by JL Merrow
Which meant that not only did Mark have to face the prospect of humiliating himself in front of everyone in his new life, given David’s talent for spreading gossip everyone in his old life was bound to hear about it by Saturday as well. And would probably have seen the pictures to boot.
Mark decided to do a few more sit-ups while he thought about it.
Chapter Fourteen
“Oi, you’re never gonna guess who I was talking to last night,” Lex said on getting into the office Thursday morning.
Patrick looked up from his paperwork. “Simon Cowell. He wants to turn you into the next Britney Spears.”
Lex stuck a finger up and swivelled it gently. “Nope. Your bloke’s daughter. She went along to theatre group last night, and we got talking.” Lex hopped onto Patrick’s desk and sat there, New Rock boots swinging. Not the sort of thing Patrick would be caught dead in, but they looked wicked cool on Lex. “And you’re not gonna believe what we was talking about.”
“Go on then, try me.”
“Well, see, Fen—she’s really sweet, ain’t she?—she’s not s’posed to know her dad’s queer, right? ’Cept she was telling me all about how there’s this bloke he likes. This younger bloke he likes.” Patrick tried not to let the jolt that had just run through him show as Lex paused to give him a significant look. “And she dun’t know whether to tell him she knows, that’s her dad I mean, ’cos she reckons he’s trying to keep it all a big secret, ’cos he thinks she’s like five years old or something.”
“You talked about all this at theatre group?” he managed. It was daft—he knew Mark liked him. Hearing it confirmed shouldn’t affect him like this. Not at all.
“Nah, we went to the caff for bean burgers after. She ain’t even veggie, but she din’t wanna eat meat in front of me—din’t I tell you she’s sweet? But anyway, point is, she’s not gonna have a strop about him being gay ’cos she already knows and she’s cool with it.”
“So did you tell her to tell him?”
Lex shrugged. “Din’t know what to say, did I? I mean, usually it’s the other way round, innit? Parents what know their kid’s gay and don’t know whether to say nothing. And then, they always say, like on the Internet and stuff, that the parents oughta wait for the kids to say something first. But I din’t know whether that’s a rule, like, it’s the kids who get to bring it up whatever, or if it’s the gay person who gets to. Plus, I dunno, you reckoned he was right in the closet, yeah? So what if he’s the one having the strop if she goes and says she’s all right with him being gay? So anyway, I thought it’d be safest if you said it.”
Patrick rolled his eyes. “Right, ’cos that couldn’t possibly go wrong.”
“What? Why would it go wrong?”
“You never heard of shooting the messenger? That’s even if he doesn’t jump to the conclusion I’m the one who’s outed him.” His eyes narrowed. “So what exactly did you tell her about me?”
Lex looked hurt. “Nuffing! Din’t even tell her I knew who she was talking about. It was all hyper-fetticals. No names mentioned on either side. I mean, when she first brung it up, I thought maybe it was ’cos she knew I knew you, but I reckon it’s just ’cos I’m, well…” Lex waved a hand at their androgynous, alternatively styled self.
Yeah, Patrick couldn’t blame Fen for assuming Lex would be pretty open-minded about people being gay, and might even have some useful advice to give. Trouble was, Mark probably wouldn’t be so happy about it. Shit. “She shouldn’t have been talking about it to you anyway. Mark’s gonna be well pissed off if he finds out his daughter’s outed him to someone she’s only just met.”
“Yeah…” Lex stared at the New Rocks’ toe-caps. They weren’t swinging quite so breezily now. “Din’t think of that. I mean, she just said she had this problem and could I give her some advice, and I sorta forgot it wasn’t all about her. ’Specially when I realised it was you she was talking about. Sorry.”
“Nah, it’s no skin off my nose. Next time you see her, though, maybe tell her there’s stuff she oughta keep quiet about unless her dad says it’s okay?”
Lex looked a bit happier. “Yeah. S’posed to be seeing her at the weekend.”
“Yeah? Not busy with the metalhead?”
“Nah, he’s got a family thing.” Lex didn’t look worried about it, so Patrick let it go because, yeah, it was too soon for introductions to the family and all that. It didn’t have to mean the bloke didn’t want the family to meet Lex ever.
Not that he wasn’t gonna be watching that space.
“So what are you gonna do?” Lex asked.
“What, at the weekend? Thought I’d go down the pub with the lads, maybe do a bit of shopping and a couple of odd jobs for Mum—”
“No, you prick. About Fen’s dad.”
“Mark. He’s got a name of his own.”
“Yeah. Mister Nugent. Nugent Senior.” Lex laughed at Patrick’s raised finger. “All right. Mark, who is in no way old, wrinkled and totally past getting it up without a crate full of Viagra and a forklift. What you gonna do about him?”
Patrick thought about it. “Dunno. Not tell him Fen knows he’s gay. And… Well, we kind of parted on bad terms.”
“So? You can go round and apologise.”
“Who says it was my fault?”
“Oh, I dunno. Maybe the fact you still fancy the thermal undies off him? You’re the tenth Doctor, you are.”
Patrick blinked. “You what?”
“Remember? David Tennant onna spaceship at Christmas, his first one as the Doctor, the aliens try to stab him in the back and he fights ’em off with a satsuma? No second chances, that’s what he says. That’s you all over. If this Mark was the one in the wrong, you’d of deleted his number and forgotten his name already. And you was apologising for him the other day when we went to lunch. Might as well apologise to him and all.”
“Yeah, all right. I’m not saying it was totally my fault, but all right. But it still leaves him with his reason for us not going out together—unless I tell him what you told me. Which I’m not gonna.”
Lex screwed up their face. “Well…maybe you could just sort of bring it up in conversation? Or I know what, you wait till he goes for a pee and then you and Fen have a confab? ’Cos we know she’s on your side already.”
“Yeah, and do what? Hold a bloody intervention?”
“Well, I dunno, do I? Can’t solve all your problems. And I ain’t got time neither. Some of us got work to do.”
Patrick rolled his eyes at Lex’s hunched back and got back to his own work.
It made him think, though. ’Cos basically, what this meant was there was no reason him and Mark couldn’t be together. There had to be some way of getting Mark to see that without totally cocking things up, right?
Chapter Fifteen
Friday night, David turned up at Mark’s house at six o’clock prompt, bearing carrier bags. “Now, you’ve got the basic costume, haven’t you? I’ve brought the fake tan and the eye shadow.”
Fen giggled. “This is gonna be sick.”
Mark was privately inclined to agree. He struggled to recover his powers of speech. “Wait—spray tan? Eye shadow? I am not wearing eye makeup.”
“It’s not for your eyes, silly. It’s for your abs. You want a bit of definition, don’t you? I know I would.” David pouted. “I was so nearly going to dress up with you, you know. I had such a fantastic idea for a Xerxes costume: gold lamé shorts, sparkly black cape and more bling than you could shake your booty at. But Fen thought I’d be stealing your thunder, and anyway, it wouldn’t really work unless I shaved my head, which we both agreed would have been an absolute tragesty.”
Mark blinked. “A what?”
“It’s a tragedy and a travesty,” Fen said in what Mark had come to think of as her duh-voice.
“Totally,” David agreed. “So anyway, we ca
me up with a compromise.” He rummaged in his backpack. “Ta-dah!”
Mark stared in horrified fascination at the teddy bear that had been thrust under his nose. Gone were the trench coat, dark glasses and miniature fedora, and in their place were, well, pretty much the costume David had described. “Gregory?”
“Isn’t he fabulous? I made it all myself. And if I get him to do a little shimmy, he jingles.” David proceeded to demonstrate.
Fantastic. Absolutely marvellous. So now Mark was expected to not only go out in public in a ridiculous state of undress, but also to do so cuddling a teddy bear that looked like a refugee from a sex shop?
Say nothing, he told himself desperately. Say nothing, and just “forget” to pick it up on the way out.
“So come on, let’s see you in full regalia.” Rolling his r’s, David somehow managed to make the word regalia sound obscene.
“What, now? No,” Mark said firmly. “We’re supposed to be eating first.”
Any objections David might have made were drowned out by Fen’s enthusiastic cry of “Pizza time!” as she ran to switch on the oven.
Mark followed at a more leisurely pace to open a bottle of merlot. It probably wouldn’t mix well with all the beer he’d be drinking later, but there was no way on this earth he’d be going out in costume without a bit of Dutch courage inside him. Or more accurately—he glanced at the label—South African courage.
Fen and David, it transpired, made a perfect team when eating pizza—he merely picked off all the meat and filled up on salad, leaving her to enthusiastically shovel down the rest. Mark wondered where she was putting it all. He didn’t get to eat anything like as much, getting his wrist slapped—literally—as he reached for his third slice.
David wagged a finger at him. “Ah ah ah. Do we want to look like a bloater tonight? There’s only so much makeup can do.”
Mark narrowed his eyes and chomped aggressively on a lettuce leaf.
After dinner came the excruciating task of transforming himself into an object of ridicule in front of his ex-subordinate and his only child.
Actually, Mark was almost glad they were there. At least their presence (and oh-so-helpful comments) distracted him from the growing paranoia that this would all turn out to be some terrible April Fool’s joke. He could see it now: the whole of the Spartans—no, the whole of the village—turning up at the Three Lions to point at him and laugh. After all, what did those pictures of Barry on the Internet prove? Just that they were working the long con, that was all—
“Daaa-aaad. Are you even listening? I said, what are you going to wear for shoes?”
Mark blinked down at Fen, her pretty face flushed with excitement and, perhaps, overeating. “Trainers.”
“Trainers?” Fen gave him a look that clearly doubted his intellect, if not his sanity.
David just frowned. “That’s not very authentic.”
“And the rest of the getup is? Anyway, in the absence of anything resembling gladiator sandals, they’ll have to do.”
“I could lend you my flip-flops,” Fen suggested. “I don’t like them anymore anyway.”
“That’s because they’re pink with flowers on. Thank you, but no.”
“Oh, well. I don’t suppose anyone’s going to be looking at your feet anyway. Now, off you hop and get changed, and then we can start putting your face on.” David visibly caught Mark’s glare. “Figuratively speaking, of course,” he added hastily.
Twenty minutes later, Mark found himself standing in the kitchen dressed only in a leather kilt and what had seemed like a whole bottle of fake tan when Fen, giggling, had applied it. God alone knew what he looked like. Well, David and Fen did too, but Mark hadn’t dared glance in a mirror, and he wasn’t even finished yet. David was on his knees in front of him, painting muscles on with makeup. “Can you do that a bit harder?” he asked without thinking.
David looked up at him, eyebrows making a concerted bid for the ceiling, and opened his mouth to say something Mark was instinctively aware needed to be headed off at all costs. Particularly as Fen was only three feet away.
“I mean,” he said quickly, “so it’s not so ticklish?”
“Oh, is that all?” David pouted. “You’ll just have to man up and deal with it.”
Fen giggled, just as a sharp, confident rapping reverberated down the hallway. “Oh, there’s someone at the door,” she said helpfully.
“Well, aren’t you going to answer it, then?” Mark said after a lengthy pause. “Or did you think I was going to go like this?”
“Oh. Yeah. Okay,” she said, and scurried for the door.
“But for God’s sake, don’t bring them in here,” Mark called after her, half turning.
“Stay still,” David ordered, grabbing Mark’s hips and yanking them back into position. “Do you want wonky abs?”
“Surely they’re all right now?”
“Oh no. I haven’t nearly finished with you yet,” David purred in his flirtiest tone, looking up at Mark from his kneeling position through suspiciously lustrous lashes. He was still hanging on to Mark’s buttocks with both hands, and his face was far too close to Mark’s groin for comfort.
Especially seeing as Patrick was now standing in the kitchen doorway. Glaring at them both.
Oh God.
Patrick barked out an incredulous, mirthless laugh. “What the hell’s going on here?” he asked, his tone rough.
David’s grip on Mark’s arse tightened. “And this is any of your business because?”
Mark’s face grew hot, but hopefully the blush wouldn’t show through the fake tan. “Patrick? Um, this is David. My PA. Ex PA.”
“Enchanté,” David said flatly.
“He’s helping me get ready for tonight,” Mark babbled on. “Um. David, I think you could let go of me now.”
“Just a bit,” Patrick said, stony-faced. “Thought this was your induction, not a bloody coming-out party.”
“It’s not a—there’s nothing going on!” Mark looked around in a panic, but Fen was nowhere in sight, thank God, and the faint sounds of some music channel could be heard from the living room.
“Not now there isn’t,” David muttered sulkily.
Patrick’s expression went from granite to tungsten carbide.
Mark threw up his fake-tanned hands in exasperation. “Oh, for—do you honestly think I’d, well…what you were thinking…with my daughter in the house?”
“Whatever,” Patrick said. “I’ll see you up at the pub.”
He turned on his heel and stalked back the way he’d come. After a moment, the front door slammed.
“Well, that was rude.” David tsked.
Mark sighed. “Brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant. Look, for God’s sake, stop faffing around with that bloody brush. It’s not going to get any more convincing.”
David got slowly to his feet, a hurt expression on his face. “Well, if you didn’t want my help, you only had to say.”
“It’s not…” Mark struggled for a few moments for a way to explain without outing himself to David, who must have assumed Mark was simply horrified by someone catching him in an apparently compromising position with a gay man. He hoped. None, alas, presented itself. “I’m sorry. I’m grateful, honestly. Just a bit…”
“Stressed?” David asked, perking up. “I do a wonderful sensual massage. It’s just the thing for stress.”
“No,” Mark said firmly. “I mean, thanks, but I haven’t got time. I need to get up to the pub before the others decide I’ve wimped out.” Or Patrick told them all he’d cried off in favour of a party for two in the kitchen. “But really, thanks for all your help. Are you coming up for a drink before you head off home?” Please, please say no, he thought desperately.
The evening was unlikely to improve with Patrick and David spending any more time in each other’s co
mpany.
“Mm, no. I thought I’d stay and look after the little moppet. Save you worrying about her while you’re out.”
Mark blinked. “Thanks. That’s very kind of you—and, well, Fen adores you, you know that.” He mustered a smile. “You’ve certainly made life more interesting for both of us since we moved here,” he added with absolute sincerity as he threw his cloak around his shoulders. David fetched the replica helmet from the kitchen counter and handed it to him with a flourish.
Mark jammed it on his head. The more disguised he was, the better. “Fen? I’m off now.”
“Hang on a mo,” came from upstairs, swiftly followed by the sound of Fen scampering down, phone in hand. “Wow, you almost look fit, Dad. For an old bloke. Try and look fierce.”
Mark sighed and put on a snarl for the inevitable photos. “Can I go now?”
Fen handed him his spear and took another photo. “There you go, Dad. Come back with your shield or on it.” She giggled. “David told me to say that.”
“Actually, now we come to mention it, why haven’t you got a shield?” David asked, cocking his head.
“Probably to stop me hiding behind it,” Mark answered gloomily and patted the pockets of the shorts he was wearing under his kilt in the forlorn hope they’d make him feel a bit less naked. He turned to David. “Right. I’ve got my money and my car keys—”
“You’re driving?”
“Look at me. Did you really think I was planning on walking?”
“Hm, fair point.”
“Anyway, as I was about to say, I haven’t got room to carry my phone. But I’ll only be up at the Three Lions, so in case of emergency—”
“Daaa-aaad.”
“—you can either ring the pub or just run up there.”
“We’ll be fine,” David said firmly. “You just take your spear and knock ’em dead. Although not literally. Well, not unless they get really frisky with you.”