Sottopassaggio

by Nick Alexander

  And now he sees me, and when our eyes meet we break into matching grins, and that, I realise, is the thing that makes him the special one. The fact that simple eye contact makes us grin so broadly, stupidly even.

  He pushes through and drops his bag at my feet. “Jeeze that’s heavy,” he says.

  I laugh. “It’s a big old bag. What did you do? Bring a friend?”

  Tom smiles and hugs me. As he does so I feel him shrug. “It needs to be big,” he says. “A month is a long time.”

  I heave on the steering wheel and pull out onto the Promenade Des Anglais.

  “Are you sure you want to head straight off?” I say. “I mean there’s no reason at all why we can’t go home first, have a cuppa with Jenny, even spend the night there.”

  Tom shakes his head. “Nah, I like this idea,” he says. “Take a bus to get the train to get the plane, and then, hop! We’re away. The only thing missing is the Arab man.”

  I frown at him. “I’m sorry?”

  He starts to sing Oleta Adams’, Get Here.

  “Oh right, yeah,” I laugh. “Sometimes your musical references scare me.”

  “And I’ll see Jenny and Sarah when we get back,” Tom continues. He raps the dashboard. “So, just drive baby.”

  I lean over and peer in the side mirror.

  “Isn’t it hard driving this thing,” he asks. “I mean, here, in France?”

  I shrug. “It’s not the easiest thing,” I say. “I’d rather have a left-hand drive … But you get used to it.” I click on the indicators and swap lanes then settle back into my seat.

  “The worst thing is parking it,” I say. “Especially in Nice. It’s been a bitch trying to find any spaces big enough.”

  Tom pulls some chewing gum from the pocket of his denim jacket and offers me a stick. “She’s keeping it then?” he asks.

  I glance at him briefly and frown. “Oh, Jenny? I really don’t know,” I say. “She intended to … I mean, that’s why she brought it here, but I think now she’s driven all across France with it … well she’s had enough really.”

  “Good for us.” Tom strokes the door. “I love these old things.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Good for us.” I smile at Tom and then glance back at the road. “Only don’t ever say that to her, will you?”

  “Say what?”

  “Don’t call her beloved van an old thing,” I laugh. “It may look like a 1960’s hippy bus, but it’s almost new.”

  Tom chats to me a while as I drive east into Nice, then out north towards the Autoroute. He tells me about his new job in foreign exchange.

  “It’s weird really,” he says. “My uncle only reappeared on the family scene last month … I don’t remember ever having met him before – I mean, I did when I was tiny – and now, suddenly I’ll be working for him. Anyway, he’s almost doubling my salary,” he tells me excitedly.

  But I can hear that he’s tired, and I’m not surprised at all when I glance across a few minutes later and see his head lolling forwards.

  At the Italian border I have to lean across him to grab a ticket from the tollbooth – one of the disadvantages of having a right-hand drive car – and he briefly awakens, giggles and pecks me on the cheek before falling back to sleep.

  The Brazilian-built VW drives like a roller coaster, inexorably gathering speed on the downhill runs, and then chugging its way reluctantly through the climbs. It may be nearly new, but it drives like a sixties’ original.

  The sky is unusually grey for the beginning of June and I worry about the dark tint along the northern skyline, wondering if we’re going to get early summer storms. It’s amazing how like England just about anywhere can look when you replace azure blue with blanket grey. At least with the van we don’t have to sleep in a tent.

  As I drive, Tom shifts and stirs as he tries to get comfortable. I’m feeling really happy – all my favourite things are rolled into one: travelling, driving, camping, Italy, Tom … A wave of love – for Tom, for life – sweeps over me, and my vision mists. It’s all just too perfect.

  I stop that thought in its tracks. “Yes, things can work out,” I tell myself, “even if only for a while.”

  Tom drags me from my reverie. “I need a piss,” he says.

  I turn and see him notice the look in my eyes. I see him register right where I am right now. He smiles broadly and winks at me.

  “No problem,” I say. “I need petrol anyway. This thing drinks more than …” I shrug searching for a comparison.

  “Liza?” Tom laughs.

  “Liza?”

  “Yeah, Liza with a Zee,” Tom says.

  “Yeah, she’ll do,” I laugh, “though I hear she’s on the wagon now, so that’s maybe a bit unfair.”

  The service station is as Italian as a service station can be, the long standing-only bar filled with a boisterous rabble of Italian lorry drivers jostling for service. Everyone is knocking back microscopic doses of caffeine served by the waist-coated barman.

  “Madness,” Tom laughs.

  I nod. “I’m so glad everything’s not the same though,” I say. “I love all this.”

  Tom nods as he looks around. “Yeah,” he says. “Give it ten years and this’ll be a Little Chef.”

  “Or a McDonald’s,” I say, bleakly.

  *

  The campsite at Bonassola is a disappointment, but we’re both too tired to care. We accept the proffered square of muddy turf set amongst random caravans that look, for the most part, as though they will probably never move again. The guy at the check-in desk is ugly too – a spotty adolescent with a thick top lip and a spluttering lisp.

  I put a pan of water on to boil and peer out at the desolation.

  “Not a good start to the holiday,” I say.

  Tom rubs my shoulder as he squeezes past. “A night in a camper van, snuggled up with you,” he says. “Sounds okay to me.”

  He starts to fold out the cushions that form the sleeping area. “Anyway, we can always move on tomorrow.”

  I pull a face. “Erm, hello?” I say. “We’re definitely moving tomorrow!”

  We sit on the side step and eat bowls of pasta with tinned tomato sauce, then dump the bowls in the tiny sink and crawl into bed. “It’s actually really comfortable,” Tom says, snuggling to my back.

  “Mmmm,” I agree. “I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

  We listen to the sounds of Bonassola: an Italian TV from the caravan behind us, a main road far away to the left, and the ubiquitous Mediterranean moped buzzing up some distant hill.

  As the first wave of sleep drifts over me, I hear someone snoring, and the last thing I realise is that it’s me.

  I wake up early; the sun has returned and is pushing through the deep orange curtains. Somewhere on-site a baby screams. I snuggle against Tom and he groans and stretches, then pushes back against me. I move and push my morning hardness against his buttocks and he makes an “um” noise and wriggles still closer. I reach round to touch him but he intercepts my hand with his own and pulls it up around his chest with a mumbled, “Sorry.”

  The dozing ends suddenly when Tom leaps from the bed and starts pulling on his jogger bottoms. “The time has come to check out the local plumbing,” he declares, pulling a face.

  I grimace, roll over and watch him leave. “Good luck,” I say. “It’s grim.”

  When Tom returns, I look up from the kettle which is just starting to whistle. “God I love all this,” I tell him.

  “I’m not loving the toilets,” he says.

  I grin. “No, all this,” I say sweeping my hand over the mini kitchen. “I can’t explain why, but every bit of it, from the smell of the butane gas to the taste of plastic cups. It just all leaves me ecstatic.”

  “There’s something about the sound too,” Tom says. “The dull echo in here that makes it sound like camping, you know what I mean?”

  I nod and pour the water. “I do,” I say.

  “It’s all a bit girly I guess,” Tom says.
“Maybe that’s why we gay boys like camping so much.”

  I frown, indicating non-comprehension and fiddle in the tiny drawer for a teaspoon.

  “You know, like a wendy-house,” he explains. “Play tea-sets and all.”

  We settle for cornflakes with long-life milk and promise each other that we’ll buy proper Italian food just as soon as we can, and then – my favourite bit of all – we close the side door, climb into the front seats, and drive our home right out of there.

  Bonassola is a beautiful little town – it turns out to that we missed the centre completely last night. Nestled against the azure sea it’s truly tempting, but after a moment’s hesitation we drive on through. Tom has his heart set on Cinque Terra, five seaside towns linked by rocky walkways, which his ex, Antonio, told him are amongst Italy’s most beautiful tourist spots.

  The road swoops and climbs back up into the sumptuous greenery of the vine-covered hills, hills that echo and throw back the spluttering sound of the rear, air-cooled engine.

  Zigzagging down the hillsides are networks of seated lawnmower contraptions mounted on flimsy steel monorails. We figure out that they must be the grape harvesting solution in this difficult terrain.

  “I’d love to have a go on one of those,” I tell Tom.

  “Yeah,” he laughs. “I wonder how fast they go.”

  Just after Levanto, I pull over to a siding and we buy ripe, red tomatoes and deep-green lettuce along with the smallest most vibrantly coloured courgettes I have ever seen. While Tom boils eggs and prepares a tuna salad, I sit and peer out through the sliding windows at the glimmering sea. A gentle breeze flutters the roped-back curtains and makes the cooker flame flicker and spit.

  Tom leans down and peers out over the rolling blue. “It’s a great spot,” he laughs. “Can’t we just stay here?”

  By the time we get to Monterosso, the first of the Cinque Terra towns, it’s already gone half-past eight.

  “The light will be fading soon,” Tom comments glumly. “And it ain’t gonna get any easier to find another campsite in the dark. We should have left earlier.”

  It’s true we had a long lunch – I even dozed off in the sun – but the road was unexpectedly slow, a veritable obstacle course of hairpin bends, tractors, mopeds and other, more leisurely camper-vans.

  “Oh I expect we have another hour,” I say already noisily accelerating back up the hill. “There’ll be another campsite soon enough.”

  “If it’s not chock-a-block as well,” Tom says.

  We’re both feeling grumpy and tired. I’m starting to wish we had stayed in the car park.

  “Yeah, well,” I say. “Let’s wait and see, eh?”

  HAVE YOU READ THEM ALL?

  Fifty Reasons to Say Goodbye

  By Nick Alexander

  Mark is looking for love in all the wrong places. He always ignores the warning signs preferring to dream, time and again, that he has finally met the perfect lover until, one day …

  Through fifty adventures, Nick Alexander, takes us on a tour of modern gay society: bars, night-clubs, blind dates, Internet dating … It’s all here.

  Funny and moving by turn, Fifty Reasons to Say Goodbye is ultimately a series of candidly vivid snapshots and a poignant exploration of that long winding road: the universal search for love.

  “A witty, polished collection of vignettes … Order this snappy little number.” – Tim Teeman, The Times

  Available for download at: Amazon iTunes

  Sottopassaggio

  By Nick Alexander

  Following the loss of his partner, Mark, the hero from the bestselling Fifty Reasons to Say Goodbye, tries to pick up the pieces and build a new life for himself in gay friendly Brighton.

  Haunted by the death of his lover and a fading sense of self, Mark struggles to put the past behind him, exploring Brighton’s high and low-life, falling in love with charming, but unavailable Tom, and hooking up with Jenny, a long lost girlfriend from a time when such a thing seemed possible. But Jenny has her own problems, and as all around are inexorably sucked into the violence of her life, destiny intervenes, weaving the past to the present, and the present to the future in ways no one could have imagined.

  “Alexander has a beautifully turned ear for a witty phrase … I think we can all recognise the lives that live within these pages, and we share their triumphs and tragedies, hopes and lost dreams.” – Joe Galliano, Gay Times

  Available for download at: Amazon iTunes

  Good Thing Bad Thing

  By Nick Alexander

  On holiday with new boyfriend Tom, Mark – the hero from the best-selling novels, Fifty Reasons to Say Goodbye and Sottopassaggio – heads off to rural Italy for a spot of camping.

  When the ruggedly seductive Dante invites them onto his farmland the lovers think they have struck lucky, but there is more to Dante than meets the eye – much more.

  Thoroughly bewitched, Tom, all innocence, appears blind to Dante’s dark side … Racked with suspicion, it is Mark who notices as their holiday starts to spin slowly but very surely out of control – and it is Mark, alone, who can maybe save the day …

  Good Thing, Bad Thing is a story of choices; an exploration of the relationship between understanding and forgiveness, and an investigation of the fact that life is rarely quite as bad – or as good – as it seems. Above all Good Thing, Bad Thing is another cracking adventure for gay everyman Mark.

  “Spooky, and emotionally turbulent – yet profoundly comedic, this third novel in a captivating trilogy is a roller-coaster literary treasure all on its own. But do yourself a favour, and treat yourself to its two prequels as soon as you can …” – Richard Labonte, Book Marks

  Available for download at: Amazon iTunes

  Better Than Easy

  By Nick Alexander

  Better Than Easy – the fourth volume in the Fifty Reasons series – finds Mark about to embark on the project of a lifetime, the purchase of a hilltop gîte in a remote French village with partner Tom.

  But with shady dealings making the purchase unexpectedly complex, Mark finds himself with time on his hands – time to consider not only if this is the right project but whether Tom is the right man.

  A chance meeting with a seductive Latino promises nirvana yet threatens to destroy every other relationship Mark holds dear, and as he navigates a seemingly endless ocean of untruths, Mark is forced to question whether any worthwhile destination remains.

  Better Than Easy combines a tense tale of betrayal and a warming exploration of the mix of courage and naivety required if we are to choose love and happiness – if we are to continue to believe against seemingly impossible odds.

  “Better Than Easy is my favourite of Nick Alexander’s novels so far. It’s sweet, sexy, funny and tender, and I’m not ashamed to say I laughed and cried.” – Time Out

  Available for download at: Amazon iTunes

  Sleight of Hand

  By Nick Alexander

  Sleight Of Hand – the fifth volume in the Fifty Reasons series – finds Mark living in Colombia with Ricardo.

  But there is more to Colombia than paradisiacal beaches and salsa music, and though Mark believes Ricardo to be his perfect soul mate he is torn between the security of home and the rich tapestry of his Colombian lifestyle.

  When a friend’s mother dies, Mark hopes that attending the funeral will enable him to decide where his future lies but no sooner does Mark set foot in England than bonds of love and obligation from the past begin to envelop him with such force that he wonders not only if his relationship with Ricardo will survive, but if he will ever be able be break free again.

  In Sleight of Hand, Nick Alexander weaves universal themes of honesty and happiness, desire and obligation into a rich narrative we can all identify with – a narrative that prompts laughter and tears, frequently on the same page.

  “A tender, deeply moving portrait of what it means to be gay in the twenty-first century. Alexander has looked beyond stereotypical
representations of sexuality, both gay and straight, to show us the infinite possibilities of what love, family and belonging truly mean. It re-imagines the boundaries of gay fiction and inspires us to re-evaluate our lives.” – Alex Hopkins, Out There magazine

  Available for download at: Amazon iTunes