Page 1

Chapter one

Slow reaction: a chemical reaction that takes a long time to complete. Example: the oxidative rusting of iron.

“ W ell, Charlie, old boy,” Dr Will Bradford says, his voice a little crackly over the mobile phone as I quickstep my way back to my apartment on the Salford Quays.

“Of course I’ll help, but I’m not sure you’ve asked the right person.

My Priya tells me that matchmaking really isn’t my strong suit.

And the two people who immediately spring to mind have only just fallen in love with each other. ”

“What?” I ask wearily as I approach my apartment block, squinting against the glorious glow of the late summer sunset.

Will’s pretty much the only uni friend that I’ve properly kept in touch with over the years.

A decade ago, after finding out I was the only person from my not-so-fancy area of Burnley to be accepted to Cambridge to read Engineering (yep, ‘read’ being posh-speak for ‘study’), I’d moved into my student room at Sidney Sussex College fully expecting to be an outsider for the rest of my uni life.

Thank goodness for lanky, floppy-haired, cheerful Will, who’d been a second year medic, and who’d lived in the room right across the hall.

Someone else would probably have ignored the short, awkward, gay, tousle-haired boy with the broad northern accent after the fifth time he’d shot back into his room to avoid a conversation, but Will had seemed oblivious to all that.

Over time, he’d managed to integrate me (peripherally at least) into his diverse friend group.

I’d had a massive crush on him at one point, but thank heavens that’s long past. Straight boy crushes just aren’t cute after a certain age.

So we’re still friends, and overall I’m super glad that, a few years after I landed a job as a chemical process engineer for a water firm in Manchester, he ended up deciding to do his medical training in Liverpool so that he’s only an hour’s drive away.

“Yeah. I’m delighted. But it’s a shame for you, of course. Davey’s lovely. And Rob’s lovely too, so I’m sure at least one of them would have liked you if they’d still been single. Sadly, they’re a bit tied up being lovely to each other.”

I resist the urge to press my palm to my forehead as I lean against the door to my building. “Will. Stop telling me about these lovely people who aren’t single. This is fucking embarrassing as all heck for me, so just please. Are there any single gay guys you could set me up with?”

“Why would it be embarrassing for you?” The man has the nerve to sound wounded. “You know, I distinctly remember telling you about both of them last year. If you’d listened, it might all be different right now.”

“Will.” I enter my building and punch the button to the elevator a little harder than I need to, so that I don’t have to reach through the phone to strangle him.

“Right. Sorry, I know, that’s not helpful.” He pauses. “Oh! Do you remember my friend Simon?”

“Forget it.” I hang up on him as the elevator doors open and stomp in.

As the doors close I stare at my reflection, only slightly distorted by the faint imperfections of their metallic surface.

The circles around my hazel eyes stand out starkly against my pale skin.

My cinnamon brown hair is a little too long for its usual quiff, and just looks untidy after a week of long hours.

I’m mentally exhausted. These past few years have been consumed by work and impressing my bosses.

And yeah, I’m doing well at work, having been promoted to senior process manager last year, and yes, a fair number of the high-ups seem to like me.

But, as was the case in school and uni, it’s the posh white men who just seem to sense something lacking in me, who will always favour the colleagues who have more in common with them than the gay guy who was raised by a very working class single mother.

Call it daddy issues, or whatever, but I’ve spent so much of my life chasing their approval.

It’s time I start building a life outside of work.

Thirty-one isn’t too late for a guy to find love. Is it?

And I’ve tried. But the usual apps haven’t gotten me anywhere. There have been immediate nos and dating no-shows, and worse, a handful of dates where I’d thought we’d hit it off, only for me to never hear from them again.

I still think Will's choice is more than likely going to be terrible, but I can at least trust that he'll make sure not to set me up with anyone obviously horrible.

My phone rings immediately after I get out of the elevator. It’s Will. “Why did you hang up?” Oh no, I just know he’s got that bloody wounded puppy dog look on his face.

“You were about to set me up with flipping Simon again, Will.”

“What’s wrong with Simon?”

“He lives in fucking California, Will!”

“He does not! He lives in fucking San Francisco!”

I slam the door to my apartment and sling my satchel onto the floor next to my shoes. “That does not make it any better!” Deep breaths, Charlie. Axe-murdering your friend is bad.

“I don’t get why the distance makes him any less nice.” Will sounds a bit sulky.

I hear a quiet voice in the background as I throw myself onto my old leather couch and kick my shoes off.

Ah, Priya’s there too. Will’s girlfriend is almost as tall as him, elegant, and honestly the only person who is nice enough for my friend.

I’ve met her a few times, and if I had a single straight bone in my body (not like that, get your mind out of the gutter), I think I’d be head over heels for her too.

She is however usually accompanied by her two terrifying friends, whom I suspect may be genuine cartoon supervillains.

“Priya has made the excellent point that long distance relationships are harder to maintain,” Will helpfully fills me in. “She’s right.”

“Yes, she is,” I sigh, very maturely refraining from shouting obscenities at him.

“Anyway, please just think about it. I'm tired of putting myself out there to strangers and getting written off seconds later. I’m ready to give anyone a shot, as long as I don’t need to fly across a continent to meet them.

Put some feelers out. Um. Maybe don’t mention my dismal track record with relationships. ”

“It isn’t dismal at all,” he says loyally, immediately reminding me why I’m friends with him. “You just need to meet one person who’s a good fit, and before that, well, everything else is experience so that you know how to value what you’re getting.”

“You big girl’s blouse,” I tease.

“Hey, that’s sexist… wait. Charlie Rust, you are a genius!”

“Thanks for finally acknowledging it,” I say dryly. “But why?”

“Because you’ve reminded me of someone who will be perfect for you.” I narrow my eyes and wait. “You remember Luke Irons?”

“Who?” I ask blankly.

“Luke Irons,” Will repeats more slowly, as if that gives me a better idea. “He was at Sidney with us.” I think through all the guys I know from our college in Cambridge. Nothing. “Architecture.” Nada. “He was a fourth or fifth year when you started.” Zilch. “He was on the rugby team with me.”

“Okay, I still have no idea, but no, Will. You know I never got along with any of the posh crowd.”

“He’s not that posh, come on.”

“Will, you’re a terrible judge of poshness,” I laugh. “Er. Why does a girl’s blouse remind you of him?” I can’t think of a reason that’d be an issue. Maybe he does drag? That would be pretty interesting.

“Because he came to Formal Hall that one time on a dare while only wearing his girlfriend’s blouse and a ballerina skirt. Don’t you remember? I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard since.”

“Oh.” It turns out it is an issue after all, because Luke Irons sounds like a complete twit. I have vague memories of the guy, but nothing clear at all. Some generic rugger bugger with broad shoulders and a too-loud laugh? “Girlfriend?”

“Yeah, don’t worry though, he came out ages ago.

I wouldn’t set you up with a straight guy.

” I totally wouldn’t have put it past Will.

“He moved up here a few months ago, to be a partner in some fancy architecture firm in South Manchester. You should totally meet up. I think you’d really hit it off. ”

“Um.” I immediately start thinking of reasons to decline that won’t sound too harsh.

“Charlie.” Will sounds uncharacteristically stern. “I distinctly remember you saying a minute ago that you’d give anyone a shot, as long as it was geographically feasible.”

“I did,” I say extremely unwillingly, kicking my battered coffee table absently with my besocked toe.

“Maybe then you should give him a chance, instead of writing him off before you even have a chance to find out anything about him.”

Darn it. “You’re right.”

“Good. I’ll speak to him.”

The memory of the recent chorus of rejections causes a wave of nervousness to run through me. “Sure. It’s okay if he doesn’t want to, but maybe don’t tell me if he’s not interested.”

Will stays silent for a second. “Alright,” he agrees.

He pauses, and when he speaks again it’s slow and measured, like he’s carefully considering what he says.

“You should know that I remember what this feels like - this process of searching and hoping and getting over disappointment. Just make sure you remind yourself that you’re a wonderful person with a ton of amazing qualities to offer. ”

I blink back a slight wetness in my eyes, touched. “Thank you, Will.”

“Any time.”

"Yes, Mr Evans. Instrumental error, as suspected. Heavy metal concentrations are well within acceptable limits after all." I fiddle with my pen, drop it, and dive under the table to fish it back up, managing not to make any sounds into the phone as I do so.

"Good work, Rust, your team solved that one quickly. I'll mention you at the directorate meeting later. Thanks for the update." My boss hangs up, and I take a second to enjoy the rare scrap of praise before meeting the amused eyes of Cath, my colleague and friend.