“Dinner will be served at seven. Please be punctual.”
Eva shrugged and drifted out the front door.
Noah turned back to his mum, who was now sitting calmly on the sofa, a look of concern all over her face. “What’s the matter, Noah? You seem on edge.”
“Oh, I can’t think why, Mother!”
“Are you being cyberbullied?”
Noah screwed his face up. “What?! No, I’m not being cyberbullied! God!”
“Do you want to speak with your dad about puberty?”
“I would rather orchestrate my own demise with a circular saw,” Noah said. Or possibly yours, Mother!
“We’re planning a family outing to Beaver’s Garden Centre on Saturday,” his mum said. “Eva’s welcome, of course. And Harry. You could use some of your Christmas money to buy some seeds. You like seeds.”
Noah blinked at his mother.
“Right, well,” his mother sighed. “While you’re here, we need you to move your stuff out of the shed.”
Noah threw his hands in the air. “Eric’s already asked me to do that!”
“Why does Eric want the shed empty?” his dad said.
“Why do you?” Noah countered.
His mother could barely contain her excitement. “Your father and I … we’re buying a tandem! Bike rides, Noah!”
Noah nodded, solemnly. “Yeah? How much is that costing?”
“It’s from the catalogue, so it’s paid over five years. Free, basically.” His mum smiled.
Noah stared at her. The electricity company had recently transferred them to a prepay metre because of the unpaid bills, the bailiffs were sending threatening letters, they’d just sold the sodding dining table, but oh yes, there was still the cash to buy some stupid bike. Noah clutched his hands to his chest in mock glee. “Oh! It’s so wonderful being wealthy! Mmmm! Rah, rah, rah! One may just bathe in some liquid gold this evening and then take the pony skiing, is that OK, Mother?”
“Noah, this is about your father and me reconnecting with our feelings for one another. It’s about us, our relationship. Because what does our relationship make?”
“Me sick?” Noah suggested.
“A strong and stable family unit,” his mum said, a dreamy look in her eyes. “And that’s what we are now, Noah. A strong and stable family, who love and support one another. So please, be supportive.”
“Useless,” Noah muttered to himself as he bashed about in the kitchen, looking at options for a five-course tasting menu, “selfish, mean, horrible old trout…” He reached up on tiptoe and flung open one of the top cupboards and was promptly hit by a bag of lentils, purchased when his mum went vegan for twelve hours last summer.
“Don’t wait up for us,” his mum shouted from the front door.
Noah kicked the lentils into the corner of the kitchen. He hoped they choked on their date-night chicken korma. He opened another cupboard and found some butterscotch Angel Delight. OK. This was dessert. And maybe, if he could find a tub, he might be able to put a glacé cherry on top, for extra poshness. He grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge that miraculously was in-date, poured it into a bowl with the powder and started whisking.
“Nice wrist action!” Mick grinned, appearing in the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a jacket for his night out.
Noah rolled his eyes and focused on the job in hand.
“Got a lot of strength in that right arm, haven’t you?”
Noah dropped the whisk. “Any more? Let’s get all the masturbation jokes out of the way, shall we?”
Mick stared at him. “Wow. If that’s how you whack off, I think we need to have a chat.”
“Oh, shut up. Why are you still here?”
“Grabbing a beer to take with me,” Mick said, opening the fridge.
Noah grimaced and got back to his whisking.
“Slow and steady,” Mick said, cracking the can open on his way out. “You don’t need to go at it full throttle. Take your time. Enjoy it.”
Noah tried to push his rage aside until he heard Mick go out the front door and he could breathe. Good. Now his full attention could be on this dining extravaganza. Deciding the mixture was probably thick enough, he hunted around for four appropriate receptacles that he could serve the “delight” in. He would have to make do with one teacup, two wine glasses and a mug emblazoned with “I heart Scunthorpe”. He found some cherries and ran them under the hot tap to remove the light bloom of fungus on them, popping one atop each portion. Delightfully, he had also found a tub of hundreds and thousands that he would sprinkle over the dish just before serving. Voila! Dessert was prepared.
The main, courtesy of “some mate” of his father’s, was to be the big fish currently residing on the bottom shelf of the fridge. Noah wasn’t sure what type of sea beast it was, but it was probably a cod or something. This “mate” had apparently pulled it out of some reservoir on a fishing trip and given it to his dad, the latter assuring Noah that it was “only a few days old” and “probably still OK”. Fine. What was not fine, though, was the beast’s beady, glassy eye staring at Noah as he tried to work out how to fillet and portion it up, so Noah decided a better idea would be to cook the fish whole, in silver foil, with some herbs … well, some dried oregano that he’d found in the cupboard, best before 1998, but it looked fine. He was fairly confident he had seen fish cooked like this on MasterChef. And with some potatoes and peas, it would be a “take” on the classic British fish and chips – which was very, very clever.
He turned the oven dial to the required temperature.
CLUNK.
Noah froze. Everything had gone off. The lights. The oven. The dinner party playlist that Noah had rigged up to work through his dad’s old hi-fi…
“No no no no no,” he bleated. The credit on the prepay electric meter must have run out! Arses!
Noah felt his way through to the lounge, plunging his hands down the back of the sofa cushions, hoping to find a stray pound coin or two. A slice of toast, five crisp packets and a bra later, and still no joy. He flung the last cushion back on the sofa and breathed hard into the black void. No way was he going to let this jeopardize his chance to simultaneously impress Harry, make Pierre realize he could never compete with Noah, and ensure Harry and Pierre didn’t get off with each other. At least, not whilst they were at the dinner party, anyway.
No. The dinner party would very much continue.
The show must go on.
He would single-handedly put the great into Great Britain.
“Good evening, guests!” Noah said, standing before Harry and Pierre at the front door, wearing his special grey hoodie from Harry. This was a clever move, hopefully giving Pierre a subtle visual signal that Noah and Harry were very much together. Or at least, it might have done if Pierre could actually see it. “Please come through, as dinner is nearly served. I hope you enjoy the low-level lighting atmosphere I have deliberately created to enhance the mood.”
Noah showed his guests through to the lounge, where he’d arranged an assortment of tea lights and an orange spiked with birthday candles, to provide a hint of something other than pitch-black darkness.
“It is certainly moody in here,” Pierre commented, pretending to feel about in the dark with his hands. “Oh, what is this? Is this a cushion?”
“Hey!” Harry giggled.
“Oh!” Pierre said. “I am sorry. I thought it seemed very firm and pert.”
“OK, right,” Noah said, keen to move things on.
But Pierre seemed equally keen for more pretend “I can’t see in this dark” comedy. “Oh, Noah, what is this sausage I seem to be holding?”
“OK, so just to confirm, he’s not holding my penis,” Noah said.
Pierre laughed. “I love this lighting. Anything could happen!”
“Well, what will be happening is some dinner and light conversation. That’s what the evening has in store – nothing more, nothing less. Please help yourself to an amuse-bouche,” Noah said, indicating the plate he had bala
nced on the side of the armchair. “These are a delicate crispbread with a pearl of soft cheese.”
Harry picked one up. “Is this a sour-cream-and-chive Pringle?” he said, sniffing at it.
“Er, I guess you could say it’s very similar,” Noah said.
“With a dollop of Primula cheese spread on top?”
“Essentially, yes, that’s what we’re dealing with here.”
Harry bit into it. “Awesome.”
“I hope your bouches are amused.” Noah smiled. “Please forgive me, I must away to my kitchen duties, but will return at unexpected intervals to make sure nothing is happening… I mean, that everything is all right. Harry, you sit down on the sofa, and Pierre, you could have the armchair?”
“Or both of us on the sofa?” Pierre suggested.
“No, because, no, because the other guests … when they come… That’s the seating plan. OK? So. I’ll be back in a minute. Or maybe thirty seconds. Or who knows!”
Noah disappeared into the kitchen, only to be confronted with drizzle on the window. “Arses,” he muttered, dashing outside to where he’d set up the barbecue and was currently cooking the big fish. He was confident this arrangement would be fine – living in this sorry excuse for a home, he’d learned that most foods were improved, taste-wise at least, by barbecuing. Refusing to be outmanoeuvred by the weather, Noah dragged the patio umbrella over to the barbecue and positioned it overhead. Perfect.
The doorbell rang.
Noah darted back through the kitchen and lounge, glancing to make sure Harry and Pierre weren’t too close to each other (approximately two metres apart – not ideal, but OK), and opened the door to Eva.
“I forgot my guitar,” Eva explained, pushing past Noah. Three bedraggled, feral creatures were standing in the drive, eyeing Bambi’s van. Noah recognized them immediately. They were drug addicts. Or rather, Noah was pretty sure he’d seen at least one of them smoking a cigarette in the park, so they were probably drug addicts.
“Oh, Eva?” Noah said, closing the door and calling up to her. “You can’t bring your friends to dinner, I’m afraid. There won’t be enough food.”
He paused in the darkness, not hearing any response.
“Eva? Where are you?”
“Here.”
“Oh, sorry, I couldn’t see you. Look, those people outside, Eva. I know you’re new here and don’t have a read on the social situation, but you don’t want to hang around with them. Trust me, those guys are trouble. OK?” He placed reassuring hands on her shoulders.
“Those are my breasts.”
“I’m so terribly sorry!” Noah sprang back. “In this low light, which is deliberate, I couldn’t see. It was a mistake, and just to reassure you, I have little to no interest in your breasts.”
“Cool.”
“Sit down next to Harry, who is on the sofa, which is five steps to your left and one back. I shall return presently with the first course!”
Noah felt his way back through to the kitchen, now lit by an odd orange glow. At the doorway, he froze in horror at the flames licking at the kitchen window.
“SHIIIIT!” he squealed, darting outside, to where the patio umbrella was inexplicably ablaze because it’s not like the coals were actually on fire, they were just white hot, so why—
Oh, it didn’t matter! What to do?! Naturally his parents wouldn’t have spent money on a fire blanket or a responsible range of extinguishers (water, foam and carbon dioxide) so he was going to have to deal with this the retro way. Noah ran back into the kitchen, filled the bowl in the sink with water, darted back with it slopping about all over him and tripped over a bag of lentils which some halfwit had left lying about on the floor. Noah crashed on to the unforgiving vinyl as the water drenched him from top to toe, and outside the patio umbrella creaked and snapped, collapsing to the ground in a shower of sparks.
“FIRE! FIRE! CALL THE ENGINES!”
CHAPTER
TEN
Noah sat cross-legged and silent on the floor of the lounge, the faint whiff of burning patio furniture hanging in the air as he half-heartedly tried to navigate eating some takeaway with a pair of chopsticks. He didn’t want food now anyway. He really wasn’t hungry.
“Dickhead,” Eric muttered, spooning some noodles into his mouth with a fork.
The stricken patio umbrella had also knocked the barbecue over on its way down, meaning dinner had been entirely ruined. Putting out the flames had required all of the guests (except Eva, who had taken advantage of the commotion to slip out, presumably to join her junkie cohorts) to form a relay-style line, passing saucepans and bowls of water along in an attempt to avert further disaster.
Noah ignored Eric and angled his chopsticks at the sweet-and-sour chicken before him. Now he looked like a fool in front of Pierre. Would he and Harry laugh about this later tonight, when they were back at Harry’s house together? He could picture it now:
PIERRE: Oh, Harry, your boyfriend is such an idiot, setting fire to everything.
HARRY: Yes.
PIERRE: And he’s really poor and doesn’t have any electricity.
HARRY: I know!
PIERRE: Ha ha ha ha! It’s so funny.
HARRY: Ha ha ha ha!
PIERRE: Now we shall kiss and make love, the French way!
HARRY: Ooh la la!
Noah dropped the piece of chicken for the fifth time, sighed, and put his plate on the floor beside him. Screw this. Maybe he should just make some excuse and cut the whole thing short…
“I need to go to bed; my liver has just prolapsed,” Noah said.
“This is delicious, cheers, Eric,” Harry said, at exactly the same time. “Huh? What was that, Noah?”
“Nothing,” Noah muttered.
Harry wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Very, very tasty.”
Noah grimaced. Oh yes, Eric was the hero now, wasn’t he? Noah had pushed the boat out big-time to welcome their international guests; he hadn’t resorted to a takeaway, but had tried to cook a really big, mysterious fish. But all that meant nothing after one little house fire.
“Yes, Eric!” Pierre said, slurping up some noodles. “This is fantastic. Thank you!”
Noah sipped a little of the green tea he had requested as his drink. It was horrible, but it was sophisticated and cultured. See, Pierre Victoire? Even in Little Fobbing.
“No worries, no worries,” Eric said, clearly thinking he was quite the man. Although, Noah had to concede, it was lucky Eric had turned up. Eric had walked into a scene of utter mayhem, but had calmly exited and then returned ten minutes later, having been to the corner shop and purchased more electricity. Lights restored, he then produced a further thirty quid from his wallet (and he had even more cash than that in there too!) and ordered them this takeaway.
“Would anyone like dessert?” Noah asked.
“Actually, Noah, we ought to make a move,” Harry said. “It’s getting a bit late and Mum’ll start to panic.”
Noah nodded at him. Probably for the best. If he did go and bring the Angel Delight out, something would only go wrong. He’d drop it, or accidentally hurl it in someone’s face, or—
“Noah?”
“Huh?”
Harry was smiling at him. “You OK?”
“Yes. I’m just thinking about the dinner thing.”
Harry nodded. “The food doesn’t matter – it’s the company that counts. Pierre? Grab your coat, I’ll meet you outside, yeah?”
“Sure!” Pierre said.
Harry pulled Noah through into the kitchen. “You don’t have to worry about Pierre.”
“I’m not worried about Pierre,” Noah lied. The very fact Harry had said he didn’t need to worry clearly meant he absolutely did need to worry. It meant it had crossed Harry’s mind. Oh God.
Harry stared at him, like he was totally reading Noah’s mind. Just in case, Noah made sure he was only thinking of dolphins, mushrooms and the hits of ABBA. That would confuse him! “Then, cool. That’s good,” Harry
said, stepping towards him, putting his arms around Noah’s waist and his hands on Noah’s bottom.
“I mean, Pierre does seem to have a very good body,” Noah said. “Lots of muscles.”
“Hmm,” Harry murmured, into Noah’s neck.
“Quite charismatic and charming…”
“Sure.”
“You know, all said and done, he’s got a lot going for him.”
Harry delicately kissed the side of Noah’s neck, causing a little shiver to run up his spine. “I’d better go.”
“OK.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Oh, what, with Eva? Pretty sure I won’t,” Noah said. “But, you know, same goes for you, Harry Lawson. You and Pierre.”
“Ooh, yeah!” Harry chuckled. “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!”
Noah’s eyes widened. “Haz.”
“See you tomorrow,” Harry said, rolling his eyes, just a hint of irritation in his voice, as he headed out.
See? This was exactly what Noah meant. Now Harry was annoyed with him. Annoyed because Noah had hit a nerve, even if Harry denied it.
And it was odd. Harry used to read Noah’s mind all the time when they were “just friends”, and Noah used to love that. Harry would know what Noah wanted from the café, without even having to ask (toasted teacake and English breakfast tea); Harry knew what Noah would want to do on a Saturday night (play 3D Cluedo, eat cheesy Wotsits, have a debate about whether Joan Hickson or Geraldine McEwan was the best Marple); so why didn’t Noah want Harry to know his thoughts now? How was being boyfriends, something that surely meant you were closer, making him feel like they were further apart?
Sometimes, having something really nice in your life was worse than not having it, because it made you worried you were going to lose it. And losing something is worse when you know just how wonderful that thing is.
“How’s the shed looking?” Eric said, appearing in the doorway with his laptop under his arm.
“Ah, so here’s the thing,” Noah said. “Mother and Father have now expressed an interest in the shed themselves – to store some vile tandem bicycle.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Eric muttered.
“So, my hands are tied.”
Noah Could Never Page 6