The Beard (18 page)

“I hate surprises,” he said and started picking up all the bags, to drag them into the kitchen.

Ash walked ahead of him, taking backward steps while talking. “Now, listen, Mr Grump-Grumps, I know you’ve been through a lot and I know you’ve done a ton for me, so I wanted to say thank you.” All Tom could think about was the fact that Ash hadn’t offered to help with the bags. “So…” said Ash, leading the conversation, “…go and make yourself halfway presentable for dinner.”

It was at that point that Tom made it to the kitchen doorway and saw what Ash was so excited about. The kitchen table had been laid beautifully with wine glasses and napkins. A few candles flickered at the centre of the table and pots bubbled away on the cooker top.

Tom looked at the scene of unadulterated perfection and felt teary. “You did all of this?” he said, looking in wonderment at what lay before him. Then his affection turned to skepticism. Ash had done all of this… what had he broken?

Tom looked at him with increasing concern. “What have you done?” he said angrily.

Ash frowned and looked hurt. “The only thing I’ve tried to do is put a smile on that face of yours. But it looks like I’d have more chance of raising the Titanic.”

Tom was even more confused. Surely, Ash hadn’t, against all the odds, done something altruistically?

“As I said, you’ve done a ton for me and I wanted to say thanks and make you happy. Is there anything wrong with that, Mr Grump-Grump skeptic?”

Tom was genuinely moved. Ash must’ve been working on it all day.

“Now,
” continued Ash, “dump your bags and go and make yourself presentable. Dinner won’t be served until you look smart, have had a shower and have splashed yourself with something nice. OK?”

Tom was still dumbstruck at what he’d witnessed. Had he come home to find an elephant in his kitchen, he’d have been less surprised. That, he might’ve expected from Ash.

“Dinner,” said Ash, throwing a tea towel over his arm, will be served promptly at eight, so no dithering – go on, get to it and I’ll put the shopping away.”

Tom remained in the doorway. He ran over the events of the day and tried to remember going to bed. Was this a dream? It surely couldn’t be happening – could it?

“Go on, get going,” roared Ash, flicking the towel at Tom’s legs.

Tom wandered off slowly, looking back in disbelief. As he did so, he saw Ash starting to unpack while checking large pots, stirring as he went. Grateful though he was, Tom was sure there had to be a sting in the tail. Surely, Ash needed to borrow money or was in trouble with the law. If he was straight, Tom would’ve assumed that he’d got a girl pregnant. This plethora of questions left him standing halfway up the stairs.

“MOVE IT!” bellowed Ash, aware of Tom’s location. Snapped out of his supposed reality, Tom set about the stairs, grabbed a towel and vanished into the bathroom. Once in, he was happy to be enveloped by a cascade of steaming water and bellows of steam. He was more than happy to forget about the day and what Ash had planned. For now…

Suitably attired and fragrant, Tom descended the stairs just shy of 8pm. He walked into the dusky kitchen, lit all over by candles, and saw Ash putting the finishing touches to something in the fridge.

“I’ve never seen the place look so good!” said Tom.

Ash jumped and stood up, closing the door quickly as he did so. He looked at Tom, slightly startled. “Dessert,” he said by means of explanation. “Needed to make sure it’d set.”

Tom looked back, bewildered. “Sounds delicious,” he offered encouragingly, not knowing what it was.

Ash, tea towel back over his arm like a waiter, moved swiftly to the table, where a wine cooler stood. “Glass of wine, sir?” he asked.

Tom looked down at the table, and the detailed care and attention that had been put into both place settings. “Yes, please,” he answered, wondering what all this waiter, waiter act was for.

Ash poured Tom a glass of wine – his favourite kind – and asked him to take a seat. Ash looked nervous and was doing his best to hide it. This made Tom curious and raised his suspicion that Ash had broken something substantial.

“Stay there,” Ash said, holding out both hands as if attempting to control a crowd. He fled the kitchen, closing the kitchen door as he did so.

Tom looked around the room for clues as to what Ash had done that was so heinous that he’d gone to all this
unbelievable effort.

Then the door opened again and Ash walked in, followed by another man. Tom, who was taking a sip of wine at the time, spat some back into the glass. Standing up to greet the stranger, he offered his hand and cheerily welcomed him. “Hello there,” he said. Why was there another man in his house? Who was he? And, given that there were three people in the room, why were there only two place settings?

“Hi there,” said the man in response, taking Tom’s hand.

Ash stood back and looked at both of them as if admiring a painting. Tom looked at him, perplexed.

“Oh!” said Ash. “Sorry. This is Josh. Josh, this is Tom.”

There was an awkward silence as the three of them stood in the kitchen. Josh was over six foot tall and quite imposing. His presence owed more to weight than muscle. It
was obvious that he’d been good-looking and well built once, but he’d let himself go. He was chubby rather than fat, but a lot of his weight was masked by his height. He had a kind but vacant face – one that told many stories but looked like each of them would bore you.

He was smartly outfitted and obviously had some style, when given the opportunity to show it. He seemed nervous and Tom felt like making his excuses and leaving them alone. The room was charged with apprehension, aftershave and the distinct scent of beef bourgignon.

“Can I just use the little boys’ room?” asked Josh, breaking the silence.

Tom sat down and sipped from his wine glass. Ash took the lead and showed Josh the way to the toilet. Then, as Josh disappeared into the bathroom, Ash spun around and clapped his hands excitedly. “What do you think?”
he said, looking at Tom like he’d just come down to find Santa Claus on Christmas morning.

Tom shrugged and screwed his face up, before saying, “Yeah, he seems nice. Not quite your usual type – a bit tubby but, yeah, seems alright.”

Ash jumped down the step from the hall into the kitchen and clapped his hands again. “He’s my gift to you!” he said, his face like a freshly scrubbed cherub.

Tom looked at Ash with considerable displeasure. “He’s what?”

Ash opened the fridge door and produced two smoked salmon starters, placing one in front of Tom and one on the vacant table setting.

“Well, you’ve been a bit down lately and I thought your love life needed a jump start, so voila! I present Josh!” Ash looked very pleased with himself, whereas Tom just stared back at him in undisguised horror. “And before you say anything – just like you had me go out after my attack, you need that push. You haven’t dated a guy in years and you’re going to be too old and crusty to get one if you leave it much longer.”

Tom wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or simply outraged. Standing up, he slammed his palms down onto the table and leaned forward. “I don’t need any help in that department, thank you,” he hissed. “I’m perfectly capable of finding someone for myself.”

Ash looked back at him impassively. “When was the last time you had a shag?”

Tom was flustered by the question. He searched for some appropriate riposte, but the delay only proved Ash right.

“Exactly!” Ash said in triumph. “Now, Josh is a lovely bloke. A bit clever, a bit funny and perfect for you to practise on.”

Tom looked appalled and offended on behalf of Josh. “Does Josh know that he’s been brought here for me to practise on? Eh?”

The very thought seemed to offend Ash. “Of course not! I told him you were perfect for him. As you both like horses.”

Tom stared at Ash quizzically and in increasing disbelief. “What on earth makes you think I like horses?”

Ash was often being corrected by Tom for one thing or another, but no more. He knew only too well that Tom liked horses and was having none of this play-acting. “You said to Amy just the other day that you wanted to go out and back a horse. Why would you do that if you don’t like them?
You tell me that!”

Tom, who was aware that Josh could walk in at any moment, tried to contain his annoyance. Conscious that the bathroom was directly above the kitchen, he whispered as loudly as he could, “
I said I wanted a guy hung like a horse…and I didn’t say back!”

Ash was
derailed. “So, when you said you’d like to him some oats, you didn’t mean the stuff that makes porrage?”

Tom scowled at Ash, “Noooo!”

Ash looked uncomfortable. “Oh,” he said. “This is awkward.”

Tom’s frown had collapsed onto his nose. “You think?”

Ash looked up brightly. “He may be hung like a horse!” he said. “I’ll have a look when he comes back in and give you the thumbs up or not.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” spat Tom as Josh walked back in.

Ash, caught by surprise, yelled, “And that’s why I think salmon is a perfect starter. Just a squeeze of juice makes it all better.” Then, pretending to see Josh for the first time, he said, “Oh, hi – didn’t see you there!”

Josh, who was no one’s fool, sensed the tension. “Is everything OK in here?” he asked, feeling uncomfortable.

“Yeessss,” said Ash. “Isn’t it?”

They both looked at Tom, who, without being aware of doing so, was looking at Josh’s groin. “Hmm? What?” he said. Josh smiled and sat down.

Ash poured Josh some wine as he and Tom smiled at each other politely.

“So, Josh,” Tom began, trying desperately to think of something interesting to say. “How do you and Ash know each other?”

Josh, who’d already started on the basket of bread on the table, continued to chew as he spoke from the side of his mouth. That explains the weight, thought Tom.

“We met at the hospital when he was in for a check-up after his attack.”

This intrigued Tom. He looked at Ash, who offered a “told you so” glance in reply. “You work at the hospital?” asked Tom, his hopes of dating a doctor rising. He looked Josh up and down once again, re-evaluating his initial assessment. Maybe he’d been hasty.

“God, no!” said Josh, laughing and putting another piece of bread into his mouth, like a chain smoker would a cigarette. “I was there for a check-up, too. Making sure I was still clean.”

Ash turned around and clapped his hands together. “Right. So you have your starters. Your mains are ready when you are. The sides are in the oven, desserts are in the fridge. You don’t mind helping yourself, do you?” Josh shook his head and reached for more bread. “Excellent!” said Ash. “Well, I’m out with a friend tonight, so I’ll see you two monkeys tomorrow!”

Tom looked up at Ash in terror. “Friend?” he said. “What friend?”

Ash was already halfway out of the kitchen. “No one you know. Have a lovely evening, guys.” Then he fled, firmly closing the kitchen door behind him.

Tom turned back to Josh and smiled nervously. He grabbed his wine and topped it up with a generous measure from a bottle at the centre of the table. Josh reached out his hand and touched Tom’s, covering it. “You don’t need to be nervous,” he said with a smile. “Ash told me it’s been a while.”

Just at the point that Tom was about to chase after Ash and assault him, he heard the front door slam closed.

“Would you excuse me?” Tom said. “Little boys’ room.” Then, looking at Josh’s plate, he added, “I think there’s more bread over there.”

Tom headed upstairs to the bathroom and locked the door. Sitting on the edge of the bath, he sent a message to Ash:
I HATE YOU!
Flushing the chain and returning to the candle-lit kitchen, he ran through all the possible excuses he could use to get out of the evening’s expected conclusion.

If a woman says, “Not on a first date,” a man has to respect that. If a gay man says, “Not on a first date,” it means he doesn’t like the other guy. Gay men don’t typically follow the usual dating pattern laid down by their heterosexual counterparts. The simple reason is that the man would always sleep with the woman on the first date. As such, get two men together and what’s stopping them? With no moral objections, just lust driving proceedings, a no on any gay first date is never a promise of delights yet to come, just a slap in the face.

“So…” said Josh, having consumed an entire metre-long baguette by himself, “…you like horses, then?” Before Tom could reply, Josh was on a roll. “So do I. I mean, they’re such elegant beasts, aren’t they? I used to go riding years ago, before, you know, well… years ago. I always wanted to go again. Maybe we could go together!”

Tom sat in silence and offered only a tepid, non-committal smile and a vague, “Hmm,” in reply.

“You see, the thing about horses,” Josh continued, “is their intelligence. They know things, you know? Before I was clean,” he put his hand out and again clasped Tom’s, making him flinch, “and that was ages ago, by the way! But I’d go down to the stables and it was if they were talking to me, you know? You’ll probably think that was the drugs, but I don’t agree. You know? I think they were communicating with me, making me understand that, like them, to compete I had to get in shape. I had to pull myself together, you know?” Tom nodded and mentally calculated how long it would take to eat three courses and kick this man out of the house – a deranged stranger who now knew where he lived.