always struggled a bit with my black moods. And this was an extended supersize version, with added complications—well, one complication, in the form of him—on the side. As the only place in the house where I could cry and be sure of not being disturbed, I was taking to the bath quite a lot at the time.

During these baths I flashed back through my memories with him of the previous six months and contrasted them to the ten years with Luke, then quietly sobbed. Why had I chosen Luke? Why this house? Why this dog? Why these friends? Why this life? Everything in my life felt like it didn’t quite fit, like a jumper bought in the sale, one size too big as it was an unbelievable bargain, which taunted you every time you wore it with baggy sleeves and shapeless body. My whole life felt shapeless and baggy, all aspects of it. Except him. Except he wasn’t in my life anymore, we had decided that would be best. So instead, I lay in the bath, tears streaming down my face as I remembered every little decision that had led me to this moment now, in this bathroom, with this man outside, asking me if we should have a New Year’s Eve party.

I climbed out of the bath and walked to our bedroom. Luke came in, I covered my body with the towel, self-consciously.

He frowned. ‘What’s wrong? Nothing I haven’t seen before.’

I smiled weakly and leant awkwardly against the wall.

‘You okay? Your eyes look red. You were in there for ages.’

‘This party?’ I replied, ignoring most of his questions.

‘I thought we could have a party here? Fun, eh?’ And he told me all his ideas for the party, where he’d got the idea from, and how much fun he knew it would be.

I caught the odd word, through my black fog. I shrugged. ‘Could be.’ I forced a smile.

‘You sure you’re okay? You look…’ He looked me up and down.

‘Winter, you know what it’s like.’


Somehow we’d continued to move further away from the Dominic and Luke we first were, further away from the Dominic and Luke we settled into as we both started our careers, to where we were now. If I was honest with myself, I didn’t really know how we’d got here. It hadn’t been one big thing, no big arguments, no door slamming, just a gentle slide into this place we found ourselves in now. I say a place, but it felt more like a non-place: not lovey dovey ‘Do you still love me,’ at the end of every phone call; not ‘I hate your guts, you can fuck off,’ doors slamming; and not even night in with a DVD and takeaway, cuddling on the sofa, love.

I felt alone, marooned while being in a relationship. Alone yet attached. Not connected to Luke, but not separated from him.

We were just there, with each other, like air is just there, all around you.

And up until I had met him, I hadn’t really noticed that, I just thought, this is how it is when you’ve been with someone so long. But now I wasn’t quite so sure.

* * * * *