We need to talk

Chapter 1

Noah

The hotel restaurant was packed, and the noise of people’s chatter too loud for my delicate head.

The band playing on top was almost unbearable and the food?

Mediocre was probably a suitable description.

Lukewarm, straight off the extensive buffet, and would no doubt make my stomach revolt later tonight.

Still? I was sitting here daydreaming, watching the table over by the open windows.

A party of men, all laughing and toasting and smiling.

Quite entertaining, but I wasn’t interested in the group, the table or the way one of them was standing on the tabletop wriggling his slim hips.

No, I was watching the quiet one, sat on his own, looking anything but thrilled with the dancing guy’s antics.

The man at the end of the table was stunning.

He wasn’t particularly tall, but slim and shapely.

Perhaps he spent time in the gym, judging by the shape of those shoulders.

His face, though? Delicate features framed by perfect bleach-blond ringlets.

I wanted to say like a girl but stopped my thoughts right there, biting my lip to stop myself smiling.

Cute. He was…very cute. Perfect features. The kind of guy who took my breath away. Also the kind of guy I would never ever dare approach, or God forbid, talk to.

“Are you listening, Noah?” My mother woke me from my thoughts that were once again derailing. “You said Tenerife was boring last year, so we thought we would go a bit more upmarket. Have a different clientele with more people your age to socialise with.”

Really, Mother?

I was fully aware that I was sat here drifting in my head and sulking for no reason. Some people saved all their lives to do things like this. Travel across the world so they could sit in some godforsaken sandpit and be pampered by underpaid waiters and treated like royalty.

My parents? They were enjoying every second so far, bopping gently in their chairs as the entertainment setup in the corner played classics from the eighties, the singer screeching out the lyrics in broken English.

He was wearing an open shirt and a bandana.

Even I knew how ridiculous he looked. Me.

Me. Who was born missing that vital gene. How to dress myself. How to style my hair. How to be…

Yes. I was not going there. And yes, I was also fully aware that going on holiday with your parents was weird.

I was well on my way into middle age, and my parents were retired yet still young enough to manage themselves, but then…

Dad struggled to walk. Mum got nervous with the long-haul flights, and anyway.

It was tradition now, wasn’t it? Every summer, a few weeks off work and Mum would book somewhere nice.

And this year? Extra nice, apparently. Hence, here we were.

All-inclusive on a tiny island, where if I wanted to get away?

Ugh. If I wanted to get off this sandy blot in the ocean, there was only one way to go. Swim.

We’d been here for less than twelve hours, and I already wanted to…

swim away. And here I was sat chewing my lip, staring at ringlet-bloke across the room.

The lot of them at that table were now toasting in shots and laughing.

Ringlet-bloke? He had his delicate chin in his hand, staring at the rest of them like he couldn’t believe the cheek of them.

They were pointing at him, and he was throwing his hands in the air and obviously trying to scold them for whatever they had said.

Maybe for their rowdy behaviour. He was obviously trying to rein them in and tone the whole spectacle they were performing down a notch or two.

Shushing them and throwing his hands in the air in defeat.

I wish I could hear what they were saying.

“Darling, have some more food. That chicken was delightful.” Mum nodded towards the buffet area, the smells once again hitting my nostrils the wrong way. I was tired. I was jet-lagged, and I felt positively sick to my stomach.

“This is perfect.” Dad patted his stomach. “Beer and food. Entertainment on tap. Son, look at all the young people out there by the pool. You should go and mingle. Socialise.”

“Yes.”

No. I didn’t want to disappoint him by saying something rude, especially since he and Mum had paid for all this and booked it and apparently had done all the research so we could have the best of the best. But.

This was a… I cringed. A honeymoon destination.

A couples’ paradise, and it hadn’t escaped me how the sunbeds around the pool had been laid out.

In twos. How the menu advertised couples’ cocktails.

How everything was so nicely intimate and romantic.

I’d hated it from the moment we’d stepped off the transfer boat. Hated the weirdness of the… Had I really booked a single room? Just one of me?

Yes. Just me.

Mum had laughed. I hadn’t.

“You should think about that dog, Son. A dog really makes a home.”

My father. Again, random, like the next sentence out of his mouth would be about ice hockey, and then next he would ask to discuss the latest angina medication.

I didn’t want to discuss anything. I wanted to go back to my room and forget where I was.

“I think that must be a stag party,” my mother mused, nudging me. “It’s all men.”

“Probably,” I agreed, as my father laughed.

“Or a bunch of gentlemen who like the company of other gentlemen,” my father eloquently suggested.

“Gay men,” my mother agreed.

“Come on.” I covered my face with my hands and rubbed my poor, sweaty stubble.

I needed to shave because I was too hot in the sticky evening heat.

Everything felt damp and wet, my shirt clinging to my skin.

Sweat dripping down my back. The beard? I wanted it off, right now.

But then a clean face made me seem younger than I was. I liked the stubble. I liked…

Hiding.

“Oh darling.” My mother smiled. “We know you prefer the company of men. It’s not a crime.”

“In some places in the world? It is.”

“Not here.”

“Probably here.” I smirked. The men at the table in the corner laughed. The guy with the blond curls, the loudest.

“Stag night,” my father agreed. “Loud bunch.”

“Not quite the quiet holiday,” I tried. “We can order room service tomorrow night. Or, better yet, I can order room service. You can sit here and enjoy, what’s his face? Simon Le Holiday.”

“You know how much I loved Duran Duran,” my mother mused. “I am very much enjoying everything so far. Especially spending time with you. We never see enough of you because you’re always working."

“I’m forty, Mum. I need to work.”

“You’re also handsome and wonderful, and I fully agree with Dad on the dog. It would be lovely company for you. It must be lonely for you at times.”

“I’m not lonely!” I protested as my parents tutted in that disappointed way only they could.

Disappointment was my middle name. At least they were good parents.

More disappointed with the fact that I still hadn’t stopped chewing my fingernails when things became too much for me than the absolute fact that I would never give them grandchildren.

Or a granddog. I inhaled more air than strictly necessary, then exhaled slowly. Calming myself down. I did that.

“We love you,” my mother whispered. “And this is a lovely way of celebrating your birthday, darling.”

It was, I had to agree, because how else would I have celebrated this life event?

No longer young, now instead? Forty. How I’d got here seemed beyond me, as I stared at my hands.

Ringlet-boy was back at the buffet, metal tongs in his hand, inspecting a piece of fried chicken like it wasn’t exactly that.

“Stop staring at him, go over there and speak to him!” Mum nudged my arm. “He’s obviously here on his own. I mean, he’s sat at the end of the table!”

Okay, let me introduce you to Gillian. My mother.

Gossipmonger extraordinaire, professional curtain twitcher, leader of the local knitting society and also the community book club.

Retired nurse. Causer of all kinds of hilarious drama, which she happily reenacted to me during my weekend visits.

My dad? Derek, also a retired nurse. Zero interests apart from doting on my mum and bringing her endless cups of tea and doing the weekly shopping.

And sometimes golf. He was apparently rubbish at it.

Then there was me. And my parents’ other little quirk?

The constant attempts to matchmake me with anyone who looked like they might be remotely single.

Remotely queer. They’d once set me up on a blind date with a lesbian lady.

To this day, I had no idea why, but we’d kept in touch for a while.

Nothing more. I’d had stern words with my parents after that little escapade. Had they listened? Probably not.

“Mum, he’s on a stag-do and no doubt has a lovely wife and three infant children at home. Please let me have a break. I just want to have a holiday and relax.”

“No, you don’t.” Mum tutted, grabbing her plate and heading back to the buffet with determination in her step.

Yes. Here we went again. She was straight in there, making Ringlet-man blush and laugh as they shook hands, and then she pointed at me as I slowly died on the inside.

Fuck. And now I would have to have room service for the rest of the week and hide inside my room.

“You have to learn to be a little more social with new people, Son.” Dad gently patted my arm. “How are you going to meet someone if you don’t even try?”

“We’ve been here less than a day, Dad. Let me find my feet.”

“When I met your mum?”

“Dad.” I rolled my eyes. Yes, they had hit it off on the dance floor and got engaged a week later or something.

I’d heard the story a million times. “I work with the general public. I listen to people’s woes and ailments and dilemmas and all of that from nine to five daily.

Sometimes on the weekend too. Can I not just sit here and enjoy the peace and quiet? ”

At least he laughed at that as Simon Le Holiday burst into some foot-stomping number where people were clapping their hands and dancing in their seats. Including Mum, who shimmied her way across the room with a plate full of chicken.

“Darling,” she said excitedly, taking a sip of her wine.

“Mother.” I sighed.

“Okay, his name is Riley, and he’s on holiday with his best friends, some of them he’s known since primary school!

Anyway, I asked if one of the lovely men at the table was his partner, and he just laughed at me.

So I feel that means I can ask more. Wait until he heads for dessert, and you can pop up and say hello! ”

“No,” I said. “And why did you point at me?”

“Oh, I just casually mentioned that my lovely son is here to celebrate his fortieth.”

“And?”

She did that thing, where she pretended she was all innocent.

“Nothing.”

“Mother.”

“I may have said you were very handsome, single and very much gay.”

“How delightful.” Now I banged my hands on the table, making the couple nearby jump.

I was tired. I didn’t want any bloody dessert, and I just wanted to make all of this go away.

“I’m going to call it a night,” I declared, staring at my half-eaten plate. “I just… It’s been a long day, and I just want to sleep.”

“That’s okay, darling.” Mum giggled. “I am going to knock at eight, ready for breakfast and have all the gossip for you. Mr Riley won’t know what hit him.”

“Mum, he won’t be gay, he won’t be interested, and he definitely will not appreciate being stalked by a couple of pensioners. Seriously. Enjoy the food and the music.”

“See you in the morning!” Mum laughed. “Sleep well, darling. Big day tomorrow.”

Nah, it wasn’t. Because I would still be stuck here with nothing better to do than listen to my parents natter on and get a sunburn. And eat my weight in food.

So I did what I did. I stumbled back to my weird-ass bungalow-villa-hotel-room-thing and drew the curtains until the room was pitch black. Then I flung myself on the bed, still in my clothes and pulled the blanket over my head.