Chapter Five
‘Too right I’m angry,’ snapped Chloe. She felt it building again, and didn’t attempt to stop it. ‘I was properly fucked over by a guy just like you. It’s like you came out of the same mould. He broke my heart. But at least it made me see the light. I could’ve been stuck in suburban hell with a cheating arsehole. Like your poor wife will be.’
‘Ouch. What makes you think I’d cheat?’ he said, meeting her eye.
‘Duh,’ she said. ‘You’re a not-very-ugly bloke. And you’re all slaves to your dicks.’ She raised her eyebrows.
He shook his head, and his eyes slid away.
Now that they’d stopped walking, she became aware of the stillness of the cemetery, the depth of the silence. It was as if the dead were listening in.
‘Believe what you like,’ he said, after a pause. ‘Look – can we call a truce? We’re stuck with each other; we might as well be civil. Let’s walk and talk, like they do in those US TV programmes.’
‘And what if I don’t want to talk?’
‘It’s going to be a very long night if we don’t.’
They began walking again. ‘So – was it the cheating arsehole that made you so angry, Chloe? Was it him that made you hate all us blokes?’
Chloe deflected the memories conjured by his words and pondered instead on their situation. It was twilight now. The darkness cast by the canopy of trees was thickening; it was hard to see the way ahead. How on earth would they find a way out? There were no lamps here. Chloe remembered – Oscar Wilde wasn’t far from the perimeter wall. Hopefully light from the street would spill in; perhaps there was a way out, somewhere close to his grave.
‘Well?’ prompted Joel.
Clearly he wasn’t going to let this rest. She sighed. ‘Oh, it’s just your bog-standard splitting-up story. Boy swears undying love and lifelong fidelity, boy cheats, girl finds out. At least it happened before we got married.’ She paused. ‘Even it was only a few days before.’
Joel stopped walking again, and the chain tightened, digging into her wrist. He stared at her, and she saw the penny dropping.
‘Oh fuck. Now I get it.’ He ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair. ‘He cheated on you during his stag weekend.’
‘Well done, Sherlock.’
‘What a dickhead.’
She gave him a long look. ‘But it’s not unusual, is it? Doesn’t the groom-to-be always get down and dirty with a stripper, or a–’
‘No, Chloe,’ he interrupted. ‘Honestly, you’ve got that wrong. I’ve never been on a stag where the groom shagged anyone, and I’ve been on a fair few. Sure, the strip clubs, the drinking, maybe a lap dance that goes to the wire. But there are lines that aren’t crossed. Boundaries.’
‘Oh really?’
‘Yes. And most strippers wouldn’t do that, anyway, even if the groom got carried away. Plus there’d be witnesses. I mean – my future brother-in-law was in that lot you just met. He’d snitch for sure if I misbehaved. Well – you would, wouldn’t you? If it was your sister. Sometimes even the dads go too.’
‘Which one was your brother-in-law?’
‘The one who chucked your phone onto the tomb. Rohan. I can’t stand him.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘But he basically invited himself–’
‘And as we have learned, you have a problem saying no.’
He tutted. ‘We were talking about you, not me. So … what happened on his stag?’
‘Dan. That’s his name.’ It felt strange, speaking it out loud after what suddenly seemed a long, long time ago, in another life.
‘His best mate organised a private party in a pub in town. It … it got out of hand.’ She swallowed as the memories hit. ‘I’d never have found out if my brother hadn’t been there. He didn’t say anything for a day or two, wondering what on earth to do. I mean, we had this massive wedding in a few days, nearly two hundred guests. Then he decided to ask Dad’s advice – on the day before the wedding. The pair of them told me together.’
‘That’s horrible. But–’
‘But what?’ she said, batting away a tear. ‘You’re going to tell me it meant nothing, that I shouldn’t have called off the wedding, ruined my entire life because of a quick, thoughtless, drunken sex act with a hooker? Well, I’m sorry, but no way could I ever forget that. I knew I’d never trust him again.’
‘No, I wasn’t going to say that,’ said Joel. ‘Look, most blokes honestly just want a beerfest and a night with the lads talking shit. You just go along with the strippers and all the rest of it, for the sake of your mates. There might be a bit of a grope, a fondle, a lap dance maybe …’
He paused, and his cheeks went a little pink. Chloe realised he was remembering their moment beneath the chewing-gum tree, and she felt her cheeks go a little pink, too.
‘You were saying?’ she prompted.
‘But you don’t cross that line,’ he finished, meeting her eye again. ‘Look – you get married for a reason. Because you love someone. So why would you risk hurting that person? What a horrible start to a marriage. And anyway, most blokes wouldn’t want to, no matter how pissed they were.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘Okay, being honest? I’ve seen things get out of hand once or twice. But they were the sort of guys who were always going to be up for it. And they’re not going to stop when they get married. If they cheat on their stag?’ He shrugged. ‘Once a cheater, always a cheater. It’s a cliché but it’s probably true.’
Well . Chloe allowed in the possibility. Perhaps Joel wasn’t like Dan after all. Perhaps he was a bona fide decent human being.
‘My fiancé got a blow job,’ she said. ‘His mates cheered him on.’
It was surprisingly easy to tell him. For the first time, saying it out loud didn’t cut like a knife.
Joel briefly shut his eyes. ‘That’s not good. Maybe you’re well shot of him, Chloe.’
‘Maybe I am. But it broke my heart. I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone again.’
‘You’d let one twat having a moment of stupid deprive you of love for the rest of your life?’
‘It’s not fair, is it?’ she said. ‘But right now I feel like I could never trust a man again. Dan and I had been together since high school. All those years, I never doubted him. I mean … I knew he was a flirt. But I never thought he’d …’ She shook her head.
‘What about you? Were you never unfaithful? Even when you were that young?’
His question took her by surprise. ‘No! Well, I snogged Liam Allenshaw at a New Year’s Eve party, but that was all. And he was utterly gorgeous, and I was drunk, but no.’
And then she remembered why she’d snogged Liam. Because Dan had disappeared, and so had the year thirteen slapper, who’d been coming on to Dan all night. He’d flirted back; Chloe had been suspicious, and it had been a revenge snog. Her accusations after the event had been met with outraged denial, followed by How COULD you’s from Dan. Someone had snitched on Chloe.
She smiled to herself. The drama of those teenage parties!
‘I was never unfaithful unfaithful. I thought about it a few times, when Dan got too flirty with other women, mostly because I needed to prove to myself I could still pull too.’ She frowned. ‘I was quite hot, back then, when I could be bothered with it all. Now I seem to have lost the ability to care.’
He looked across at her.
‘No, don’t say anything. I wasn’t fishing for compliments; I was being honest with myself.’
His eyes swept over her, and she wished she’d listened to Aunt Daisy, taken better care of her hair and skin, worn clothes that weren’t vintage Huddersfield charity shops. That she’d bothered with mascara for work, liberated her hair from its elastic band.
‘You’re–’
‘I know I need a makeover,’ she interrupted. ‘And I need to get out more. I guess I was waiting to get past today – this bloody anniversary.’
He frowned. ‘What? You mean …’
‘Yep. One year ago today should’ve been my big day. Today is my un-wedding anniversary.’
They’d just turned a corner, and Oscar Wilde’s tomb came into view. ‘Here’s your man,’ she said.
He glanced briefly at it, then back at Chloe. ‘Look, I really am sorry. What shitty luck, getting sucked into this stupid prank today of all days.’
‘Maybe now you understand why I’m angry.’
‘I do. Totally understandable.’
They stopped talking as they reached the grave, which was watched over by a strange, enormous sculpture featuring a horizontal winged Egyptian figure, like something on a pharaoh’s tomb. It was surrounded by a glass barrier, erected to stop people leaving red lipstick kisses all over the stone. Who knew how that tradition had started.
‘Oscar,’ said Joel, resting his free hand on top of the barrier, gazing at the tomb. ‘Hello there, mate.’
His face was so serious; he looked incredibly sad. She remembered – he’d negotiated his entire stag weekend around a visit to this grave.
‘Here,’ she said quietly, passing Joel the sunflower she’d saved from the bouquet. ‘Give him this.’
He took it from her, and she couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. ‘Thanks.’ He tossed it in, and it landed on the stone beneath the sculpture, a splash of bright yellow in the gathering dusk. She saw him mentally messaging the dead playwright.
‘ The love that dare not speak its name ,’ he said, after a while.
‘Were those his words?’
‘His lover’s.’ He turned to her. ‘Oscar got married because it was expected. Had two kids – did you know?’
‘Did he? No, I didn’t know that.’
‘There wasn’t really an alternative, back then,’ he said. ‘And look what happened when he finally found the courage to be himself. Two years in prison, hard labour.’
‘Yes, so sad. But people still love his writing, his plays, and even now they come to visit him. I wish he could know that.’
‘He said, Men marry because they are tired, women, because they are curious: both are disappointed .’
Chloe laughed. ‘Are you tired, Joel?’
He smiled. ‘Very tired, yes. Are you curious, Chloe?’
‘No. I know about men now.’
As she gazed into those soulful eyes, it was as if he was trying to tell her something. And then a lightbulb went off in her head. Oh my god.
Joel was gay. Those beautiful, sensitive eyes; his lack of enthusiasm for all the glorious sleaze on offer in Paris, his need to come and pay tribute at Oscar’s grave. For some reason, perhaps because of his family, he was afraid to come out, and was about to begin living a lie, married to a woman who perhaps he didn’t love.
BUT. She remembered their moment by the tree. A wholly heterosexual male reaction to a girl landing in his lap.
BUT also – what had he said? I don’t usually … I mean, I’m not …
What had he meant? I don’t usually fancy girls? I’m not into girls?
Maybe he was bi. Kind of … gay in nature, in spirit, in his heart, but neutral when it came to the physical side of things? Chloe, with her one serious relationship and her suburban-Yorkshire upbringing, had little experience in the nuances of sexual orientation.
Her only gay friends were a couple of guys on her university course, and she’d lost touch with them since coming to France. And she would never be cool enough to make friends with the beautiful gender-fluid people who wafted around the boulevards of Paris.
All at once she felt a crushing sadness, a sense of defeat. Joel’s gay . She should have known he was too good to be true – someone this good-looking, so nice. And she admitted to herself the reason for that sadness. She fancied him. She really fancied him. No, it was more than that – she was drawn to him, like a bee to a blue flower. Her heart was drawn to him. When she looked into those eyes, she saw his soul, and it was beautiful.
Damn! Damn it all to hell and back.
But then … he was getting married, for whatever reason. She shouldn’t be entertaining thoughts – fantasies – that might lead him to do to his fiancé what Dan had done to her. In fact, it would be even worse than what Dan had done to her. A night of passion in a cemetery in Paris ( hell yes ), would be a greater offence than five minutes with a hooker in Huddersfield.
Stop it.
‘You’re quiet,’ he said.
She snapped out of her reverie. ‘I was just thinking about Oscar. On how attitudes have changed. It wasn’t so long ago, really, that he had to lead a double life. Pretend to be someone he wasn’t. At first, anyway.’
She left it there, open, waiting for his response.
‘I wish he could see how things are now,’ he said. ‘Men marrying men, women marrying women, no one batting an eyelid. At least, unless you’re from a super-conservative religion.’
Did he mean himself? Had he been brought up as a fundamental Christian, or maybe even a Muslim? Chloe ran her eyes over his fair hair, his pale skin. Most likely Christian, but then again, people converted to Islam. Cat Stevens. The late, great Sinead O’Connor.
‘My parents are very conventional, old-fashioned,’ she said, carefully. ‘Suburban. My mum’s a real curtain twitcher; it’s all about appearances. She loved Dan, mostly because his family’s rich and he had “good prospects”. Would you believe, she told me I should go ahead with the wedding, that women – what were her words? Ah yes, “We can’t expect men to behave like saints. Sometimes we have to turn a blind eye.” I think she might even have said, “Boys will be boys.” And she definitely said, “Dan’s a good catch, you won’t get another like him.”’
‘What is he, a fuckin’ trout?’
She laughed. ‘No, my mum’s the old trout.’
He grinned, and she was glad to see the smile back on his face. Then his expression grew serious again. ‘My parents are the same, especially my dad. Haven’t quite caught up with modern times. They’d both disapprove of Oscar, even now. Definitely of Jim.’
I see. No wonder Joel can’t admit he’s gay. Or bi. Whatever.
It was time to stop skirting around the subject. ‘I think I understand. Joel … are you getting married because you’re … tired ? Of trying to be something you’re maybe not?’
‘What?’
‘Do you really love … what was her name? Zara? Do you want to spend the rest of your life with her? As a data analyst? In Sheffield?’ That was a bit mean. ‘Or maybe you should do something else, first. You know, like rent your new house out and go travelling for a year? I can recommend escaping overseas.’
‘I thought you said you had no friends and never went out.’
Chloe pressed her lips together. ‘Okay. But you didn’t answer my question.’
Joel looked away, staring at Oscar’s grave. Then he rested his free arm on top of the glass barrier and laid his head on it. ‘Shit yes, I’m tired. Can’t remember when I last had a good night’s sleep.’
His hair flopped across his forehead as he closed his eyes for a moment. She lifted her hand, then stopped herself, fighting the urge to brush it away from his eyes.
He opened them again. ‘I’m sorry, Chloe, about today. About throwing up on you, and Rohan nicking your phone. Getting us stuck in here. But for what it’s worth, visiting Oscar with someone who isn’t an idiot, who understands, and having him all to ourselves, well … I’m actually pretty happy this shit-show happened.’
Chloe could touch him now, because she understood, and he understood that she understood. She lifted her free hand and stroked back his hair. ‘You’re all right, Joel. You’re more than all right. I hope after this we can be friends. You can come stay with me in Paris sometime.’
‘You mean …’ He frowned. ‘Or did you mean with the wife?’
‘You’re going to go through with it?’
He gave her a long look. ‘It’s complicated. But it’s the right thing to do. Hey … can we give the personal histories a rest? Look – there’s a bench. I really am tired. Can we just sit quietly with Oscar for a while?’
They made their way over and sat down, their shackled wrists between them.
‘Yeees,’ he breathed, then he shut his eyes and bowed his head.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
She took stock. It was her un-wedding anniversary; she was locked in a cemetery; it would soon be dark and the air was getting chilly. She was shackled to a beautiful man she fancied to bits, wanted to kiss (deeply), touch (everywhere), hold tight … a man she was, in some strange way, falling for, but who was on his stag do and therefore off limits. By this time next week he’d probably be married. But in fact he was almost certainly gay and about to marry someone because it was expected of him, because it was ‘the right thing to do’.
He was either in denial about his sexuality, or not brave enough to come out, identifying with Oscar Wilde because he too had married a woman for the sake of appearances. Oscar may have come out eventually, but that hadn’t gone well.
Chloe started as Joel’s head jerked forward and he opened his eyes, looking around him in confusion. ‘Sorry, nodded off. Do you mind if I …’ he gazed longingly at her shoulder.
What the heck. They had an understanding now.
‘Be my guest, tired boy.’
Beautiful, confused, tired boy.
He leaned his head on her shoulder, and she leaned hers on his. It was nice. It was lovely.
Darkness gently laid its cloak over them, and as Joel dozed, Chloe looked around her, at the shadowy tombs, the trees silhouetted against Paris’s nighttime glow. She felt the warmth of this man next to her, this new, unexpected friend.
After a while, his head slid down a little, onto her chest. She gently guided it onto her knees, then, contorting, trying not to wake him, pulled free the jumper tied around her waist. She brushed off the debris collected from beneath the chewing gum tree as best she could with one hand. He shifted, turning his head so it was facing her, gathering his free arm in front of his face, and she adjusted their shackled wrists so he’d be as comfortable as possible. Then she lay the jumper over him and he snuggled in.
Before long, Chloe felt herself drifting off to sleep too.
It’s almost time. Make your way to Oscar Wilde. Stay well hidden. Be ready! You know what to do.