Hard Tail (22 page)

And somehow, I’d managed to be his best friend’s boyfriend, not his.

We ordered in a takeaway for dinner—Matt declared himself more than willing to cook, but he was a guest; it wouldn’t have been fair.

Plus, all I had in the fridge was ready meals, so it’d be a bit embarrassing if he went foraging for ingredients. I made a mental note to bin the packaged meals and buy some fresh stuff before Matt had a chance to look inside.

“What do you fancy?” Matt asked. “Indian—oh, wait, you had one of those on Saturday with Adam, didn’t you?”

I could have done without him being apparently so determined not to let me forget about Adam. “How about Chinese?” I suggested.

“Sounds great—have you tried Fuchi yet? It’s on Rumbridge Street; we could walk there from here. Or I could take the bike and pick stuff up, whatever. They do a great Tofu Macadamia Nuts—or you can have it with chicken, if you don’t fancy veggie.”

I shrugged. “Well, eating your veggie wraps hasn’t killed me—I think I can survive the tofu for one night. It’d be better to get stuff we can share.”

“Okay, how about we get the tofu and the Thai prawn curry? And the Quorn chicken in black bean sauce is pretty good, too—”

“Do you know their entire menu off by heart?” I asked with a laugh.

Matt grinned sheepishly. “Only the vegetarian bits.”

“How about you just order what you fancy, and I’ll eat it? I’m pretty easy-going when it comes to food.”

We both ended up cycling up to Fuchi to collect the food, taking a rucksack because carrier bags and handlebars are not a match made in heaven. “Fancy a bottle of wine?” I yelled to Matt on impulse as we reached the Co-op.

Not that I was feeling the urge to celebrate Matt’s breakup with Steve or anything.

Much.

It felt incredibly domestic, chaining our bikes together and walking into the supermarket to do our shopping. Just like Kate and I used to do, except back then it’d been Waitrose, not the Co-op, and we wouldn’t have dreamed of taking anything other than the BMW. I couldn’t help glancing at the other shoppers, wondering if they thought Matt and I were a couple.

My face must have done its usual job of broadcasting my thoughts far and wide, as Matt leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Don’t worry—they’ll just assume we’re flatmates or something, if they think about us at all.”

I turned and pretended to peer at the special offers so he wouldn’t see my irrational disappointment.

Chapter Seventeen

The food, when we finally got to eat it, was every bit as good as Matt had promised. If I hadn’t already known, I doubt I’d have even noticed it was vegetarian. It went well with the fruity Chardonnay I’d picked out at the Co-op. We were sitting on the sofa afterwards watching an old episode of
Poirot
and feeling pleasantly mellow—at least I was, and I’d assumed Matt was feeling the same way—when Matt dropped the bombshell.

“It was because of what you said,” he blurted out. “Me leaving Steve, I mean.”

“What?” David Suchet’s fake Belgian accent and twirly moustache no longer held my attention.

“You know. When you said you couldn’t believe I was with him.” He ducked his head. “It got to me, you know? It was like you were disappointed in me. Like you’d thought I was better than that. I hadn’t thought about it like that before. I mean, it was a lot like what Luke said, but I s’pose—”

“Luke?” I asked sharply.

“Yeah—when he came to the shop. That was what he was talking to me about, right at the end.”

“Luke knows Steve?”

Matt didn’t answer for a moment, just stared at his knees.

“Matt?” I prompted.

“He doesn’t know Steve, but he said he’d been there.”

I was totally confused. “Been where?”

Matt had obviously decided on closer inspection that his knees needed comforting. He drew them up to his chest, his feet in their stripey socks with the holes in perching on the edge of the sofa, and hugged his legs. “When he was younger. I mean, you wouldn’t believe it now, would you? That he had a bloke who used to knock him around?”

All the blood in my veins had apparently been siphoned off and replaced with liquid nitrogen. “He—what?”

Matt shrugged, still hugging his legs in like he was afraid they’d fall off. “You know.”

“Wait a minute.” I said it slowly, needing to get this absolutely clear. “You’re telling me Steve…hit you?”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Matt said, the words carving themselves into my flesh and leaving bloody scars. “He just gets…frustrated sometimes. You know. Because he can’t be out, what with working on the docks and all. He never means to do it.”

“Is that what he told you?” I stood up, literally shaking with fury. If Prick-tard had walked in the door right now… Well, he wouldn’t have been walking out again, that was for sure. “So all those times you turned up looking battered—Christ, you really had been!”

“Not all of them,” he said earnestly, looking up at me as if he was anxious I understand his ex hadn’t been a total shitting bastard
all
the time, just, oh, ninety percent or so. “I mean, you know what I’m like.”

“So,” I began, and it didn’t sound like me, not at all. “The black eye? The lip? Why the hell didn’t you
tell
someone, for God’s sake?”

“He never meant to do it,” Matt said, his voice barely a whisper.

“What, his fist just moved of its own accord? Some kind of muscle spasm, was it?”

Matt didn’t answer, and I realised with an unpleasant shock that my anger was scaring him. I sat back down on the sofa so at least I wouldn’t be looming so much. “Matt… You shouldn’t be making excuses for him. That kind of behaviour is totally unacceptable. If he can’t control his anger, he doesn’t deserve to have a boyfriend.” He certainly didn’t deserve Matt.

“Yeah, but… I know I wound him up sometimes. I talk too much, and I don’t think about what I’m saying, and I’m always knocking stuff over…”

“That doesn’t give anyone the right to knock you over!”

Matt took a deep breath. “I know… At least…” His face was screwed up with the effort of trying to articulate whatever was going on inside that shaggy head of his. “He wasn’t like that all the time. Sometimes he was really nice, you know? Fun. Caring.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I just meant to say, well, it helped, what you said. You know. You believing I was worth better.”

“You seriously needed me to tell you that? Matt, of course you’re worth better! You’re kind, you’re good-looking, you’re fun to be with—and you’re a wizard with the bikes. Anyone would be glad to have you as a boyfriend.” I’d leaned forward as I spoke, and when Matt looked up, our faces were only inches apart. My breath caught—his lips were so close to mine. As I watched, they parted, and without even meaning to, I leaned in a little farther—only to see Matt recoil and hang his head once more.

Shit. What the hell had I been thinking of? That he’d welcome a kiss from his best mate’s boyfriend? That when I’d said he deserved better than Steve Pritchard, I’d meant a cheating bastard would do just fine?

“Washing up,” I blurted out, jumping off the sofa just as Matt mumbled something that sounded like
sorry
. “Need to do the washing up. Chuck away the boxes. Don’t want them stinking the place out.” I scrambled into the kitchen, where I found Wolverine licking out one of the takeaway tubs. He hissed when I snatched it away. “Tough,” I told him. “I’m fairly sure monosodium glutamate isn’t recommended for cats, and I don’t want you sicking up again.”

I rinsed out the tubs and put them for recycling, loaded the dishwasher and looked around for anything else I could reasonably do in the kitchen to avoid having to face Matt again. Did the fridge need a clean? I opened it up and stared at the stacks of colourful little boxes—my secret convenience-food shame.

“Tim?” I shut the fridge door hurriedly when I heard Matt’s voice. He was standing in the doorway looking down at nine stripey toes and one pink one that was sticking out through the hole in his sock. “Um, sorry about that,” he carried on. “I just… Anyway, I know you’re…” The toes curled up tightly. “Sorry.”

What? I frowned, trying to make sense of it. He knew I was sorry? Or he knew I was something else, and he was sorry about it? Why was he sorry? And why was my head starting to ache? “Strong wine, that, wasn’t it?” I said at last.

“Yeah!” Matt nodded enthusiastically, his shaggy hair bobbing. “Um. Okay if I take a shower?”

“Of course—be my guest. Which, obviously, you are, so… I’ll get you a towel.” I escaped to the airing cupboard where I got out Jay’s fluffiest towel, hanging it on the stair banister. “Here you go,” I called down the stairs.

While Matt went up for a shower, I tried very, very hard not to think about the fact that he would soon be naked, only yards away from me. Would be getting into my—all right, Jay’s—shower and soaping himself up, lathering all over, maybe paying particular attention to certain areas… I sighed. “Down, boy,” I muttered to a part of me that was by now also very, very hard.

When I looked at the clock, I saw it was well after nine. Pritchard must have got home from work some time ago—must have found Matt’s note and realised he’d been dumped. If it hadn’t been for tonight’s little revelation, I might even have been tempted to feel sorry for the bastard. As it was, I couldn’t blame Matt for wanting to avoid a confrontation that could land him in the hospital. For the first time, it occurred to me Steve might not feel the same way—might come looking for Matt. Might want to use some very forceful arguments to persuade Matt to come back to him.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself I could handle it if he did—as long as he didn’t catch me by surprise, I was confident I could take him in a fight. Of course, Jay might be none too pleased if there was any brawling in his shop. On the other hand, any publicity, as they say, is good publicity… But what if he turned up here? I didn’t much like the idea of having to be on my guard constantly. Chances were good he didn’t have Jay’s address, but it’d be nice to know for sure.

Matt had left his phone charging up on the kitchen counter. As I glanced at it, a text message
kerplunked
through. Should I give Matt a yell? It might be something urgent.

It might be Pritchard, saying he knew where Matt was and was on his way round.

I felt guilty even as I picked it up—but I still checked the message anyway.

It was from Pritchard—at least, I was fairly sure Matt wouldn’t have any other Steve texting him
Baby, come back, I miss u.
My stomach lurched. Had I been wrong about Steve?

There were eleven other messages, all from Steve. I opened the second: it was a similar plaintive outpouring of love and hurt. The third:
Im sorry, well work it out.
Guilt twisted painfully inside me. The fourth…I stared at the words, unwilling to believe this was the guy Matt had lived with. Loved.
Ur making a big mistake. Ur nothing without me
. It was like watching a car crash; I couldn’t stop myself flicking to the next.
Useles fucking cunt
. Hurried flick.
U no i only say these things cos i love u.
Cum bac.
Flick.
Think that posh tossers goin to want u when he finds out how pahtetic ur?

I shut the phone with a snap and put it down quickly before it slipped out of my sweaty hands.
Posh tosser?
Was that supposed to be me? While I wasn’t entirely happy with either part of the description I had to concede I was probably the poshest, well, tosser in Matt’s little circle of acquaintance.

Did Prick-tard think Matt, well, fancied me?

Did
Matt fancy me?

Maybe…maybe I should tell him how I felt? If there was even the slightest chance he felt the same…

Oh, yes, right. Because of course cheating on his best mate was bound to be the way to Matt’s heart. I had to finish things with Adam, I decided. Whether or not Matt liked me was beside the point. The point was, I’d fallen for someone else—hard—and it wasn’t fair to either of us to keep messing around with Adam.

I’d call him tomorrow. Get him to come round—or we could go out somewhere, maybe, although that would mean leaving Matt on his own, which I was reluctant to do—and I’d tell him it was over. I hoped Adam wouldn’t be too upset. He’d seemed quite fond of me—but we’d never really spoken about what we wanted from the relationship, had we?

It suddenly struck me that tomorrow was Wednesday—karate night. I wondered if Pritchard would go. He really didn’t strike me as the sort to sit at home and pine for his ex. I shivered. The thought of Pritchard in fighting mode when he actually had a good reason to be in a foul mood was not a happy one.

Would I go? I felt conflicted. I didn’t want to leave Matt on his own—but on the other hand I didn’t want to miss training because of Prick-tard, and I definitely didn’t want to give the bastard the satisfaction of thinking he’d scared me off. Maybe Adam would stay with Matt, if I asked? Actually, thinking about it, that was a brilliant idea. If Adam was feeling a bit low because of our breakup, Matt would be able to cheer him up. Matt could cheer anyone up.

I was certainly feeling a lot better now.

Chapter Eighteen

When I stumbled downstairs Wednesday morning, the first thing I saw was a tousle-headed Matt, wandering around the kitchen in nothing but his boxer shorts.