Old-Fashioned, or Another Story With Ghosts

Chapter 12. Belongings are collected, and the breakfast is shared

***

James was glad to see Professor Huntington. Professor Huntington was extremely happy to see James and his friend. He invited them for a cup of tea after they were returning from the archive. Gregory felt uneasy again when the good old chatty Huntington asked where the young lady was studying. He was old. And a bit weak on sight already. James refused from the tea politely and told Gregory a couple of storied featuring Professor to lighten the mood. The one when Professor had forgotten to wear his shoes and spent half of the day in the College without anyone daring to tell him so, was particularly successful.

Their visit was less successful, though. Professor merely promised them to make enquiries and asked about tea one more time. 

On their way out, James assured Greg that Professor's memory was absolutely fine. And for the online enquiries, he always got a couple of spare PhD students on hand.

Greg agreed it was a handy thing to have. 

The driver opened the door for each of them.

***

For the first time in two years - Greg's miserable time in London - he was glad having no particular job to regret about. Running upstairs through the stinky staircase to avoid the dangers of the elevator, Greg admitted to himself he would agree to James' offer anyway. 

Margaret would be just happy to get rid of him, surely. She just send a bunch of laughing smileys  when he texted her he's invited to stay in the mansion as a guest.

He recalled he had dropped his part of rent payment  in  biscuit tin on the fridge the day before getting to James' house. So he's clear with the flatmates. And in a month, well, we'll see. He still could continue copyrighting for lazy high schoolers and return to drawing tutorials in Instagram. Plenty of options, actually. 

Right after they set the Charlotte ghost free together. 

Greg pushed away the spike of desire to make investigation longer while banging onto the dark-brown door. Eugene would possibly be home already if didn't swap with someone in that pub he worked for. The Greek couple from the next apartment was shouting at each other again, with their dumb Yorkshire terrier joining the discussion. 

The lock clicked, and with the first inhale Greg understood that Eugene was smoking weed. The broad senseless smile and fogged glassy gaze completed the picture. "Hey-y, Greg... you are back... I thought you're lost somewhere..." 

Greg pushed through the redheaded bony guy in the crumpled T-shirt and the rainbow scarf. "Hey. I'm getting my things, not much time."

"Ah-h, good news..! You're finally moving to Donny's..!" The flatmate trudging behind Greg to the small room with no window but with the locker. "No... wait, it's bad news... who's going to pay the third..."

"I'm not moving anywhere, you freakin' junkie, I'm... it's just for a few days. 've got a contract." The lie just slipped from his tongue.

He wrinkled at the tons of empty bear cans on every surface in the living room where their third comrade resided. Cans were accompanied, of course, by the parcels full of pizza boxes and takeaway cartons. 

He never noticed the place was so messy. 

"It's Carl... don't look. I'll get trash out, don't worry..." Eugene puffed the smoke thoughtfully while Greg  was rushing through his clothes, at first nervous, then hysterically, trying to choose something... appropriate.

Fine. Funny enough. His choice of appropriate was rather  limited, as James would probably put it.

Greg was throwing t-shirts and sweatshirts without fucks and LGBT mottos in his duffle bad he got from home. Laptop, stuff from bathroom. Drawing stuff. Pills from the kitchen, unsurprisingly full of dirty dishes. Actually, Eugene was not so wrong. It felt like he was moving, not visiting.