Chapter 26
GO NOW
MICHAEL
After our fish supper, Eric and I cleared up the disaster area that was my kitchen while we left Tommy and Mick to chat in the living room.
Switching the radio on, I twiddled the dial until I got a good signal.
“Is this Radio Caroline?” Eric asked.
“It is.”
“Turn it up. We can’t get this at the cottage, too far out of London, I think.”
I twisted the knob as far to the right as I dared in a flat with paper-thin walls. “This okay?”
“Splendid!” Eric said with a grin.
It took over half an hour to set the kitchen back to rights, and it would have taken a lot longer on my own.
I had to admit, it surprised me that Eric was willing to get his hands dirty, and that he was an efficient cleaner.
With an accent that could cut glass and public school manners, he didn’t seem the sort.
Once we’d finished, Eric made a pot of tea, and it was very good. He delivered two cups to the living room, then joined me at the kitchen table.
“I think we ought to leave them to it a bit longer. Tommy’s been a pain in the backside complaining about how much he misses his best friend. They’re like an old married couple. It’s a good thing I’m not the jealous type.” He winked at me over his cup of tea.
Guilt zapped through me.
“I’m sorry, I think that’s my fault. We’ve been spending a lot of time together recently. I know he doesn’t get a lot of time off work–I mean he didn’t. And since he got kicked out of his home–”
“Michael, it is not your fault. Not at all. As a matter of fact, it’s Tommy’s and mine.
We’ve somewhat cut ourselves off from the outside world since we moved in together.
But we’re trying to do better and make more of an effort with our friends.
You know how it is, when everything is new and you can’t keep your hands off each other.
The rest of the world can go hang as long as you have each other. ”
I felt my cheeks heat up. Was he talking about the general “you” or did mean me and Mick? I didn’t want to think about it too hard, so I changed the subject.
“You’re a lot more practical than I would have guessed,” I said. Then blushed again because that sounded much ruder out loud than it had in my head.
Eric gave a hearty laugh. “Yes, I suppose I am. I wasn’t a practical person at all until a year ago.
When I was banished from the family home and exiled to a flat in Barking, I had to learn how to look after myself.
When you live alone, you soon learn that if you want something done, you have to do it yourself.
” He lowered his voice and leaned across the table.
“Mind you, when one lives with Tommy, that remains very much the case.”
He sat up and shook his head. “No, I’m being unkind. Tommy is good at cleaning, and washing the clothes, but just don’t ask him to cook anything. I should imagine the kitchen would end up looking rather like yours did an hour ago.”
I laughed.
“Oh, unless it’s bubble and squeak. He cooks a marvellous bubble and squeak.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t making bubble and squeak just throwing broken food into a frying pan and almost burning it?”
“Oh yes! That’s quite right. No wonder he’s so good at it!” He cackled loudly, which made me laugh and soon we were both in hysterics.
Tommy and Mick appeared leaning against opposite sides of the doorframe with their arms crossed and amused looks on their faces. They resembled a pair of book ends and that just made me laugh even more.
“Look at them!” I panted between giggles. “They’re like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum!”
Eric twisted to see them and roared with laughter.
“What the hell has your man done to mine?” Tommy pointed an accusing finger at Mick.
“He’s not my man,” Mick stuttered, and it was like a bucket of ice water had been poured over me. Not my man. Right then. That was simple enough. We hadn’t discussed what we were to each other, but I thought we were something. Apparently not.
Trying to keep my emotions at bay and pretend like the world hadn’t just ended, I walked over to the kettle and filled it with water.
It was a British response to any problem–make a cup of tea.
I didn’t want tea. I wanted to run away.
But this was my flat; where the fuck was I supposed to go?
I couldn’t kick them all out either, although it was bloody tempting.
“Michael, do you mind showing me that cravat you mentioned? I’d love to see real Indian silk.”
Bless that man for giving me an excuse to leave the room.
“Of course.” Two words were all I trusted myself to say before my voice cracked. With my head down so I didn’t have to look, I walked past Mick and into my bedroom with Eric on my heels.
“He didn’t mean that, Michael. I’m sure of it.” Eric’s voice was hushed, and I appreciated the effort.
“Eric, don’t. You don’t have to do this.”
“I know. I’m not placating you, Michael. I genuinely believe he was caught off guard and didn’t mean what he said.”
Keeping my tears at bay was taking all my effort. I couldn’t manage any words.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“Can you just give me a minute, please?”
“Of course. I’ll tell them you got muck on your shirt while we were cleaning and you’re changing it.”
“Fine. Thank you. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Take all the time you need.”
As soon as the door clicked shut, silent tears cascaded down my cheeks. I was being ridiculous. Why had his words hurt me so much? We hadn’t agreed to anything; we’d never talked about it at all. But I thought… I thought I meant something to him.
Images flashed through my mind. His possessive hand on my back as he whispered promises in my ear at Seb’s house.
Sleeping in my arms even when we didn’t have sex.
Drinking tea in the little paradise in the Cotswolds.
Those moments and so many more meant something to me.
I thought they were significant. Or I had thought they were.
If he couldn’t claim me in front of his best friend–his best friend who was also gay and knew exactly what it was like for us–then I must have been wrong. I’d been such a fool.
A terrible idea occurred to me. Had he felt obliged to sleep with me because I let him stay here? He didn’t know how I felt about him, after all. Maybe he thought that I expected it of him? The thought made me feel sick. Had I pressured him into sex?
Thinking back over everything that had happened, I looked at it from his perspective.
The first night he stayed here after his parents kicked him out, he’d asked to sleep in my room.
No. At first he was going to sleep on the couch, but I couldn’t find any blankets.
So he’d had to sleep in my bed. We didn’t do anything that night, though. We’d just slept.
I’d told him I would clear out the spare room for him. I promised him I would. But I hadn’t.
The next day he’d woken up with a fever and slept in my bed for three days, and I’d just forgotten. I should have sorted the room out when he was better, but I forgot. We went to visit Tommy and Eric and it had slipped my mind.
That night he kissed me again. But did he do it because I hadn’t cleaned out the spare room? Did he think I expected it of him? Was that second night rent?
Oh, fuck. No. No no no no.
Bile rose from my stomach. What had I done? I kept analysing the events. What happened the day after? He went looking for work and found nothing. Then I had to rescue Seb from his ridiculous haircut, and he’d been asleep when I got home.
Then in the morning… I’d told him I was taking him away for the weekend. Fuck. Please, please no. Please tell me he didn’t think he owed me? Oh my God, it was too much to bear.
My crying wasn’t silent anymore, I was wailing and couldn’t catch my breath. What had I done?
A knock on my door made me jump. Attempting to collect myself, I said, “Come in.”
Mick poked his head through the door with a guilty look on his face, which turned to anguish when he saw me. He sank to his knees in front of me.
“Hey, hey.” He put his hands on my thighs, and it made me flinch, which he noticed.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Tommy surprised me with what he said and–”
“It’s okay. I understand. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I sobbed.
“What are you sorry for?”
“For… for making you… For making you think… I’m so sorry… you didn’t have to…”
“I didn’t have to what?”
“Sleep with me. You didn't have to sleep with me. I would have let you stay anyway. You didn’t–”
“WHAT?” He stumbled back from me, his eyes wide.
“I know you–”
“You know I what? Slept with you so I’d have a place to stay? You think I fucked you for a roof over my head? After everything we’ve shared over the last few weeks? You think I pounded you into the mattress every night as payment?”
“Didn’t you?”
“I can’t believe you’re asking me that. Is that really what you think?”
“It makes sense.”
“No, it fucking doesn’t. On what planet does it make sense?”
“I’m not blaming you–”
“That’s very fucking noble of you–”
“I mean, it’s not your fault. It’s mine. I made you think that you had to. You were pressured into it because I took you in. And I’m sorry you felt–”
“Can you stop fucking telling my how I felt?”
“I just need you to know you didn’t have to.”
“I know I didn’t have to. For fuck’s sake, Michael. I didn’t shag you to say thank you. Or as rent. Or for any other fucking reason.”
“Then why did you?” I cried, not sure if I wanted the answer.