Chapter Five Si
Six years ago
They’d met not long after Si had gone down to London to work for Adam’s dad. It’d been wicked, being with Adam again. They’d kept in touch, course they had, but it wasn’t the same being best mates from a distance.
Funny, though. Adam’s phone calls had been all about the clubs in London, but after Si moved there, they seemed to spend every Saturday night down the local pub.
Which was a laugh, but Si had been expecting something more.
Something different. Something that’d help him work out who he really was. Who he wanted to be with.
So the next time it seemed like they were headed for the same old, same old, Si cleared his throat. “Listen, I was thinking . . . maybe not go to the pub tonight?”
There was a beat, then Adam said, “Sure. We can stay home, watch a bit of telly. If that’s what you want.”
“No—I wanna go out. But maybe somewhere different, like? A club? One of them ones you told me about before I came down here.”
“Yeah? You sure about that?” Adam was frowning.
Si bristled. “Why not? You worried I’ll show you up or something?”
Adam laughed. “What? No, course not. I didn’t reckon you’d wanna come, that’s all.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Cos, well, it’s gay clubs I go to, yeah? Didn’t think you’d fancy blokes hitting on you all night.”
“That what happens when you go out, is it?” He supposed it probably did. Good-looking, Adam was. Sorta foxy, if that was a thing? For blokes, like. All angles, accentuated by the shadows.
Si maybe fancied him a bit.
But only a bit, mind. Adam was Si’s best mate, and he wasn’t gonna screw that up.
’Sides, it’d be weird. Like snogging your brother.
And with them both living at Adam’s dad’s house, and Si working in Adam’s dad’s business .
. . Nope. Not gonna touch that one. Not with a flippin’ bargepole, whatever one of they things was.
Barges, now, he’d seen plenty of them, down on the river. Poles, though—
“Oi, where you gone, mate?” Adam was waving a hand in front of Si’s face. “Anyhow, I didn’t think there’d be much in it for you.”
Si frowned. “What if I want to meet a bloke?”
Adam stopped dead, and his eyes widened. “Do you? I always thought you were straight. Didn’t you have that thing with Lucy Mansfield in fifth year?”
“She ’ad a thing with me, maybe.” It’d been weird. One day she’d just started hanging around. It’d been sorta nice, flattering, like, ’cept she’d wanted to snog all the time, and once when they were in the cinema, she’d tried to put her hand down his jeans. “And who says I can’t like both?”
“Do you?”
Si shrugged. “Maybe? Bit hard to tell when I never meet no one, ain’t it?”
“You’ve met loads of blokes since you moved down here. What about all the lads who work for Dad?”
“All straight, ain’t they?”
“All of them? Doubt it.”
“Can’t you tell? What about that gaydar?”
“Well, of course they all act straight when they’re at work . . . Huh. See what you mean. S’pose even if there was one who was into you, and you were into him, you’d get the shit ripped out of you if the others found out.”
“That why you never gone out with any of ’em?” Si asked.
Adam shrugged. “Be a bit awkward anyway, with Dad being their boss.”
Si nodded. “So are we going clubbing or what?”
Him and Adam got the Tube into central London, getting off at Leicester Square.
Si had been here before—his mum and dad had brung him down to see a show one birthday.
Dad had driven up to Bristol and they’d got the train from there.
Flippin’ long journey, it’d been. They’d had to stay the night, after, in the poshest hotel Si’d ever been in.
Mum must have got some kind of deal. Si didn’t remember much about the show they’d seen, but he remembered this place.
Heaving with people, it’d been, and it was now and all.
Si stood for a mo, disorientated, as groups of young men and women strode past in all directions.
Adam seemed to know where he was going, though. He grabbed Si’s arm, pulling him in the direction of the square. Neon lights were blinding, making the darkness even more impenetrable. “Scratch?” Si turned at the sound of his old school nickname to see Adam pointing. “It’s this way.”
“Right.” Si tried to make himself as small as possible so as not to terminally elbow anyone as they squeezed through the crowds milling around. “And it’s Si while we’re in London, right? I don’t wanna spend half my life explaining my nickname.”
“Si. Yeah. Sorry.” Adam sent him a grin that was almost too broad for his face.
Best not to focus too hard on that smile, or he’d be getting confused again.
And there was plenty else to get distracted by.
People dressed different in London. Sharper.
Not so colourful. Same boatloads of tourists, mind, some in big groups and some in families.
There was a tiny Japanese kid in white socks and Hello Kitty backpack out past her bedtime, waiting patiently while her parents argued over directions—
Si startled as Adam yanked on his arm.
“Jesus, mate, watch where you’re going! You nearly ran into those girls.”
Si blinked at a group of brightly dressed women in platform shoes, and blushed when they laughed.
“You can run into me anytime, darling!” the one in the gold heels yelled back at him as they tottered on their way.
Adam nudged him. “Sounds like you could have been well in there.”
“Bollocks. They was only teasing.” Si knew what he looked like, and it was like what you’d get if you tried to build a skeleton out of coat hangers—all his limbs too long, and his frame too large.
“Nah, seriously,” Adam went on, the London accent he’d picked up in the last couple of years coming out strong. “They was well into you. Working for Dad’s been good for you. Made you fill out a bit.” He gave Si a quick look up and down as he hustled him into a side street.
Huh. Did Adam maybe fancy him a bit too?
“Would you be into it if they were?”
“What, them girls?” Si shrugged. “Dunno. Don’t know ’em, do I?”
“You don’t have to know someone to know if you fancy them.” Adam hesitated. “Or have you decided it’s just blokes for you, like me?”
Si was still trying to work out how to answer that when they turned a corner and walked under a giant red-and-black gateway covered in oriental symbols. Sweet and spicy aromas filled the air. “Hang about, this is Chinatown, innit? You sure this is the way?”
“It’s a way, all right? Don’t carry a map in my head, do I?”
“You got a phone.”
“More fun this way. You get to see all the sights.” Adam led the way down Gerrard Street, and turned right.
They passed under a string of red paper lanterns—’cept they couldn’t be paper, could they?
What if it rained?—and crossed a busy road.
The farther they got, the fewer Chinese restaurants and shops there were.
Plenty of other restaurants, though—how did they all survive?
—and bars too. The streets were darker here.
And there seemed to be a lot more young blokes walking around in twos. Some of them were holding hands. Si’s heart beat a little faster as he tried not to stare. “We there, then?”
“Nearly.” Adam took another right turn and led him down Old Compton Street. “Ta-da!”
Si took a deep breath as he gazed at the big, silver letters spelling out G-A-Y. “Right, then.”
This . . . this could be the start of something.
Course, once he’d been in the club for half an hour, Si wasn’t so sure about it.
Adam had bought him some mystery drink he said Si would love and then buggered off to dance with a bloke he’d met here before.
It left Si propping up the end of the bar on his own.
Adam probably thought he’d be enjoying the scenery, with all them topless blokes around, but to be honest, it was all a bit much.
Si took a gulp of his drink and made a face. Some sickly sweet alcopop shite. “No, Adam, I bloody well will not love this,” he muttered under his breath.
“Mm, could take it off your hands if you want,” a smooth voice purred in his ear.
Si looked round, and his breath caught. The man—boy?
—person?—in front of him was like someone off of a music video.
Or who’d hopped a boat out of Lothlórien and gone shopping in Wardour Street.
He had a pointed chin, sharply cut straight hair that was dark at the roots and flame red at the ends, and full, wide lips that curled in a mocking smile.
Not to mention the most mesmerising eyes Si had ever seen: one blue, one brown.
He looked like he was expecting a snappy comeback. “Uh?” was all Si managed.
The bloke who’d now definitely be featuring in Si’s fantasies laughed, showing straight, white teeth—perfect except for one crooked one at the side that lent him a reassuring touch of humanity.
“Your drink, love. Unless it’s the place in general you were complaining about?
” Those unusual, mismatched eyes flashed. “Or maybe your present company?”
“Nothing wrong with the company!” Si almost spilled his drink thrusting it into the bloke’s hands. “Yours, if you want it.”
“Are you? Bit forward.” The stranger’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he took a deep swallow of Si’s drink. “Gonna have to buy me more than one drink first. I’ll have another of these. I’m Zig.”
“Si.”
“That a name, or are you narrating yourself?”
Si blanked.
Zig laughed again and put a warm hand on Si’s shoulder. “You know. Sigh?” He leaned in close and breathed a long, heavy sigh right in Si’s ear.
Bloody hell, Si was probably redder than them Chinatown lanterns right now. “It’s a name,” he croaked out, and cleared his throat. “I’ll get the drinks.”
He pulled out his wallet and waved to the barman, half expecting Zig to disappear as soon as his back was turned, cos seriously, what the hell was a bloke like Zig doing with someone like him? A warm arm slid around his waist, and he almost jumped out of his skin.
“I’ll have a pint of lager, and a . . .” Si floundered.
“Smirnoff Ice,” Zig provided.
The barman, who looked old enough to be Si’s dad—no way was he a day under thirty—gave Zig a weird look, not too friendly. “Got ID?”
“Uh, yeah, mate. Hang about.” Si fossicked in his wallet for his driving licence.
“Not you. Him.”
Zig smiled, all teeth, and gave Si a squeeze. “Not buying, am I?” Zig put Si’s empty glass down on the bar with a clunk, like it was punctuation.
The barman frowned but handed over their drinks and took Si’s money.
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” Zig said, taking his drink with a brush of fingers over Si’s hand.
“No—I only been here a couple of months. Got a job with me mate’s dad. Brickie.” Gods, Si, stop talking about your boring self. “Uh, what do you do?”
Zig shrugged. “This and that. C’mon. Let’s get out of the crush. We’ll have our drinks and then you can show me what moves you’ve got.”
“You mean, like, dancing?”
Zig grinned. “That as well if you like.”
Si’s heart was beating louder than the bass from the speakers.
After they’d finished their drinks, they danced—Si horribly conscious of every single one of his limbs, none of which seemed to be moving in time with the music.
And they’d had more drinks, and then they’d kissed, and it had been nothing like kissing Lucy Mansfield, nothing at all.
It’d been like someone was setting fireworks off in Si’s head—and in other parts of him too.
He’d wanted to punch the air, yell out Yes and Get in there and other stuff he’d only ever heard people say before.
He hadn’t cared about Adam finding other blokes to dance with, to drink with. And when the place had closed, and they’d had to leave, Zig came with him, pushed him up against a wall, and kissed him until he didn’t know which way was up.
(Except he did, cos, well, part of him was pointing that way pretty emphatically.)
And then Zig said, “Better let you go. Your mate’s getting well impatient. Maybe I’ll see you again, yeah?”
Si didn’t want to let him go. “Next—next Saturday? You’ll be here?” He couldn’t keep the pleading out of his voice.
Zig grinned. “You take care,” he said, and left.