Have You Ever Met A Girl Called September?

April 4.0

April 4.0

 My manager's pissed off because I handed in the first draft of my new book yesterday complete with a happy ending. It's too cliché apparently. 'Life doesn't have a happy ending', he pointed out but I still refused to change it. Karl thought I should end it with a car crash but I told him that was an unlikely scenario given that the main character is scared of moving transport. Then he suggested she accidentally fall off a cliff and I threw that one straight out the window - pardon the pun.

That's the only thing Karl has said to me in over a week and I am getting a little concerned. He saw my face when I passed him his phone, and he knows that I know that Alex is a man. I'm struggling to get my head around it; not the fact that he's gay which is absoluetely fine, but more that I never noticed. It did occur to me once why he never wanted to settle with anyone and now it makes more sense: he's thinks he won't be accepted if he admits he doesn't fancy girls. 

Everytime I try and start up a conversation he makes an excuse and leaves the room. I'm beginning to think it might be the time to bring in Kat; she'll be able to get him to talk. They get on really well.

It's Saturday morning and he should be watching his favourite talk show in the sitting room but he's  still in bed. He's just trying to ignore me.

I pour my coffee into a mug, and then, on a whim, pour another mug for Karl. I put them both on a tray and stand up, edging the door open with my knee. Karl's bedroom is the first on the right when you come out of the kitchen - I tread quietly as I shut the kitchen door behind me; I don't want to let him hear me coming. He might lock me out otherwise.

I listen outside the door and I can hear the news playing. I nudge the door open slowly and see him sitting up in bed, back against a mound of pillows, face sullen and reserved.

"Hey," I say quietly, putting the tray down on his bedside table. "Can we talk?"

He shrugs. I take it as a good sign and pull over the chair from his desk. I'm beginning to realise that I haven't actually thought this through, and now that I've got him cornered I don't actually know what to say.

"How've you been?"

He gives a shrug.

"Have you seen Alex?"

"No." His reply is curt and the tone takes me by surprise; it's not one of remorse but a harsh one, a bitter one. 

 "Oh," I pass him the mug. He accepts, his finger shakily closing around the handle. "Do you want to?"

"No."

He's being hostile; he gets like that from time to time. When his mother was ill, for instance, he practically didn't utter a word to me for months.  "Can we talk?" I ask, looking straight at him. He looks away.

"About what?"

"You know what."

Karl shuts his name and leans back into the pillows. "Fine."

We're getting somewhere. "Alex is a guy."

"Yes," he mutters. "Alex is a guy."

"And you're dating Alex."

"Was."

"Sorry?"

"I was dating Alex. I'm not anymore."

"Okay," I say slowly. "You're not dating Alex anymore. Why didn't you tell me?"

"That I was dating someone? Sander, you're not my wife. I don't have to tell you everything." Karl's voice isn't jokey, it's laced with contempt.