Chapter Sixteen Bête Noire
Julian was late. Again. Nothing new there.
Rahul should be used to it. He knew he should.
And yet, Julian was a special brand of late to his shift today.
Because of that, Mel was helping out behind the counter.
They’d seen a particularly active midday rush, and Rahul had been grateful for Mel manning the till while he’d assisted customers.
When there was finally a lag in foot traffic, Rahul slumped down onto his stool and sighed heavily.
If he’d known this work would be so much work, he’d have thought twice about accepting the job in the first place.
Not like he’d had much choice when he’d moved back from Leeds.
Jobs in this economic downturn hadn’t exactly been plentiful and beggars hadn’t the luxury of being choosers.
“Must be a fair in town or something,” Mel said enigmatically from the seat Julian usually occupied.
“Must be.”
“Gotta be tourists.”
“Sure.”
“Is Julian shagging anybody?”
Rahul nearly spat out the mouthful of tea he’d just swallowed. A good portion did find its way up his nose, however. “Pardon?” he wheezed.
“It’s only Aisling, innit? She thought he was carrying on with somebody. I figured you know his sex life better than I do -- thank God -- and maybe have an idea.”
Rahul drank a bit of tea to wash down the tea that had stuck in his throat. “I dunno. No? As far as I know, the only person he’s slept with in a good long while has been Aisling. I mean, he flirts like nothing else. But that’s just Julian, you know? He’d flirt with a postbox in the right lighting.”
She seemed to mull this over for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Just wanted to make sure.”
She returned to counting up the money in the till, but the gears of Rahul’s mind were turning.
He thought back to Aisling’s candid statement from the other night, about how she’d spotted Michael outside of Julian’s flat and that he might have followed her.
He didn’t doubt it. Michael was just that kind of mental.
He had no doubt that Michael’s intentions with Julian were less than pure, and he was trying to muscle Aisling out of Julian’s life entirely so that he could move in. The right bastard.
Speak of the devil.
The bell above the door chimed as Julian and Michael sauntered in. They were mid-conversation, the last snippets of it audible as they crossed the threshold.
“-- you’ll spoil me!”
“Don’t you deserve to be spoiled? Just a little?”
“Get lost! I can pay for my own lunch every now and then.”
“I know you can, but I like treating you.”
Julian gave Michael a playful shove that didn’t come close to physically moving Michael.
Michael responded by squeezing Julian’s shoulder, a little too long and a little too hard to be strictly platonic.
Rahul wished Michael’s hand would rot right off his wrist. He tried to will it to do so with the power of his stink-eye alone, but the hand refused to pay attention.
The same held with Julian, who was completely oblivious to Rahul sitting there at the counter, not ten feet away, having to watch and listen to this gratuitous display.
“I’ll come pick you up at yours at seven tomorrow night,” Michael said, his voice all smooth and posh. “And don’t be late. I’ve made us reservations.”
“All right, Duke of Westminster. I still don’t see why you can’t tell me where we’re going.”
“Because I want to surprise you.”
The grin Julian turned on Michael then was blinding. It made Rahul want to put his fist through the glass countertop.
“See you tomorrow night.” Michael gave Julian’s shoulder a last, lingering squeeze and left, sending the bell rattling again.
Julian strode unhurriedly around the counter, expression dreamy. “All right, Mel, Rahul,” he greeted.
“All right?” Mel echoed flatly. “Not bloody likely since you and your girlfriend wrecked my office. I’m taking that out of your wages, you know.”
“Yeah, fine,” Julian replied, seeming unconcerned as Mel made her way back to same-said office which still bore the scars of Aisling’s wrath.
Rahul looked daggers into the back of Julian’s head as he bent over the shiny pages of NME.
He was letting that… man walk all over him, use him as his little plaything, and he was strolling in here, late beyond belief, casual as you please.
Did he even realise the designs that… man had for him?
Could he be bothered to care? Or was he just chuffed to bits to have a new, beautiful person interested in him?
It had been an awful long time since secondary school, and an awful long time since he was adored by attractive, likeable peers.
Not that Michael was likeable. He was only likeable in the way snakes at the zoo were likeable: stunning, fascinating, so long as they remained safely behind glass.
Julian’s vanity was sure to be the death of him.
He was lucky this Michael character hadn’t already tried something.
Lord only knew it was just a matter of time before he made his move.
And Rahul wouldn’t be there to protect him this time.
As Julian’s long fingers flipped to a two-page spread featuring the Happy Mondays, Rahul suddenly remembered an album that had just arrived in the shop and began formulating a plan.
It wasn’t his best plan, not by far. But it was better than no plan at all and, as his father had always said, better to go in half-cocked than not cocked at all.
Whatever that had meant. At least it had a decent chance of succeeding in keeping Julian away from this Michael person for good.
Clearing his throat, he said with extremely natural nonchalance, “You’ll never believe what’s just come in today.”
“Oh, yeah?” Julian replied in the distant tone that suggested he wasn’t really listening.
“Mmm. It’s only ever the new Bryan Ferry.”
Julian’s head shot up. Rahul knew that’d get his attention. “It’s never!”
“It has.”
“Bête Noire?”
“The very same, sir.”
“You’re joking!”
“I am not.”
“I’ve been waiting ages for that. It’s come out weeks ago. I was tempted to go round one of our competitors’ and see if they’d gotten it in. We’ve really got it? You’re not taking the piss?”
“Would I do that to you, Jules?” Rahul put a hand over his wounded heart.
Time to put the plan into motion. Easy does it, Rahul, try not to spook him.
“I was thinking I could pop round yours and we could have a listen. Roll up a couple of spliffs, lie back, let the music transport us to tune town. You know, like the good old days.”
“Yeah. Yeah, all right.” Julian was grinning, proudly displaying the gap between his two front teeth.
“I’ll pick us up a case of Fosters from Tesco’s.
Maybe get some Happy Snax. Only I’m a little short this month.
” He bit his bottom lip with feigned sheepishness.
“You wouldn’t mind rustling us up some takeaway, would you? ”
“You know I’ve always got you covered, small fry.”
“Cheers.”
“So, tomorrow at five then?”
“Yeah, all r -- did you say tomorrow?” A little crease formed between his eyebrows as his thought processes sluggishly engaged.
“At five.”
He deflated slightly. “Sorry. I got something on for tomorrow night.”
“Five isn’t night, is it? What time’s your whatsit?”
“Seven.”
“Well, there you have it. The record can’t last two hours, can it?” Though, knowing Ferry, it might just.
Julian smiled with more honest sheepishness. “No, I guess not. But I was going to try and get ready early…”
“It takes two hours to get ready? What do you have on? A gig without me?”
“Well, no, but --”
“That settles it, then. I’ll come by at five, be out before half past six, and you’ve got a full half hour to get ready. Now, do you want that takeaway to be gyros from Myros’ or curry from Murry’s?”
“Who do you think I am? Curry, obviously.” He was so delighted at the prospect of curry that he was momentarily distracted from the scheduling conflict and the fact that he’d be rushed to ready himself in only half an hour.
If there was one thing Rahul knew about Julian, it was that he could not make himself presentable for a night out in less than an hour and a half -- one hour at the most, if he’d already showered earlier.
But luckily for Rahul, Julian didn’t realise this or start to worry about it until closing time was upon them, and by then it was too late for him to back out. Check and mate.
* * *
The shop was closed the next day, as it always was on Mondays, and Rahul arrived as promised at Julian’s with two takeaway bags of curry and a baggie full of marijuana recently acquired from his flat mate Kwambe.
It took several firm knocks for Julian to answer the door, which he did in a frazzled state.
Judging by the flatness of half his hair and volume of the other, he had been caught right in the middle of teasing it.
It seemed he had been trying to get ready before Rahul’s arrival rather than after.
Fiendishly clever, especially for Julian.
Then again, he had always been a savant when it came to style.
“Ready for a night of magic?” Rahul pulled out the record from under his arm. Julian was momentarily hypnotised by the album cover, a moody black and white affair that put Rahul in mind of his father’s old jazz records.
Then he seemed to snap out of his daze and declared, “Not night. Afternoon. Evening, at most. I’ve got to be out by seven, remember?”
“I know, I know.” Rahul pushed past him into the dingy flat, walking around the corner and into the miniscule living room.
He set the takeaway on the coffee table and the album on top of the record player by the telly.
“Second the record’s over, I’m gone, baby.
Like lightning. Like a flash. They call me The Streak.
They never see me coming, they never know when I’m gone.
” He shot finger pistols off into the air.
“Watch where you point those things, Roy Rogers.”