-49. I Didn’t Like Hugh’s Tone
You’re not well, he whispered.
Must’ve been about a week after Lisbon closed, Hugh wanted to meet in The King.
As soon as I arrived, he pointed a finger at my chest.
“Back off The stranger.”
No lead-in. Straight for the kill.
I smirked. Pleaded innocence. “This again.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re always serious.”
“HR are involved. I’m here to make peace.”
“Was this fucking Simon?”
He didn’t blink.
“I knew it. He needs to fuck off.”
“It’s not Simon, Jolon!”
“This is about Lisbon, then? You want your name on it now?”
“No.”
“Because if you wanted the fancy steak, Hugh, you should’ve closed the deal yourself!”
I laughed. Hoped he’d join in. See how over the top this all is. Pat me on the back. Congratulate me.
“I’m not saying this as your boss. I’m saying it as a mate.”
The fake concern. The tone. It got to me.
“You’re not my fucking mate.”
His face went still. But not angry.
“I’m trying to stop you from doing the most dreadful thing.”
—
Is that what he said? It hadn’t happened yet.
How did he know?
—
“Jesus, Hugh. You need to simmer down. Find a girl, too.”
He flinched, but didn’t move. Stared into his pint like he was deciding something.
“I saw you at the printer last week,” he said.
That stopped me. “You don’t know what you saw.”
“I know what it looked like.”
“And what, now you’re her knight in a shining pink cardigan?”
He winced. “I’m trying to help. Simon wanted to call the police.”
I stepped closer. “I fucking knew it was him! You don’t know what you saw. You don’t know anything. Stop being such a drama queen.”
Shouldn’t have said that.
He stood up fast, chair scraping on the floor. The King went quiet.
“You’re not well,” he whispered. Composed again.
That fucking tone. I was furious. Shoved him. He hit the edge of a table. Glasses tumbled.
He came back at me hard. Caught my jaw. Firm. Proper. Can still feel it, months later.
By the time I got to my feet, he was gone.
Still raging, I swung at someone else. Missed. They grabbed at me, tried to push me off balance. I dragged us both to the ground.
We hit the floor in a pile of elbows and pint glasses. Could taste metal. Blood. Never did work out who she was.
Was about to land a perfect left hook when a pair of hands pulled us apart.
“Jesus Christ, Jolon! What are you doing?”
It was Hugh. Back with his husband in tow. Had forgotten how big he was.
They both looked upset.
“You’re fucked now. All of this will come out.” I shouted, pointing at them both.
Meant it, too. We’ll get to that.
Hugh didn’t respond. Just turned. Left. Then his husband slapped me.
No one helped me up. I sat on the floor a little longer than I needed to.