The Missing O

I had beaten Oliver to the café that Sunday. I’d drank two cokes and had already ordered my lemon slice before the door rang and he sauntered through. Seeing I’d already been to the counter, he asked for his coffee and then slid into the empty seat.

“Oliver,” I acknowledged, punching out a few words on the typewriter.

“Hello, Morgan.”

There was a long few minutes of silence where I forced myself into typing, but I wasn’t even concentrating on the words. Oliver watched the regulars that we sat with every Sunday, smiling at those that caught his eye. His coffee came and he took three sips before he spoke again.

“I would say that Friday night was fun,” he began. “But it wasn’t really, was it?”

“No,” I agreed, sitting back and looking at him for the first time. “Charlie seemed to have fun though.”

“Yeah. So did Matt.” I noticed his grimace, but didn’t ask how bad it had been. I already knew.

Charlie had done little else other than take care of Kaitlyn and talk non stop about Matt since she had walked through the door Saturday morning, wearing the same clothes as the night before. I had to literally cover my ears to block out her going into detail about what had happened when she’d gotten back to his place. I actually felt bad for Oliver.

“You know,” he said again after another break of silence. “I thought you would lighten up a bit after a few drinks. Let your hair down a bit. Isn’t it hard being so strung up all the time?”

I almost choked. Glaring at him, I asked, “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying…it must be a lot of work being so cold.”

“Cold?” It wasn’t a question. Oliver shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets, slouching in the empty seat that had never belonged to him. My blood boiled.

I don’t know what it was, but since he had walked in this morning, I knew there was something up with him. Now I knew. He was just an arrogant sod. I stood up, gathering my stuff in a heated fluster and slung the typewriter over my shoulder.

The door of the café swung shut with a crack rather than a ding, and I walked with such furiousness that I nearly slipped twice on the snowy pavement. I hadn’t even passed his car before Oliver shouted after me.

“Morgan!”

“Piss off, Oliver!”

I heard his trainers crunching over snow, running. Bloody bastard. What a bloody bastard! His hand snatched at my wrist and I was pulling away, the typewriter swinging between us. Then I was being pulled down, feet sliding on the slippery pavement, until Oliver was groaning, his back flat on the ground, the typewriter by his head and my hip sticking straight into his ribs.

“Urgh,” he grumbled, his eyes snapped closed. “Stupid fucking ice.”

“Let me go,” I snapped, tugging at his arms which were wrapped around me. They released instantly and I pulled myself up, twisting around to feel where had been bruised. My hip, where it had collided with Oliver’s rib, and my elbow that had crashed to the ground hurt quite a bit, but other than that I think I was just raging mad.

I threw my scarf off from around my neck as Oliver gathered himself slowly, picking up my sheets and then tending to the dropped typewriter.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Morgan,” he muttered, handing me my things. “It’s not broken is it?” he asked, handing me the typewriter.

“Probably not.” I turned to get away, but Oliver made a grab for me again, this time taking my hand. I held my breath and bit my lip before I turned to face him slowly. “Leave me alone.”

“At least let me give you a ride home?” he looked so pathetic stood there, the tip of his nose burning red from the cold, a hat pulled down over his messy hair, and his big brown eyes watering from the biting wind.

“You offer me a ride every week, and every time I say no,” I laughed. “What makes you think that’s ever going to change?”

Cold, I heard myself saying. This is what he meant.

Oliver sighed, dropping my hand and began to walk alone to his car. He wasn’t even going to say goodbye. I don’t know why, or what it was, but all I could think about was how I had laid in bed alone the other night and how if I walked home now Oliver would be right. Cold and strung up.

God Dammnit, I thought.

“Hey!” I called. Oliver stopped opening the driver’s side door and looked up at me with a tired expression. I took a deep breath, not even believing what was about to come out of my mouth. “You want to go somewhere?”

He cocked his eyebrow, almost glaring at me, but he shut his door. rounding the front of the car, leaning against the bonnet. “Are you bipolar or something?” he asked.

I trod towards him, feeling myself shiver under my coat. I shook my head no.

He looked at me for a long time, and I didn’t like how suddenly exposed I felt in front of him. I thought about those skinny blond girls, with there big hair and big boobs, and I knew I looked nothing like them.

“Where do you want to go?” he said, and he opened the passenger door for me.

* * *

“So, how old are you anyway?”

I flicked one of the fat chips with the wooden fork, the coating of oil shining. “Twenty one. You’ve been bugging me- ” I stopped myself. “You’ve been talking to me for six weeks and you’re only asking me this now? What if I was like, sixteen or something?”

Oliver smiled. “No offence, but you don’t look that young. Besides, it’s not like you ask someone how old they are the first day you meet them.”

I cocked my brow, “Uh, yeah you do.”

He smiled and shrugged, filling his mouth with some of the chips we were sharing.

We didn’t really decide on going into the city center, it just sort of happened. We drove around in Oliver’s small car for a long while, not speaking but rather listening to the radio and looking out of the windows. I’d seen Sheffield every day my entire life, but I didn’t seem to be able to look at him. It wasn’t until I mentioned that I was hungry that Oliver parked up and suggested we go find a chippy. We ended up sat on a bench in the town square, commenting on the odd people that walked passed and asking one another questions.

“How about you?” I asked through a full mouth.

“I turned twenty-two last Friday.”

I felt a plunge of guilt to the stomach. It soon dispersed though; how could I have possibly known it was his birthday? He didn’t seem upset any way. I started thinking; today was November twenty-ninth.

“Twentieth of November?” I asked.

He nodded, shovelling another mouthful. His legs were a lot longer than mine, and mine reached the ground with ease, but he still swung his feet beneath him, hitching his knee’s up in an odd way.

I wondered what I should ask him this time. We’d just been over ages, I’d already found out that he’d dropped out of college a few year back to start a clothing company. I’d told him I didn’t figure him as that sort of person. He’d laughed and told me he’d show me the line sometime.

The conversation had then moved towards Matt and Charlie. I supposed it was the one thing, other than the café, that we were sure we had in common. Oliver was surprised when I’d mentioned Kaitlyn. I felt my face burn.

“Hey, don’t mention her to Matt, yeah?” I’d panicked. I didn’t know how much Charlie had managed to tell Matt before they’d gotten to the bedroom.

“I won’t. I don’t want to get involved anyway,” he’d laughed. I’d asked why, but he’d just laughed and said it was never a good idea to get involved with Matt and his Bird.

I wanted to ask what sort of a person Matt was. He’d seemed nice, bubbly, friendly. But he had a few dozen Jack Daniels down him, and anyone seems nice when that’s the case. I decided I’d leave it, for now.

I still hadn’t thought of a question to ask Oliver when someone shouted him.

“Oi, Oli!” We both turned, seeing a boy with dark brown hair. He was wearing a gray jumper, but no coat and I thought he must have been freezing. He had a black Nikon camera around his neck, and when he’d jogged over to us I saw that he had very blue eyes.

“Oh, Christ,” Oliver muttered before the boy was close enough to hear. “What do you want?”

The boy stopped, his smile dropping. “Nothing,” he said. “Just saw your big head and thought I’d say hi. Don’t you think you should get out of public before you get swarmed?” The boy was laughing.

“What does he mean?” I asked, confused.

“Nothing,” Oliver muttered, and he gave the boy a glare. I didn’t understand, but neither of them explained, so I didn’t ask.

The boy turned to me, “I’m Tom,” he said. “Oli’s brother.”

A brother. Wow. We hadn’t gotten to the subject of family yet. “I’m Morgan,” I smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

“No need to be so polite,” Oliver said. “He’s more of a pig than me, believe it or not.”

“Oi, fuck off!” The boy said with a grin, reaching out to slap a hand to the side of the brothers hair before stopping in his tracks. “Oh, I best not,” Tom said, “I wouldn’t want to mess up you’re lovely Barnet.”

“You’re such a git, Tom,” Oliver shook his head at his brother. “What’re you doing in town, anyway?”

“Mates are skating, taking some pictures,” he replied, stabbing a thumb over his shoulder to wear I saw some boys flipping about around the bank.

The brothers spoke for a while, mostly jibing each other, Tom bringing me into it at one point and asking if I was Oli’s ‘new piece’.

“Don’t talk to people like that!” Oliver demanded.

“Sorry Mum,” Tom mocked, rolling his eyes. He turned to me. “So you’re not his Bird?” I shook my head no, feeling my cheeks warm. Oliver texted on his phone. “What’s up with you, Oli? You haven’t had a girlfriend in ages. You used to be a right slag.”

“Piss off now, Tom,” Oliver growled, and Tom laughed before waving at the both of us and jogging back to his friends, still flipping and falling off of their skateboards.

It made me smile, seeing the interaction between Oliver and his brother. It made me realize that he wasn’t just the tattooed guy that sits with me once a week. Oliver had an annoying little brother, just like millions of other people. I laughed.

“How old is he?” I chuckled.

“Nineteen,” he huffed, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “You wouldn’t believe it would you? Immature little shit.”

I looked over to where I could see Tom, his camera pulled up over his face. “He’s nice. Funny.”

“Funny for you maybe. You finished?” he nodded at the bag of chips that was pretty much devoured now. I nodded, and he scrunched it up, taking it over to the bin.

Two months ago I would never have though I’d be actually willingly spending time with this guy.