‘Turns out I’m not Drew’s type,’ I said diplomatically. ‘By a long stretch.’
‘Ah, Gwen, I’m sorry. So what, you go to bed and go through all this again tomorrow?’
‘Looks like it,’ I replied, turning to see Dev and his family chatting to Dorothy outside in the garden. Perhaps tomorrow we could go for another walk or he could help me with the cooking. The thought of spending more time with him was the only thing I had to look forward to.
‘I know what will make you feel better,’ Manny said. ‘Let’s go home and get rat-arsed and scream atLove Actually.’
‘It’s not only how badly Alan Rickman treats Emma Thompson, it’s the whole gross Keira Knightley Andrew Lincoln bit. You can’t tell your best friend’s wife you love her just because it’s Christmas, not ever,’ I explained as we stood to leave. ‘And Christmas is most certainly not the time to tell the truth. It is the complete opposite. Lie through your back teeth until you’re safely into January, people.’
‘Save your rage for the film,’ Manny said soothingly. ‘You know we’re going to be doing this when we’re eighty, don’t you?’
I laughed. ‘Unlikely. You’ll be off on a yacht somewhere with your twenty-one-year-old lover while I scream at Andrew Lincoln all alone in my rocking chair.’
‘We both know I’m destined to be alone forever,’ he replied, fastening the belt of my coat for me and cinching it a bit too tightly for someone who had a passing interestin breathing. ‘I imagine your kids will like having fun Uncle Manny around so much when they’re little but by the time they reach their teens, I assure you they will find me both creepy and tragic.’
A freezing cold gust blasted my privates as someone opened the conservatory door and I very much wanted to be at home in my pyjamas.
‘You couldn’t be tragic even if you were head-to-toe in neon pink spandex and doing the “Tragedy” dance at a Steps tribute show. You’re amazing,’ I said. ‘You’re clever and funny and unreasonably handsome. Plus you never run out of milk, what a bloody catch.’
‘Doesn’t change the facts. If you’d thrown in how much I love Britney Spears, we’d have to dance out to the sounds of the Village People while people threw rainbow confetti at us. I’m a good old-fashioned tragic gay, Gwen, no two ways about it.’
‘If loving Britney makes you tragic then we’ve all got a problem.’
‘Didn’t like to say, but …’ He set his face with the same determination as when I tried to convince him to do Dry January. ‘Don’t make a big deal out of it, this is who I am and I’m fine with it. Sad Manny. His dad died, his mum left, he can’t get a man to go out with him for more than a month to save his life. I’m more tragic than aReal Housewivesreunion.’
I couldn’t believe it. He’d always insisted he was single by choice, that he loved living alone and meeting new people, and that it wasn’t strange for a gay man in London to have not been in a serious relationship at his age. I wasn’t a gay man in London, who was I to question him? It never, ever occurred to me that he was lying to me.The last time I called him out on his never-ending stream of Instagram thirst traps, he told me they were for no one’s benefit but his own, nothing more than a record of his youth and beauty so he could look back on them when he was an old crone, held together by Botox, filler and the firm grip of a much younger lover. Who would argue with a defence like that? Not this legal professional. But looking at him now, hands tucked away in the pouch of his sweatshirt like a sad kangaroo of a man, my heart ached. No one should ever have to feel that way about themselves, let alone someone as wonderful as Manny.
‘No one person is as bad as that. You couldn’t hold a candle to the tragedy of Erika Jayne and you know it,’ I replied. There was no way I was going to let him spend another second of his life believing these things about himself. Cerys needed someone to listen but Manny needed someone to speak up. ‘The things that happened to you are really shit, incredibly, monstrously shit, but that doesn’t mean you are intrinsically tragic as a human being. It means life can be a real kick to the knackers, that’s all. You didn’t cause any of those things, none of it was or is your fault.’
‘I appreciate the vote of confidence, I really do, but with every year that passes another little bit of hope gets sucked away.’ He wound his hands around each other inside his pouch and it looked as though an alien was about to burst forth out of his belly at any moment. ‘I know it’s not my fault my dad died, but it’s harder to convince myself I had nothing to do with the fact my own mother abandoned me with you lot right after the funeral. She didn’t even text me today, did you know that?’ I shook my head gently. I didn’t know.Manny never talked about his mum so I never asked. ‘I haven’t been in a relationship because who would want me? What could I possibly be worth to anyone when my own mother can’t be arsed to pick up the phone to her only son?’
His eyes brimmed with tears and I immediately hurled my body at his, trying to smother his sadness with my love.
‘I can’t explain why your mother does the things she does, no one can,’ I told him as he wiped his eyes on my arm. ‘But I do know you didn’t do anything wrong back then and you’re not doing anything wrong now. She’s the one at fault and she’s the one who is missing out on one of the greatest human beings who ever graced this planet with their existence.’
‘I wish I believed you,’ he snuffled into my shoulder. ‘Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t be exchanging dick pics with Scottish butchers on Christmas bloody Day.’
‘Well, let’s not ruin the day completely. It’s like Cerys told me, we can’t control other people, you have to start believing it yourself,’ I replied before pulling sharply back from the hug. ‘Wait, what did you just say?’
He looked up at me with red-rimmed, watery eyes.
‘That I wished I believed you?’
‘No, the other part,’ I said, climbing out of his lap. ‘This bloke, he’s a Scottish butcher?’
‘Well, that’s what he says,’ Manny replied, tapping his fingers underneath his eyes and trying to destroy any evidence of tears before my mother returned. ‘He’s probably slicing Billy Bear ham on the deli counter at Morrison’s. You know it’s not even ham? Probably never even seen a pig.’
‘This butcher, is he local?’ I asked, vibrating with excitement. A dick pic wasn’t quite the same as a glass slipper but maybe Drew wassomeone’sPrince Charming after all.
Manny shrugged. ‘Somewhere in a twenty-mile radius I suppose, I didn’t change my location settings.’
‘Right, you’re coming with me.’ I yanked on his arm, pulling him across the conservatory.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked as I led him through Dorothy’s living room, kitchen, sitting room and right out the front door. ‘We should be cheering for sexual harassment in Ten Downing Street by now. That’s another problem with that film now, it really isn’t on for the prime minister to shag the tea lady, even if she is Martine McCutcheon.’
‘We’re going on a mission,’ I replied. ‘Hugh Grant can wait.’
He stopped halfway up the garden path and refused to move. I yanked on his arm but it was like trying to drag a shed. ‘Gwen, we should be inside looking for the love of your life. Don’t waste time on me.’