Chapter Nineteen
Confessions
Mallon didn’t have a lot to say as they left the flat and walked into town. Roman remained torn. Was it a good idea to leave Ashley and Patrick in the middle of an argument? With his size and strength, Patrick could do some serious damage if the fight turned physical. However, Mallon seemed desperate to talk to him, to unburden himself of some great secret. Was it fair to jeopardise his own relationship for the sake of many long-running disputes between his flatmate and fuck-wit boyfriend?
Roman would text him when they got wherever they were going.
If Ashley gave any indication that he was in trouble, Roman would hurry back.
The night had turned colder in the hour since he’d come home. Their breath swirled in clouds around their faces.
“I’m starving,” Roman said. “I only had a yogurt and an apple for lunch today. Can we stop so I can get something hot to eat.”
Mallon’s brow furrowed in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry. It didn’t occur to me, turning up at your apartment, waiting for you to come home. I’m so stupid.”
“It’s fine…really. It’s my own fault for not taking a proper lunch break again.”
They came to the outskirts of the city centre. “What do you want? Steak? Pizza? Italian?”
Roman shook his head. They were approaching a small café called Chez Michelle that served food until late. It was basic but reliable, and at this time on a Tuesday night, he figured it would be quiet. They could eat, and Mallon could get off his chest whatever it as that bothered him.
“This will do,” he said, pointing across the road to the café. He expected Mallon to complain about the basicness of the establishment or sneer at the name Chez Michelle, but he nodded and followed Roman’s lead without complaint. He’s not himself at all .
There were only five other customers.
“Sit anywhere you like,” a cheerful woman in her mid-forties hollered from the bar. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Mallon headed straight for a table in the corner, as far away from the other diners as they could get. Roman took off his jacket and hung it over the back of the chair before sitting. The café hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d been here. The walls were covered in faux brickwork wallpaper and cheap prints of the French countryside. The menus were laminated A4 sized pieces of cream card that had seen better days. He didn’t care about the posh restaurants Mallon was used to. This was Roman’s kind of place, and if Mallon wanted to spend more time with him, he would have to get used to it.
Mallon didn’t even look at menu. When the waitress came over, he asked for a large glass of Merlot and nothing else.
“Can I have a beer?” Roman said. “And a burger and fries.”
Even the horror of ordering such food in a supposed French café went without comment. Once they were alone, Roman put both hands on the table. “So, what is it you need to tell me?”
Mallon twisted his face. “After you’ve eaten.”
“It’s that serious?”
He gave a curt nod in reply.
“You haven’t taken off your coat?” Roman remarked.
Mallon seemed to notice for the first time. “I’m cold,” he said. “And, I could use a cigarette. Do you mind?”
“Go ahead,” Roman said kindly. “I want to text Ashley anyway, make sure he’s okay.”
Mallon’s face was pinched as he stood and headed outside. Roman sent a quick message to his flatmate, telling him where he was and to get in touch if he had any problems. He put down his phone and watched Mallon through the window. He paced the pavement outside the café, drawing on the cigarette. His lips moved, as though he was rehearsing a speech.
Roman couldn’t guess what was bothering him so much. Mallon had been the epitome of unflustered cool the whole time he’d known him. Even that first night, when he’d taken down three bullies in a fight, he had been unflappable. What had brought about the change?
Roman watched as he lit another a cigarette.
Something Ashley had said earlier in the week came to his mind. “ What if the Blyham Strangler is actually the French Strangler? ”
Whatever Mallon wanted to tell him, it was deadly serious to him. Could that be it? Is Ashley right? Is he the killer?
“Who has been in town at the time of the last two murders that we know of? He has.”
Roman dismissed the idea as stupid. Ashley spent too much time watching bad soap operas and fighting with his boyfriend. He thrived on drama. He would suspect Mallon of murder if it made a good story to share with his friends, but there was no basis for it. Whatever was bothering him tonight, it was not that. Roman was certain of it.
The drinks arrived, and by the time Mallon returned to the table, so had Roman’s food. The homemade burger looked a lot better than he’d expected it to, accompanied by fresh coleslaw and a vibrant side salad. The fries were deliciously golden.
“Looks good,” Mallon said, watching Roman smother the fries in mayonnaise and ketchup while he finally removed his jacket.
“Do you want to share? I can cut the burger in two.”
Mallon shook his head. “You need to eat.” His voice was stern.
“You sound like my mother,” Roman said. He took a large bite. The beef patty was delicious—juicy, perfectly charred and cooked all the way through. So called gourmet burgers served pink in the middle were a particular hate of his.
Mallon sipped his wine. A fleeting grimace passed across his face before he went in for another taste.
It took less than five minutes for Roman to clear his plate. He even ate all the salad. “That was so good. I need to come here more often.” He wiped his lips with a serviette then took a swig of beer. “Okay, I’m full. You should be satisfied. Now, are you going to tell me what’s bugging you? Surely, it’s not our argument from earlier.”
Mallon sucked his teeth. “Of course not, that was nothing.”
Roman sighed. “Then what is it? I hate secrets. They fester from the inside. Nothing good ever comes from keeping them. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
Mallon’s eyes widened and glistened in the low light of the café. He took a breath, shoved his fist in his mouth and bit his knuckle.
“Mallon, please. Just spit it out. I don’t know what reaction you expect from me, but I can promise you, it won’t be as bad as what you’ve built up in your head.” He moved his hand across the table and brushed his fingers across Mallon’s. “Tell me. You’ll feel better afterwards.”
“I hope you will feel the same.” His words were barely above a whisper. Mallon took another breath and reached into his jacket to remove his wallet. He glanced at Roman again, seeming to struggle in his search for words. “There’s a reason I return to France as often as I do.” He opened the wallet and slid it across the table.
Roman picked it up. There was a small, plastic window inside, the place most people store their driver’s licence or ID cards. In Mallon’s wallet there was a photograph of two children…a boy and a girl. Roman was terrible at guessing kids’ ages, but they looked to be around nine or ten. There was no mistaking who they belonged to. With thick, almost-black hair and startling grey eyes, they were the image of their father.
“This is what you were afraid of telling me? How did you think I would react? You have children. It’s not that unusual. I had a boyfriend in the past who was a father, too.” He looked at him compassionately. “You go home to see them when you can. I admire you for that.”
Mallon chewed his lip, tension still etched across his face. Roman realised this wasn’t everything.
Ah. Of course.
“You’re still with their mother. Right?”
Mallon couldn’t meet his eyes. His lack of reply answered the question.
His aloofness, the curt behaviour when they’d met, suddenly made sense. Roman saw the history of their relationship from a distance, as though having an out-of-body experience. Mallon hadn’t been all French and mysterious as Roman had assumed. He was a married man, keeping a secret while he played away in a foreign country. Jesus . Roman had slept with married guys in the past, so why had he been unable to read the signs this time? Because I thought this was different. I thought this was more than just a one-off fuck.
He closed the wallet and slipped it back towards Mallon, who stared into his wine glass.
“How long have you been married?”
Mallon started to speak but his words choked. He coughed and cleared his throat. “Thirteen years.”
Heat crept across Roman’s face. Suddenly his head was pounding, and the room closed in around him. “And the children? How old are they?”
Mallon finally raised his eyes. His expression was ghastly. He might be just another man on the make for sex while working away, but he clearly had a hard time with it.
“Carole is eleven,” he said. “Mathis is nine.” He took a long drink of wine. “It’s not what you think.”
“That’s what all married men say, isn’t it? When they’ve been stringing someone along. ‘ It’s not what you think .’”
“No.” His voice was sharp, drawing attention from the other diners. He leaned forward, lowering his tone. “I’m not like that. Whatever you think of me, it was never that. The reason I’m telling you this now is because…”
“What? You never expected to develop feelings for me?”
Mallon closed his eyes, inhaled through his nose. “That’s right. I didn’t expect to fall in love with you. That’s what makes this so difficult. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I didn’t expect to fall in love with you .” The words took the sting out of Roman’s anger. He didn’t know how to reply. He’d known there was a powerful connection between them, but he never suspected Mallon’s emotions were so deep.
“I love my children,” Mallon continued. “I loved their mother once, too. Betrice. But marriage was a mistake…a big one. That is not the fault of the children. They shouldn’t suffer for what their parents did. I knew I was bisexual when I met Betrice. It didn’t seem so important back then. I thought I could be happy with her, and when the children were born, I was, for a while. Betrice is a complicated woman. She’s not a home maker. She likes to socialise—the parties and nightlife, long weekends at beach resorts. She was the first to break our marriage vows. And when I found out she had, it gave me permission to do the same.”
Mallon took another drink and composed himself. “As I got older, the attraction I had for other men grew stronger. I still consider myself bisexual, but perhaps the balance has shifted. So, while Betrice had her cocktail party lovers, I began to have men on the side, too. I discovered that other men are willing to engage in uncomplicated sexual liaisons, especially men with similar secrets to keep—no ties, no commitments, just a casual exchange.”
Roman’s mouth was dry. He licked his lips and took a drink of beer. There was so much to process here. “You have been married thirteen years, unhappily by the sound of it. Why do you stay together if you both want different things?”
“For the children.”
“Is that enough? What good can it do them if their parents are so distant.”
“They don’t know. They won’t know for a long time. Betrice is many things, but she is a good mother. We maintain the facade for the sake of Carole and Mathis. We have an understanding that we will preserve the marriage until Mathis is in college.”
“That’s insane.” The words were out of Roman’s mouth before he could stop them.
“Insane? Perhaps. Tell me, are your parents together? Are they happy?”
“Yes.”
“Then you appreciate the importance of a stable family, of a committed mother and father. I will not let my children grow up without that secure base. It is everything.”
Roman was about to reply but killed the words before he spoke. It would do no good to tell Mallon what he said was ridiculous. His marriage was built upon lies—two people living separate lives but pretending to be together for the sake of old-fashioned morality. Children were not stupid. The older they got, the more aware they would become of the gaping chasm between their parents.
If what he’s told me is true . Mallon had been lying to him for weeks. How could Roman trust that he was telling the truth now? Mallon was believable. His emotions seemed genuine. Is that enough?
“So, are you saying you are going to remain in a loveless marriage for, what, the next eight or nine years?”
He gave a short nod. “We’ve been married thirteen already. Nine years does not seem too long in the scheme of things.”
“Why are you telling me this? You had things worked out pretty neatly—one life in France, another here in Blyham. You had the best of both worlds. What has changed?”
“You. My feelings for you. When I called you last night, I sensed a change. I…I was afraid of losing you, of losing what we have.” He shook his head and mumbled something in French. “Shit. I can’t explain. I want you to know the truth, and if you decide to be with me, there will be no deception. You’ll know everything.”
“Be with you. What does that mean?”
Mallon’s eyes brightened. “It means anything you want it to.” He thumped his chest, right on the heart. “I can honestly say I have never experienced feelings like this for another man. I’ve always maintained a distance. I rarely saw the same man more than once. If I did, he was always married with secrets of his own to protect. Emotions were never a part of it. You made me feel something different.” He thumped his heart again. “Something here. Tell me, please. Tell you feel something, too.”
Roman struggled to think clearly. The things Mallon said appeared to have come from nowhere. He couldn’t remember another time Mallon had mentioned his emotions or viewing Roman as anything more than a sex partner. “Of course, I do,” he admitted. “I…I don’t even know what this is, but it’s all new for me, too. Until I met you, I hadn’t slept with the same man more than once for a long time. I can’t deny there was something developing between us, even though neither of us acknowledged it.”
“Thank God, I am not crazy. I was afraid this was only me.”
Roman shook his head. “It’s not. I feel it, too.” He took a deep breath. “But you have given me a lot of information tonight, and I’m struggling to get my head around it. That you’re married with a family is going to take some time to process. And you really picked your moment for it, didn’t you? I’m still recovering from the shock of what happened to Phil.”
Mallon furrowed his brow. “Shit. I’m a selfish bastard. I didn’t even think about that…only myself. I’m sorry, Roman. This confession could have waited. I suppose I panicked.”
“It’s all right. I appreciate your honesty. If you had told me all this at the beginning, it’s unlikely I’d have wanted to see you again. But I’m going to need some time to get my head around it all.”
“How long?”
“I can’t say. A day or two, maybe?”
Mallon’s expression saddened. “Of course. I understand. It’s a lot.”
“I’m glad I know. So, thank you.”
Mallon opened his wallet again and withdrew a plastic card. He passed it across the table.
“What is this?” Roman asked.
“It’s the key to my apartment. When you are ready, you can let yourself in at any time.”
Roman flushed as another rush of blood went to his head. “Are you sure? This is a big gesture.”
“I have already cleared it with the building security team. They know I am giving you this, so you can come and go as you please, even when I’m at work or out of the country. Maybe it will give you a place to escape to if the arguments get too intense at your own apartment.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Just take it.” Mallon pulled his jacket off the back of the chair. “I’ve said enough for one night, given you a lot to think about. I’m going to go now. Take your time and think about everything I have told you. There is no rush. I will wait for as long as it takes. And when you reach a decision, you know where to find me.”
* * * *
Mallon left Chez Michelle, fastened his jacket to the neck and lit a cigarette. From the other side of the road, a man dressed all in black, with a cap pulled low over his brow, watched, silent and unobserved. Mallon looked like a man with the world on his shoulders. He put down his head and walked along the street, further into the town centre. He had lost the usual arrogant, cock-of-the-walk strut.
Roman remained inside the café, making no attempt to leave himself.
Trouble in paradise?
It would seem so. Whenever these two got together, they could melt ice with the heat they generated. There was none of that tonight. Both looked troubled and lost in their own thoughts.
The man had to make a snap decision. They were clearly doing their own thing this evening. On instinct, he chose to follow Mallon.
He hung back and tracked him from the other side of the road, but the precaution was not necessary. The French man was too absorbed in himself to notice the danger, to suspect he was being followed.
After everything that he’d done, everything he’d achieved, the fear he had generated throughout the city, the man was astonished at how little care these queer men took. They thought they were invincible. Assault and murder were crimes that befell others, never them. He was convinced that not one of his victims had ever imagined it would happen to them until the seconds before he wrung the life out of them.
He recognised the route Mallon was taking. He was cutting through the city centre and down towards the riverfront. The idiot was going to walk home on a dark and cold night.
With a merciless grin, the man shoved his hands in his pockets and followed.