The Harder They Fall (23 page)

“Ha ha! I intend to. Speak later.”

George put his phone away and watched Josh and James from afar. They were engaged in quite a heavy conversation, as far as he could tell, leaning in to each other to talk or listen, whilst keeping their eyes focused on the band. Brief applause, followed by the drummer clicking his sticks together, and into a slightly more up-tempo number. Mr. Brown senior came over and took the stool next to George.

“This is not your sort of music, I take it?”

“Not really. It’s very good though.”

“I agree, though I prefer classical music myself.”

“I’m more a dance music man.”

“By this, you mean modern dance music?”

“Yeah, but not that dreadful racket they play on the radio these days.”

“That is an appalling noise, I quite agree.” Mr. Brown held up his empty glass by way of indicating his requirement for a refill; it was a request that was immediately met. He ordered a bottle of beer and passed it to George. “We should return with our drinks and imagine that we are enjoying the evening,” he said. His tone was stern, yet conveyed his sympathy.

“Thank you,” George replied, taking the beer and following Mr. Brown back to their tables. He was right; this was James’s night and he was being inconsiderate. To redress the situation, he honed in on the only other person who looked like they were hating every minute.

“Hi, Peter. How’s it going?”

“Not too bad.”

“Finished uni?”

“Yeah, last year. Just trying to find a decent job now. At the moment I’m working for the council, at the recycling centre.”

“What’s your degree in?”

“Environmental science.”

“Oh well. At least it’s relevant!” George joked. Peter laughed.

“That’s what people keep telling me. It’s a job, I suppose.”

That brought the conversation to a close, for George could think of nothing else to say, or nothing he could actually say, as he knew Peter was also gay and with a couple of drinks inside him, the urge to tell him to stop living a lie was on the brink of getting the better of him. Seeing the damage it had done to Kris, not to mention the trauma he’d put himself through at the reunion, gave him a sense of being qualified to pass comment, but then he could also, even at this level of moderate inebriation, appreciate that Mrs. Davenport would not cope well with the revelation of her youngest son’s sexuality.

More applause and the band began another number; James stood up, ready to go and replenish his drink, only to be greeted by a chorus of offers. He looked most disconcerted.

“You’re the groom. You’re not supposed to buy your own drinks on your stag night,” Josh reprimanded him. He opened his mouth to protest, but Ben had been very quick off the mark and was already back at the table with a large glass of red wine. He passed it to his future brother-in-law.

“Sit,” he said. James did as he was told. “And don’t make me have to tell you again,” Ben added with a wink.

“Just like Ellie,” George laughed.

“Yes,” Josh agreed. Eleanor and Ben were very different to look at, but their personalities, mannerisms and the way they spoke were almost identical.

“So, how’s the talking job these days?” Ben asked Josh.

“Same as always,” he responded, and off they went. George swigged at his beer and nodded to James across the table.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, thank you. I was very worried when you and Josh suggested a stag party. I have seen many men subjected to dreadful humiliation on these nights.”

“Well, I promise you nothing like that is going to happen tonight,” George said sincerely, then added: “Ellie would kill us.”

“That is very true,” James laughed. “I was just telling Josh about our young sax player over there.” George turned to watch him for a moment. “He’s just started studying music at university; a very talented young man with a natural ear.”

“Yeah. He sounds pretty awesome, not that I know much about jazz.”

“He was one of Alistair Campion’s protégés. He started to get into trouble at school, although nothing too sinister: a couple of skirmishes with the police. They did the decent thing and sent him to Alistair, who loved the music more than I do. I daresay that is where my own passion for jazz originated.”

“I never met Alistair Campion,” George said thoughtfully, “but it sounds like his death was a loss to us all.”

“Indeed,” James agreed, momentarily absorbed by the grief of losing the man who had influenced him most in his life. He would have been here this evening; he was to have been his best man. “However, his few remaining assets are in good hands,” he added with a hopeful smile.

“How so?”

“Jason Meyer, his son. He is quite exceptional and has many of his father’s traits, including a keen eye for a business opportunity and a knack for persuading people to invest in his ideas.”

“So Campion Holdings isn’t defunct then?”

“It lives on as Campion Community Trust. Jason asked Dan and me to become trustees, and we, of course, accepted.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. And now I must communicate with my father, or else he will wonder why he allowed my mother to talk him into driving up for this evening. Excuse me.”

With that, James arose and carefully stepped around the low table, making his way over to his father, who actually looked quite content to be left alone. Josh and Ben were still engaged in a witty dialogue about various shared experiences over the years, while the other Davenports were ready to commence a not very well thought through drinking marathon. The Irish influence was strongest in Eleanor’s uncle, who still lived in Dublin and had a fantastic, melodic accent; the more they drank and talked, the stronger Eleanor’s dad’s accent became too. They were on the stout by this point, although this bar served an American one, much to their vocalised dismay. Still, they were dauntless in their endeavour, and Eleanor’s uncle now had Luke and Ed ready with pints in hands.

“Three, two, one, go!” The two lads tipped their drinks and glugged, black liquid trickling down their faces and necks. Luke finished first and slammed his empty glass on the table. Raucous cheers all round; now it was Ed versus his dad, apparently the rule being that the loser went through to the next heat. Poor Ed looked like he was about to throw up, but was putting a very brave face on things. The men stopped to applaud the band and Eleanor’s dad signalled to George, inviting him to join them in their drinking game. He shook his head, happy to be only an observer. The band were taking a break, and the bartender put on some background music, turning it up a notch, evidently in an attempt to drown out the ‘Stout Wars’ taking place in their corner of the club.

“Is that alright for you?” A young male voice spoke and George turned to find the sax player standing right behind him, a pint of lager in his hand. Condensation dripped off the glass onto George’s shoulder and startled him. “Sorry about that, mate,” the sax player said hurriedly. He looked as if he was expecting George to start a fight over it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he smiled. “You’re doing a fantastic job, by the way.”

“Yes, it’s excellent, Phil,” James said, shaking the sax player’s hand. “Thank you for agreeing to play tonight.”

“Thanks for asking me.”

“This is George,” James introduced him and he nodded an acknowledgement. “This is Phil, the young man I was telling you about.”

“So, you’re enjoying the music?” Phil asked.

“Yeah. It’s great. I think you might want to crank it up a bit when you restart, though.” George could only just hear himself above the current round in the drinking contest. Phil laughed.

“I’ll have a chat with the lads and see what we can do,” he said, and headed back across the club, stopping at the bar so James could buy him a drink, before returning to the stage. It would seem he was true to his word, for when the band started up again a few minutes later, they were much louder than previously and the best thing of all was that no-one seemed to mind. In fact, a few people were dancing, which was rare for this establishment on a Tuesday night. The party atmosphere was also bringing in extra customers, and the lone bartender was doing an excellent job, helped by most people drinking bottled beers and shorts that were quick to serve. It was only the Davenport louts making his job more difficult, with a dozen empty glasses cluttering the table next to them. George collected as many as he could carry and took them to the bar with him on his next trip. While he waited, he passed the time watching Eleanor’s dad and uncle throw back what must have been something like their tenth pint. Now he could see what Josh meant: in spite of similar hair cuts and sharing the same build, height and facial features, they no longer looked identical to him. Having relied on the initial distinction of the black sweater to clearly identify who was who, he was now absolutely certain that he would never mistake one for the other again.

“See? I told you,” Josh said, joining him at the bar.

“Yes, you did,” George replied. It was the first time they’d spoken all evening and by now he’d had enough to drink to brave saying something. “Hey, I’m really, really sorry about Saturday.”

“What about Saturday?”

“Me and Kris. I mean, if what we did hurt you, it wasn’t…”

“That’s not what this is about! And before you go any further, I know he and Shaunna have broken up, and that you knew from the outset but kept it to yourself, and it’s nothing to do with that either.”

“It isn’t? Ellie told me you saw us together, and I thought...”

“Whatever you thought, or she thought, you’re both wrong. Admittedly, I wasn’t impressed that I only officially got to hear about the break-up courtesy of Adele, and I was even less impressed at the sight of the two of you slobbering all over each other, when, as far as everyone else was concerned, they were still having full marital relations. But you and Kris, well, you’ve always been like that.”

“Not since we were at school, which was the only reason we ended up…doing that on Saturday.”

“That’s just it. The only difference between Saturday and any other time is that you and he kissed.” George really didn’t want Josh to publically broadcast his sexuality to the entire crowd of patrons standing at the bar, but he seemed ignorant to this, or didn’t actually care. “What I’m talking about,” he continued, “is the underlying desire to take it further.”

George shook his head in disbelief. “So…” he lowered his voice to an angry hiss, “it’s because you think we want to screw each other? What the hell difference does it make to you if we do?”

“None, really.” Josh’s reply was cool and dismissive.

“Well that’s just great, isn’t it?” George snapped angrily, but it was more to hide how hurt he was. “D’you know, I think I might just go and stay with my mum for a few days, until after the wedding, because we’re getting nowhere and it isn’t fair on Ellie and James.”

“As you like. If you’d rather sleep on a couch than sort this out, then that’s up to you.”

“No. I wouldn’t, but if you won’t talk to me, then I don’t see I have much choice really. And for the record, I do not want to have sex with Kris. Not then, not now, not ever.”

“Whatever, George. Believe me, the pair of you are terrible when you’re together. It’s that ‘first love’ thing. You’ll always have some hold over each other, but it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Anyway, thank you for apologising and coming clean. I guess I’ll see you on Thursday.”

Josh said no more and returned to the table, picking up the conversation with Ben right where they’d left off. George watched him until he could no longer bear to, and turned his attention back to the Davenports, the younger men in a far worse state than the last time he looked. There was only one thing for it, he realised, as he watched Luke throw back a pint of stout and stagger. The prospect of further snooping around Josh’s bedroom was not one he relished, but somehow he had to get to the bottom of what was going on, find a way to get through to him before it was too late, and it seemed like the other option was probably the lesser of the two evils: he was going to have to talk to Sean Tierney.

In a restaurant not so many streets away, Jess and Rob were having dinner. Their table, against the back wall and secluded by a well placed pillar, bore a candle, a single rose in a vase and two half-empty wine glasses. Jess had been telling him about a recent case, where the wife was having an affair and wanted out, but her husband refused to leave the jointly owned marital home. It was a dull and only vaguely pertinent story, but she was finding it so very difficult to converse tonight. In contrast, Rob was laid back yet receptive, listening attentively to all that she said.

“I’m sorry. I’m so boring,” Jess laughed to hide her embarrassment.

“Not at all,” he assured her and took her hand. “I’ve always found you…fascinating.”

She blushed, but brashly held his gaze. “In what way?”

“Only in a good way.”

“And yet you play so hard to get?” she remarked lightly. This followed from their parting in the early hours of Sunday morning, when she had invited him to stay the night. His refusal was all the more frustrating when they had remained physically close throughout the party and he was so very clearly aroused by her. She licked her lips—an unconscious gesture, which only registered a split second later—and quickly picked up her wine glass.

“There’s no rush, is there?” He didn’t want to put any pressure on her. She needed to be genuinely receptive to his advances.

“Well, you tell me. After all, you’re the one with the potentially fatal heart condition. Was that why you went home on Saturday?”

“No,” he laughed, “although I didn’t think of that. It’s not much of a turn-on, having a great hulk of a man collapse on you mid-climax.”

“I’d be prepared to take that chance,” Jess responded, surprised at her own boldness.

“All in good time.” He lifted her hand and kissed it, his lips lingering against her skin and sending a thrill chasing around her entire body. “You need to decide what you want most.”

“I know what I want most,” she smiled; he returned it.