Muscling Through (4 page)

I thought Larry’d want me to do the punting, but he grabbed the pole and got up on the back of the punt. “Haven’t done this in years,” he said. He was smiling like he was all excited to be doing it again. “Wonder if I’ve still got the knack?”

I had to smile too, ’cause he looked even littler with a great big pole in his hands. Then I thought about that some more and I started to get a stiffie, so I grabbed the bags and asked Larry if he wanted me to open the wine and the strawberries.

“Wait until we get out along the Backs,” Larry said. “Actually, no—you might as well get it open now.” So I got out the champagne and popped the cork off. It went in the river and started bobbing about. I was worried about littering, but Larry said it was okay ’cause corks come from trees and are natural and stuff. Only he used longer words than that.

Larry wasn’t doing too bad at punting, but it’s a good thing he’s little, ’cause he forgot to duck when we was going under Silver Street bridge. I think it’s ’cause we’d started heading for the side, and he was worried we’d get stuck. But I gave a shove off the side, and we was all right. I warned Larry before I did it. I didn’t want him to fall in or nothing.

The next bridge is made of wood. I always thought maybe it was a temporary one and they’d build a proper one when they got round to it, but Larry said no, it’s a mathematical bridge. That’s the one I can never remember about. I thought maybe if Larry explained it I might be able to remember this time. I looked, but it didn’t have any sums on it or nothing.

“It’s the design,” Larry said, “Popular legend has it that when it was built, no nuts and bolts were used in the construction, because of the precise mathematical design. As you can see, it’s got them now, but they’re supposed to have been a later addition.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I wouldn’t trust a wooden bridge built by a mathematician neither. You want to get a proper carpenter in to do that kind of stuff.”

Larry laughed. I did too, ’cause I like seeing him laugh.

When we got out at the back of King’s College, I poured out the champagne. I like King’s College. It’s the one with the really posh chapel that looks more like a cathedral. I always thought chapels were supposed to be really small, but you could fit a whole row of houses from Larry’s street into King’s College chapel. There’s this huge patch of grass next to it, going down to the river. I don’t do landscapes, but if I did, I’d do this one. Even the bridges are really pretty down the Backs.

“Al, you’re woolgathering! How about passing me that champagne?”

I was wondering how Larry was going to manage to drink wine while he was punting. He had the glass in one hand and the punt pole in the other, which was okay to start with, but when you pull the pole back, you need to move your hand on it. Larry shifted his hand down by sort of jerks, and he ended up spilling most of his champagne, but he seemed happy enough about it. “Like riding a bike!” he said with a big grin on his face. “Oops—bugger! Ah. Top-up?”

So I didn’t have to drink much fizzy wine after all, ’cause Larry kept spilling his, so that was good. But he drank enough that he got a bit wobbly, so I said, “All right if I have a go?” and we swapped over. I didn’t want him falling in. When I got up, I was a bit worried, ’cause I’m a bit big to stand up in a boat, but punts are really flat, so it was okay.

Punting’s dead easy, ’cause you use the pole to push off with, and when you’ve done that, you can use it to steer with. So you don’t have to think about two things at once. I didn’t try and hold a glass while I was doing it, though. Larry got a bit giggly, and he got me to open my mouth so he could throw strawberries at me. But we had to stop ’cause Larry can’t throw for shit, and people in other punts were complaining about being hit by strawberries. Even though they was Marks and Spencer’s strawberries.

Up past King’s is this stone bridge with big stone balls on it. Larry said it was Clare Bridge. I said I hoped they’d stuck those balls down properly, ’cause I didn’t fancy one of them coming down on us when we went underneath. Larry thought that was really funny, but I don’t think he’d have been laughing if half a ton of stone dropped through the bottom of the punt.

We got up as far as the Bridge of Sighs before we thought we ought to turn back. Larry said the bridge was named after a famous one in Venice, and that he’d take me to see it one day. The one in Venice, he meant. But I know people often say they’re going to do stuff for you when they don’t really mean it, so I didn’t get my hopes up or nothing.

After we took the punt back, we had our picnic up by Trinity College. It’s really pretty there, with trees leaning down into the water like they’re having a drink. Larry had a bit of a headache, so we sat in the shade of one of them. There was lots of students around, reading books and eating sandwiches. Lots of them had their bikes with them, just lying on the ground ’cause there was nothing to stand them up against. “It must be great, being clever,” I said, ’cause I’ve often thought that.

Larry smiled, though he had his eyes closed. He’d finished eating and was lying down, with his jacket rolled up as a pillow, getting all crumpled. “It’s all relative, you know. And being clever academically doesn’t mean you’re any good at other things.”

I don’t know about that. I think you need to be clever for most things. Except maybe seeing that it’s good to be clever. I think maybe that’s easier if you’re not clever. “Like what?” I asked.

“Oh, you know. Life. People. The important stuff.”

I thought about that for a bit. I wanted to ask Larry what he meant by the important stuff, but his breathing sounded like it was getting slower, and his nose sort of twitched like he was about to make one of those snuffly noises he makes while he’s asleep. So I kept quiet and leaned back on my elbows, looking at the trees and the river and Larry, and I thought about how glad I was I’d walked him home that night we met.

Chapter Three

Once I’d sketched Larry, I wanted to do a proper painting of him. It was kind of difficult to choose what pose, but I went for the one where he’s all sprawled out on the rug. You can see his cock just resting on his thigh, like a little animal that’s gone to sleep. I like seeing him like that, ’cause I know I’m the one that’s going to wake him up.

I like waking Larry up with a kiss. Only, you know, it’s not always his mouth I kiss him on.

I think Larry likes that too.

I didn’t let Larry see the painting of him until it was finished. And then I pretended it wasn’t finished for a while longer, ’cause I was worried he mightn’t like it. But then I thought, this is crazy, I got to get this over with, so when he came home from work one day, I dragged him straight up the stairs to look at it.

Larry was laughing and saying, “Al, could I at least put my briefcase down? Maybe change my shoes?” And then he saw my picture of him, and he didn’t say nothing for a really long time. I was shitting myself. I thought he hated it. I thought he’d never let me paint him again, and if I couldn’t do that, I didn’t want to paint nothing ever again.

But then he just grabbed me and held me with his face in my chest, and when he looked up again his eyes were all shiny. “How did you…? No, don’t try and tell me—words would just cheapen it.” I was glad he said that, ’cause I’m not that good with words. I thought he was going to cry, but he was smiling too, so I guessed he didn’t hate it too much. “Is this really how you see me?”

“’S what you look like,” I said, only I guess I kind of mumbled it.

“You have to do more of these,” Larry said. It sounded like he wanted me to do them right now. “Not of me, though.” He smiled sort of funny. “Will you hate me if I ask you not to show this one?” I thought that was a daft question. I couldn’t never hate Larry even if I tried. “I almost hate myself,” he said, “But it’s just too…too private. It’s wonderful, Al—really wonderful. You need to do more paintings like this, with—with other models, and I guarantee you they’ll be a huge success.”

My stomach felt a bit funny, ’cause I’d never really thought of showing other people my paintings anyway. But I didn’t want to disappoint Larry. “Okay,” I said. “But I don’t know where I’ll get guys to model for me.”

“Oh, students,” Larry said, like it was obvious. Which it probably was, to him, ’cause he’s clever. “Offer them a few pounds an hour just to sit around with their clothes off, and they’ll be on you like flies. I’ll put a notice up in the Porter’s Lodge tomorrow.” He smiled at me. “After I see someone about having this framed. You have signed it, haven’t you?”

“I never thought of it,” I said, ’cause I hadn’t.

“What? You’ve got to sign it! Do it now!”

So I got my brush and I signed it, Alan Fletcher. I did it small, ’cause I didn’t want to ruin the picture or nothing.

Larry kissed me. “We’ll hang it in the bedroom.”

No one’s ever hung one of my pictures in their house before, ’cept my mum. I felt so proud, it was like when I brought home my first pay packet.

We had Larry’s family round for dinner a few weeks after I moved into his flat. I didn’t think they liked me at first, but then Larry’s mum said she could see I’d concentrated on my physical education, which I thought was nice of her, though Larry didn’t smile or nothing. Larry’s mum looks just like him, all little and pretty, except she’s older, of course, and she doesn’t smile as much. Least, not when she’s looking at me. His dad’s kind of little too, but his hair’s getting thin, and he’s got a face like he’s been pissed off about stuff for so long it’s stuck that way. I’m glad Larry doesn’t look like him, ’cause how would I tell if he was really pissed off about stuff or if it was just his face?

Larry’s sister Alicia came too. She’s younger than him and even littler, but she’s not as pretty, which must be kind of tough, her being a girl. She looks more like Larry’s dad, except she’s not been pissed off about stuff for long enough for it to stick yet. And she’s a girl, so she’s got all her own hair. She’s a lawyer. I like lawyers. I told Alicia I had a great lawyer when I got stitched up on this assault charge when I was working as a bouncer. He got me off all right. Alicia said she did mostly road traffic and family law, and anyway she didn’t do special rates for family and friends.

We were sitting round the table eating pasta bolognaise and salad, and they started having this conversation about people I didn’t know, so I stopped listening. I started trying to work out if I could bench-press the whole of Larry’s little family, or just him and his mum and his sister, or maybe him and his dad and his sister, and it made me smile. Then I realised everyone was looking at me.

“I just asked you, Alan, what was your opinion about the trend towards modernisation in the performance of the classics?” Larry’s dad said, with his lip curled up all funny.

I think he thought I wouldn’t know what he meant, but I did, ’cause Larry and me had gone to see this weird Greek play only the last week where this guy pokes his eyes out ’cause he found out his wife was really his mum, and they did it in all jeans and stuff. So I just said, “I think it’s okay. I don’t think you should diss actors just ’cause they can’t afford proper costumes.”

Then Larry laughed, but his family all looked at me like I had sauce all over my face or something. So I wiped my mouth, but it was clean anyhow. But I made sure I was extra careful eating after that, just in case.

Larry’s mum and dad went home straight after dinner, but his sister stayed so she could have a row with Larry. They did it in the kitchen, and I was in the living room, so I couldn’t hear much. They weren’t shouting like my mum and stepdad used to, but sometimes I heard bits. I heard a couple of words like “taking advantage” and “just using” and I worried she’d make Larry think he couldn’t trust me, but he argued back, so I guess he didn’t agree with her.

Then she said, “You can’t possibly
love
him,” and I didn’t want to hear no more, so I turned on the TV and watched some program. I don’t remember what it was about.

When they came out of the kitchen, Larry and his sister weren’t talking anymore. She had this sort of tight look on her face, and Larry looked all sad. After she left, I put my arms round him and just held him. I knew he’d tell me about it if he wanted to.

He sniffed. “I just wish they’d accept that we’re
happy
. You’re happy with me, aren’t you?”

I said “Yeah,” ’cause although I wasn’t feeling happy right then, most of the time he makes me happier than I’ve ever been in my life.

“I don’t see what the hell our living arrangements have to do with them,” Larry said.

“I could move out if it’d make it easier,” I said, but I didn’t want to. I just didn’t like seeing Larry sad.

“No! No, you’re staying here,” Larry said. I got that. He’s a grown man; he don’t want his family to push him around and run his life. Sometimes you got to make a stand on something, even when the thing itself isn’t that important. It’s like the difference between paintings and photos—it’s what you don’t see in the photo that matters.

But I kind of wished it was the photo that was real this time.

We went to bed, and I fucked him extra gentle, and afterward, he cuddled up and said, “You know why I’m with you, don’t you, Al?”

’Cause my head was still full of the paintings and the photos and which one was the truth, I didn’t really think before I answered. “You like the way I fuck you,” I said. I mean, I didn’t say it nasty or nothing; it just came out.

I knew I’d said something wrong straight away when he sat up in bed and looked at me like he did the night we met. “Is that what you really think?” he asked.

I didn’t say nothing, ’cause I was worried I’d make it worse.

“Al? Is that all it is for you? You just like the way we…fuck?” I was going to say, he said “fuck” like it’s a dirty word, but I guess it is, isn’t it? But he said it like that anyhow.

But the question was okay; I could answer that. “I like everything about you, Larry. I like the way you look and how you’re so clever, and I like it when we laugh together and watch TV together. I like going to art galleries with you and hearing you get all bitchy about some of the artists. I like watching you when you’re doing marking, ’cause you get these funny looks on your face. I like watching you sleep and hearing that snuffly noise you make. I like waking up with you at weekends and spending the day together, just doing stuff like walking round town and shopping and cooking and stuff.” I kind of ran out of breath after that.