Out!

by JL Merrow

  Fen crunched in reply.

  Mark cleared his throat. “Is… Um. Is Lex a girl or a boy?”

  Fen swallowed her mouthful a bit too quickly and started coughing. Mark handed her a glass of water. “Daaa-aaad,” she said when the fit had passed. “No.”

  Mark blinked. “Er…”

  “What does it even matter? Lex is just Lex. A person. Why do you have to put everybody in boxes?” She gestured angrily with the crisp packet.

  “Okay, that’s a fair point,” Mark allowed, feeling distinctly off-balance. He’d considered how he’d react to the news that Fen had found her first boyfriend. (Dire threats and constant vigilance.) He’d considered how he’d react to the news that she’d found her first girlfriend. (Veiled threats and discreet chaperonage.)

  At no point had it occurred to him he might not have covered all eventualities.

  He took a deep breath. “Are you and Lex… Is Lex your, um, person-friend?”

  Fen rolled her eyes. “Daa-aad. No. And please don’t ever say person-friend again, ’kay? That’s just… Just don’t. Lex has got a bloke, anyway. He sounds totally old. He’s even got a beard, which, ewww. Imagine kissing him. That’s just gross.” She shuddered.

  What was so bad about beards? On the right man, they could be very attractive. Mark could certainly imagine kissing a man with a beard. Say, if Patrick decided to cultivate facial hair—he’d keep it well groomed, Mark decided, not mountain-man bushy like Si and Alasdair at the Spartans—

  “Daaa-aaad. Are you even listening?”

  Mark blinked. “Sorry, darling. What were you saying?”

  “I was just saying, about you and David.”

  He sighed. “Darling, I’m sorry, but it’s not going to—”

  “Yeah, I know, Dad. Jeez. I just mean, if you want to go out with someone else, then you should, you know? I won’t mind. Not if they’re nice too.” Her cheeks flushed a warmer colour.

  Mark’s neck twinged with phantom whiplash from the abrupt volte-face. What? He’d expected weeks of unsubtle hints about how great David was, alternating with rage against his lack of reasonableness in failing to arrange his love life to suit his daughter. Not mature acceptance.

  He stared at Fen. Maybe Lex was good for her.

  “So is there?”

  Mark startled. “What?”

  “Duh. Anyone you wanna go out with? At the Spartans, maybe?”

  “Why exactly are you asking this particular question?” He frowned. “Have you heard something?”

  Fen’s cheeks were now pinker than the crisp packet. “Sort of. Maybe. ’Cept I promised I wouldn’t say anything.”

  “Sweetheart, if people are talking about me, don’t you think I’ve got the right to know?”

  “It’s not like that! It’s just, Lex works with this bloke called Patrick…”

  Mark had any uneasy feeling his own face was now a close neighbour to Fen’s on the Pantone colour chart. “And?”

  “And Lex said he really likes you. And he’s really nice, so I was thinking…”

  Mark was barely listening to her. Oh God. Patrick. Mark needed to see him. Talk to him. Explain. But would he even be at home, on a fine—all right, only slightly drizzly—Saturday afternoon like this?

  He’d never know if he didn’t go and find out. “I’ve… I’ve got to go out, sweetheart. You’ll be all right, won’t you?”

  “Duh. Where are you going?”

  “To see someone.”

  “Is it Patrick?”

  “Maybe.” Mark grabbed his phone, his keys… Damn it, did he look presentable? He couldn’t go in this shirt. He put the phone and keys back down again and ran upstairs to change.

  Better. Now, where was he…?

  Oh, bloody hell. Mark’s spirits crashed. He couldn’t go round and see Patrick.

  He didn’t have the first clue where Patrick lived.

  Mark sagged, just as a text blooped through on his phone. He picked it up automatically.

  It was from Fen. Got Ps add from Lex. 17 kite way. Ur wellcom.

  Mark smiled and texted back. I could kiss you.

  The reply came quickly. Ew Dad gross.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mark knocked on Patrick’s door, his heart thumping somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth. Christ, what was going to greet him here? Patrick had seemed pretty angry last night. He’d been pretty angry last weekend.

  But Lex had said he really liked Mark. Present tense.

  The door opened, and Mark took a deep breath.

  Then he shut his mouth with a snap. He hadn’t been expecting to find himself facing a woman of around his own age.

  “Yeah?” she said, smiling politely. Then her gaze raked up and down Mark, and she smiled more broadly. “What can I do you for?”

  Oh God. Patrick had said he lived with his mother, hadn’t he? Mark felt abruptly all of five years old, and barely managed to stop himself asking if Patrick could come out to play.

  The smile was starting to waver again now. Mark cleared his throat. “Um, is Patrick in? I’m Mark Nugent.”

  Now the smile disappeared entirely. “Oh yeah?” she said, leaning against the door frame and folding her arms. “And what do you want with my son?”

  “I just wanted to talk to him.”

  She gave him a long, searching look. “Wait here,” she ordered, and closed the door in his face.

  God, what the hell had Patrick said about him? Mark didn’t just feel like a five-year-old now. He felt like a five-year-old with a poor academic record who’d been sent to see the headmaster after he’d kicked a dinner lady in the shin.

  Maybe this had been a mistake. He should have waited. Let Patrick cool down a bit first before attempting to explain. Mark looked around nervously.

  Straight into the eyes of the next-door neighbour, who was evidently just going out. “You’re a new one,” the man said gruffly. He was in his sixties or seventies, Mark judged, with a grizzled, jowly face and mournful eyes. “Chucked you out already, has she?”

  The man thought he was here for Patrick’s mother? “It’s not… I’m not…”

  “I see ’em all come and go, I do,” the man said, locking his door with fumbling, bloodless fingers. “Never last long. No surprise that boy’s turned out the way he is.”

  Mark’s anger rose. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You ’eard me. Oh, I’m not blaming her. It’s your lot what done it. Young lad wants a bit of stability in his life.” He set off down his garden path with an unhurried, rolling gait. Mark watched him go. Good God. If the man thought Mark was a bad influence on Patrick when he was under the impression he was going out with his mother, what would he think if he knew the truth?

  Whatever that was. Mark whirled as the door opened once more.

  Patrick stood there, looking wary. “Yeah?”

  “I want to explain.”

  Patrick’s expression didn’t change. “Boyfriend gone home, has he?”

  “Yes—no! David’s not my boyfriend. Never has been.” Mark held his breath. Would Patrick believe him?

  Unexpectedly, Patrick smiled. His deep blue eyes crinkled up at the corners, and Mark’s heart once again flirted with tachycardia. “Yeah. I know.”

  “You know?”

  “Yeah. Just got a text from Lex.”

  “Oh?”

  Instead of, as Mark had hoped, interpreting Oh? as A text? About me? What did it say? Was it good? What did it SAY? and then answering appropriately, Patrick just nodded. “Yeah. You coming in?”

  “Um. Of course.” Mark couldn’t stop himself from looking around nervously as he stepped into the narrow hallway.

  “It’s all right.” Patrick seemed amused. “I’ve told Mum not to bite. Cup of tea?”

  “Yes. Please. Or coffee. Whichever’s ea
siest. Actually, water would be fine.” Mark followed Patrick into the kitchen, trying to wipe his palms on his trousers unobtrusively.

  Which was ridiculous. He’d rushed over here, desperately hoping Patrick would listen to him and they might finally get together, and now it looked like that might actually be going to happen. Why the hell was he still terrified?

  Patrick filled the kettle and put it on to boil. Then he turned and leaned back against the kitchen counter, his arms folded. For a moment, the resemblance to his mother was uncanny. “You gotta see it from my point of view,” he said, his tone reasonable. “You tell me you’re not out to your daughter. I might not like it, but I accept it. Then I come round to offer a bit of moral support and find a fit bloke on his knees to you offering, well, immoral support. Right where Fen could walk in at any minute and all.”

  “There was nothing going on!” Mark flushed. “David’s just a bit…full-on. And, well, acting under a misapprehension.”

  “Yeah, seems like there’s a lot of that going around.”

  Mark wondered what he meant but didn’t quite like to ask. “You see, he’s always been a bit, well, flirtatious. But I thought it was just his way. I mean, I thought he thought I was straight. So obviously he couldn’t really mean anything by it.”

  “But?” The kettle, clearly in a hurry to get this over with, was starting to boil already. Patrick unfolded his arms and got out a couple of mugs, still keeping his body half-turned towards Mark.

  “It, um, turned out he knows. About me, I mean. And so does Fen.” Mark’s face burned at the thought of the two of them discussing him. While eating popcorn. And watching Disney DVDs. “Um, you probably know this already.”

  “Not all of it. Not by a long chalk. This is the text I got.” Patrick dug in his back pocket for his phone, thumbed it on and showed Mark the message: Mark n is single and not a shit. Tru dat.

  “Tru dat? Do people still say that?” Mark had always thought, based pretty solidly on what Fen had told him, if he’d heard of a bit of slang, it was already obsolete. Then again, that probably wasn’t the most important thing about this ringing endorsement from someone Mark couldn’t help thinking of as Fen’s person-friend. “Um. So you believe me?”

  “Yeah, I believe you.” Patrick ran a hand over his hair, letting the hand rest at the back of his neck for an instant. The gesture was curiously mesmerising. “And, look, I’m sorry I went off on you like that. Shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

  “No, no. Quite understandable.”

  There was a pause.

  “So, your daughter knows you’re gay?” Patrick prompted.

  “Oh—yes. Sorry.” Mark grimaced. “Apparently, I’m a lot less subtle than I thought. And, well, she’s fine with it.”

  “Fine in theory? Or fine with you actually having a bloke?”

  “The, um, latter.” Mark decided it might be best not to go into just how upset Fen had been about it not working out with David. “You and Lex work together, is that right?” After he’d said it, it sounded a bit lacking in context. He’d been meaning to go on and say he thought Lex had been putting in a good word with Fen for Patrick, but on reflection, it might have sounded rather like Mark had been assessing Patrick’s suitability for boyfriend material by checking his references.

  Oh God. Boyfriend. Mark swallowed.

  Patrick was looking at him intently, a smile on his lips. “Yeah. Me and Lex work together. And sometime you’ve gotta tell me the rest of that conversation I just saw going on in your head.”

  “Sorry.” Mark managed half a laugh. “It’s just… I haven’t been out with a man for nearly twenty years.” And oh God, what an appalling thing to say right now.

  Twenty years ago, Patrick had been five.

  From his slight wince, instantly suppressed, Patrick had just had the same thought. “It’s not that complicated, you know.”

  “No?”

  “Nah, you just find someone you get on with and take it from there.”

  Mark took a deep breath. “Well, we seem to get on all right. More or less. Despite…” He waved a hand vaguely.

  “Me flouncing off like a jealous queen?”

  “That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Mark protested.

  Patrick stepped towards him, a smile on his lips. “No? What were you gonna say?”

  “Nothing complimentary to myself, so I think on reflection, I’ll keep quiet.” Because Mark might not be very practised at this sort of thing, but he had a fairly good idea that now probably wasn’t the best time to remind Patrick he was a paranoid closet case theoretically old enough to be his father.

  Patrick’s smile broadened, and he took another step closer. “I can think of better things to do than talk.” He licked his lips, and Mark was pretty sure he was doing it deliberately. Mark let his own lips fall open slightly, his whole body tingling and his heart racing in anticipation of Patrick’s touch. Oh God. Finally.

  The door burst open, and Patrick’s mum bustled in. “Ooh, has the kettle boiled? Cheers, love, I’m gasping for a cup of tea.” She gently elbowed Mark and her son out of the way, grabbed one of the mugs and popped a teabag in, then filled it from the kettle. “You might wanna put a bit more water in there. Don’t think it’s gonna run to two more cups.” Milk splashed in next, then she leaned back on the kitchen counter holding the mug in both hands and smiled at them. “Right, what have I missed?”

  Patrick rolled his eyes. “The bit where Mark and me were plotting to smother you with an oven glove. But I can demonstrate, if you like.”

  “No, that’s all right, love. You just carry on with what you were doing.”

  She looked like nothing short of a major natural disaster would force her to leave them alone again. Mark’s nerve broke. “I’d better be getting back, anyway. Fen…” He gestured vaguely.

  “That’s your daughter, right?” Patrick’s mum put in, her voice chirpy. “How old is she?”

  “Fourteen,” Mark said reluctantly.

  “Fancy that. Only eleven years between her and my Patrick.”

  “Mum,” Patrick said. “Be nice.”

  “I am being nice. I’m making conversation, aren’t I?”

  “Be nicer.”

  She ignored him, turning back to Mark. “You didn’t grow up in Brentwood, did you? Only I wondered if we might have been at school together—”

  “Mum!”

  Mark coughed. “I really have to go. Thanks for the, er…” He waved a hand to indicate the drinks they hadn’t, in fact, had. “I’ll see you, um, sometime?”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Patrick said firmly. “Mum, stay here.”

  “Nice meeting you, Mrs., um…”

  “Owen,” she reminded him, her eyes sharp.

  “Don’t let her get to you,” Patrick said in a low voice when they reached the front door. “She just gets a bit protective.”

  “No, it’s quite all right. Understandable, really.” Guilt was kicking in. “After all, what mother wants her child to get involved with someone her own age?”

  Patrick looked a bit spooked at having it all laid out so plainly. “You’re still younger than her, right? She’s forty-four.”

  Mark nodded. “Five years.” It didn’t seem like a lot. “Right. I’d better be off.” He turned to go.

  “Are you busy tonight?” Patrick said. It came out a bit quick, like he’d had to steel himself to ask.

  “I—” About to say no, Mark caught himself and made a face. “I don’t really like to leave Fen on her own two evenings in a row. Even if she does tend to stay in her room and leave me on my own,” he added ruefully.

  “How about I come round to yours, then? Keep you company while your daughter’s ignoring you?”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind? You won’t find it a bit boring, just staying in and watching TV on a Saturday ni
ght?”

  “What, just ’cos I’m under thirty I ought to be out clubbing? Never been all that keen on that sort of thing.” Patrick smiled. “And I reckon the company’ll make up for it. I’ll come round about eight, yeah? After dinner. Mum’s making cottage pie, it’s a thing.”

  “It’s a date,” Mark said firmly, and left so he could panic in private.

  Chapter Twenty

  Patrick found his mum chopping carrots a lot more forcefully than she usually did. He stood and watched her a mo, wondering if their scarred old wooden chopping board was ever gonna recover.

  “Wanna help?” she asked without looking up.

  “No, ta, but I do want a word. And no trying to get out of it.”

  “You want a word, do you? You want a word with me?” Mum jabbed the knife viciously into the final carrot—which was just the right size and shape to make Patrick wince—and left it there. The knife stood upright for a moment before falling slowly over onto the chopping board as the carrot rolled over. She put her hands on her hips. “Any of those words include what the bloody hell that man’s doing round here slobbering over you when he’s old enough to be your father? Not to mention, I have it on good authority he’s a lying bastard.”

  “Piece of shit,” Patrick said mildly.

  “What?”

  “That’s what I called him. A lying piece of shit. And he’s not, all right? It was just a misunderstanding.”

  “Oh yes? So he says.”

  “And Lex says so too.”

  That took some of the wind out of her sails. Mum liked Lex. “So he’s a charmer, and he’s twisted Lex round his little finger too.” She said it defiantly, but there wasn’t a lot of conviction in there.

  Patrick laughed. “He’s really not, Mum. What, you think he’s some suave, sophisticated con man? Trust me, you’re not seeing the real Mark.”

  “I still don’t see why you’re seeing him,” she grumbled.

  “’Cos I like him, all right? He’s different.”

  “It’s my fault, innit?”

  “What?”

  “Letting you grow up without a father. I should have tried harder with your dad—”