The Beard (14 page)

Derek looked affronted: “WHAT? You’re leaving? What is it, your boyfriend’s bedtime? The party hasn’t even started yet. I thought we could go clubbing after this.”

The mere prospect filled Tom with unbridled revulsion.

“Well,” he said, “Amy’s feeling tired, so we’re heading off. I’ll see you on Monday. Have a good evening.”

Before Derek could mutter another word, Tom started walking down the driveway to the main road, where a line of taxis usually resided. Amy had seen him and exited through a side door. She waited until Derek turned to go back in before making her escape.

Derek headed into the bar, muttering about Tom being a cocksucker. As Tom hid behind the hotel garden wall waiting for Amy, he checked his phone. There was a message from Carl, apologising for his non-attendance and blaming his child’s fever and a trip to the hospital – a claim that Tom took with a substantial pinch of salt.

Tom sent a text back:
Prove it! Take a pic of your baby and the hospital!

He knew that Carl would take his baby to the hospital just to oblige, and laughed at the prospect.

People walked along the street, looking up the drive at the revelry in the large venue and grounds, wondering what was happening. “You don’t want to know,” Tom said to one set of inquisitive onlookers.

The other text was from another colleague.
You still there?
it said.
We escaped through the bushes. Want to know where the hole is?
Tom stood, leaning against a brick gatepost, chuckling to himself. Had it really come to this – making an escape through a hedge? As he composed a reply, he looked up to see a man, clad in a hoodie, looking down at the Tarmac. He recognised the voice. The man was oblivious to everything around him but continued to walk, joining the top of the taxi-less queue. Tom stood silently still, as if afraid of discovery.

“No, silly. It’s just that me and my other half have split up. He was a bit violent, so I dumped him. We were together for years, but I can’t stand violence. I just want… oh, I don’t know. I just want a man who I can trust. A man who keeps his word.” There was silence as the person on the other end spoke, then the man in the hoodie replied, “You’re a one, aren’t you! Of course I’m totally out. Everyone knows.”

At that moment, Tom knew for sure that he was eavesdropping on Ash’s attacker – Paul. A man who, seemingly, was fully out to the world, yet had put someone in hospital because of it. Tom stood perfectly still and wondered how many other men ran the risk of being victims of Paul’s ‘fully open’ sexuality. Tom was transfixed, doing his best to filter out all background noise so that he could hear the conversation.

Paul laughed – a carefree laugh that irritated Tom. His friend was cowering at home while his assailant wandered around without a worry in the world. He was sure he heard Paul add, “Now, the cab’s coming – am I coming over to yours or am I going home all alone and cold?” Laughter again followed, sending shivers up Tom’s spine. Paul then added, “See you soon, then,” as he jumped into the approaching taxi.

“What you looking at?” said Amy as she appeared through a hole in the bush, her hair everywhere and bits of privet in her dress.

“Nothing,” sighed Tom. “Just a guy I knew. A ghost.”

Amy looked up and down the road. “Shall we walk?” she said. “I can’t stand the thought of him coming out, can you?”

Tom looked back at her quizzically. “Coming out?” he repeated, unsure of what she meant.

“Derek!” she responded with amazement, as if Tom had forgotten the vile entity that was.

“Oh, yes,” he said, as if reminded of a distant holiday memory, rather than one that should’ve been horrifyingly fresh in the mind. “I can’t imagine him coming out, no,” he added, distracted. “But we’re going to do something about it, I think,” he added cryptically.

“Come on, then,” said Amy. “What you waiting for?”

Tom looked down the road after the taxi that was now a dot on the horizon.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Nothing at all.”

Ash was wandering around the house, room to room, as if looking for something.

Tom was trying to read. “Ash, would you bloody well sit down or go to your room?” he barked.

“I’m bored!” came the explosive reply, a declaration that was so self-evident, it could’ve been seen from space. 

Tom refused to look up from his manual. “I can see that,” he retorted dryly.

“I need to be entertained. I need something to captivate my interest, something to keep me busy.” Ash paced the lounge, picking up magazines, flashing through a few pages and then sighing. It wasn’t a quic
k sigh, rather a protracted one that ended with him tossing the publications aside as if they’d offended him.

Tom knew exactly what had to be done, but wasn’t sure if Ash was ready. “Let’s go out,” he said with as little weight to his words as possible. It had been nearly two months since Ash was attacked and Tom was sure that the longer Ash went without going out, the harder it would be.

Ash stopped walking, slumped into a chair and grappled down the side for the TV remote. “There’s probably something on TV,” he said, changing the subject.

“Come on,” said Tom. “It’s got to be done some time. Why not now?”

Ash didn’t look up but made a noise to suggest that he was mulling over the idea. “I don’t fancy it, to be honest,” he finally stated.
Tom put the manual down and, rising from the chair, fell to his knees in front of Ash. “I know you’re scared.” Ash blew his lips together, rolled his eyes and tutted. His attempt to show disdain for the suggestion was weak. “I know you’re scared,” Tom repeated, “but you have to go out soon. Look, it’s a beautiful sunny day. We can go to the caff on the corner and have a coffee. That’s all for now. It’s daytime, you won’t be alone and it’s a minute away. Come on.” Tom reached his hand out, waiting for Ash to reciprocate the offer and stand up.

Having waited a few seconds and seeing no reaction, Tom grabbed his friend’s hand and, without forcing the issue, said, “Come on, Ash, you know you want to!”

Ash looked at him with narrowing eyes. Yes, he was nervous but he hated being bested by Tom. “I need to change,” he said, lurching forwards and prancing out of the lounge door.

As he thumped up every step towards his room, Tom shouted out after him, “You have FIVE minutes.” He was all too used to Ash’s delaying tactics.

Tom returned to his manual and listened to the various bangs, crashes and sighs emanating above him.

After a few minutes, he shouted up the stairs, “Ready?”

To his surprise, Ash appeared (wearing the exact same things but for the addition of sunglasses) and walked down the stairs with the word, “Ready!”

Tom opened the door and purposely said, “After you.”

As Ash walked out into the street, it was almost as if it were his first time outside. Tom slammed the door shut, causing Ash to flinch. Ignoring the reaction, Tom set off down the short street, lined with red-brick terraced houses. They walked along in silence, the volume of people increasing gradually as they neared the hive of activity that was the local shopping area. By the time they reached the café, they were amid a fairly healthy mass of people coming and going.

Tom sat down at a newly vacant table on the pavement and motioned for Ash to join him. This was a large leap of faith for Ash, actually sitting outside among the hustle.

Picking up a menu, Tom gave a cursory glance, before asking, “The usual?” Ash nodded and looked around, still hiding behind his sunglasses. “OK,” Tom said, standing up, “it’s on me.” He knew that Ash would suffer some form of mild panic being left alone, but was sure he needed to leave him for a minute or so.

Walking into the café and up to the counter, Tom kept turning to make sure his friend was OK. Ash sat, trying to be elegantly blasé, his legs crossed, each arm draped over his lap as if everything before him was “so last year”.

Having ordered their meals in what must’ve been a matter of seconds, Tom turned around to see a man chatting to Ash. Fearful of what this encounter might mean, or produce, he darted out with some haste.

He arrived back at the table to see Ash remove his sunglasses and exclaim, “No! You’re kidding?” at the man.

Tom stopped in his tracks, sure that this wasn’t the hallmark of an attack (or a threat thereof). “Hello,” Tom uttered, sitting down in his spot.

Ash looked animated and turned to him immediately. “You’re never going to believe me,” he said with all of his usual gay fanfare. “John here has just told me the most amazeballs thing!”

Tom raised an eyebrow in a manner that betrayed his age. It wasn’t missed by Ash, who sighed and rolled his eyes.

“You know Paul from the project?” Tom didn't reply but instead stared blankly back at Ash. That was a person and a name he was sure he’d always remember. “Well, he’s in hospital. Critical.”

Tom refused to show any interest. “Oh?” he said, picking up a menu for something to read.

Ash was momentarily confused. Yes, they both hated Paul for what he’d done, but this was still gossip and gossip was good currency, irrespective of who it was about. Even more so when you hated the person, he thought.

“No, Tom, listen,” he continued. “So get this, Paul was actually attacked. Really badly. Wasn’t he?” He looked up at John the stranger.

John nodded enthusiastically.

“And?” Tom ventured.

“AND… it’s awful,” said John. “But this is the best bit…”

Tom looked up and wondered how someone being hospitalised in an attack could have a “best bit”.

“Turns out Paul was
so
not out. He was having us all on. He’s got a wife and everything. He’s a total self-hater – a homophobe and a cock-lover!”

Tom looked at the neighbouring tables for a reaction and looked down in a degree of shame. He was all for openness but not crudity.

“So, anyway. It turns out his brothers, who are, like, so über, über anti-gay, found out what he’d been up to and were waiting for him one night. I heard he’s on a drip.”

Ash and Tom offered nothing but a curiously delayed reaction. “They said they were doing it because he’d betrayed his wife, not because he was gay. Apparently. It’s being said he’s positive, too.”

This was news. Anyone who betrayed someone and slept around was bad enough, but to put the health of others at risk was a complete no-no.

“The bastard!” said Ash, repulsed. “He sleeps around with everyone. Oh. My. God. There could be loads of people…”
He drifted off in thought. Tom looked up at him immediately and with some concern. “Oh, not me, you fool,” Ash offered with a scornful flurry.

Ash was so engrossed in the news that he’d quite forgotten where he was. The horror and fears that had kept him entombed in the house were seemingly forgotten, his assailant no longer a threat. “So, when did it happen? I mean, where were all his brothers to find him?”

John again checked from side to side, conspiratorially: “That’s where it gets better. Someone called his brother’s factory and told them exactly where he goes and that he was bumming half the town!”

Despite knowing all of this anyway, John gasped along with Ash. They looked at each other in disbelief and then at Tom.

“Do they know who called?” asked Ash, hooked on the soap-opera storyline. He sat wide-eyed and captivated.

“Some say it was his wife, some say a spurned lover,” John offered by means of lack of clarification.

Ash fell back into his chair. “Oh. My. God!” he said again.

A silence shrouded the trio. Tom looked at both of them as they processed the information. John looked at Ash as if waiting expectantly for marks out of ten, while Ash remained deep in thought. Well, as deep as he could get.

“I’m off into town,” John said to Ash. “You coming?”

Ash looked at Tom imploringly. Tom’s shoulders sank. “Go,” he said as Ash leapt up into a half-pirouette.

“Thanks, sweetie,” he said as he and fickle friend John skipped off down the road, deep in conversation. 

Tom watched as they vanished out of sight and marvelled at the healing power of gossip. Who would’ve imagined that a bit of sensation and the prospect of shopping would cure Ash of his house-bound status? Who was this John, anyway? Yet another of Ash’s fickle friends. Someone who’d been nowhere on the recovery radar after the attack. A friend by text message alone, thought Tom.

“Two full fried breakfasts,” said the patron, brandishing two large plates of sizzling protein. He looked down at Tom sitting on his own. “You must be hungry, mate,” he said, plopping the plates down. “I don’t know where you put it.” Tom looked down at the two platefuls of food and sighed. “I’ll be back with your cutlery,” said the astonished patron, wandering off.

Tom looked down the street, hoping to see a familiar face he could off-load a plate of food on. Then his phone started buzzing on the tiled square table where two mountains of breakfast sat.

Flipping the phone, he glanced down at the text.

Thank you for doing that. Xx.

Tom smiled. He wondered whether Ash had realised or not. The truth will out, he thought as the café owner returned.