by Paddy Kelly
There was a smart and painfully attractive woman in the next room who, at one time in the past, had considered sleeping with him. And as he dwelled on that thought, dwelled on it far too deliciously and far too long, he realised his mind was not the only part of his body not willing to go to sleep tonight.
He stared at the ceiling, humming some tune he didn't know the name of, and started counting down the great many minutes to dawn.
With his hands positioned firmly above the covers.
Chapter 28
Rob wasn't quite sure how to break the news to Eoin. He paced his flat, trying out different opening lines in his head, making the proper hand-gestures to go along with each of them, but nothing felt right. He pulled out his mobile and considered sending him a text but that was no good either because then Eoin might not show up at all. And he so needed Eoin to show up, because otherwise he'd have to do it all by himself.
He couldn’t call Milly and beg her to see reason either. She’d just laugh in that evil way of hers and remind Rob that they owed her a favour. If he wanted Dating Dirt off the ground he’d have to toe the line and that was all there was to it.
Rob scratched his head in annoyance. He brought his pacing to a halt and surveyed the mess in his room. It was, by his standards, an average everyday mess, but to most other people it could be seen as a sign that he'd lost his mind. So he rolled up his shirtsleeves and put away or hid as much of it as possible. He also made sure to put any and all blunt objects out of arm's reach, because when Eoin showed up and heard the news he'd probably attempt to batter Rob to death.
“Hi there,” Eoin said with far too much chirpiness when he arrived twenty minutes later, exactly on time as usual. He dug around in his shoulder bag and produced with a flourish a black metal-and-plastic thing that he slipped around his neck. He was grinning from ear to ear. “Well?”
“Deadly Eoin,” Rob said. “It’s a camera.”
“A camera? It’s not just ‘a camera’, it’s a Nikon D90, with twelve megapixels! Do you know how long—”
“Eoin, it’s great, I’m sure ye'll both be very happy, with all those little megapixels. I'm just not very interested in that today.”
Eoin picked up on Rob’s mood and his enthusiasm evaporated.
“What’s happened? Did Milly bail on the project?”
“No no, Milly's sorted, she'll be done with the prototype any day now.”
“So it's Karen then—”
“No man, relax, the project's fine, everyone's beaverin' away like … little beavers. Beavers on speed, the lot of them. Nah, it's something else.”
“Alright,” Eoin said. He sat down on the corner of Rob's bed. “So what's the panic? What's this something else?”
Rob crossed the room and leaned against the wall in a pose so forced-relaxed that even he knew it was ridiculous. “Well, Milly will be here in a bit and she'll show us the latest stuff she's done. I tell ye, the database is already in place so everything will be running like clockwork when we get our parts done—”
“Rob, I know all that. What's the actual problem part?”
Rob took a deep breath before charging into an explanation about his promise to help Milly with some unspecified thing in exchange for working with them on the project. He continued to the part where she'd told him that morning what the task would be. And he finished up by adding that she'd be there in an hour to get them both “fitted”.
“Right,” Eoin said with a frosty edge to his voice. “And what is she having us do then?”
Rob found himself calculating how quickly he could climb through the half-open window, leap the French balcony and make a run for it.
“The Pride Parade. It's in a few days and Milly's involved. Obviously, being gay and all. Well not obviously, obviously…”
“Rob, you're rambling. Get to the point.”
“She'll be dressin' us up and we'll be pullin' a chariot.”
Eoin blinked and his gaze wandered off to the side as he processed this information. “What, you mean dressing up like horses?”
“Well no. We'll be a bit more … shiny than that.”
“What, latex and mouth zippers, is that the idea?”
“Basically yeah,” he admitted. “Latex and all. The outfits are already made and she'll just have to adjust them a bit for us.”
“But we'll be covered up, right? With masks?”
“Yeah, that's what she said.”
Eoin stood up. “Jesus Rob, you had me worried there for a minute. But sure, I'm in, I was planning to go and watch the parade anyway and try out the Nikon. It’ll be an amazing test now, being right in there! Do you know this thing can manage four and a half frames per second and—”
Rob let Eoin rattle on about the camera as he bubbled with annoyance. This was all wrong! Eoin should be the one not wanting to do the parade. He had a kid damn it, and surely he cared that he might be seen by people. Where did this cheerful it-can't-hurt attitude suddenly come from?
Instead Rob had to admit the sour-tasting truth—that he was the one who cared about what people thought. He'd been fretting and worrying and even cleaning for Christ's sake—cleaning!—about something that was considered by Eoin to be a fine day out with some jolly new friends, wearing rings in their nipples or whatever. Just a happy stroll through Stockholm with the whole city and its mother watching. Rob was terrified of it, and Eoin thought it was just fine.
And that really was terribly annoying.
It wasn't a whole hood, just a face mask that tied around the back of the head with a zip sewn on the front for effect. The actual latex body suits, although hell to get on, were not that uncomfortable to wear, despite the funky smell. But that didn't stop the four days until Saturday from being the longest of Rob's life.
The two outfits hung on a hook in his hall, and every time he walked past them he felt another little jolt of irritation. He distracted himself by working flat-out on Dating Dirt, sometimes with Eoin, occasionally with Milly when she could spare ten minutes from her apparently twenty-four hour schedule, but mostly by himself.
The graphics and colour schemes and page layouts were arriving from Karen (and from Preben too, Rob suspected) and the whole thing was starting to come together nicely. They now had a few pages to browse and some icons to look at and even a couple of test profiles to comment on. It was looking mighty fine indeed.
But he was also aware they needed to move faster. He had only four months remaining on his unemployment insurance and after that he'd need to fix himself another job, or else put that gimp suit to alternative money-making uses.
Saturday morning came at the usual breakneck speed of a day one is not looking forward to. Before Rob was even fully awake he was standing, bag in hand and sunglasses on head, outside the underground station of Stockholm's decidedly more upmarket neighbourhood of Östermalm. A glance at his watch confirmed it was exactly noon. He was reaching for a cigarette when Eoin showed up, looking like some kind of colonial landlord in a white polo, khaki shorts and white runners.
“Jesus Eoin, aren't ye ever late for anything? It's making the rest of us look bad. And isn't it a bit early to be bringin' out the camera?”
“Why?” Eoin said, with one hand on his newest child. “I'll want to remember this, it's not something that happens a lot in life, is it?”
“I should bloody well hope not.”
They turned to watch the people passing by. It wasn't exactly the usual Östermalm crowd. There were people in platform heels and Mardi Gras outfits, power-suits and police uniforms, angel wings and chaps, all heading for the park. The crowds had started to gather along the sides of the street, and they were already two deep in places.
“I suppose we follow them,” Eoin said. “Onward to the park!”
“Yeah,” Rob muttered. “The park. Bloody great.”
The noble elms of Humlegården has been stirred from their slumber for the day and were now surrounded by a fantastic sea of colour and sound. Rob wondered what
the stodgy old ones who'd planted them long ago would have made of today's festivities, as he and Eoin edged through the masses, looking for tree number twenty-seven.
They found it, and at the tree was Milly, just as she'd promised.
“It's my boys!” she yelled in delight. She was already in costume, done up in a pale leather corset edged with rivets and hung with tassels. Her ropy hair was wound around a complicated metal headpiece and her earrings of wire and glass sparkled in the sunlight. With her black eye make-up and plastic sword she looked quite the warrior goddess as she swept her arm in a majestic arc.
“Behold the army of queens I have gathered for you on this day!”
“Yeah, they're great,” Rob said, edging out of Eoin's photographic line of fire. “Look Milly, is there a place, you know…”
She pointed with the sword. “Sure, over there's an area for changing purposes. Pretty unisex, but nobody cares much about what organs you're packing today. Just have to make the best of it.”
“Great,” Rob said darkly.
“No, it is great,” Eoin said as he fiddled with the camera settings. “We'll get to see backstage! And they won't mind if I snap a few shots?”
Milly stared at him. “Would the queens mind if you took photos? Eoin, my guess is you'll be beating them off with the camera strap. Go on then, hop to it! And be back in fifteen or we might leave without you!”
Eoin was already on the move so Rob, with his head down, stumbled after him. “Leave without us,” he muttered to nobody but himself. “The chance would be a bloody fine thing.”
The noise was tremendous as the parade got underway. Eoin and Rob were suddenly surrounded by whistles, drums and hooting, as well as music blaring from the speakers on the floats. Rob adjusted his mask again, making completely sure the thing couldn't fall off or be ripped away by some enthusiastic reveller. The last thing he needed was a photo of him in Dagens Nyheter wearing a look of twisted horror.
They hauled the chariot forward at a crawl. The straps around their shoulders were mostly for show although they helped to keep the actually weight-bearing part, the long yoke, in its correct position at hip-level. Milly stood proudly on the chariot, one hand on the frame and the other applying her whip to her two mounts with obvious glee.
“Go easy with that thing!” Rob yelled over his shoulder. “There's laws about over-usin' the whip ye know!”
Milly's four guards (two women and two men, all in Pharaoh get-up) followed after the chariot. They were dour-faced and totally in character. Eoin, on the other hand, was very much out of character. He was enthusiastically photographing everything that would stand still long enough to be photographed. And that, as they wound their way through town, was rather a lot.
Directly ahead of them was a truck with a few topless women and a gang of muscled guys, all kitted out in angel's wings. Rob kept his gaze on them, not daring to glance sideways in case somebody in the crowd recognised him.
The crowd was held back by the barriers, and the occasional policeman. There was always a chance of an attack by skinheads or similar malcontents. It had happened before and Rob shivered at the thought. How would he ever live that down, to be found in a crumpled heap, battered and bleeding in skin-tight latex? His mother would kill the whole family and burn down the house just to avoid the shame.
They pushed on. Milly by now was having a royal time and never left her post, or her role. When she wasn't whipping her beasts of burden she was posing or babbling in made-up Egyptian or tossing handfuls of rose petals into the adoring crowd.
And so it went on, until ninety minutes in when Eoin suddenly pointed enthusiastically. “Look, there they are!”
Rob looked where he'd been instructed, and his heart sank. Just up ahead, leaning out over the barrier, were Alice and her two kids. And that was fine except that Alice was holding a big sign with “Go Eoin + Rob!” painted on it, and she was also waving it around in a way that made it far too visible to everybody.
Eoin waved back and pointed his camera at them, causing the kids to squeal even more and wave like chimps moving in fast forward.
“Jaysus,” Rob said. “Don't encourage them, Eoin!” But it was too late for that. The kids were now jumping up and down in time to the Samba music that had broken out from a float up ahead, and Alice was beaming so broadly it looked like she had twice as many teeth as usual.
As they passed by, Alice blew a kiss at them and Rob managed a surly nod in reply. He tried to repress the urge to smack Eoin across the head with his huge camera, or with his big fat mouth, whichever would do the most lasting damage.
“Ye didn't, like, tell anybody else, right? Like Andy or Eamonn or someone? Because if ye did, Eoin…”
“No, nobody. Doesn't stop them from turning up if they feel like it though. Wow, look at that!” He swung his camera towards a pair of stilt-walkers as they ambled past in outrageous giraffe drag, complete with tails and little velvet horns. They'd even painted their stilts orange and yellow to match.
Rob looked away from them and adjusted his shoulder strap. He'd just have to push on, and wave at the people, and try to make the best of it all. He'd put up with the cheers and the pointing, and ignore the ache in his shoulders and the sweat running down the cleft of his arse. He'd do all that and not utter a single bloody word of complaint (well okay, not many) because that's what he'd promised Milly.
But the second anybody tried to remove his hood, or even joked about removing his hood, he knew he'd have no choice but to kill them.
And that was all there was to it.
Chapter 29
“So Karen it's like, what, a week or two until ye tell the mother?”
“Bro, it's four weeks. Four! And she can't really be stressing you out since you've not even talked to her since you came to see me. She told me so!”
Rob grunted as he stirred his takeaway cappuccino with the wooden stick provided for that purpose. He was keeping only part of his attention on the call with his sister. The larger part was on the petite woman with spiky orange hair and huge sunglasses who was sitting cross-legged on the grass a short distance away.
The reason she was a short distance away was that Rob had arranged it so. His choice of seating in parks, cafés and bars was determined almost entirely by the existence, number and distribution of attractive women. As systems went, at least it was honest and simple.
“Yeah,” Rob said, “but it's still a constant worry. Lies weigh on a man's soul.”
“Look,” Karen said. “If it's such a big pain for you I can tell her I found a room to rent or something. So you won't have to make things up about where I am.”
“Nah, it's fine, just thought I'd guilt ye out a bit to keep up the pace on the graphics. And to break the news about the party.”
Karen's voice perked up. “Party?”
Rob was doing his best to scoop out the foam with the stick but admitted failure and used his fingers instead. “The launch party. I mean, it won't be a big deal, but Alice has a few friends who work in newspapers so we thought we'd have some kind of event to bring them to. We'll invite all the beta testers as well, give 'em a reason to feel special. Plus anyone else useful. Or good-looking. Or loaded.”
“Deadly! I meant to get to Stockholm anyway so that's a brilliant reason! So keep me in the loop. I have to head now, some people in this family have to work for a living. Talk to you soon bro!”
Rob slipped the phone into his shirt pocket and glanced over at Spiky Girl. He lit a cigarette, hoping she'd heard him speaking English. Intellectual girls who read books in parks generally liked guys who spoke English. It was kind of a rule. But she didn't even glance his way, not once. It must have been a damn good book.
He waited a while longer but totally failed to catch her eye. Oh well, time to admit defeat. He needed to hit the shop, and then head back home to work. There might even be pints to drink later, if the work went well.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered down the slope, givin
g it maximum swagger as he passed Spiky Girl. He climbed the steps and glanced back, but no reaction. With a shrug he crossed the street and strolled into the cool confines of the shop, where he swept up a basket and began his circuit.
He wandered for a bit, looking for the few things he wanted, but failed to locate any of them. Clearly the shop intentionally put things in illogical places just to make people like him wander around and around until they'd seen every single item and had dropped half of them in their basket out of sheer boredom. It was probably done by specialists, all out there arranging shops to cause maximum confusion.
He turned a corner with a tin of beans in his hand and a tangle of thoughts on his mind when he came to an abrupt halt. At the other end of the vegetable section, weighing up an avocado, was none other than Kajsa. And with Kajsa was a guy.
Rob slid ever so slowly behind a display of pasta and peered out between the boxes. It had never occurred to him that Kajsa might actually know other guys. So who was this fella, and what did he want? And why was Kajsa apparently enjoying his company way too much?
Some Guy picked up a potato that looked like something amusing—it was hard to be sure from behind the pasta display exactly what it looked like—and showed it to her. She burst into snorting laughter and put a hand over her mouth to stifle it. Rob's head began to hurt as he glared at them.
This was all wrong! Kajsa shouldn't be here, all dressed up in clothes and hair and nice summer shoes, laughing at Some Guy's stupid jokes. No, she should be at home with the curtains drawn, being a bit mopy, maybe even pining for Rob. The very last thing she should be was out shopping for sexual vegetables with strangers.
And what were they buying anyway? Tomatoes, avocados, and that big one that looked like a human heart that Rob could never remember the name of. For salsa, maybe? Or salad? And to be eaten in a park with friends, or to be eaten in Kajsa's cosy place with the fridge that never stopped buzzing and that wooden angel from Africa in the window that looked like it had six tits?