Chapter 35
The next two weeks pass by in a whirlwind of shagging, date nights, and even a trip to Ikea to help Olly choose a new bed.
We broke his old one. I managed to swap off a shift to spend another weekend with him.
He’s impressed me with his culinary skills, I’ve tasted every Swedish dish his mother has ever made him, and he’s thrashed me at Mario Kart every day.
I’ve made his ears bleed by playing him every Sugababes album ever released, and he’s returned the torture by playing the back catalogue of Queen.
I’ve been back to Soumia’s twice to get fresh clothes.
She made a comment about putting me on the missing persons list.
Bananarama are singing Love in the First Degree from my smart speaker and I’m singing along enthusiastically.
I’ve shaped my beard to perfection and managed to order a top online which fits perfectly.
It slims down my dadbod. It’s black with a red bear paw print across it.
Not that I need a t-shirt to inform the community I’m a gay bear, my curves make it pretty obvious.
Soumia shouts through the bedroom door, ‘Do you want a top up?’
‘Yes, please.’ We’re getting ready at home before we meet the gang.
Soumia doesn’t wait for my response. She’s already in my room filling up my rosé, Whispering Angel – my favourite – a treat at eighteen quid a bottle.
‘Can we have something else on, not the bloody Sugababes.’
‘It’s Bananarama. Girls Aloud?’
‘Alexa, play 90s dance classics.’
Show Me Love by Robin S begins. Soumia and I, both two glasses in already, grab our refills and start to dance at each other, singing along full blast very shakily to the opening note.
I nearly spill a little wine over the top of my glass. ‘We’re meeting Olly in BAFTAs and then we’ll meet the others in Via. I can’t believe he’s agreed to meet you all, like officially.’
Soumia’s doing a dance move that resembles firing a gun. ‘We do work together - it would be awkward if he said no. How am I ever going to find a man if all I do is go to gay bars?’
‘How are you ever going to pull when you dance like that? And what’s happened to McBride?’
‘You’re only jealous of my moves. That was a one off. Never to be repeated. Ever.’
‘We’ve got to be there in an hour.’ I bloody love this wine.
‘I’m only throwing a bit of lippy on and I’m good to go.’
Soumia’s dressed in cowboy boots, tight denim jeans, and a black vest top. She only needs a straw hat to be the double of Kylie Minogue in the Step Back in Time video. I’m not sure she mimics Kylie on purpose, but she does get a lot of attention from the gays whenever we’re out.
‘This song is such a fucking classic. Alexa turn it up.’ Soumia’s dance moves have progressed to stacking shelves. She dances like a drunk aunt at a family party. She’ll be doing big fish, little fish, cardboard box in a minute.
‘Do I look OK?’ I turn right and left to show Soumia my angles.
‘Stunning.’
‘Likewise.’
The Uber into town gives us a breather from the alcohol. The driver has appeased us by tuning into Gaydio to carry on our mini disco.
‘Just here’s fine, thanks.’ I tell the driver.
Not that he can go any further since they put the bollards up on Sackville Street.
We get out of the taxi at what used to be Tri Becca.
My favourite bar in my early twenties, they did a bottle of wine for a fiver before six every weekday.
It stripped your palette, but at that price you couldn’t grumble.
My phone bleeps, Uber asking me to rate my driver. I tap 5 stars and leave a two-quid tip.
Soumia and I head towards the cobbles of Canal Street, which were long ago bricked over, but are still referred to by every gay over the age of thirty-five.
The bunting of rainbow flags flap in the wind.
The madness of the mid-March weather has brought all four seasons in one day.
The usually packed streets are quiet, apart from smokers who are rubbing their arms to warm themselves up whilst they feed their addiction.
Each bar we pass is packed to bursting with their chosen clientele: Bar Pop is filled with twinks, skinny gays in white vests all under the age of twenty-five, The Rem is filled with burly men, most of them with stomachs which hang over their jeans, all over the age of forty, The Church is filled with hen parties who have come to the village to see the gays in their natural habitat, like they’re looking at lions in a safari park.
‘I’m doing it, I’m really doing it.’ I say to Soumia in an exaggerated Mancunian accent.
‘What you talking about?’
‘Nothing.’ My queer pop culture reference goes way over Soumia’s head. ‘Shit me, my nipples could cut glass.’
We stop at BAFTAs, a small bar on the edge of Canal St. It plays classic sitcoms on a continuous loop, the camper the better.
Tonight, it’s Victoria Wood As Seen On Tv.
I hold the door open for Soumia. As soon as she steps inside her windswept hair falls back into place.
Mine, on the other hand, looks as if I’ve put wet hands into a plug socket. Soumia chuckles, then restyles my hair.
‘Gorgeous.’ She blows me a kiss; I catch it and rub it on my bum.
Though there’s no music the atmosphere is pumped, people laugh at Julie Walters asking, ‘Two soups?’ The décor is expensive; the cocktails are cheap.
‘Aperol Spritz please, and a Long Island.’ Soumia asks the barman.
He wears his hair in curtains like a 90s boy band reject and has a gap in his front teeth where he keeps biting down on his lip piercing. Soumia reaches to tap the card machine. I stop her at the sight of the airline logo on her plastic.
‘Babe, what are you doing?’
‘It’ll be fine, I’ll pay it back before they realise.’
‘You can’t use your expenses card in the UK, Ivy will have a bloody fit.’
‘I’ll put it back on pay day.’
‘I’ll get it. Don’t use it again, you’re asking to get sacked,’
I tap my phone against the card machine to pay.
We stand ourselves at a tall table. Jason, Nick and Dave are already there.
It wasn’t my idea to invite Jason, Soumia insisted.
I think she’s treating him as an outreach project.
We all greet each other and give the obligatory cabin crew hugs before we get stuck into the latest episode of Galley FM.
Jason, whose black eye has nearly faded but covered up the remaining bruise with too much concealer, is the first to broadcast. ‘Trev’s back in the UK. He’s been fired but at least he’s home.’
‘How do you know that?’ Nick asks. He’s wearing a t-shirt that states I’m With Him with an arrow that points to the left where Dave is standing, clutching his hand. I don’t think he’s wearing it of his own free will.
‘Eric told Martin who told Linda who told James who told Danielle who told me.’ Jason is loving his moment in the centre of attention and is exaggerating every word like he’s presenting a podcast.
‘If they all said it then it must be true,’ Nick retorts.
Soumia’s takes her first sip of the Long Island. ‘Shit me that’s strong.’
‘You won't be able to taste it after the second mouth full,’ Dave suggests.
Soumia nods in the direction of the door. ‘Here comes lover boy.’
I have my back to the entrance. I turn around and…
he takes my breath away. He’s wearing a muscle fit silver shirt that shows off his toned dadbod.
His biceps bulge like Popeye after a tin of spinach.
Most importantly, he’s wearing a cheeky smile that stretches from ear to ear, causing the faintest crease on his forehead.
He hugs Soumia. ‘Hi, beautiful.’ Then he turns to me. ‘Hey, handsome.’ He smells gorgeous. ‘I’m just going to grab a drink, do you want anything?’
‘We’re good thanks, we’ve just got a round.’ I watch his arse walk off in the direction of the bar, only three steps away, but they’re three magnificent strides.
Soumia’s back by my side. ‘I feel such a leech, but is there any chance I can lend a twenty?’
‘Don’t be stupid.’ I make a few taps on my phone. ‘I’ve transferred you fifty.’
‘I love you.’
Two hairy men walk between us as they make their way back to their gaggle of gays from the toilet. They pause to fangirl Soumia. ‘I love your outfit.’
Soumia flicks her hair as if to say, what, this old thing.
Olly squeezes the back of my neck signalling his return. ‘You ok, cocker?’
‘Never better, thanks.’ I put my arm around his waist, he returns the gesture putting an arm around my shoulder.
It’s not long before Jason pipes up with a face that looks like a bulldog chewing a wasp. ‘Put him down, you don’t know where he’s been.’
Olly, my knight in a shiny silver shirt defends me. ‘I’ll put you down and make sure your left eye matches your right.’
Soumia has two sips of her cocktail left. She faces Jason. ‘Talking of eyes, are you ok? We all heard what happened.’
‘Never better, queen.’ There’s a falseness to Jason’s enthusiasm. ‘Men, don’t fucking trust them.’
Dave joins the conversation. ‘Soumia, how’s your toyboy?’
Soumia’s got that look again of staring at something she doesn’t like. ‘Who?’
‘McBride.’
Soumia looks at me. The air suddenly frozen.
‘I’ve not said a word, I promise, I wouldn’t,’ I say.
‘The fucking prick. Who told you?’ She knocks back the rest of her cocktail before biting into an ice cube.
Jason jumps in. ‘They’re all talking about it. All the pilots think it’s hilarious. They had you down as frigid, not a cradle snatcher. McBride got ten points for banging you.’
‘The fucking bastard. I’ll smash his kids lunch box right in his bollocks the next time I see him.’
I attempt to defuse the situation. ‘Same again?’ I ask Soumia.
‘Yes, and get me a chaser.’
Olly follows me to the bar. As soon as we’re there, he slips his tongue into my mouth. His snogs are perfect, the right amount of movement followed by a little bite of my lip. His forehead touches mine; the warmth connects us. If this was a cartoon, butterflies would be circling around our heads.