Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The address they’d been given took them to the eastern borders of the county and to a country house set in a wooded valley overshadowed by a steep hill.
The house had an ugly, square Victorian facade, which screamed industrial money over landed taste, but as neither had known what to expect from this course, and had been vaguely picturing living in teepees or yurts to get back to nature and discover their inner selves with tambourines, they were both glad to see solid brick and a promise of some comfort.
They were a florist and a chef, after all.
Ben opened the tailgate and prepared to carry their bags in.
Nikolas stopped him, held out his hand and took his own bag.
Ben’s brows rose. He seemed surprised Nikolas was willing to go that far to get into a role.
Nikolas refused to acknowledge anything funny in the situation and made his way to the front door.
There was a reception desk, just as would be found in any normal hotel, and their names—Nigel and Justin—on laminated badges for them to wear.
There were fourteen other badges still awaiting collection, and a quick glance at the book as he registered, to see how many had already signed in, told Nikolas there would be twenty men on the course in total.
They were handed two keys and directed to separate rooms. This didn’t bother them unduly as Nikolas knew Ben would find his room and sleep there.
It was with some genuine annoyance therefore they discovered the rooms were single and the beds standard English sized: two-foot-four inches wide.
Nikolas doubted he’d be able to fit in one on his own, let alone with Ben Rider-Mikkelsen.
Whatever…He hadn’t had to sleep on the floor for a very long time, but needs must as the devil—
“What’s that?”
Nikolas and the man showing them their rooms turned to look at the unit Ben was pointing to high up on one wall.
The man intoned neutrally, “CCTV. All the rooms are monitored. It will all be explained at the orientation. Please assemble in reception at two o’clock.”
Nikolas felt a stab of real annoyance and began to plan all the things he’d do to Michael Heathcote when he finally tracked him down. He dumped his bag on the bed and sat. He foresaw a week of being harder than the mattress.
* * *
Both he and Ben noted the number of similar cameras to the ones in their rooms all around the old house.
Corridors, meetings rooms, living areas, all seemed to be covered.
They always had their fallback of a quick few words in Danish but didn’t want to resort to this just yet.
Although it was obvious to anyone who heard Nikolas speak that English wasn’t his first language, this wasn’t the case with Ben.
Justin might speak Danish fluently, but it was unlikely.
Their covers were shaky enough without adding unnecessary suspicion.
They hadn’t brought their usual bespoke tailored suits so Nikolas imagined Ben felt as naked and vulnerable as he did when they entered the large dining hall where the orientation meeting was being held.
Neither Nigel nor Justin was poor, exactly, but they could certainly not afford the thousands of pounds Nikolas regularly spent on clothes for him and Ben.
Dressed in smart but inexpensive jeans and shirts, name badges neatly pinned, they took their places at the back of the seating where they could observe the other men in front of them.
Nikolas didn’t appreciate how tense Ben was until he saw him rubbing his scar, his talisman. Nikolas nudged him and frowned.
The room was filling up, men being nervously polite, offering small smiles of hello to strangers, some obviously couples, some single.
It drifted across Nikolas’s mind that if he were gay, and if he were in a gay relationship, and if that relationship were in crisis, this experience alone would save it without the counselling to follow.
He’d endure a minute more of this exquisite embarrassment and then stand up, tell Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen anything he wanted to hear, make any promises he wanted him to make, and then just leave.
Ben’s hand brushed his. He felt Ben tap his knuckles lightly, and smiled privately.
It was uncanny sometimes how Ben could read his mind.
Finally all the seats were taken. Two men entered from a side door, carrying clipboards.
The older of the two appeared to be modelling his look on the sort of actor who always played the lawyer or the priest on Saturday afternoon shows.
He was in his very well preserved sixties with a shock of white hair, paternal, kindly.
American, his accent immediately lent an air of credibility to the therapy process, to what was still so unfamiliar to the Englishmen present.
Nikolas thought him a slick preacher, a snake-oil salesman, but that thought unfortunately took him off on a tangent, wondering what snake oil was, so he missed the rest of the welcoming address.
He was shot back to earth when the younger man made everyone stand up and greet and introduce themselves to the men on either side of them.
Nikolas closed his eyes for a moment but rose and introduced himself to Martin Schofield from Burnley.
He’d not had to come far then? No, very short drive.
That’s good then. Yes. Nikolas was exhausted by the effort and sat back down.
He’d forgotten to introduce himself to Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen, but as he’d slowly explored Ben’s body inside and out before they’d left that morning, he reckoned he knew him well enough to be spared the formalities.
The two men were Doctors Theodore Grantley and Fergus Atwell.
Fergus, much younger than his American colleague, was a handsome, flashy man who stood on the balls of his feet, as if waiting for a cue to dash somewhere and do something noble.
He was the sort of man, Nikolas imagined, women would want to wake up to from an accident where someone confirmed reassuringly the doctor had arrived.
He tried to see him from Nigel’s point of view—the point of view of a gay man—but was entirely unable to make the leap.
Nikolas didn’t like doctors particularly and decided he wasn’t going to like Fergus.
Pieces of paper were being handed around, and Ben dutifully passed one to him.
Nikolas couldn’t read it without his glasses, so he began to fold it into small squares.
He’d read somewhere you could only fold paper seven times.
Which was patently untrue. He’d never felt motivated before to prove his belief about this spurious assertion, but now seemed like the ideal time.
Everyone was standing up. He stood too. Chairs were being moved into a circle. Nikolas felt slumped like a great weight descending upon him. He’d never experienced anything good coming out of a circle of chairs.
Nine men left the room following the older doctor, leaving eleven remaining behind with the other therapist, which struck Nikolas as a little odd.
Eleven chairs with one extra for the doctor were placed neatly in a circle and everyone took a seat.
For a moment there was a quiet rumble of chatter as the men, nervous and letting off a little tension, reintroduced themselves to new neighbours.
Nikolas ignored the man on his left and whispered to Ben, “What’s happening? ”
“If you’d put on your glasses, you’d know.”
“Don’t try and be funny, Justin.”
“Sorry, Nigel. It’s the first session.” Ben glanced down. “What do you want from this course—the you is italicised, by the way.”
Nikolas looked around with horror. “I thought we’d start tomorrow!”
Ben smirked. “I know you did. You thought Squeezy would show up and say it’s all been resolved and we’d be on our merry way tonight.”
“Fuck. Fuck. What is this session?” He dug in his shirt pocket and found his reading glasses. “That’s all it says! What are we supposed to say?”
Ben turned to him, but a hush fell around the group as Dr Atwell took his seat. He beamed at them.
“Well, here we are.” There was a wary titter of laughter from one or two of the men. Nikolas glared at them, incredulous. That wasn’t funny! They were here. Unfortunately.
“We’ll be getting to know each other very well over the next week, but just to break the ice—and I know you’re feeling it; don’t try and pretend you’re not—let’s each introduce ourselves.
” He stood up. Nikolas sank a little lower in his chair.
“My name, as hopefully you know now, is Fergus. My colleague and I established this course almost a year ago today. It’s been running very successfully in the States for some time, and we’ve…
adapted…some of the principles to suit our circumstances here.
Not all of you are couples. Not all of you are necessarily gay. ”
This was news to Nikolas, and he glanced around hopefully trying to spot the other men who weren’t gay.
“But all of you are here seeking something currently missing in your lives. Am I right?” Yes, Squeezy being castrated.
“Right, that’s me then, please…” He sat down, indicating the man next to him.
Nikolas did a swift count. Shit, only six men before him.
He’d never needed a cigarette more. Well, maybe once or twice.
He’d lived a stressful life. But this was bad.
“My name is John. This is my…” Fergus interrupted, telling him to only introduce himself.
John made a wry face, and some of the other men laughed helpfully.
“Well, I’m John. I’m…at a bit of a loss now.
” There was more general laughter. Emboldened, John continued, “I’m a teacher.
Physics. I…err…I guess I just felt something was missing.
” He sat down then stood back up quickly.
“Not in physics; that’s set in laws…” A comedian. Nikolas marked him on his mental list.