Chapter Twenty Bigmouth Strikes Again
Michael wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up agreeing to have a drink with Rahul.
He had no direct memory of agreeing to such a meeting.
Michael had been spotting Julian as he attempted -- poorly -- to do a set of sit-ups at Michael’s insistence that they exercise together as a way to offset Julian’s unhealthy lifestyle.
Julian had been trying to convince him, through labored breathing and pained groans, that it might be a good idea for Michael and Rahul to spend some time together alone, put their differences aside long enough to find some common ground.
Aroused by his flushed cheeks and sweat-glistened body, Michael had shut him up with a series of sloppy kisses that led to sloppy lovemaking on his living room floor.
Julian must have, at some point, performed a kind of hypnotism on him because, when Michael finally regained his senses, Julian had been prattling on about how happy he was that the two people he cared most about would finally get to know each other.
“Once Rahul knows you like I know you,” he’d said, “he won’t be able to stop himself from adoring you like I do.”
Sitting across a table from Rahul at The Barber if not for the boy he was dating, then for his own peace of mind.
“I hear you and Julian have been friends since school,” Michael offered by way of an olive branch.
“Yep,” Rahul replied impassively. The stone heads of Easter Island were more forthcoming.
“I never made many lasting friends at school myself,” Michael said, trying not to fidget with the slender stalk of his wine glass.
“How did you say you and Jules met, again?” Rahul shot out the non sequitur, eyes narrowed into black slits.
“Here,” Michael answered with a composure he didn’t necessarily feel.
“After Julian had had one too many.” Somehow he felt that to mimic Rahul and use the diminutive “Jules” would be a mistake.
Rahul was staking claim over Julian when he used it.
He was a tomcat pissing on the brick wall, saying “this is mine, I was here first.”
“Right. And you rescued him?”
“Julian, poor thing, he’d gotten himself into a bit of a state and he’d run off at the mouth to some man who hadn’t taken kindly to it. When he’d gone outside, this ‘gentleman’ had tried to take a swing at him. If I hadn’t stepped in, well, he’d probably have laid our Julian out flat.”
A muscle in Rahul’s jaw ticked when Michael said “our Julian.” Good. He was staking his claim, too.
“See, I find that interesting because Julian’s never gotten himself into a drunken fight. He’s a happy drunk. A randy drunk, even. He’d never pick a fight with some stranger.”
“You weren’t there, were you?” Michael said, politeness a thin veneer over his confrontational words.
“He was in a state over his girlfriend and you left him. He was bound to get in a dark way, and there was no one around to stop him or keep him safe. Quite frankly, we’re lucky I was there.
Who knows what could have happened to him if it not for me.
” He let that hang heavily in the air between them.
“Lucky,” Rahul repeated after a beat. “That’s interesting, that. You do have a way of finding yourself at the right place at just the right time.”
“Do I?” Michael asked, not knowing where Rahul was headed with this and not at all enjoying it.
“I’d say so, considering you just so happened to turn up at Julian’s flat when Aisling had gone round to pick up her things.”
The grey, watery afternoon light that filtered through the pub made Rahul’s warm copper skin appear sallow and stony.
With the bristly black moustache and thick black hair greying prematurely at the temples, he rather resembled a fading portrait of some stoic dictator.
Replace his threadbare cable knit jumper with a military tunic and he’d be the spitting image of a sour-faced Asian general.
Michael tried to remind himself that this was not some military mastermind but was, in fact, a state school graduate and failed actor who worked in a barely profitable record shop in a rough neighbourhood. Michael had attended Eton, for Christ’s sake. He could take on one Northern half-wit.
“I’m sorry, and who’s Aisling?” he asked, the very picture of innocence.
Rahul was not moved. “Oh, you know, the woman you threatened outside of your boyfriend’s flat. I’m sure that must ring at least one bell. Unless you’ve threatened so many women you simply can’t keep them straight anymore.”
“I never threatened anyone.” He could hear his tone growing harsh and reminded himself sternly to even it out.
A middle-class upbringing prevented him from caving to such taunts, even while his heart yearned to give the man a verbal lashing.
“Whoever this Aisling person is, she must have misunderstood me, if it really was me she spoke with.”
“I see,” he said with a smile like a freezing gale. “So you’re going to deny being a stalker then, are you?”
“Accusing me of being a stalker now?” Michael laughed mirthlessly. “That’s quite an accusation to make, coming from you, who followed his best friend across the city on a wild hunch. And a baseless accusation, certainly, considering you don’t have a shred of evidence.”
“No evidence, you say?” The cold smile grew, a distended, gruesome thing like the rictus grin of a corpse.
“That’s interesting, sir, very interesting, considering you spent nearly three months staring at Julian from across this very pub before your so-called first meeting.
And before you get all geared up to deny it, you pointed out yourself that I left Julian at the Barber that night before he got loaded after he’d had a row with Aisling, which you’d have no way of knowing about unless you’d already been watching him the whole night. ”
“Julian told me,” he lied quickly.
“Did he now.” It wasn’t a question. Rahul glared at him unblinkingly, smile firmly affixed. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. He put Michael in mind of a cat that was poised to pounce.
This was going very badly indeed. He’d promised Julian he would try his best with Rahul.
He couldn’t care less whether Rahul lived or died -- though the longer this went on, the more he wished the bugger would get hit by a lorry on his way home, just to save them all the trouble -- but he did care about complications.
He wanted to continue seeing Julian. Rahul complicated that by being so outspokenly opposed to Michael’s relationship with Julian.
He had known Julian much longer, after all.
They had a close, deep bond. If Rahul insisted enough, Julian might just listen to him.
As much as it pained him, he was going to have to find a way to make nice with this Rahul person.
“Listen, Rahul,” Michael began, feeling he deserved a BAFTA for the friendly tone he was able to plaster over his seething hatred.
“I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.
I care about Julian. Genuinely. It’s important to him that we get on, so I want to make that happen.
As his friend, don’t you want that, too? ”
“It’s because I care about Julian that I don’t want you around him,” Rahul said frankly. “He’s different. He’s naive. He doesn’t always know what’s best for him. Lets him be taken advantage of by people like you.”
“I know Julian lacks experience, and comparatively I have a great deal of experience, but because of that I’m making an effort for us to be open and entirely honest with one another.
Since he’s never been with a man before, I am doing my utmost to go slow and make sure that Julian is on board every step of the way. ”
Rahul’s face took on a strange cast, something complicated that made Michael uneasy. “You’re entirely honest with each other?”
Michael tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. “Entirely.”
“So then you’ll already know that you’re not the first man Julian’s been with.”
There was a ringing sound in Michael’s ears, like a television set that’s lost its signal. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table. “Beg your pardon?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you told each other everything.” Rahul’s complicated expression resolved itself into a triumphant smirk. “Did he not tell you we slept together?”
* * *
The ringing in Michael’s ears persisted, the shock after an explosion. He had no recollection of ending the encounter with Rahul or getting himself home, but he must have done or how else would he have found himself back in his flat?
Julian was there, helping him out of his coat and prattling away cheerfully, entirely oblivious.
“See? Didn’t I say the two of you would get on if you’d only just give it a chance? You’re both right clever. Rahul’s always going on about old jazz musicians and philosophers and whatever, and you, well, you write and things. You’re a genius. I’m sure you’ve got loads to talk about --”
Michael wasn’t listening. How could he hear anything over this incessant ringing? The ringing rather resembled Rahul’s self-satisfied voice saying, “Did he not tell you we slept together?” over and over and over again.
“-- and did I ever tell you he writes poetry? Mental, that. What kind of grown man writes poetry? He’s a real character. I’m sure you can see now why I think he’s tops --”
“You slept with him.”
He wanted Julian to deny it, wanted him to say Rahul had made it up to goad him. That would make sense. It’d make far more sense than Julian lying to him. Than his pristine, untouched boy had been sullied by another man’s filthy touch.