Two Loves

Chapter 36

Things get worse, and more ridiculous, and then worse. And worse. I am not done yet :)

CYMBELINE

I never thought that, one day would be the one who has a more satisfying love life than I have – but look at where we are now.

He has a waterglass with a bundle of mayflowers on his desk – on the ribbon that holds the stems together hangs a small card with a smudged C and a heart on it –, he wears cologne and grins like a gingerbread man. Damn it, he even hums while studying the stock calculations. Not that I am jealous.

In fact, it distracts me quite pleasantly from the fact that my love life has been eradicated quite harshly.
Now all I have is a bunch of unopened letters, suitcases that still lie around in the hallway, and a brother who either rampages through his studio or draws scenes of hangings, thunderstorms or sinking ships.
The mood at home is not essentially great, to put it like this.

The mood here is also not great. I think my colleagues are still suspicious how I got two free weeks so quickly. Phips, the illustrator, didn't even greet me tomorrow, and I saw Miss Arcott and Keller, one of the reporters, gossip while throwing glances at me. The only one who is very nice to me is good old Bingley.

All I can do is lie when this gingerbread-Bingley joyfully asks me how my brother is doing. I adjust the scarf around my neck – more out of nervousness – and shrug.

"Better. His health has improved a lot, I think I can leave him home alone again. It's not great, but he'll be - fine."

This is an outrageous lie. Sure, Isaac is not dying of pneumonia anymore, but I earnestly fear that he might throw himself into the Thames if we do not find a solution sooner or later. When I left him this morning, he was still hunched together on the couch in front of the fireplace, a copy of "Dorian Gray" clutched to his chest. He doesn't eat most of the time, and when he does, he devours a whole meal all alone at ungodly hours of the night and then goes back to his room. The only metaphor I can come up with for his current mood is that of a salt shaker that someone knocked off the table, and now the salt is everywhere, and the glass is broken, and cleaning it up will be such a mess. I wish I could be at home and hug him right now.

"Haywood? Hey?" Bingley's wide gingerbread man smile has vanished. "You don't look good. Are you sure that you don't want to stay home?"

I shake my head, even though he is right, as my abdomen reminds me with a painful stinging. Because Mother Nature thought that my day isn't miserable enough already, she also decided to give me my monthly agony this week. When Bingley doesn't look convinced, I shake my head again, pull myself together and give him my best smile.

"I'm fine, really" I say, and add: "Come on, if I need something now, then it is an uplifting story. So, who is responsible for this... feminine touch in our workplace?" I ask, gesturing vaguely at the flowers. Bingley blushes deeply and smiles like a sheepish schoolboy. I knew it.

"I went dancing with Cecily again yesterday" he mutters.

Resting my chin on my hands, I lean forward. "And?"

"Oh, come on, you old matchmaker, as if that wasn't all fault. Do you even know an Earnest?"

"Of course not."

"I hate you. Hopefully you'll never have children, otherwise you'll set them up so well that your granddaughter will become the next queen of England."

"Pfah, Bingley, my granddaughter will become the next Prime Minister!"

"Can I tell you my story now?" He rolls his eyes.