Little Elephant

"Mate," he protests, but it doesn't change the fact that 'All Eyes on You' floods the apartment. This place must have speakers everywhere.

"I'm just doing my job, people, and what we need right now is some romance, ok? I really want these pics to blow them away, so put your best feet forward and act it up a little. You've known each other long enough to get over a little embarrassment, right? I'm not asking for porn, or nudity, or even kissing, so you're safe enough."

I turn back to Ben where he looks as taken aback as I'm feeling.

"Ok, mate, how do you want us?" he asks, his eyes not leaving mine.

Is that a glint of challenge in them? And the tiniest curl of a smile to his lips?

"How about you take your hair down, Nell?" Joshi's request sounding more distant all of a sudden.

"Ok," but as I start to reach around, Ben knocks my arm away.

"Nah, let me," he breathes, and before I can react, he's reaching up, the leather of his jacket making soft creaky sounds as he pulls the clip out from my hair, his eyes watching it fall with an intensity I usually only see in him when he's editing his work.

He drops the clip on the couch, a carelessness I find simultaneously infuriating and fascinating. If I could be less uptight, I'd welcome it. If he could be more careful, I'd be dangerously, probably forever, lost to him.

"Come on then," he murmurs in a bedroom-like voice, eyes sparkling, "let's see if we can love it up a bit, earn the boy some more work."

I breathe out. Fake or not, I can't deny the thrill of flirting with the boundaries of our friendship. We might be faking the lovebird element, but the feel of his body under mine is very, very real. I clear my throat.

"Ok, but this'll be like our fighting club, yes?"

Laughter bursts from him in a delicious shout that sends blood spiralling round my body as if in a race.

"'Fight Club.' You mean 'Fight Club', as in 'we'll never speak of it'?"

I shrug. "Yes, that is what I said," in as prim a voice as I can find.

"Fine. Suits me. Now, move in a bit closer. Darlin'."

I shuffle awkwardly, inching along his thighs, twitching at the touch of his hands at my waist.

"Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump."

"It's ok, Ben."

His face does something odd I can't read, and then the music rolls into 'No Diggity' which, damnation, is my secret pleasure; a song I use to get myself off when my brain won't shut down long enough otherwise. Ben's hands feel warm where they hold me, reassuringly steady. I allow myself to enjoy the feeling, the rapid sounds of the camera shutter filtering through the beat of the music.

"Uh, so, if you could just move a tiny bit closer that'd be fantastic."

Joshi's voice snaps me back to reality. I open my eyes in time to catch a truly wicked look crossing Ben's face. He moves with a familiar, beguiling confidence, simultaneously sliding lower on the couch and widening his legs beneath me, tipping me until I slip forward, throwing my arms out to brace myself. My hands land square on his chest, on the warm, soft cotton of his grey t-shirt. But not before we've already connected elsewhere.

I hold my breath, heat and blood and nerve endings simmering in shock. It's as though everything is weirdly suspended between reality and fantasy. How did he know to do this? Was there something in my face that gave me away? Has he always known? Or is he just doing it for fun? As a joke? A test?

I exhale, letting my muscles relax and lengthen, and for just a stolen second or two, let myself feel him under me. To feel how hot and hard he is. For just a moment. One tiny, self-indulgent, moment.

Just as I'm steeling myself to move, to break the bewitching connection, Ben shifts under me. It's just the slightest lift of his hips, a wider opening of his thighs, and even though I'm positive my face must be blazing, I risk a glance at his face, ready with an apology (because this has to be a mistake, doesn't it?) but the look he fixes me with is as effective as if he'd put a finger to his lips to ask for silence.

I lick my lips before shutting my mouth, my lungs and throat filled with my swollen heart.

As much as I try, I cannot tear my eyes from his. Despite the bright lights on us, they're darkened. And steady. Breathtakingly, unexpectedly, shockingly steady. And oddly fierce too. I remember to breathe, and to blink, but he's still there, his gaze fixed and constant.

Wow.

I force myself to stay still, afraid to break the spell but equally scared to prolong it.

"Nice. That's really nice. How about if you could take your jacket off, Nella?" Joshi's voice carries on as if he hasn't noticed the universe has tipped beyond salvation.

I fumble to pull the jacket off, but Ben beats me to it, reaching out and pushing at the shoulders to slide it down my arms. It forces me to press my arms backwards and I'm certain my face is blazing anew with the knowledge I'm lifting my chest, with the feel of his hands tugging at my sleeves, with his unbroken gaze. His mouth ticks up at one corner, whether at my red face or his clumsy attempt to get my jacket off, I'm unsure, but I dare myself not to look away. He finally succeeds, the jacket collapsing to the floor with a soft sound, just the slightest twitch of an eyebrow before he places a hand on my ribcage.

For sure, he must feel the effect of his touch on me, a bodily contraction as sweet and light as a dragonfly taking flight, but his reaction is just another short lift of the eyebrow. I'm hot everywhere, most especially at the places where we're joined. Should I be self-conscious? Is he feeling it too, or is it just a tease? The thought makes me shudder, my heart dropping into dead space. He reacts, his fingers digging deeper into my side. As if to keep me here.

Memories of an artist Ben told me about some years ago swim between us; a woman in a long white dress whose artwork had been to look into the eyes of another for as long as they could take it, in silence, no touching allowed. People had lined up around the block to take part and, once seated opposite her, had clenched and unclenched their hands, smiled, frowned, bitten their lips and nails, covered their mouth, allowed tears to stream down their cheeks. 'It's the most intimate thing you can do, to look at someone for that long, with no talking, just looking,' Ben had said as he'd showed me clips of it online.

I dive, tumble and drown in the grey of his eyes now, over and over, the thud of my heart and rasp of my breath making the most visceral accompaniment to this unexpected communion, straining to see what he's feeling. My focus flicks between his eyes; right, left, then right again. His left eye is the most fascinating because it's the one marred by a coloboma, a hole in the iris that, in Ben's case, looks like a dark slash from his pupil to the bottom of his iris. I stare into it the most, willing the aperture to widen, to let me in. He draws breath, his body lifting under mine, as if he's about to say something. I bite my lip.

The ringtone blast is loud, positively obscene in its cheerful innocence.

For the first time, Ben's eyes dart away from mine, even as his fingers tighten, and when they return, the spell is gone. I push away, rushing, only later feeling the way he'd had to hold my arms to steady me until I was on my feet, because the ringtone is mine. I stand with my back to everyone to answer it, still overheated and distractingly wet between my legs. Concerns over how much Ben might have felt it are so loud I can hardly recognise who's calling me, eventually catching on that it's Pappa.

"Dad, yes, I know, I'll be there by seven, I already said I would."

I listen to his voice, still heavily accented after all these years, confirming for the third time in as many days which restaurant to meet him at later.

"Yes, Pappa, see you there," I finish, desperately trying to control the shakes as I slide the phone into my bag.

When I turn round Ben's hunched over, elbows on his knees, looking down at the floor. He looks -- embarrassed -- I think. I swallow, full of fear, and make a snap decision, legs trembling wildly, before thinking too hard.

"Ok, uh, so -- have you got enough photographs do you think, Josh, only I should probably go now?"

Josh nods thoughtfully, eyes on the camera as he flicks through the shots he's taken. "Yeah, these are good. Great, actually. I can send them on to you if you need to leave pronto, and you can get back to me about which ones you don't want to even be considered, you know?"

"Yes, ok," I agree, thankful he's being so considerate and allowing me -- us, me and Ben -- to veto any images we don't like before he sends them to the charity. "Um, right then. I'll take off, then," I gabble, picking up my winter coat and feeling slightly sick.

"Listen, thanks, Nella. You know how close to my heart this charity is, so I'm really grateful to you for doing this. Beers and dinner on me sometime, ok?"

"You're welcome, Joshi. Of course." I try to sound gracious, but I'm desperate to escape, to recover my balance.

Another glance at Ben and he's hardly moved, merely raised his head to look at me. His expression seems reserved. Cool, even.

"Uh, ok then, well, I'll see you guys around," I stumble, and scrabble at the latch before launching myself into the hall outside, then down the metal staircase all the way to ground.

It's dark and colder now than earlier, the cobbles shiny with the rain and I shiver at the contrast, huddling into my coat for warmth and realising I've left my suit jacket in the apartment upstairs. I hesitate but can't bear facing Ben again, the odd way he'd looked as I was leaving stamping over all other impressions from the whole afternoon.

It's only later, as I sit on the bus watching but not seeing the busy streets of Shoreditch slide by that my phone dings loudly in my bag. I pull it out, warily. It's Joshi, telling me he's got my jacket. It's all I can do to suck in the tears because I wish -- desperately -- it'd been Ben who'd messaged me.

+++

"Ben, it's a few beers and dinner. And, not to mention, but it's my fucking birthday, mate. You can't just sack it off."

I chew at my thumbnail, knowing I'm being a broody fucker and letting Josh down. "I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea, that's all."

"Fuck me, Nelson, you're a dumb fucker. Things aren't going to change if you refuse to even see her, know what I mean?"

"Faultless logic, except you forget what a cowardly prick I am."

He snorts rudely. "You're being an arsehole not a coward."

I pull at the nail and draw bright, warm blood.

"Look," he says in a tone of voice he knows I'm not going to like, "I hate knowing the photo shoot has caused all of this trouble between you and Nella. If I'd known --"

"Cut it out, mate. I'm the one who was at fault, ok?"

"So meet up with her and apologise. Or what-the-fuck-ever it's gonna take to get you two talking again. You can't chuck all those years away over one misplaced hard-on."

I almost laugh at his indignation. Almost but -- not quite.

"Please come, mate. I promise I'll make sure you and Nella aren't sat too close to each other, ok?"

"Why's she even coming?" I growl, suspicion and just general fucked-offness fuelling my dark mood.

"Because she thinks you're still away on that film shoot in Ireland, doesn't she?"

I grimace at the note of triumph in Joshi's voice. "And you've felt it honourable not to disabuse her of that, have you?"

"Fuck you, you tosser. You're the one should be telling her where you are or aren't," he retorts, which is only fair. "Look, Ben, please talk to her. Or kiss her or fuck her or whatever else it's gonna take to sort this out with her. It's been the best part of three weeks. You can't throw it away like this."

I grip my phone, unclear who's breathing the most heavily out of the two of us, waves of angry heat battering my resistance.

"Look," he continues, jumping in before I've formulated anything other than hot, random words in response, "come or don't come. It's up to you, but don't be a bigger prick than you've already been about this, ok?"

And he hangs up. Just like that.

The anger drains from me and I flop back onto my bed, suddenly exhausted. The cheap blind is restless in the cold draught blowing through the window, tapping a maddeningly random beat that eventually drives me to get up and into the shower. I stand under the water, eyes shut, scrubbing at my hair, washing my body and all the while, arguing with myself like a fucking lunatic.

Well-worn flashbacks from that afternoon zip through my mind. The first time she'd leaned in, her back to my front, as we'd looked out of the window at the river; the light, loose hairs curled so delicately around the back of her ears; the juicy feel of her pressing down over my cock -- yes, god, that -- but even better, somehow, the way she'd looked into my eyes, so apparently fearlessly, as we'd sat there facing each other. Unfortunately, all of that good stuff is obliterated by the memory of how she'd rushed to get out of the flat as quickly as her feet could carry her, shaking hands and blotchy skin evidence of her utter desperation to get away from me and my bad behaviour.

Only when I'm rummaging around for my wallet do I admit to myself I'm going to go to Joshi's birthday curry. Because I can't shake that last, horrible sight of Nella out of my mind, nor my guilt for being the cause of it. And because, bugger it, Joshi's right. I can't pretend it didn't happen and neither can I avoid her for the rest of my pathetic life. And -- last but not least -- I need to grow the fuck up and somehow find a way to talk to her. The last three weeks have been purgatory. I've missed her like mad. I down a decent slug of whiskey before leaving the flat, welcoming the burn down my pipes as I take the steps, two at a time, down to the street.

After a brisk walk in the rain, the sudden warmth of the restaurant is a shock. I shake off the water and stamp my feet at the door, eyes down, suddenly more apprehensive than I want to be. And then a brick wall runs into the back of me and booms like a foghorn.

"Benny boy! It's been a while."

I step out of his way. "Everton. Yeah, long time no see."

He grins and smacks my shoulder in case I'd forgotten what a muscle machine he is. "Didn't know you'd be here. Rumour is, you was last seen yomping across Irish bogs chasing after the local wildlife."

"Horses, Ev, horses."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And they pay you to do that, do they?"

"Fuck off, smartarse," I sigh. "But yeah, now you mention it, they paid me. Advertising makes the world go round, you know?"

He smacks my shoulder again, his laugh as delicate as a chainsaw, drawing inquisitive eyes as we weave past tables towards the back of the room. "You wasn't working on your arty shit, then?"

"Nope. No-one's paying me to do that," I agree, catching sight of Joshi and, next to him, the light and grace of Nella.

Well, shit and fuck. She looks so good. Energy surges through me with no safe outlet.

At least Josh has stuck to his promise, since the seats surrounding her are all taken. I take a chair at the far end of the long table and catch the waiter's eye to order a beer, moving over to make space for Everton's ridiculously wide body when he takes the chair next to me, and try to settle in to what's going to be a long and uncomfortable evening.

+++

The evening would be fun if it wasn't for Ben. He looks jittery, as if this is the last place in the world he wants to be. Which it must be, logically. He hasn't spoken to me or replied to any of my messages since that day. Until tonight, I'd thought he was still in Ireland, and was -- pathetically -- prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt - that he might be out of wifi reach or whatever. But no. He's here, large as life, leaning back in his chair and shooting the shit with the big black guy next to him. Everton, I think. Which I thought was the name of a football team. And there, I'm still stymied by this country sometimes. Football teams as first names. Illusive idioms and accents. Irony as flat as Salar de Uyuni.

"Want another?" Joshi points at my glass.

I shake my head. "No thanks," and hope my misery isn't showing.

"I'm sorry he's behaving like this, Nell. I was hoping he'd have sorted his shit out by now."

Ok, so I'm looking just as miserable as I feel. Brilliant. I chew at the inside of my cheek.

"I feel bad about it," he continues.

"Oh. No, don't. You shouldn't. It was --," but what can I say? I haven't been able to put words to it for all these past weeks, and I can't find them now, either.

"Nah, I shouldn't have pushed you to do it. Even if the charity loves the pictures," he finishes on a tight grin.

I think about them. I'd spent a whole evening flicking through them, back and forth, back and forth. Hypnotically, almost. It'd astounded me how real they looked. Ben's smile, his laugh, the light caught in his eyes, in his face. From some of the angles Josh had used, it looked like we were much closer to each other, sometimes as if we might be kissing. It was utterly, headily seductive to look at us that way.

Joshi had sent everything, as he'd promised, so there were a lot of images that had caught us in odd moments and these were the ones I'd spent the most time examining. Especially the ones where Ben was looking at me while I was unaware. I'd stared at those, yearning to know what his expressions meant. One in particular, when we were still standing in front of the big warehouse window, Ben behind me. My body can still conjure up the feel of him there, even here in this busy Indian restaurant. I'm looking out of the window but Ben is looking at me, the camera catching his face at a rather oblique angle, yet there's something in his expression that snags my attention every time.

"I'm glad. Are they definitely using one of them for the calendar?"

"Yep. Happy days, Nella, if only you two could --"

I give him a stern look, one I borrow from my father. "Don't even," I warn him. And then something gives way, and I can't stop myself from asking, "Why do you think he won't even return my texts, Josh? I don't understand it, and it's so --"

"Fucking rude?"

"I was going to say it was unlike him. But, yes. Rude, covers it too."

Josh doesn't say anything immediately, and the hairs on my arms prickle.

"I don't think it's my place to say, Nella. Unfortunately. I think it's something he needs to say for himself."

I sit back, surprised. "You've talked about it? With Ben?"

His head inclines in a way I'm sure means he doesn't want to reply, so I let him off the hook, scrape the chair back and make my way to the Ladies. It's cooler there and by the time I re-enter the restaurant, I'm feeling slightly less ruffled.

"Hey, Nella, come sit here, I haven't been able to speak to you all night," Hedy calls.

I swallow, because who's sitting on the other side of her, but Ben? I swallow again, sit down and do my best to swap news with her even as Ben's presence over her shoulder overpowers everything for me. Just as I begin to think it's hopeless, that he's determined to ignore me, Hedy stands up, excusing herself before setting out for the bathrooms, and in that moment, he turns his head.

"Hey," he says, eyes level and cool.

"Hi Ben," the words like dry stones in my mouth.

He blinks. "I'm sorry I haven't been in touch."

I draw breath even though I've no idea what to say.

"I --," and he pauses, face flushed from the beer he's been drinking all night, "I just didn't know what to say," the words rushing out in a painful tumble.

I clench my stomach muscles because I know I don't want to hear it. Rejection is hard enough to take, let alone from one of your best friends, and all I want to do is pretend none of it ever happened. To get back to where we used to be.