Fic: Sulk
Title: The Bends
Chapter title: Sulk (Part 8/12)
Characters: Effy/JJ
Rating: M (for language)
Words: 3310
Summary: You just sit there and sulk, sit there and bawl. Cook's interlude.
Disclaimer: Not my characters
A/N: Chapter title and summary quote from Radiohead's 'Sulk'. Title (and all chapter titles) from their album 'The Bends'. Given the horrendously long time since I last updated this, previous chapters might be useful and can be found here: Black Star, Fake Plastic Trees, High and Dry, My Iron Lung, Planet Telex, Street Spirit, Bones
Cook had girls. Women. Ladies. Females. That’s what Cook had, that’s all he was good at.
JJ though? He was going places. He had the brains to do anything he wanted. But Cook? Nah. He had girls. And that was that.
Except that wasn’t that. Because Cook was good at girls, right up until the girl. And then, when it fucking mattered, it turned out he didn’t even have that anymore. So he was left with nothing, and JJ, JJ who already had the brains, had the mum, the family, had all of that shit.
JJ got the girl as well.
His hand hurts like a bitch, but Cook tells himself that it makes him feel better. It doesn’t, but that’s besides the point. It made JJ feel worse, so good. It was worth it in that case.
He doesn’t even know where to go. The last time he’d needed to get out, he at least had a plan. A fucking stupid one about him and Effy setting up all proper and that, living next to his dad, who’d be proud and happy for him and not the bastard that his mum had always called him. But this time he’s really got nothing.
So he sticks his thumb out.
It’ll be an adventure if nothing else (and more importantly, it won't be Bristol).
---
It’s two hours before he even gets a sniff of a pick up. It started raining about a half hour before that and Cook’s soaked to the skin, and the wind’s cutting through him like a knife, but he’s kept walking on this road to nowhere.
The truck runs through a puddle as it slows for him, and the spray goes all up his ankles. Cook has to bite his tongue to stop from swearing out at the driver, but at the end of the day, he figures he was already wet and at least this way he’d get a chance to dry off.
He swings the cab door open and leaps up. The driver - big fat bloke (they’re always big fat blokes, he thinks) - glances at his knuckles, all bruised and bloodied and shakes his head before pulling back out into traffic.
“Where you going?”
Cook rubs his hands together in a vain attempt to warm them back up. “Same way you are.”
“Alright then.”
---
Tam - as he discovered - was alright as it goes. He turned the heater up full blast and let him bum a couple of smokes. And Tam, it turned out, had a couple of good stories to tell. Cook stayed quiet, cause telling stories would mean thinking about… stuff he didn’t want to think about. So he just laughed along, and Tam knew enough not to ask any questions of him. Cook supposes no one who hitches a lift out of somewhere is particularly chatty about why.
He gets dropped off after a couple of hours, on a side street, around the corner from what Tam called a decent B&B. He buys a tab from Cook for more than the street value and then vanishes. Gone, just like that, and now Cook’s alone in the middle of God knows where - because he didn’t bother to ask the name of this town - with only a twenty in his pocket.
An adventure.
---
The thing with being alone is, that Cook’s pretty good at it. Very good, in fact, because he’s had plenty of practice. It’s just that while he’s alone, he normally does it surrounded by other people. So Cook does what Cook does best. He goes out on the piss.
He promised Tam he was gonna check into that B&B, use the twenty to pay for it, but he doesn’t think Tam believed him, and anyway, by the time Cook’s finished his third pint he’s come up with a much better plan.
He’ll blow the money, pull a bird, get laid and sleep at hers. Everyone’s a winner this way, cause he gets drunk and a warm bed, and the lucky girl gets some Cookie loving.
---
It works out alright, not bad for a kid who’s got nothing, he reckons. He makes it over a week at any rate, surviving on the routine of a different girl every night, bit of petty theft here and there and all that sort of stuff before one of them says something.
It’s ten days, maybe eleven, and he’s making use of the facilities and eyeing up the size of her shower - could easy fit two in that one he thinks - when he hears her shout.
She’s sitting up in bed, with the sheets bunched around her waist, so he gets a proper eyeful when he walks back in the room and he thinks it might be about time for that goodbye shag now.
“Cook?”
It’s Melissa, he thinks, maybe, but babe seemed to work well enough last night, so he sticks with it. He jumps up on the bed next to her. “Yes babe,” he says, wrapping a curl of her hair around his finger.
“Who’s Naomi?”
He freezes.
“Is she your girlfriend or something? Cause you didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend, right, and -”
He removes his hand. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Oh, ok. Good. She must be well mental though because -”
Cook holds his hand up to interrupt her. “How did you know who she was?”
“Well, I just switched your phone on, to put my number in, you know, and she’s sent you like a million messages, she must fancy you, which, well, duh, you’re well fit, but -”
“Don’t touch my fucking stuff,” he says as he snatches his phone back out her hand and grabs his shirt off the floor.
“I was just -”
“Don’t fucking touch it!” He roars. “It’s not yours!”
She recoils, physically sits as far back in the bed as she can manage, pulls her knees up to protect herself, and Cook has to catch himself, because he’s not very sure where that came from, but it surprised him, let alone her, and he needs out now.
He rams his feet into his shoes - doesn’t bother with the laces - and heads towards the door, throwing a “See you around,” over his shoulder without bothering to look at her again.
---
He walks for about an hour until he’s calmed himself down enough to look at his phone. It’s full of messages. Mainly from Naomi asking where he is and if he wouldn’t mind not dicking around anymore, a few from JJ saying sorry, one from Freddie asking him to come back, couple from Emily saying that they’re worried. Katie’s sent one calling him a tosser, and then another a minute later saying that everyone misses him.
He can run, and he can run, as much as he wants. But he can’t hide from them.
Cook slouches against a wall, knocks his head back against the concrete until he begins to feel it beginning to hurt, and the first tears break loose.
He can’t hide.
---
It’s another hour later, and he’s taken to walking around the town centre aimlessly - looking for anywhere with shelter - when his phone rings. It’s Naomi, and he debates answering for a few rings, but he figures that it’s nearly two weeks now, and he should probably let her know it’s safe to untwist her knickers cause he’s…he’s ok.
“’Right?”
“Cook?” She sounds surprised. “Jesus, Cook, what the fuck?”
“How’s it going Naomikins?”
“Oh, you know, just spent the last week wondering if maybe someone had finally had too much of you being the biggest shithead alive, and decided to brutally murder you.”
Cook laughs, even though he’s sure she’s trying to make a serious point and wasn’t meaning to be funny. “Yeah, missed you an’ all.”
She, like, fucking tuts at him - or something else equally disapproving - in response. “Where are you?”
“A town.”
“You don’t say,” she drawls. “Which one?”
“That’d be telling.”
There’s silence on the other end for a bit, and he wonders if she might have put the phone down when she talks again. “Cook…please. Just…”
“Look, I just need some space for a bit. I’ll come back, yeah?”
There’s silence again. “Yeah, whatever. Fine,” she says, and then hangs up.
He feels like a proper shit.
---
She calls him back, three hours after.
“Get to the station.”
“What?”
“I’m at the train station.”
“Fuck off Naomi. I’m not in the mood for this,” he replies.
“Swindon train station, platform two. Will you just come and meet me?”
“You’re…” He starts, and then gives up. “You’re too fucking clever for me, you know that?”
“Hurry up Cook, it’s fucking freezing.”
---
He spots her blonde hair all the way at the end of the platform straight off. As much as he’d said he wanted his own space, and as much as he thought he’d just stick her straight on the next train back to Bristol, he can’t deny that it’s fucking good to see her.
“How’d you find me?” He asks, coming up behind her.
She doesn’t miss a beat, just shrugs. “Next time, don’t answer your phone from here. Heard the tannoy.”
“Ah.” He shakes his head. Rookie mistake that one.
She looks him up and down. He imagines he might be quite a sight; he’s been away almost two weeks now and it wasn’t exactly a planned disappearance. He nicked a clean shirt from a shop a few of days ago, but it’s looking past its best already.
“So. You gonna show me around?”
“Only know where the pub is, really.”
She smiles. “Cool. Lets go.”
---
She buys him a drink, cause truth be told, he’s skint now, real rock bottom, and if Naomi’s smart enough to work out where he was, then she’s figured that out no problems.
She wants to talk to him about it - about all this - he can tell. He’s not going to make it easy for her though - he avoids eye contact and only passes the odd comment about the type of clientele that can be found in this bar - so instead they just sort of sit awkwardly, until eventually she pulls out a packet of fags.
They smoke outside in silence, and it isn’t until he makes a move to go back in that Naomi grabs his arm.
“Has this got something to do with JJ and Effy?”
Cook’s head snaps towards her before he can stop it. “You knew?”
She shrugs. “Emily said something about them being mates, but, seriously Cook, I didn’t think it’d fuck you up this badly.”
“Mates?” He laughs. “Fucking Christ.”
She frowns. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
He shakes his head. “You don’t have a clue, do you? None of yous do.”
“Well what the fuck is going on Cook?”
Cook leans back against the brick wall, crosses his arms over his chest and stares at a stone on the ground, as if he might be able to set it on fire if he only tried hard enough. “He’s screwing her.”
“He’s what?”
“Thinks it’s love. Thinks… fuck, I don’t even know what he thinks.”
“Jesus. He’s…JJ? With Effy?”
He glares at her, because hearing it out loud again doesn’t actually make it any better, thanks.
“Right...well. Think another round’s in order then, don’t you?”
---
They get pretty drunk together; just the two of them, and it’s great. It’s comfortable. And Naomi, well, he loves her, even if she won’t touch his cock, and just getting pissed is enough, right now. She’s rambling anyway, and he’s only half listening, not paying any attention to what she’s saying, but just liking the sound of her voice, and it feels like it’s been years since something’s felt so familiar.
“You know,” she says, setting her pint glass down on the table carefully. “I don’t even like JJ.”
He looks up. “Nah?”
“Because of, you know. Last year. The prick.”
Cook nods. “She is a bit of alright though, your misses. Can’t really blame a boy for trying.”
She hums noncommittally. “I hated him, for a while. For that.”
Cook leans back in his chair and drapes his legs over her lap while he’s waiting for the rest of it.
“He didn’t mean it though, not like that. He didn’t do it to spite me. That was… It was my fault, not his.”
Cook feels suddenly very tired, a wave of weariness washes over him and he uses his hand to prop his head up and lets his eyes close. “There’s not a bad bone in that kid’s body, not really.”
She reaches her hand down and squeezes his knee. “Exactly.”
He groans. Fuck her, really, for being so fucking clever.
“Come home with me?”
Cook thinks it over, going home - to Naomi’s home - and what else that means going back to. Finally, he nods. “Best offer I’ve had all week babycakes. Hope Emily won’t mind you propositioning me like this.”
She cuffs him on the shoulder with a grin, before shrugging his legs off so they can both get up.
---
One of the many things Cook’s not good at is saying sorry.
It’s why he puts it off for as long as possible, and when he can’t put it off any longer, he does the easy bit first, leaves the hard one for later.
He doesn’t bother ringing the doorbell, but goes straight to the shed. One deep breath later, he turns the handle.
That breath’s knocked straight back out of him when he sees what Freddie’s doing. Katie and Freddie break apart as soon as they see him, and then they just stare at him in shock.
He finds his voice first. “Aw, fucking nice this, innit?”
Lovely, for them. To have each other. And to not give a shit about anyone else. And Freddie, Freddie who said all that shit about how he loved Effy the most and they were just meant to be, well he’s moved on fucking quick. Or back. He moved back, maybe, but at least he’s moved, and Cook, he hasn’t gone nowhere, he’s still stuck, and fuck Freddie for leaving him behind.
Freddie looks at him with big, wide eyes. “You came back.”
Of course he came back. He was always going to come back, and surely Freddie knew that. He wouldn’t properly leave, because he couldn’t. “What the fuck, Freds?”
“No, it’s just, I didn’t…” he trails off, and looks helpless.
“Thought I had some things to fix.” Cook looks at Katie, then back at Freddie and sets his jaw. “But it looks like you’re all sorted.”
Freddie shakes his head. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He asks, taking a step towards them, challenging.
Freddie stands, squares right up to him, forehead to forehead, and Cook’s almost relieved, because this, this, he can do. “Don’t,” he growls.
He vaguely hears Katie telling them to stop it, but Cook ignores her and presses his head even harder against Freddie’s, and they’re so close now that he can feel Freddie’s hot breath on his skin, and Cook revels in it. “Or what? You gonna make me are you? What you gonna do then? Go on.”
He feels Freddie pushing back against him, and he knows the moment’s coming soon. He rips his head away from Freddie’s suddenly, letting Freddie fall forward onto him. He shoves him back off immediately, pushes him back down to the sofa, where Katie clings to his arm.
“Fuck you,” he says bitterly. “I thought… fuck you.”
---
He goes back to Naomi’s, because he’s not really in the mood to go and grovel at JJ’s feet only to have everything thrown back in his face, not after what’s just happened with Freddie.
He thought that it was him, Freddie and JJ. Back together again. He thought that they were mates, like before. But JJ’s shagging the girl he fucking loved, and Freddie’s not exactly holding back either, and he’s been had this whole time, they’ve all been fucking lying to him, and he knows that they think he’s a wanker, but he didn’t think they’d do this.
Three fucking musketeers. Bros before hoes. Load of bollocks when it came down to it.
Cook drinks the remainder of a bottle of wine that’s been left sitting out - he hates wine, but it’s alcohol, and that’s what he needs right now - while sitting at the kitchen table and wishing he had a smoke. Naomi and Emily have taken to hiding their packets places he can’t find after they caught on that he never bought any of his own. So he’s just sitting, sitting and thinking, both of which can be added to the list of things he’s not very good at, when the doorbell rings.
He can see who it is through the glass, and he debates opening it or not, but Freddie shouts that he can see him, and Cook’s many things, but he’s not a coward, so he opens it.
“I’m sorry,” is the first thing that Freddie says, and Cook scoffs in response.
Freddie sighs. “I am.”
Cook turns his back on him, walks into the living room and settles on the couch.
Freddie follows him, and sits on the same couch, but as far away as he can manage.
“Jay told you?”
“Yeah.” Cook glances up. “You knew?”
“I told him to tell you.”
Cook nods in understanding. “Does that make it better then?”
“I dunno.” Freddie spreads his hands out. “Maybe.”
Cook doesn’t know how it came to this. That it’s him on one side, and Freddie on the other, and JJ holding his own in another. He’s never felt more alone in his life. No matter what’s happened before, even with the worst of the Effy stuff, he at least had one of them around. His whole life he’s not had much, but he’s had one of them. But now they’re all fighting each other, and it doesn’t even make sense, why they’re doing this. Especially not him and Freddie, because it looks like neither of them have won there.
“It’s meant to be you and me Freds.” And it all comes flooding back, why he hates wine, cause apparently, it makes him want to talk.
“And what about JJ then?”
“It don’t work without him neither. It’s not working. It’s all bollocks.” He looks up at Freddie accusingly. “You’re meant to be my best fucking mate.”
“Yeah. And you’re meant to be mine.”
Cook narrows his eyes but they don’t get any further, because the door opens and shuts, and then Naomi’s shouting to see if he’s in.
“Yeah, in ‘ere” he mumbles.
She sticks her head round the door, and emits an “Oh,” when she sees that Freddie’s there as well.
The tension was always there, of course, but he notices it more now that Naomi’s there to witness it, and it’s horrible, sitting, squirming as she’s trying to work out what to say.
In the end she’s saved by the bell, cause her phone rings. She glances down at it. “It’s Emily,” she says with a small shrug, and Cook gets that she has to answer.
“Hey, what’s,” she starts, and turns to leave them, but then stops in her tracks. “Um yeah actually, he is, why?” She glances over at Cook before going back to her call. “So? It’ll probably do him some good- Oh. Shit, well has… Right…Yeah, yeah ok.” She hangs up, looking at both Freddie and Cook.
“Emily’s just found JJ down at the pub. He’s really drunk.”
Cook attempts a grin at Freddie. “Look at that. Our little boy, all grown up.”
Freddie attempts one back, but it comes out more of a grimace. “Yeah.”
Naomi interrupts their little bonding moment by clearing her throat. “He’s saying Effy’s gone missing.”
Cook feels his stomach drop.
---
9. The Bends
Chapter title: Sulk (Part 8/12)
Characters: Effy/JJ
Rating: M (for language)
Words: 3310
Summary: You just sit there and sulk, sit there and bawl. Cook's interlude.
Disclaimer: Not my characters
A/N: Chapter title and summary quote from Radiohead's 'Sulk'. Title (and all chapter titles) from their album 'The Bends'. Given the horrendously long time since I last updated this, previous chapters might be useful and can be found here: Black Star, Fake Plastic Trees, High and Dry, My Iron Lung, Planet Telex, Street Spirit, Bones
Cook had girls. Women. Ladies. Females. That’s what Cook had, that’s all he was good at.
JJ though? He was going places. He had the brains to do anything he wanted. But Cook? Nah. He had girls. And that was that.
Except that wasn’t that. Because Cook was good at girls, right up until the girl. And then, when it fucking mattered, it turned out he didn’t even have that anymore. So he was left with nothing, and JJ, JJ who already had the brains, had the mum, the family, had all of that shit.
JJ got the girl as well.
His hand hurts like a bitch, but Cook tells himself that it makes him feel better. It doesn’t, but that’s besides the point. It made JJ feel worse, so good. It was worth it in that case.
He doesn’t even know where to go. The last time he’d needed to get out, he at least had a plan. A fucking stupid one about him and Effy setting up all proper and that, living next to his dad, who’d be proud and happy for him and not the bastard that his mum had always called him. But this time he’s really got nothing.
So he sticks his thumb out.
It’ll be an adventure if nothing else (and more importantly, it won't be Bristol).
---
It’s two hours before he even gets a sniff of a pick up. It started raining about a half hour before that and Cook’s soaked to the skin, and the wind’s cutting through him like a knife, but he’s kept walking on this road to nowhere.
The truck runs through a puddle as it slows for him, and the spray goes all up his ankles. Cook has to bite his tongue to stop from swearing out at the driver, but at the end of the day, he figures he was already wet and at least this way he’d get a chance to dry off.
He swings the cab door open and leaps up. The driver - big fat bloke (they’re always big fat blokes, he thinks) - glances at his knuckles, all bruised and bloodied and shakes his head before pulling back out into traffic.
“Where you going?”
Cook rubs his hands together in a vain attempt to warm them back up. “Same way you are.”
“Alright then.”
---
Tam - as he discovered - was alright as it goes. He turned the heater up full blast and let him bum a couple of smokes. And Tam, it turned out, had a couple of good stories to tell. Cook stayed quiet, cause telling stories would mean thinking about… stuff he didn’t want to think about. So he just laughed along, and Tam knew enough not to ask any questions of him. Cook supposes no one who hitches a lift out of somewhere is particularly chatty about why.
He gets dropped off after a couple of hours, on a side street, around the corner from what Tam called a decent B&B. He buys a tab from Cook for more than the street value and then vanishes. Gone, just like that, and now Cook’s alone in the middle of God knows where - because he didn’t bother to ask the name of this town - with only a twenty in his pocket.
An adventure.
---
The thing with being alone is, that Cook’s pretty good at it. Very good, in fact, because he’s had plenty of practice. It’s just that while he’s alone, he normally does it surrounded by other people. So Cook does what Cook does best. He goes out on the piss.
He promised Tam he was gonna check into that B&B, use the twenty to pay for it, but he doesn’t think Tam believed him, and anyway, by the time Cook’s finished his third pint he’s come up with a much better plan.
He’ll blow the money, pull a bird, get laid and sleep at hers. Everyone’s a winner this way, cause he gets drunk and a warm bed, and the lucky girl gets some Cookie loving.
---
It works out alright, not bad for a kid who’s got nothing, he reckons. He makes it over a week at any rate, surviving on the routine of a different girl every night, bit of petty theft here and there and all that sort of stuff before one of them says something.
It’s ten days, maybe eleven, and he’s making use of the facilities and eyeing up the size of her shower - could easy fit two in that one he thinks - when he hears her shout.
She’s sitting up in bed, with the sheets bunched around her waist, so he gets a proper eyeful when he walks back in the room and he thinks it might be about time for that goodbye shag now.
“Cook?”
It’s Melissa, he thinks, maybe, but babe seemed to work well enough last night, so he sticks with it. He jumps up on the bed next to her. “Yes babe,” he says, wrapping a curl of her hair around his finger.
“Who’s Naomi?”
He freezes.
“Is she your girlfriend or something? Cause you didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend, right, and -”
He removes his hand. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Oh, ok. Good. She must be well mental though because -”
Cook holds his hand up to interrupt her. “How did you know who she was?”
“Well, I just switched your phone on, to put my number in, you know, and she’s sent you like a million messages, she must fancy you, which, well, duh, you’re well fit, but -”
“Don’t touch my fucking stuff,” he says as he snatches his phone back out her hand and grabs his shirt off the floor.
“I was just -”
“Don’t fucking touch it!” He roars. “It’s not yours!”
She recoils, physically sits as far back in the bed as she can manage, pulls her knees up to protect herself, and Cook has to catch himself, because he’s not very sure where that came from, but it surprised him, let alone her, and he needs out now.
He rams his feet into his shoes - doesn’t bother with the laces - and heads towards the door, throwing a “See you around,” over his shoulder without bothering to look at her again.
---
He walks for about an hour until he’s calmed himself down enough to look at his phone. It’s full of messages. Mainly from Naomi asking where he is and if he wouldn’t mind not dicking around anymore, a few from JJ saying sorry, one from Freddie asking him to come back, couple from Emily saying that they’re worried. Katie’s sent one calling him a tosser, and then another a minute later saying that everyone misses him.
He can run, and he can run, as much as he wants. But he can’t hide from them.
Cook slouches against a wall, knocks his head back against the concrete until he begins to feel it beginning to hurt, and the first tears break loose.
He can’t hide.
---
It’s another hour later, and he’s taken to walking around the town centre aimlessly - looking for anywhere with shelter - when his phone rings. It’s Naomi, and he debates answering for a few rings, but he figures that it’s nearly two weeks now, and he should probably let her know it’s safe to untwist her knickers cause he’s…he’s ok.
“’Right?”
“Cook?” She sounds surprised. “Jesus, Cook, what the fuck?”
“How’s it going Naomikins?”
“Oh, you know, just spent the last week wondering if maybe someone had finally had too much of you being the biggest shithead alive, and decided to brutally murder you.”
Cook laughs, even though he’s sure she’s trying to make a serious point and wasn’t meaning to be funny. “Yeah, missed you an’ all.”
She, like, fucking tuts at him - or something else equally disapproving - in response. “Where are you?”
“A town.”
“You don’t say,” she drawls. “Which one?”
“That’d be telling.”
There’s silence on the other end for a bit, and he wonders if she might have put the phone down when she talks again. “Cook…please. Just…”
“Look, I just need some space for a bit. I’ll come back, yeah?”
There’s silence again. “Yeah, whatever. Fine,” she says, and then hangs up.
He feels like a proper shit.
---
She calls him back, three hours after.
“Get to the station.”
“What?”
“I’m at the train station.”
“Fuck off Naomi. I’m not in the mood for this,” he replies.
“Swindon train station, platform two. Will you just come and meet me?”
“You’re…” He starts, and then gives up. “You’re too fucking clever for me, you know that?”
“Hurry up Cook, it’s fucking freezing.”
---
He spots her blonde hair all the way at the end of the platform straight off. As much as he’d said he wanted his own space, and as much as he thought he’d just stick her straight on the next train back to Bristol, he can’t deny that it’s fucking good to see her.
“How’d you find me?” He asks, coming up behind her.
She doesn’t miss a beat, just shrugs. “Next time, don’t answer your phone from here. Heard the tannoy.”
“Ah.” He shakes his head. Rookie mistake that one.
She looks him up and down. He imagines he might be quite a sight; he’s been away almost two weeks now and it wasn’t exactly a planned disappearance. He nicked a clean shirt from a shop a few of days ago, but it’s looking past its best already.
“So. You gonna show me around?”
“Only know where the pub is, really.”
She smiles. “Cool. Lets go.”
---
She buys him a drink, cause truth be told, he’s skint now, real rock bottom, and if Naomi’s smart enough to work out where he was, then she’s figured that out no problems.
She wants to talk to him about it - about all this - he can tell. He’s not going to make it easy for her though - he avoids eye contact and only passes the odd comment about the type of clientele that can be found in this bar - so instead they just sort of sit awkwardly, until eventually she pulls out a packet of fags.
They smoke outside in silence, and it isn’t until he makes a move to go back in that Naomi grabs his arm.
“Has this got something to do with JJ and Effy?”
Cook’s head snaps towards her before he can stop it. “You knew?”
She shrugs. “Emily said something about them being mates, but, seriously Cook, I didn’t think it’d fuck you up this badly.”
“Mates?” He laughs. “Fucking Christ.”
She frowns. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
He shakes his head. “You don’t have a clue, do you? None of yous do.”
“Well what the fuck is going on Cook?”
Cook leans back against the brick wall, crosses his arms over his chest and stares at a stone on the ground, as if he might be able to set it on fire if he only tried hard enough. “He’s screwing her.”
“He’s what?”
“Thinks it’s love. Thinks… fuck, I don’t even know what he thinks.”
“Jesus. He’s…JJ? With Effy?”
He glares at her, because hearing it out loud again doesn’t actually make it any better, thanks.
“Right...well. Think another round’s in order then, don’t you?”
---
They get pretty drunk together; just the two of them, and it’s great. It’s comfortable. And Naomi, well, he loves her, even if she won’t touch his cock, and just getting pissed is enough, right now. She’s rambling anyway, and he’s only half listening, not paying any attention to what she’s saying, but just liking the sound of her voice, and it feels like it’s been years since something’s felt so familiar.
“You know,” she says, setting her pint glass down on the table carefully. “I don’t even like JJ.”
He looks up. “Nah?”
“Because of, you know. Last year. The prick.”
Cook nods. “She is a bit of alright though, your misses. Can’t really blame a boy for trying.”
She hums noncommittally. “I hated him, for a while. For that.”
Cook leans back in his chair and drapes his legs over her lap while he’s waiting for the rest of it.
“He didn’t mean it though, not like that. He didn’t do it to spite me. That was… It was my fault, not his.”
Cook feels suddenly very tired, a wave of weariness washes over him and he uses his hand to prop his head up and lets his eyes close. “There’s not a bad bone in that kid’s body, not really.”
She reaches her hand down and squeezes his knee. “Exactly.”
He groans. Fuck her, really, for being so fucking clever.
“Come home with me?”
Cook thinks it over, going home - to Naomi’s home - and what else that means going back to. Finally, he nods. “Best offer I’ve had all week babycakes. Hope Emily won’t mind you propositioning me like this.”
She cuffs him on the shoulder with a grin, before shrugging his legs off so they can both get up.
---
One of the many things Cook’s not good at is saying sorry.
It’s why he puts it off for as long as possible, and when he can’t put it off any longer, he does the easy bit first, leaves the hard one for later.
He doesn’t bother ringing the doorbell, but goes straight to the shed. One deep breath later, he turns the handle.
That breath’s knocked straight back out of him when he sees what Freddie’s doing. Katie and Freddie break apart as soon as they see him, and then they just stare at him in shock.
He finds his voice first. “Aw, fucking nice this, innit?”
Lovely, for them. To have each other. And to not give a shit about anyone else. And Freddie, Freddie who said all that shit about how he loved Effy the most and they were just meant to be, well he’s moved on fucking quick. Or back. He moved back, maybe, but at least he’s moved, and Cook, he hasn’t gone nowhere, he’s still stuck, and fuck Freddie for leaving him behind.
Freddie looks at him with big, wide eyes. “You came back.”
Of course he came back. He was always going to come back, and surely Freddie knew that. He wouldn’t properly leave, because he couldn’t. “What the fuck, Freds?”
“No, it’s just, I didn’t…” he trails off, and looks helpless.
“Thought I had some things to fix.” Cook looks at Katie, then back at Freddie and sets his jaw. “But it looks like you’re all sorted.”
Freddie shakes his head. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He asks, taking a step towards them, challenging.
Freddie stands, squares right up to him, forehead to forehead, and Cook’s almost relieved, because this, this, he can do. “Don’t,” he growls.
He vaguely hears Katie telling them to stop it, but Cook ignores her and presses his head even harder against Freddie’s, and they’re so close now that he can feel Freddie’s hot breath on his skin, and Cook revels in it. “Or what? You gonna make me are you? What you gonna do then? Go on.”
He feels Freddie pushing back against him, and he knows the moment’s coming soon. He rips his head away from Freddie’s suddenly, letting Freddie fall forward onto him. He shoves him back off immediately, pushes him back down to the sofa, where Katie clings to his arm.
“Fuck you,” he says bitterly. “I thought… fuck you.”
---
He goes back to Naomi’s, because he’s not really in the mood to go and grovel at JJ’s feet only to have everything thrown back in his face, not after what’s just happened with Freddie.
He thought that it was him, Freddie and JJ. Back together again. He thought that they were mates, like before. But JJ’s shagging the girl he fucking loved, and Freddie’s not exactly holding back either, and he’s been had this whole time, they’ve all been fucking lying to him, and he knows that they think he’s a wanker, but he didn’t think they’d do this.
Three fucking musketeers. Bros before hoes. Load of bollocks when it came down to it.
Cook drinks the remainder of a bottle of wine that’s been left sitting out - he hates wine, but it’s alcohol, and that’s what he needs right now - while sitting at the kitchen table and wishing he had a smoke. Naomi and Emily have taken to hiding their packets places he can’t find after they caught on that he never bought any of his own. So he’s just sitting, sitting and thinking, both of which can be added to the list of things he’s not very good at, when the doorbell rings.
He can see who it is through the glass, and he debates opening it or not, but Freddie shouts that he can see him, and Cook’s many things, but he’s not a coward, so he opens it.
“I’m sorry,” is the first thing that Freddie says, and Cook scoffs in response.
Freddie sighs. “I am.”
Cook turns his back on him, walks into the living room and settles on the couch.
Freddie follows him, and sits on the same couch, but as far away as he can manage.
“Jay told you?”
“Yeah.” Cook glances up. “You knew?”
“I told him to tell you.”
Cook nods in understanding. “Does that make it better then?”
“I dunno.” Freddie spreads his hands out. “Maybe.”
Cook doesn’t know how it came to this. That it’s him on one side, and Freddie on the other, and JJ holding his own in another. He’s never felt more alone in his life. No matter what’s happened before, even with the worst of the Effy stuff, he at least had one of them around. His whole life he’s not had much, but he’s had one of them. But now they’re all fighting each other, and it doesn’t even make sense, why they’re doing this. Especially not him and Freddie, because it looks like neither of them have won there.
“It’s meant to be you and me Freds.” And it all comes flooding back, why he hates wine, cause apparently, it makes him want to talk.
“And what about JJ then?”
“It don’t work without him neither. It’s not working. It’s all bollocks.” He looks up at Freddie accusingly. “You’re meant to be my best fucking mate.”
“Yeah. And you’re meant to be mine.”
Cook narrows his eyes but they don’t get any further, because the door opens and shuts, and then Naomi’s shouting to see if he’s in.
“Yeah, in ‘ere” he mumbles.
She sticks her head round the door, and emits an “Oh,” when she sees that Freddie’s there as well.
The tension was always there, of course, but he notices it more now that Naomi’s there to witness it, and it’s horrible, sitting, squirming as she’s trying to work out what to say.
In the end she’s saved by the bell, cause her phone rings. She glances down at it. “It’s Emily,” she says with a small shrug, and Cook gets that she has to answer.
“Hey, what’s,” she starts, and turns to leave them, but then stops in her tracks. “Um yeah actually, he is, why?” She glances over at Cook before going back to her call. “So? It’ll probably do him some good- Oh. Shit, well has… Right…Yeah, yeah ok.” She hangs up, looking at both Freddie and Cook.
“Emily’s just found JJ down at the pub. He’s really drunk.”
Cook attempts a grin at Freddie. “Look at that. Our little boy, all grown up.”
Freddie attempts one back, but it comes out more of a grimace. “Yeah.”
Naomi interrupts their little bonding moment by clearing her throat. “He’s saying Effy’s gone missing.”
Cook feels his stomach drop.
---
9. The Bends