Chapter 22 #2
“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten my dinner on the couch. My mum–” He cut himself off, and I cursed myself internally for saying something that made him think of his mum.
“Go and put the TV on and sit down.” Putting my hand on his waist, I kissed him, and all the tension he was holding fell out of him.
He trotted into the living room, and I set about getting our meal ready.
Pleased that I’d had the forethought to stop into the off license, I poured the bottle of beer I’d bought into two glasses.
When I brought him the fish and chips and glass of beer on a tray, he looked at me like I was presenting him with the crown jewels.
We ate our food and watched Coronation Street, and I did the dishes, insisting that Mick had walked a lot further than I had today and deserved to rest.
After dinner, I tried to come up with a way to ask Mick about what went wrong without upsetting him, when the piercing sound of the phone filled the flat. Looking at my watch to see it was half past eight, I grumbled to myself but answered anyway.
“Hello?”
“Michael, darling! I’m so glad you picked up.”
“Sebastian?”
“Who else, dear?”
“What do you want?”
“Ooooh, hark at her. Don’t be snippy dear, it’ll give you wrinkles.”
“Sebastian, I’m not in the mood–”
“I need you to come here.”
“Come where?”
“My house. It’s an emergency.”
“Emergency? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“No dearie, it’s awful, I need you to come right away.”
He didn’t sound like he was in danger. “Sebastian, can’t you ring Damian? Or Cedric? Or anyone else?”
“No, darling, I need you!” He sounded desperate now.
“I have a houseguest.”
“That’s fine, bring him along, or don’t, but you must come right away, Michael. Please!”
Before I could get any more information out of him, the line went dead.
“What was that all about?” Mick asked, standing in the doorway to the living room.
“It was my friend Sebastian. You know him. He comes to Le Duce sometimes. He was there the first time you came. He’d dyed his hair and looked like Christopher Lee in full Dracula makeup.”
His lips turned up slightly. “Yes, I remember. What’s wrong with him?”
“I have no idea, but he sounded close to tears. I’d better go and see what’s wrong with him. He doesn’t live too far away–Kensington. You can come, if you like?”
The look on his face said it all.
“Or you can stay here. Hopefully, he just locked himself in his house again.”
“Does he do that often?”
“More often than you’d think possible. Sebastian was not blessed with intelligence. Good looks, elegance and wealth, but not intelligence.”
Mick’s face soured for a second, before he forced a smile. “Go. Help your friend. I might turn in for the night, do you mind?”
“Not at all, love. I’ll telephone if it’s serious, and I have to take him to the hospital or something.” I put on my jacket and reached for the door handle.
“Wait!” Mick shouted across the hall.
“Wha–?” Before I could get a word out, he was wrapped around me and smacking a great big kiss on my lips.”
“What was that for?” I asked as we broke apart.
“Nothing. Just because,” he said. I locked the door behind me and smiled all the way to Seb’s house.
When I arrived, my smile soon gave way to raging hot anger.
Approaching the 18th-century townhouse my friend’s family had owned since its creation, I banged the large knocker twice.
Despite the opulence of the home, no butler or maid opened the door, Seb didn’t trust live-in staff, but instead he wrenched the door open himself.
He was wearing a smoking jacket over slacks, his feet bare and an opulent turquoise turban wrapped up on his head.
“Thank God you’re here.” Pulling me inside, he looked down at my hands and up again. “Where are your things?”
“My things?”
“Your scissors, and–”
“My scissors?”
Yanking off the head covering, he turned to me pleading, “Can you fix it?” He sounded pained.
“Fix it?”
“My hair! Can you fix it? I went to my salon, but Gregory wasn’t there, and they had a junior stylist work on me. A junior stylist, Michael, can you imagine? And she butchered me, darling! Look at me. Just look at me. I have an audition tomorrow, and I cannot possibly show up looking like this!”
Taking several deep breaths and trying to regain some sense of calm before I spoke. I looked at my friend, trying to remember that he was my friend.
“Sebastian. You called me at nine o’ clock at night and told me you had an emergency. I rushed out of my flat, leaving my… my… Mick at home on his own. And you’re telling me that this urgent, dire, crisis, was that your hair isn’t exactly how you like it?”
“When you put it like that, it sounds very silly.”
Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. You can’t murder Sebastian. You don’t want to go to prison. There’s no gin in prison.
“Can I use your telephone?”
“What? Yes. Of course you can. But then will you please help me with this disaster?” He waved me over to the study.
“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth, reminding myself that Sebastian was a good man and a good friend, despite his dramatic tendencies. Closing the door on my ridiculous friend, I dialled my own telephone number–something that you didn’t do when you lived alone, so it felt quite alien.
It rang. And rang. And rang. Relief poured through my veins when Mick finally answered. “Michael?” he said sleepily.
“I’m so sorry for waking you, love.” The word slipped out, and for a second I worried about it being a party line, but none of my neighbours would be picking up the phone to use it at–I glanced at my watch–ten o'clock at night.
“I wasn’t asleep.” He yawned.
“Liar.”
“Is Sebastian alright?”
“He’s fine. The only real danger he’s in is that I might strangle him.”
“You what?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell you when I get home. Which should be soon. I have to help him with something, then I’ll be right back. Don’t wait up for me, you must be exhausted after the day you’ve had.”
“Yeah… I–” Another yawn swallowed his words.
“Go to bed.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, and I could see his mock salute in my mind’s eye.
“Night, love.”
“G’night, sweetheart.”
Hanging up the phone, I steeled myself in preparation for dealing with Seb’s nonsense. His hair wasn’t that bad, just a bit messy. I could fix it easily enough with whatever blades he had here.
“There you go,” I said, twenty minutes later, pointing him at the mirror on his dressing table.
“Oh, Michael. You’re a genius. I knew you would save me. Thank you so much, dear heart.”
“Yes, well. You owe me. That’s all I can say.”
“Of course, anything. I can start with a nice gin and tonic, if you like.”
“Not tonight, I have to get back to–”
“Oh yes, your houseguest. How mysterious.”
“It’s not mysterious.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I already said who it is. It’s Mick.”
“Mick?”
“Yes, from the club. He turned up with his friends, Tommy and Eric last year.”
Seb looked blankly at me.
“He came back to Damian’s with us for an after party.” Still no hint of recognition. I really didn’t want to say the next bit. “Slept with Damian.”
“Oh, Mick! Pretty little thing with fiery hair and a sex-drive to match?”
I nodded. It was all I could do. If I tried to speak, I might say something I’d regret.
“What’s he doing at yours?”
“He’s in a spot of bother. He’s staying with me until he gets back on his feet.”
“Oh, the poor lamb. What’s wrong with him?”
“That’s not my business to share, but he’s having a hard time of it.
He spent all day today pounding the pavement, looking for a job but came up empty.
There’s more to it, but he won’t tell me what’s going on.
I wish I could just wrap him up and keep him safe from everything and everyone that would harm him. ”
“Oh, Michael. You’ve got it bad for this boy.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but couldn’t find the strength. “Yes. I have.” I took a deep breath. “Truth be told, Seb, I love him. I have for ages now.”
“Oh, dear heart. And does he…?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think he might. He’s… we’re… I mean, we’ve…” I didn’t want to talk about what was between Mick and me because I didn’t understand it myself and it felt like too precious a thing to talk about with others.
“I understand.”
“Do you? Can you explain it to me, then? Because I haven’t a clue what’s going on.”
Seb’s forehead creased. “What you need is an escape. To get out of the big smoke, somewhere green, somewhere you can breathe. You can be together, talk things through, decide what you are to each other. Without any distractions.”
“That’s… that’s not a bad idea. I’ve no idea where though.”
“Go to my cottage.”
“Your what?”
“I have a holiday home in the Cotswolds. Quaint little thing, looks like it belongs on the lid of a tin of chocolates, all rough-hewn stone and ivy trellises.”
“That sounds delightful Seb, is it near a train station?”
“Oh. No.”
“Pity.”
A manicured finger tapped his cheek while he thought. “Take my car.”
“The Jag? Don’t be silly, Seb, I couldn’t.”
“Yes, you could. I hardly use it in town, and I’m not leaving London for at least a month. Take it as a thank you–and an apology–for tonight.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’m not a complete fool, you know. I brought you here under false pretences, and I dragged you away from your young man. Take the car, use the cottage, with my blessing.”
“Alright, thank you Seb. Really, thank you. I have to work for the rest of the week, but can I take you up on your offer on Friday? Use the car and the cottage for the weekend?”
“Of course you can. Now scamper back home and tell him. I’ll see you on Friday. Thanks again for this.” He patted his significantly neater hair and smiled broadly.
I raced home, desperate to get back to Mick and tell him what Seb had given us. I needn’t have bothered, because when I opened my front door, I could hear soft snoring coming from the bedroom.
When I got into bed, he must have sensed me, even in his sleep. He wiggled his body over to me and snuggled into my chest, throwing a leg over mine, and pinning me to the bed. I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t be happier.