Blowing It (4 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

That Wednesday, I made the half-hour tube journey to
Elm Park, a commuter town to the outlying east of London, where Ryan and Sameer
lived. I missed having Ryan close—after uni, we’d roomed together for a couple
of years, then when things got serious with Sameer, they moved into a place
only ten minutes from where we’d lived together, but relocating had helped them
get onto the property ladder, and Ryan said he preferred the slower pace of
life away from the centre of London. He’d got a position at the local primary
school, and Sameer commuted into the City—London’s financial district—where he
worked as an IT manager for an investment bank.

I walked the short distance from the tube station
to their quiet street. They owned a three-bed semi built in the 1930s, not the
prettiest house I’d ever seen but spacious, and they’d decorated it with taste
and style. I remembered only too well the garish decor, dado rails and pelmets
in every room, Artex ceilings riddled with asbestos, and outdated, country
cottage-style kitchen. For the first year, they’d lived in a building site, but
their hard work had paid off and now the interior was sleek and modern. Perhaps
Magnus would be interested in what they’d done with the place.

Ryan answered my knock and ushered me inside. We
paused in the entrance hall to hug warmly. A couple of weeks had passed since
we’d last seen each other, and I’d missed him. The scent of spices wafting from
the kitchen told me where Sameer was, and I entered the room to greet him and sniff
at the curry he was slaving over at the stove.

“It’s not too hot, is it?” I asked, eyeing what
appeared to me to be a lavish array of peppers sliced on the chopping board.

“They’re mild,” Sameer promised. “I know you’re a
wimp when it comes to curry.”

“You know he still can’t bring himself to tell Ira
he tones down her recipe for you.”

I laughed. Sameer’s mother was a lady small in
stature, but she had a formidable personality. I had no doubt she’d string me
up if she thought I was the cause of her son modifying a much-prized family
recipe. She often said she hadn’t emigrated to England only to forget where she
came from. Sameer’s parents were part of the wave of Bangladeshi immigrants who
had arrived in London during the early 1970s, and Sameer was the first
generation of the family to be English-born. His and Ryan’s home showed the
influence of both cultures, and the colourful robes they’d worn at their
wedding had looked incredible.

“Never mind the food, anyway.” Ryan tugged at my
arm. “I want to hear all about this mystery man you’re seeing.”

I laughed and let myself be led into the living
room. “He’s not a mystery,” I said, sitting on the sofa. “He’s a building
surveyor.”

“What’s he like?”

I let a little smug self-satisfaction seep into my
voice. “Delicious.”

“Where did he take you?”

I told Ryan about the restaurant we’d gone to, the
food we’d eaten, and what we’d discussed.

“He sounds nice,” Sameer said, leaning against the
door jamb between the kitchen and the lounge.

“So you’re seeing him again?” Ryan asked.

I nodded. “On Friday.”

“Where are you taking him?”

“He wants to go clubbing.”

Ryan pulled a face. “Aren’t you a bit old for
that?”

I slapped his leg in outrage. “Speak for yourself!”

Sameer guffawed.

Ryan rubbed his leg, a hurt look on his face. I
wasn’t fooled. “I just meant, the way you describe him, he doesn’t seem the
clubbing sort.”

“He isn’t,” I admitted. “That’s why he wants to go.
I may have mentioned what we were like when we were younger.”

“And he still wants to see you again?” Sameer
whistled. “Brave man.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be making our dinner?” I
demanded petulantly.

With a flick of a tea towel in my direction, Sameer
returned to the kitchen, but I didn’t doubt he was still listening.

“If he wants to get to know you, you should bring
him to The Drake instead,” Ryan suggested. “We’re going.”

“If he sees me singing karaoke, he really will be
off,” I laughed.

Ryan smiled. “You have a point. Save that for when
it’s too late for him to get away.”

“Is that the advice Owen gave you?” Sameer called
from the kitchen.

I grinned at Ryan and raised my voice to answer.
“Yes!”

An exaggerated sigh met my admission. “As I
suspected.”

“You’re welcome!”

҉҉҉

Dinner was delicious. Sameer’s cooking was excellent
and, despite my ribbing, I knew he’d worked hard on the dish especially for me,
and I made my gratitude plain. God knew he had enough to do on a workday night
without feeding his husband’s best friend after an hour-long commute on the
cramped and crowded tube. But that was Sameer all over; he was a good man, kind
and generous, and he was as in love with Ryan as Ryan was with him. I wasn’t so
insecure I couldn’t admit to shedding a tear or two at their wedding. Now
they’d been together five years, married for three, and their relationship only
seemed to get stronger as time passed. I’d never been jealous of them, but I
definitely wanted a piece of what they had for myself.

“So where are you thinking of taking Mr. Wonderful
on Friday?” Ryan asked when we were done eating.

“Oh god, I don’t know.” I groaned. “Where do the
cool kids go these days?”

“What about The George?” Sameer suggested.

“Isn’t that a bit tame?” Ryan asked, pulling a
face.

“Do you want to scare him off?” Sameer gave me a
long look.

“No, but I promised him a good night.”

Ryan considered the dilemma. “What about G-A-Y?”

“I’m not some twinky club kid!”

“Anymore,” Sameer said with a grin.

“The George could be any other pub,” Ryan pointed
out.

I laughed. “Yeah, with Kylie on the jukebox and men
in chaps at the bar.”

“When have you ever seen chaps in The George?” he
demanded.

“I’m a writer. I’m allowed to exaggerate. It’s
called artistic license.”

“I don’t remember there being any leather queens in
your last book.”

I grinned. “I’m not sure my publisher would have liked
that.”

Ryan returned my smile. “All the more reason.”

Sameer shook his head. “The George is nice,” he
insisted. “Go early and it won’t be stupid busy, have a couple of margaritas, then
it’s only a five-minute walk to your flat.”

I pressed my hand to my chest and faked shock.
“Whatever are you implying?”

Ryan’s jaw dropped. “Wait, you mean… you haven’t?”

“He’s a gentleman,” I said primly.

“You mean he took you out for dinner and then,
what, took you home and
dropped you off
?”

I wasn’t sure I appreciated his surprise. “I don’t
sleep with every man I meet on the first date.”

Ryan levelled me with a look. “Owen, you
don’t
date. That’s the point.”

“Maybe this one is different,” Sameer said mildly.

I shot him a grateful smile. “Yeah, I think he is.”

“Really?” Ryan rested his chin on his hand and
stared avidly. “You think he might be The One?”

“Don’t jinx it!” I cried. “Jesus, we’ve only had
one date. Two, if you count coffee. We barely know each other yet. Besides, I
think he just broke up with someone.”

“Oh.” Ryan and Sameer exchanged uneasy glances.

“Yeah.” I slumped miserably. I hadn’t asked Magnus
about Robbie, the man Abigail had mentioned, but if the kid hadn’t realised he
was gone for good, then he couldn’t have been out of Magnus’s life for very
long. “For all I know, I’m a rebound fling.”

“What do you mean, you
think
he broke up
with someone?” Ryan asked. “Has he said so?”

I explained briefly the little I knew.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Ryan said with a
dismissive wave of his hand. “They could have been flatmates or anything.”

“If he’d only been a flatmate, don’t you think
Magnus would have mentioned it?”

“You’re not going to ask him?”

“Eventually, I suppose. I didn’t really want him
talking about his ex on our date.”

“It’s early days,” Sameer said, touching the back
of my hand.

“I know. Thanks.”

“So.” Ryan clapped his hands together. “What are
you going to wear?”

I groaned melodramatically and thumped my head on
the table. “I don’t know.”

“Whatever you wear, I’m sure you’ll look fine,”
Sameer said, rising from his seat.

I quickly got to my feet and took over stacking the
plates. Washing the dishes was the least I could do in return for the food and
moral support.

Ryan followed me into the kitchen and put the
kettle on while I filled the sink.

“Have you even kissed him?” he asked curiously as I
swished the water in the bowl, working the soap into frothy suds.

My toes curled as I remembered the goodnight kiss
we’d shared outside my building. It had been on the tip of my tongue to invite
Magnus inside, but when we’d parted, he’d backed straight off, with a promise
to call the next day. A promise he’d kept.

I nodded, feeling unexpectedly shy. It wasn’t like
Ryan and I didn’t know everything about each other. Hadn’t shared everything.
Hell, I knew Sameer was circumcised, and I’d heard them shagging more than once
when Ryan and I still shared a flat. But Magnus wasn’t some trick I’d picked up
in a club, and the slow pace we were moving at made me feel strangely
protective of the little we had.

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” Ryan said,
pausing from drying a plate to examine me.

I gave what I hoped was a self-effacing smile. “I’m
out of practice.”

“You’re
mooning
.”

“I am not!”

“So are!”

“Children, don’t squabble!” Sameer called from the
next room.

We giggled guiltily.

“Seriously.” I sobered. “I haven’t seen anyone in,
what, two years?”

Ryan’s lips tightened in sympathy. “Carl?”

“Yeah.” I’d been with Carl almost six months. Long
enough to fall head-over-stupid-heels and turn a blind eye to the obvious signs
he was still sleeping around. When things finally came to a head, Ryan had
taken me to the clinic and held my hand through a humiliating series of tests.
He’d been angry, but I’d been scared. An injection had cleared up the clap in a
couple of days, but the sense of betrayal had lasted. I’d felt dirty. Used. And
unwilling to trust anyone else ever again.

“Take it slow,” Ryan counselled. “Enjoy it. Let him
court you.”

I raised my eyebrows. “
Court
me?”

He laughed. “Yeah, why not? We’re allowed to be
old-fashioned these days.”

I sniggered. “If you can get married, I suppose
anything’s possible.”

“Hey!” He snapped the tea towel at my leg.

I softened in a heartbeat. “You know I love you.”

“And I love you, too.” He swept me up in a hug, my
hands sticking out at weird angles behind his back to keep the soap suds off
his clothes.

From the doorway came the sound of a long-suffering
sigh. “It’s a good thing I’m not the jealous type, isn’t it?”

Laughing, Ryan opened his arms for his husband, and
the three of us did our best to squeeze the breath out of each other.

CHAPTER FIVE

I met Magnus at the tube station on Friday evening. He
was dressed in a pair of smart jeans, a black shirt with silver threads running
through it, and a dark moleskin jacket. I wondered if the shirt was a nod to my
outfit on our last date or just a coincidence.

“Wow.” He paused at the entrance to the street and
looked at me.

The nerves which had been coiled in my stomach all afternoon
wriggled free and wormed their way through my limbs. “What do you think?” I
asked, turning so he could see me from the side as well. I’d taken him at his
word and dolled myself up, and was dressed in tight drainpipe jeans tucked into
a pair of heavy black boots which reached halfway up my calves. My top was baby
blue, tight around my midriff but cowl-necked, leaving my upper chest exposed. I’d
straightened my hair at the front, backcombed it a little on top, and my eyes
were sooty with kohl. He’d said he wanted to see me glammed up, and I’d
decided, after much dithering, if my appearance was going to put him off, I’d
rather know sooner than later.

“I think…
wow.
” He smiled broadly. “You look
incredible.”

“Thanks.”

“I thought you said you didn’t dress like that
anymore?” he said, falling into step beside me as we began the short walk down Bethnal
Green Road to the pub.

I glanced at him sidelong. “I thought you said you
wanted to see it.”

“I’m not complaining,” he said with fervour.

I couldn’t stop the pleased smile from teasing my
lips.

“Cold?” he asked as I pulled my close-fitting black
jacket around my waist.

“A little,” I admitted. It was almost seven in the
evening, and the sun was setting, leaving the air decidedly chilly. “It’s not
far, though. I’ll be fine.”

“So where are you taking me?” he asked, loping
along with boyish strides.

“It’s a pub. Nothing too wild.”

“Won’t you be overdressed?”

“Heh. You haven’t been to The George.”

The pub was already bustling with patrons when we
arrived. Magnus hesitated in the doorway so I took the lead, winding my way
through the throng to the busy bar. Some sort of indie pop was playing over the
sound of talk and laughter, and I had to shout in Magnus’s ear for his order.

“I’ll get this,” he said. “What are you having?”

I asked for a rum and Coke, then, spying a couple
pulling on their coats, I tapped Magnus’s arm and indicated the table they were
leaving. At his nod, I left him to catch a barman’s attention and scurried to
claim the table before somebody else beat me to it.

The crowd was young, predominantly male, men in
their twenties and early thirties dressed, for the most part, casually in jeans
and T-shirts, the occasional splash of colour from a more flamboyant soul or
the deep black of leather breaking the monotony. Magnus joined me, drinks in
hand, set them down, and shrugged off his jacket before taking a seat opposite.

His shirt was short-sleeved, and I admired his
thick, furry forearms. He looked like he hadn’t shaved since I’d last seen him,
the stubble on his chin long and dark enough to be more beard than scruff. It
suited him.

I asked about his week, and we exchanged
pleasantries in a tone slightly louder than comfortable, having to raise our
voices to be heard over the background drone of the other patrons. We lapsed
into an uneasy silence, sipping our drinks and nodding whenever our eyes met. A
group moved closer to our table, somebody’s denim-clad arse practically shoved
in my face, their conversation obnoxiously loud. Magnus drained his drink and tapped
his fingernail against the side of the glass. Dammit, this wasn’t working out
the way I’d planned.

“Do you want to dance?” he shouted, nodding at a
small, crowded section of the floor where pairs and small groups dipped their
shoulders and shuffled on the spot in time with the thumping beat of whatever
was blasting over the speakers.

I shook my head. “Do you want to get out of here?”

A relieved look crossed Magnus’s face before he
could properly disguise it, and I smiled.

It was dark outside, the pavement busy with people
hopping in and out of the bars along Hackney Road. It was Friday night, and the
younger Shoreditch residents wanted to party. Black cabs and London buses wove
between each other along the street, and I caught snatches of conversation from
the people we passed and the stench of grease from an open takeaway. We’d
barely been in the pub half an hour, but I didn’t fancy repeating the
experience elsewhere. Nor, however, did I want to cut the evening short.

I felt like a failure, like I’d let Magnus down.
I’d promised him a fun date, and all we’d done was sit in excruciating silence,
grinning inanely at each other like a pair of nodding dogs.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said, indicating the pub
with a jerk of my thumb. “It was a terrible idea.”

“Maybe another day, when it’s quieter,” he
suggested, too magnanimous to admit it had been a disaster.

I paused at the corner of the street and watched
the traffic lights change from red to green. A car horn honked, and the traffic
surged forward.

“Is there anywhere else you’d like to go?” Magnus
asked, looking around. “Perhaps one of the other bars will be better.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“What would you normally be doing on a Friday
night?”

I laughed. “Working, probably. Or watching TV.”

“I thought you went out?” Magnus frowned. “With
your friend. Ryan, was it?”

“Yeah, sometimes. He’s out tonight, actually.”

“Where?” Magnus glanced around like he was
expecting to see somebody I knew.

“Elm Park.”

“That’s not far. That is, um, if you want to go….”
He trailed off, looking abashed.

“I didn’t think you’d want to be subjected to my
friends so soon.” I smiled to let him know I wasn’t unhappy he’d suggested
meeting them. “Unless you meant we can do this another time?” Dammit, this is
why I didn’t date. Too much insecurity.

“I’d like to meet your friends, if you don’t think
it’s too soon.”

“Do you?” I asked anxiously. “Think it’s too soon,
I mean.”

“I don’t know.” He frowned. “Maybe the fact we
aren’t sure means it is. We barely know each other.”

“Fuck that.” I decided to take some initiative.
“We’re out now, so let’s stay out. If you don’t mind karaoke, I’m sure Ryan
would love to meet you.”

Magnus pulled a face. “Do I have to sing?”

I laughed and took his arm. “Not unless you really
want to.”

҉҉҉

It was eight thirty by the time we got to The Drake.
The flashing, multicoloured lights from the emcee’s stand were shining through
the windows when we approached, the sound of singing audible even from the car
park.

“It’s not so bad inside,” I promised, seeing
Magnus’s face.

We passed a handful of smokers huddled beside the
doorway, and I nodded to a woman I recognised as another regular. Inside, the
bar had that peculiar, musty scent unique to old pubs: stale ale and sticky
spilled spirits, fifty years’ worth of tobacco smoke ingrained in the
threadbare upholstery.

The karaoke was set up on a raised platform at one
end of the horseshoe-shaped room, several tables placed before it between the
booths built along the exterior wall and the central bar. Aside from the DJ’s
flashing lights, the pub was dimly-lit, and I paused for a moment to study the
faces at the tables, looking for Ryan and Sameer.

“This way,” I said, tugging Magnus’s hand as I saw
Ryan raise his arm and gesticulate wildly.

By the time we reached the booth, he was on his
feet, a broad smile plastered across his face.

I shot him a warning look as I made introductions,
and he insisted on buying the first round. While he was gone, Magnus and I
pulled up chairs alongside the booth, where Sameer was sitting with Elaine, the
receptionist from Ryan’s school, and her husband, Mark.

“You singing tonight?” I asked Elaine.

“Only if you are.”

I nudged Magnus to get his attention over the
caterwauling of the woman on the mic. “Don’t let her fool you,” I said, nodding
at Elaine. “She can actually sing.”

Elaine smiled, accepting the compliment. Had she
been born thirty years later, she’d probably have ended up on some reality TV
show, singing before a national audience. Instead, she saved her talent for Friday
nights at The Drake, blasting out Bonnie Tyler and Tina Turner to the roar of a
small but very appreciative crowd.

Ryan returned, hands clasped around three full pint
glasses, the contents slopping over the sides as we took them from him, freeing
him to return to the bar for my rum and Coke, Elaine’s white wine, and Sameer’s
OJ. Sometimes I wondered how he’d managed to marry a teetotaller, given our
hedonistic youth. Then again, Sameer had never needed alcohol to loosen up and have
fun.

The woman on the stage finished butchering Elkie
Brooks, and the emcee switched the music to Bryan Adams while he shuffled
through a small stack of paper slips to select his next volunteer.

“Very nice,” Ryan said in an undertone, while
Elaine distracted Magnus and the table next to us sang along with the music,
covering our conversation.

I grinned and sipped my drink.

“How come you’re here?”

I grimaced. “The George was miserable.”

“I told you.”

“I know.” I slid my drink a couple of inches
farther onto the table. The last thing I wanted was to get drunk and make a
show of myself in front of Magnus. “I forgot you’re always right.”

“Hey!” Sameer interrupted. “Don’t tell him things
like that.”

Ryan pulled his best wounded face, and we all burst
into laughter.

“Don’t listen to him,” Ryan said, leaning over me
to address Magnus and holding up his hand to block Sameer. “I
am
always
right.”

Magnus smiled. “So it’s you I need to impress?”

Ryan returned the smile. “If you want to last more
than five minutes, yes.”

“Hold on!” I interrupted. “Magnus, ignore him.
Sameer, can’t you control your husband?”

Sameer threw his hands up in a gesture of defeat.
“I’ve tried.”

Elaine and Mark chuckled, and Magnus gave a little
huff of amusement.

“Ryan likes to think he’s in charge,” I said in a
conspiratorial stage-whisper, “but everyone knows it’s Sameer who wears the
trousers.”

Sameer grinned. “Someone has to.”

Ryan was saved from answering by the emcee calling
Elaine to the mic. Magnus stood to let her out of the booth, and she approached
the stage to cheers and whistles from the regulars.

“She’s really good,” I said to Magnus as he sat.

The pub fell quiet as the opening notes of “Total
Eclipse of the Heart” played over the speakers, and we all started to sway
along to the melody. The table next to us sang along with the first verse,
providing the repetitive refrain over Elaine’s soulful lyrics. I nudged Magnus
and grinned as the song built to the dramatic chorus, a cacophony of voices
rising around us as the whole pub got into the spirit of the music and bellowed
along with the crash of the synthetic beat, falling silent again for Elaine to
take the soft, soulful finale.

As her voice wavered on the last note, the room
erupted in raucous applause, led by our table.

“I didn’t expect that,” Magnus admitted after
offering his own words of praise when she returned.

“I told you.” I smiled. For an unassuming little
woman in her mid-fifties, Elaine didn’t half have a set of pipes on her.

“Another?” Magnus asked, looking to Elaine and
indicating her near-empty glass.

“You put your money away,” I said, rising in his
stead. “This is my round.”

The perfect gentleman, Magnus rose anyway. “I’ll
give you a hand at the bar.”

We stood shoulder-to-shoulder, leaning our forearms
on the edge of the bar as we waited to be served. The heat from his bare arm
seeped into mine, and I swayed gently against him. “You having fun?” I asked.

He nodded. “I prefer this to The George.”

I laughed lightly. “Me, too. Does that make us
old?”

“I don’t think so. More mature, maybe.”

“You think this outfit is mature?” I indicated my
attire.

“I think it suits you,” he said diplomatically.

I caught the eye of the barman and placed our
order.

“You don’t get any grief?” Magnus asked when the
barman moved off.

I wasn’t coy enough to pretend I didn’t know what
he was talking about. “Sometimes it’s a worry,” I admitted. “I wouldn’t dress
like this all the time, but when I go out, it’s to friendly places. I know what
I can get away with.”

“Would you? Dress like that all the time, that is?”

I considered the question. “I’ve always been a bit
flamboyant, I suppose, but I never felt the desire to dress in drag or
anything.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Magnus said quietly, rearranging
the pint glasses the barman had placed before us. “If that’s what you’re
comfortable with, don’t think you have to hide it from me. I know I’m not
exactly stylish”—he indicated his clothes with a self-depreciating laugh—“but
I’m not as conservative as I look.”

I stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

“What was that for?” he asked, his expression
bemused.

“Because.” I looked away to hide just how broad my
smile was. “I think you look wonderful.”