Junction X (22 page)

I kept the keys in my trousers pocket, and all day I would reach in and touch them, wrap my fingers around them and hurt myself with their solidity. I removed the label in case Valerie wondered about them, but I hesitated to put them onto my key ring. Making excuses for their existence, I worried where I should keep them.

The doorbell rang and I could hear the children stamping the snow from their boots. As Mrs. Tudor pulled off wet coats and hats, I wandered into the hall.

“Still lazy-ing around, Daddy?” Mary said. It had become a joke with her. If I wasn’t at work, I was obviously doing nothing.

“It’s called working from home,” I managed with some dignity.

“Daddy’s got homework!” she shrieked and pulled John with her. “Come up, Alec!”

“In a moment,” I said, “I want to speak to Alec before you two take him away. Your mother is having a lie down, so if you are going to play, I’d rather you did it down here in the conservatory.”

“But we want to go in the garden!”

“Not tonight. You’ve just got dry. You’ve all day tomorrow.”

They vanished into the back of the house and Mrs. Tudor swept into the kitchen. I opened the study door and led Alex through, locking the door behind me, which was as dangerous a move as leaving it open. I remember his ears and his hands were cold, and I took his hands and put them against my skin before I kissed him. The study windows only looked onto the garden and there was very little chance of anyone except the children braving it out there.

He was tense for a second, then melted against me, a small noise like submission or the last breath of life escaping from him. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was, but I didn’t know how to say, “I’m sorry I kissed my wife in front of you.” How does a man say that to anyone and sound sincere? Sound human? Instead I crushed him tightly, making our kiss a million miles from anything he’d seen on New Year’s Eve until we were both breathless and far too aroused to be able to leave the study right away.

“I promised you this,” I said, digging my hand into my pocket and pulling the keys out. “Open your hand.”

He obeyed me, that subtle smile that was far too old for him flickering over his mouth. I wanted to kiss it away, for I hated to think he smiled like that at anyone else.

I paid the copies of both keys out like coins, one by one into his hand. We had the means and the motive now.

“When?” His voice was carefully quiet, as if Valerie was leaning against the door.

I was such a pathetic lover. I had nothing planned, nothing but the blind elation of placing the treasure in the hand of the prince. Here, I would have said. Here are your golden hairs, now give me the kingdom.

“I don’t know. I can get away easier than you. It’s number eight.”

He was silent, looking down at the keys. “Infinity,” he said suddenly. It took me a moment to catch up. “And lucky.”

“Yes.” I hoped so. Did he see the future the way I did? I’ll never know.

“I’ll need to make some plans,” he said. “Someone at school can cover for me.”

I went cold. “You can’t…”

“Don’t worry,” like he knew my mind. “I won’t. It’s nothing more than I’ve done for them. We don’t tell each other the truth.” He grinned again. “It’s only an alibi, Edward.”

I opened the door and we sat chatting about the weather for a while, sounding false to my ears. Then he stood. “Thank you, sir. That was interesting—I might take you up on that.”

“What?” said John, appearing from nowhere with a scowl on his face.

“Your father has invited me to go into his office when the weather improves.” I had to force myself not to do a double take at the sheer elegance and slickness of the lie.

“He took me once. It was very dull.” My son was destined to be an Amazonian explorer or a burglar. I don’t think he’d decided which. “He was on the telephone almost the entire time.” He was silent for a moment. “But you’ll get a super tea. The cafeteria there is amazing.”

“Really?” Alex joined John and stepped from dark into light. “What do they have?” I heard John begin a litany of cakes and sandwiches as their voices faded away, leaving me a vision of Alex, his top lip dusted with sugar.

Chapter 17

I still felt like I must have the words of my betrayal smudged across my face in imperfect permanent ink, but no one seemed to see them as I continued to scheme. I spoke to Phil and obtained my own alibi from him; I told Val I was going to be working late on Thursday night, and Phil that he and I were going to drive to another club in the next county on Saturday. “With the weather the way it is,” I said airily to Val, “I can’t guarantee what time we’ll get back.”

“You won’t be out all night?”

“I can’t say.” I knew that it was almost impossible that Alex would be able to find some excuse to stay out that long, but this gave me—us—two plans, two opportunities. And as they were both false, both were capable of being changed if Alex had problems. I had faith in him, though; my clever boy would think of something, and it would be more convincing than mine, I was sure of it.

“I just wish you’d given me more notice, darling, it’s very bad of you. I could have come with you, but I’ll never get a sitter this late, not with this weather.”

Icy fingers rippled down my spine, and I fumbled, no lies ready at my lips.

She pounced on my guilt and shook it like a terrier would a rat. “What? You don’t want me to come? What is this, Ed? Some nefarious boy’s night out?” She was playful, but her eyes were over-inquisitive. “Perhaps I
should
…”

I decided to push it. I slid an arm around her. “If you really want to know, then…yes. Yes, it is.”

“Is what?” She stiffened in my arms.

“A nefarious boy’s night out. I could never lie to you.”

“Ed Johnson!”

I laughed, and I felt the world tilt. “Don’t be silly, Val. Not for
me
. For Phil. You understand that, don’t you? He’s feeling a little lonely, you know. We thought we’d go to the West End…”

“Oh.” She looked blank for a moment, and almost a little dented. “Oh!”

“Val.” There was something powerful and terrible saying the words for me. Nothing could stop me; nothing would stop what I had planned. It was if I had already slid into Alex’s bed. I had crossed the line. “It’s not for me. You
know
what Phil’s like if he gets too drunk.”

“But the West End, I mean, really. Why can’t you go out somewhere here? The stories the papers come out with…”

“I’ve been to these clubs before, you know that. And Phil won’t want to, you know, so close to home.”

“Yes. Yes. But you went there to entertain clients, but not for yourself.”

I had to wonder at her belief in me, her faith and trust. I suppose she was right, in her way. I’d had the opportunities, and girls who didn’t seem to find me unattractive—I’d skirted on the very edge of Kray renown, rubbed shoulders with good time girls laid on for my clients, but I’d never been tempted.

But I was not ashamed, not even then. I pretended to give in, all pretence and brittleness. “All right. I’ll cancel it. Phil will understand. We’ll just go to the pub.” I sighed and shook her loose, stood up and walked into the hall.

She called me back, as I knew she would. “I’m being silly, I know. I’m sorry. But London clubs. Gangsters and starlets, from what you read.”

“Look. I’ll make you a deal. I promise you faithfully that if either a gangster or a starlet makes an approach I’ll warn them off.” I sat down again and peace was restored. “What about Phil? Can
he
have one?”

She couldn’t help but smile. And, new-made man that I was, I pressed the advantage. “You don’t mind, then? I thought it was better to tell you the truth.”

“I’m glad you did.” She sounded quieter than normal, and in fact the whole exchange had been less fraught than I’d thought it would be. “I think I’ll go to bed.” She kissed me and disappeared, leaving me with the television and thoughts too jumbled to cope with.

Phil was easy regarding the new story. “No problem, old boy. I’ll remember, and I’ll just not answer the phone if anyone rings. Just have a good time, and when Val finds out—and she will, you know that—just make sure that my name stays out of the mud. She’ll need a shoulder to cry on, I’m sure.”

I felt like hitting him, my pathetic, nearly-drowned honour surfacing far too late. “Don’t you dare,” I said.

“Only joking,” he said. But I didn’t believe him.

Alex was harder to pin down and see alone. In the end, I had to dig out some old bits and bobs from the attic, some dusty toy sheep, old track and some trees, the sponges of their foliage shrivelled and desiccated. All that was left of some younger dreams, crumbling in my hands. I told Alf that it was a present, a thank you for looking after the children so well. I included a few pieces that I’d been buying here and there, toy tokens for my lover—some signals and a couple of shops. I’d buried them under the older and less reputable items.

Alf waved me in and told me to go up, “You know the way,” he said. “Come down after, I’ve got a nice malt that you might like.”

I forced myself not to race up the stairs, remembering who I was supposed to be and that what I was doing was a duty and not a skin-tingling pleasure. When I got to the attic door, I opened it slowly, hoping to catch him unawares and, holding my breath for fear of alerting him, I managed it.

He was seated on the far side of the room, his face a picture of concentration as he bent over something I couldn’t see. The room was quite dim, lit only with a couple of actual railway lanterns and a desk lamp near his face which illuminated his face and hair in a way that Rubens would have sold his soul to capture.

I stepped in on the balls of my feet and shut the door, trying to be silent, trying to retain the golden glowing image for a second longer, but the door’s latch clicked and he looked up. For all that it was a difficult room to manoeuvre, he slid around the edges and then I was holding him close—though never close enough—the scent of camomile coming from his hair. He kissed me as if his breath was only waiting for mine.

“Your parents.”

“The last set of stairs are wooden, we’d hear them.”

“You didn’t hear me.”

“I did. I thought you were Dad. Shut up. Let me.”

“Don’t, Alex.”

“Don’t? Not even?”

“No.”

“
Yes
.”

Weak-willed and trembling, I let him slip to his knees while, terrified, I curled my fingers in his hair. Part of my brain tried to stay alert for a creaking step, but all was wiped away at his first warm breath on the head of my cock. Time left us, and everything seemed centred in the small tight place behind my balls. Until it wasn’t and I buried my ecstasy by biting down on the back of my hand.

He pulled himself up, wiping his mouth with an urchin smile that verged on the smug. I pulled him to me and shared my plan with him.

“I can do both, I think,” he said. “Let me see what I can work out.”

“You’ve got the keys safe?”

“Of course. Of
course.
”

“I’d better go.” I wanted to ask him the one thing that I never ever asked him.
Why
. Some questions never want to be asked. Some questions are too frightened of their own answers.

+ + +

And then there I was, closing the curtains in a damp room on a Thursday evening, wondering how I’d come to this, and wondering if I
could
—open that door and run back for my life down the stairs and up The Avenue, back to what had been my previous life. Would I?
Would
I?

Stupid even to write it down, for I
could
have opened that door. There was nothing keeping that door shut but my feelings for Alex. And that’s the thing, isn’t it? It wasn’t about being queer, it wasn’t about wanting men. Phil could not have imprisoned me in that way.
 
But Alex held me like a vice.

I had turned on the gas heater, which sputtered in the damp and gave off an unappealing smell. As I looked around the depressing little flat, I realised how bad a lover I was, how bad, perhaps, I’d always been. Romance demanded candles and a warm bed with warm sheets—how else could a lover feel that their attentions were important to you? There needed to be warmth and flowers. Music. But there was nothing to attract Alex but a middle-aged man and a gas fire that coughed arthritically. I sat on the brown counterpane and put my head in my hands. There were a hundred, a thousand, a million—for all I knew—men who did this in rented rooms. Was it all as sordid?