by Lily Morton
Unfortunately, the rest of me is reeling at the thought of not seeing him every day. I won’t be able to roll over and find him lying there or see his limpid eyes and wicked grin. I’ll no longer be challenged and nudged until I do something ridiculous just to see him smile.
“Ack, this is fucking terrible.” I sigh.
“What?” he says, coming out of his room. “Did you say something?”
“I said I’m hungry,” I say after the beat of silence lasts too long. “And Endof wants a walk.”
“Well, we can’t disappoint Endof,” he says solemnly. “Let’s go to St James Park.”
“Why there?”
He grabs his wallet and slides it into his back pocket. “There are some things I want to see.”
“Oh, your list. Have you added to it while I’ve been away?”
He nods. “I went to Shoreditch the other day to see the street art. It was amazing. And then this morning, I went to Leighton House.”
“What is there?”
“Oh, Mags, it’s beautiful. Frederick, Lord Leighton built it to house his art collection. He was the president of the Royal Academy. It’s so lush. The colours make it feel like you’re sitting in a kaleidoscope.”
He continues to talk in the taxi, telling me about a café that had once been a public toilet and had a beautiful wrought-iron entrance. I listen to him, smiling in all the right places but unable to push away the absurd possessiveness that’s seized me and makes me hate the fact that I wasn’t with him when he crossed those items off his ridiculous list. And all the time, my mind beats to the sound of the words, He’s going soon.
Twilight is upon us by the time we stand outside the gates to the park. The streets of London are dusty and teeming with Londoners and tourists moving about to find places for dinner or to sit in pubs and fill the air with noisy chatter. I love the business and grime of the city in the summer. It has a dirty sort of charm to it.
In contrast, the interior of the park looks cool and mysterious. Laurie pulls me through the gates. It’s quieter here, the shadows of twilight fighting with the last gleams of the sun. The air is full of the scent of flowers and fresh-cut grass, and the paths, as we move farther into the park, are quiet, the park-goers having left to find their evening’s entertainment.
“Do you know why the park is called St James Park?” Laurie asks idly.
“For James the Second?”
He shakes his head and clicks his fingers for Endof to pay attention to him. He’s going to lose that battle, because the stupid dog is stalking an innocent poodle. “It was for the lepers’ hospital that used to be here.”
“Really? How do you know that?”
He taps his nose. “I research, Mags. You should try it one day.”
I groan. “Ack, I live for a day where I don’t have to open a file.” I start in surprise as he moves closer and takes my hand. “What are you doing?”
He leans closer. “I’m going to lead you to the lake and drown you.”
“I think that might be preferable to holding hands,” I say faintly.
“Relax.” He rolls his eyes. “I just want to look at your palm.”
“You are a peculiar person, Laurie. Why would you want to do that?”
“You have a very long lifeline,” he says, turning over my hand and tracing the line on my palm with one long finger.
I shiver. “It goes with my lengthy penis,” I inform him.
He laughs, and I’m almost disappointed when he drops my hand. “I read an article about it today, and as you’re the biggest character around here, I wanted to see your palm.”
“I’ll show it to you later when I wrap it around your cock,” I say, smiling and nodding to the two old ladies who pass us on the path. Laurie is lagging behind. I look back at him to find that his face is bright red and his eyes are full of laughter. “Are you alright?” I ask.
“Fine.” He comes alongside me and walks with me again. “You’re very unapologetically yourself,” he says. “You don’t make concessions for anything. Have you always been like that?”
I consider his question and nod. “Yes.”
“I can’t imagine that went down well.”
When I raise my eyebrows, he elaborates. “We both grew up at relatively the same time. I’m a few years younger than you, but I don’t remember the eighties as being particularly brilliant for gay people.”
“It wasn’t. Not in this country anyway.”
“When did you know you were gay?”
“When I was about thirteen. How about you?”
“The same. That’s the age you were when you were sent over here, wasn’t it?”
I nod. “To paraphrase Charles Dickens, it wasn’t exactly the best of times.” We walk along a shadowed path, and I inhale the scent of something sharp and fresh. “Denmark was rather different,” I say. “Much more relaxed. It was the first country in the world to legally recognise same-sex registered partnerships. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but I lived with artists who were thoroughly relaxed about everything. Then I was sent to live here, and I was horrified. I was suddenly a teenager at a single-sex boarding school who knew he liked other boys, and I was living in a country where homosexuality wasn’t spoken about and then it was even banned from being discussed in schools. Like we were fucking criminals. Then came AIDS, and to some bigots, we were actually fucking lepers. Don’t get me wrong, I was a little young to experience the worst, but I do remember seeing the hatred and the abuse.” I sigh. “It was terrifying for a teenager who knew he was gay. I won’t forget it, and I refuse to live according to the ideas of narrow-minded bigots. They don’t get a say in my life, and they never will. They need to look to their own lives. They must be quite narrow if they’re so obsessed with what grown adults do in their own beds.”
“I’m surprised you stayed once you were eighteen.”
I smile at him and pet Endof when he leans into me. “I love Denmark, and a small part of me will always miss it, but I love England too. We had a difficult start, but she’s a grand old country who gave me a wonderful education. The people are funny and dry and never take themselves too seriously. I like living in a place that registers irony. I love the history, the pubs, and football when Arsenal are winning.”
He chuckles. “Not often, then.” I give a woeful sigh and he smiles. “I miss England. Funnily enough, I miss it more, the older I get. But I love the South of France too. I like the pace of life and my home.” He looks determinedly ahead. “Do you think you could live somewhere like that?” he asks, and my breath stops for a second.
Is he asking me what I think he is?
I’m pondering how to respond when we emerge onto another path, and he exclaims, “I know where we are now. Charles the First took his last walk here.” His tone is full of forced cheer.
I exhale discreetly. I don’t know whether I’m happy or sad that he didn’t wait for my answer.
“It was the morning of his execution.” Laurie’s eyes flick towards me, his shoulders tensing. I pin a smile on my face and gesture for him to continue. “His walk ended at Banqueting Hall on Whitehall where he was beheaded.”
“I remember reading about that at school,” I say. “He wore two shirts that day, and when asked why, he said it was because it was cold and he was shivering, and he didn’t want the crowd to think he was afraid.”
“You’re like that,” Laurie says, glancing at me.
“Am I?”
He smiles, but his eyes get restless again, darting away from me. “If you were in his shoes, you would stride out and show no fear. You don’t let anything stop you from living.”
I stop dead. “Is that how you see me?” I ask, curiously honoured.
His face brightens a little. “Yes. You live life to the fullest of what you want it to be.”
“Not going to tell me how a partner would improve my life?”
“Nope. Because that’s arrogant. People are always trying to impose their own ideas of life on othe
rs. It irritates me. You do what you want, and you rely on your own opinion of what’s right. You never doubt your actions.” His eyes become turbulent. “I envy that characteristic.”
“Laurie…” His tone worries me, but before I can say more, he’s gesturing to the path in front of us.
“We’re nearly there.”
“Where?” I ask.
“The Blue Bridge.”
We’ve come to a blue wrought-iron bridge that spans the water. “This is it?” I ask. “This is what we came for? It’s hardly aesthetically beautiful.” Endof leans against my leg as if agreeing with me.
Laurie tugs me onto the bridge. His mood seems to have changed again, and now there’s a frenetic gaiety to him. “It’s not the bridge I want to show you. Look.” He turns me when we get to the middle of the bridge, so I’m looking into the distance. I catch my breath. Rising out of the trees, beyond the glistening water, are the ornate, white stone buildings of Whitehall. The graceful domes and spires look almost European in the light and rather like a fairy-tale castle.
“Beautiful,” I say, turning to Laurie.
The expression on his face looks almost sad for a second, and then he smiles and turns me the other way. I grin as I see Buckingham Palace and the London Eye behind it, its gaudy lights bright in the gathering gloom.
Laurie gives me a crooked smile. “Two of the best views in London, and you get them by standing in the same place.”
“Like BOGOF, yes?”
He laughs. “You surprise me. Your speech is so lovely and formal, and yet sometimes you sneak in these little sayings that you shouldn’t know.”
“I’ve lived here since I was thirteen. I spent a week with my father, which apparently was enough for him, because I was immediately sent to a costly boarding school where I could learn all the slang I could manage.”
He leans back against the bridge’s railing, his attention entirely on me and not at all on the view he claimed he wanted to see. “What was that like?”
I consider it, and for once, I don’t give the glib version. “It was not good at first. I missed my home and my dog. I even missed my mother and her endless conquests because all of that was familiar. When I was sent here, I hadn’t seen my father for three years, so he was just as much of a stranger as someone on the streets. The climate was wrong. The accent was wrong. Everything was wrong,” I say, mimicking a teenage boy’s whine.
He chuckles but keeps his gaze fixed on me. He seems calm, but his fingers tap on the railing and I know that turbulence I’d sensed remains.
“So how did you adapt, Mags?”
I shrug. “Ack. It was many years ago. I struggle to remember.”
“I’m sure you do. It must have been at least a century.” I glare at him, and he laughs before leaning against me, his soapy scent rising from his warm body. It’s a funny scent. Innocent and wholesome. “Tell me,” he chides.
“I adapted,” I finally say. “It’s what I have always done. I made good friends, and first and foremost amongst them was your brother-in-law. They taught me to enjoy London. Time and the years have cemented my enjoyment into love.”
“Will you always live here?”
We are suddenly back to that odd breathless question of before, and my heart starts to pound. I look at the beautiful still surface of the water gleaming under the evening sky. “Maybe. Maybe not. It depends on the circumstances.”
I suddenly want him to ask me what those circumstances would be, but instead, he says softly, “I suppose you’ll adapt to wherever you are. I wish I knew how…”
I nudge him. “You wish what?”
He smiles at me, and I sigh because I know I won’t get any more from him now. “I wish I had an ice cream.”
“Well, we must go and buy you one, I suppose,” I say in my best long-suffering voice. I lean down and let Endof off his lead.
“Is that wise?” Laurie says in an alarmed voice. “He’s not the best-trained animal.”
“That was the previous Endof. This is the new version who has received a great deal of training from me. I think you’ll find quite the difference.”
I let go of the dog’s collar. “Now, Endof, let us show Laurie what you can do. Ouch, you foolish dog,” I exclaim as he tears away from me and races off the bridge. He hesitates and then gambols over to the grass nearby.
“Endof, come back,” I call sternly. “Right now.”
The dog shakes his head, his tongue hanging out, and then begins to run around the area in circles. His journey across the grass encompasses him knocking a small child over and trampling wildly over a couple’s romantic picnic.
“Endof, naughty dog,” I call as the protesting voices rise around us. I look over at Laurie. “Why are you laughing, you fool?”
“I’m chuckling at how well-trained your dog is, Mags. It’s eerie how much you’ve accomplished with him in just a few weeks.”
I wave my hand. “He’s just discomposed by the unfamiliar surroundings.” We watch as he bounds across the grass towards us, his eyes creased in happiness as he drags a small picnic chair behind him.
“He’s so much like you,” Laurie says with a sigh.
I briefly consider pushing him off the bridge. Instead, I stride forwards to deal with the committee of complainers who are coming up behind Endof. I’m far too aware of how happy it makes me to feel him fall in next to me and walk close.
Chapter Fifteen
Mags
“Magnus, have you got time for a word?”
I put down my file and look at Jane. “It depends very much on what the word actually is.”
“How about ‘dog’?”
I groan and look over at Endof, who is lying on the sofa in my office, sleeping with his legs in the air.
“What about him?”
She sits on the chair in front of my desk and crosses her legs. “I’ve had a few complaints about him.” She taps her fingers on the wood. “Actually, I haven’t had a few complaints. I’ve had many.”
“About what?”
“Well, just today, he ate Brant’s lunch, ripped up some mail, and then rounded off his morning by chewing the legs on the Victorian armoire in the meeting room.” She looks over at him. “He appears to be tired out.”
I shrug. “I suppose behaving badly does leave you feeling exhausted.”
“Well, if anyone can empathise, it’s you.”
“You’re hilarious.” I look over at my stupid pet. “I tried to leave him at home the other day. I bought one of those pet gadgets where you can watch the animal when you leave it alone, and the machine throws snacks at them as rewards,” I confide.
Her lip twitches, but she valiantly refrains from taking the piss. “What happened?”
I sigh. “He ate the whole gadget.” She starts to laugh, and Endof stirs. “Maybe he shouldn’t stay at home, Jane. I think he’s at his happiest spreading his mayhem far and wide. It has a much bigger impact.”
“Can’t you ask someone to watch him?” She bites her lip. “How about Laurie?” she says in an overly bright voice.
I stare at her. “Is there a reason why you are talking like Julie Andrews on speed?”
She sits back. “No,” she says innocently. “I just thought you could ask him to be with your dog. They both appear to play a major role in your life.”
I roll my eyes. “You have all the tact of Nigel Farage.”
“Well?”
“I can’t ask him because he has his own life to which he’s returning soon.”
“He’s leaving,” she says, dismayed.
“Of course. He was never going to stay.” I’m pleased with my tone. It displays none of my inner feelings.
“You seem to like this man,” she says carefully.
“I do. He’s a good friend.”
“And is that all?”
I rub my eyes. “Come on, then,” I say wearily. “Let’s get it over with.”
“Well, I like him for you.”
“You’ve never me
t him.”
“I know he’s older than your usual twink du jour.” She bites her lip. “But then I’ve got pairs of tights that have been on this earth longer than them.”
“They’re all in their twenties.”
“Pfft. They’re completely wrong for you. You need someone who can meet you on an equal playing field.”
“I’m not playing rugby. It’s just sex.” I stop and groan as she grins.
“So, you are sleeping with him,” she says triumphantly.
“Casually. Just as it should be.”
“Not always. Life isn’t all about that, Magnus.”
I wink at her. “Then you’re doing it wrong.” She sits back, staring at me. “Oh God.” I sigh. “You’re trying to force your heteronormative lifestyle on me.”
She blows a raspberry. “I’m not suggesting you marry this man and keep him barefoot and pregnant. I’m just saying that it’s nice to have someone.”
“I have many someones.”
“But no one important. No one who would worry about you. No one to listen when you have a problem.”
“I don’t want anyone worrying about me, and I’m not dating a psychiatrist.”
“It might be a good idea.”
I stick my middle finger up at her. “All of those other benefits you mentioned can be attained by sex and vodka.”
“What about someone to make you laugh when you’re sad, or someone who hugs you in the middle of the night? What about having an equal who pushes back against you and over whom you have no control? What about someone who wants the best for Magnus Carlsen and not what they can get from Magnus Carlsen QC?” I stay silent, and she smiles at me. “I’ll say no more.”
“Thank goodness for small mercies.”
“I’ll say no more,” she talks over me loudly. She points her finger at the dog. “And that dog can’t stay here. Make alternative arrangements.”
The door shuts behind her, and I look gloomily over at Endof. “Never look to have the last word with a woman,” I advise him. He watches me for a second with a big doggy grin and then starts to lick his balls. I can’t say I blame him.