Noah patted the ground with his hand. “Bit damp.”
“I have a travel rug!” Pierre said, snapping the clasps of the picnic hamper open and pulling it out.
Noah watched, possibly semi-impressed, as Pierre unfurled the rug and put it on the ground. It was lambswool in some sort of tartan design, with a waterproof liner. A quality rug, anyway.
“Sit!” Pierre said, patting the rug. “I just set things up here.”
Noah did as he was told, but remained silent. He wanted Pierre to know that it was going to take more than a trip to the park and a sit on a posh travel rug to win him over.
Pierre struck a match and lit a candle nestled inside a lantern, which he placed in the middle of the rug. “And there was light!” Pierre smiled.
Noah twitched his mouth. “Is the rug fire retardant?”
“Yes, of course,” Pierre said.
Noah nodded. “Fine.”
Pierre returned to his basket, from which he pulled a disposable barbecue. Noah watched in horror as Pierre pulled the plastic wrapping off and set the thing up a short distance from them. “Er! No!” Noah said. “Barbecues are against park by-laws! They’re forbidden! You can’t light that!”
“No one knows!”
“They will!” Noah pleaded. “No, Pierre! You cannot light it!”
Pierre struck another match and lit the barbecue.
“Pierre!”
“Is fine.”
Noah watched, wide-eyed, as the flames started licking at the charcoal. His recent dinner party catastrophe had reminded him how hazardous barbecues could be – you were literally one step away from death with a barbecue – but death would be nothing compared to incurring the wrath of the park warden if he caught them with this PROHIBITED GRILLING APPLIANCE.
“Relax,” Pierre said, producing a bottle of red wine from the basket, pulling out the cork and pouring two glasses. “Here we have a lovely French Merlot.”
Pierre handed a glass to Noah. “Um … I’m not sure about this, haven’t you just got an Orangina? That’s French, isn’t it? Couldn’t we just have that?”
“Try some. A little sip.”
Noah did so. It was OK … quite smooth … buttery, almost, Noah considered. He took another sip, feeling the silky warmth in his throat. Was this what wine was meant to taste like? The wine he’d always tried before, stuff that his mother had purchased for Christmas and the like, was akin to drinking a glass of battery acid. But this wine… This was very special. Noah took another sip, the blackberry sweetness exploding in his mouth, sliding down the back of his throat like silk and enveloping his whole body in a sort of velvety warmth against the bitter winter air.
“Good, huh?” Pierre chuckled, placing a small bowl of olives and a plate of cured meats in the middle of the rug.
“Not at all bad,” Noah admitted.
“These are Nocellara olives,” Pierre said. “They are actually Italian, not French, but I like them. You will like them too. Some antipasti, and I cut some bread,” he continued, pulling a baguette from the basket, a bread knife and wooden chopping board.
Much as he was battling against it, all of these things pleased Noah. Finally, he was enjoying the high life! Olives from Italy! An antipasti platter! This was how people from London, Paris and Milton Keynes lived!
Also, there was little doubt that Pierre had gone to a lot of effort. He hadn’t just turned up with a vague apology and a small box of Nestlé Quality Street.
Pierre handed him a piece of buttered bread with a very thin slice of meat on top of it. “Jambon de Bayonne,” Pierre explained. “The most famous of French hams – air dried and salted near the Pyrenees.”
“Thank you,” Noah said, popping it in his mouth. This was like nothing he’d ever experienced. The meat was fabulous. The bread was fabulous. Even the butter, which was presumably also French, was fabulous. Noah took another sip of wine. The wine, meat, olives, they all worked perfectly together, the flavours balancing in harmony. Noah was in clover. Pierre was ace.
But then he checked himself: Pierre was also a snake in the grass! He clearly had designs on Harry, had maybe already even carried those designs out! Pierre also had a secret rendezvous at the shed later this evening.
Noah had to be on his guard. This was nice, but Noah wouldn’t be tricked into thinking Pierre was a friend.
“To friendship,” Pierre said, offering Noah his glass to clink.
“Um, yes,” Noah said, clinking glasses, supposing it was OK to lie. Keep your enemies close, that sort of thing.
They both took a sip of SUPER DELICIOUS AND FABULOUS wine.
“So,” Pierre said, “I am sorry if you got the impression I don’t like quizzes. The truth is, in fact, very different. I love quizzes.”
“You love quizzes?”
“Noah, I fucking love quizzes!”
Noah laughed. “Oh, well, that’s … that’s a surprise, Pierre. But a nice surprise. I love quizzes too.”
“I know. I know you do. And that is why, both me and Harry, we will be coming to your Great British Quiz Off.”
“Oh!” Noah said, clasping his hands together and nearly spilling his wine.
“I am looking forward to it.”
“But then why did you say you wanted to go clubbing in the first place?” Noah asked.
Pierre shook his head. “Sometimes, I say the wrong thing. It comes out wrong, I don’t know. Sometimes, everyone else is saying they want to do a thing, and I say I do too, even though I do not.”
Noah nodded. “Peer pressure. Very dangerous.”
“Sometimes, you may not think it, but I get nervous and everything gets mixed up.”
“Well, I understand that,” Noah said.
“Yes?”
“Sometimes, I’m the same.”
Pierre smiled and looked down at his glass shyly. “You’re so sweet.”
Noah shrugged it off. “Oh now, that’s very kind of you, but really. It’s just true. And you’ve no reason to be nervous, Pierre. You’re a very … you know, you’re a very nice guy and you’ve got a lot going for you, in all sorts of ways, so you should be confident, you know?”
“You’re a very nice guy too, Noah,” Pierre said, flicking his eyes up from his glass.
“Oh, phooey!” Noah giggled.
Pierre giggled back and glanced behind him. “Ah, now the flames have died down, I warm this cheese on the barbecue.”
“Barbecued cheese?” Noah said, lifting an eyebrow.
“More baked, really. Just for a few minutes, you will enjoy.”
“Mais oui,” Noah said, having another sip of wine.
Noah watched as Pierre busied himself placing a boxed Camembert, studded with rosemary and garlic and wrapped in foil, on top of the barbecue. This was shaping up to be an excellent little evening of sophistication and glamour. If, and it was still a fairly big if, but if Pierre turned out not to be trying it on with Harry, and if Pierre turned out not to be up to no good with his secret shed meeting later that evening, and if, when Noah had had a chance to think about all the events and weigh things up, and on balance Pierre was in positive friendship figures, then maybe things could be nice between them. Maybe Pierre could become Noah’s pen pal, and they would write to one another from their respective far-off lands: tales of exotic places and unfamiliar foods.
Pierre turned back towards him. “So, Noah, now you tell me more about you.”
“Hmm – what like?”
“Like anything!” Pierre said. “What do you do for fun?”
Noah blew out a breath. “I like reading, especially mystery novels. And I watch TV – especially mystery shows. And now I’m also a fishkeeper – poisson,” Noah clarified.
“A geeky boy!” Pierre grinned.
“Well, maybe…”
Pierre waved his hand. “Ah, it was not a criticism. Geeky is good!”
“R-really?”
“Really. I like geeky boys. Geeky boys are cute.”
Noah laughe
d. “If you say so.”
“Sexy.”
“Now you’re just being –” Noah swallowed “– silly.”
“Ask me what I like about geeky boys,” Pierre said.
Noah moistened his lips. “What … um, what do you like about … geeky boys?”
Pierre shifted slightly so he was a little closer to Noah, drawing little circles with his finger on the travel rug. “I like their gentle nature, their innocent little ways. I like their intelligence.” He looked up, directly into Noah’s eyes. “I like them. I want to do things with them. I want to take the balloon of their virginity, and burst it. Pop!”
Noah jumped. There was a sizzling from the barbecue. Noah swallowed, hard. “I think the cheese has bubbled over.”
“Oops,” Pierre said, turning to the barbecue to sort it out. “I hate it when it bubbles over before you want it to.”
“Huh. Yeah,” Noah said, breathless. He swallowed again. Shifted his position on the travel rug. This was intense. But fine. It was fine because Pierre was talking about geeky boys in general, not specifically Noah. He was making generalized comments, in a general way, generally about geeky boys. It was just chance that Noah had a gentle nature, innocent little ways, and swollen virginity.
“Open your mouth,” Pierre said, now coming at him with a dripping piece of baguette, oozing unctuous molten cheese.
Noah just did as he was told; it was only polite. He parted his lips as Pierre slid it in. The warm gooeyness filled Noah’s mouth. The cheese was out of this world. “Oh … oh God,” Noah muttered.
“Mmmm,” Pierre cooed.
“That’s so good.”
“It is unpasteurized.”
“Is that … bad?”
“It could be. Are you pregnant?”
“No,” Noah giggled, blushing. “I couldn’t possibly be…”
“Then … more?”
“Uh-huh,” Noah said as he swallowed down the first mouthful. Yes, more. More, more, more. He could eat this all night long.
Pierre fed him another slither of crusty baguette, topped with more meltingly creamy cheese, which dripped on to Noah’s lips and down his chin. Pierre caught the trickle of warm, thick goodness with his little finger, scooping it back into Noah’s mouth. “Too good to waste,” Pierre said.
“Uhhhh,” Noah groaned, sucking it off Pierre’s finger.
“This cheese is fantastique, huh?”
“Yeeeeahhhh…”
“I get you more cheese?”
“Just a little more,” Noah said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Noah leaned forward as Pierre presented another piece of baguette, piled extra high with a bubbling mound of molten cheese.
“Open wide. Take it all at once,” Pierre suggested.
“Ug,” Noah muttered, as he greedily gobbled the lot.
“Look at you!” Pierre laughed.
“I love your cheese!” Noah said, swallowing and taking a sip of the red wine. “I love it.”
Pierre nodded. There was a brief moment of silence between them. “And I love you,” Pierre said.
And Pierre leaned forward, put his hand behind Noah’s head, and kissed him full on the lips.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
“Oh my God, what are you doing?!” Noah said, springing back from Pierre.
“I kiss you.”
“No! No, Pierre! You can’t! I have a boyfriend. Harry!”
“Yes, he is very nice.”
Noah stared at him. This whole lovely picnic wasn’t an apology at all. It was a seduction!
“We are having a good time, no?”
“A good time?!” Noah spluttered.
“Noah…”
Noah stood up and brushed himself down. “No. No, I’m sorry. So very sorry, but this can’t happen. It must not happen. This is bad, Pierre. Harry is your French exchange host – you can’t just try to snaffle me from under his very nose.”
Pierre stood up too and edged closer to a very skittish Noah. “It is fine.”
“It is not fine!”
“We are both hard. You know it.”
Noah swallowed. “No. No, that’s not … entirely true. Maybe you. Not really me. But look, this has been nice, and I am flattered, I really am, but—”
Pierre stepped in and kissed Noah again, Noah immediately de-suckering himself from Pierre’s lips. “OK, thank you. I should go.”
“I upset you?”
“No. Not upset. Just bad. Wrong.”
“How can love ever be wrong, Noah?”
Noah flapped about, doing his coat back up. “Look, right, wrong, I don’t know. But Harry is my boyfriend and I love him. And now you’ve tricked me with fancy wine and lovely cheese… You created an atmosphere with your lantern and ambushed me!”
Pierre dropped his head. “I am sorry.”
Noah nodded. “Fine. Good.”
“I should have known.”
“OK.”
“I am stupid. So stupid!” Pierre slapped his hand against his forehead a few times. “I made a fool of myself.”
“Noooo…”
Pierre looked at him. “You are good boy, Noah. Harry is lucky. You are both lucky. I have made mess of this. I was thinking that the three of us… Oh, never mind. I mess it up now.”
Noah frowned. What had he been thinking?
“You go. I pack up here,” Pierre said.
“Alone? By yourself in the park?”
Pierre shrugged.
Noah swallowed. He knew he should talk to Harry about all this, but in doing so he would have to tell him what happened, and he had no way of knowing how Harry might react. He knew how he would react, if it was the other way round. And that would not be good.
Plus, thinking about it, it looked terrible. A picnic. A lantern! Wine and baked cheese! Noah might as well claim that Pierre turned up with a packet of condoms and a sex manual, but he was still surprised when the kiss happened. How stupid would Harry think he was?! It might be best … to bury this.
“Um … about what happened, though?” Noah said.
“Huh?”
“We should… I mean, obviously you made a mistake, and you weren’t to know. What I’m saying is, I don’t think Harry would be happy if he found out what you did, you know? So, what I’m saying is, I would be prepared not to say anything about it? You know?”
“Thank you.”
“OK, good. So, just to confirm, we will both say nothing? Pretend nothing happened? We came out, had a nice, basic picnic, chatted … and went home. That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“OK. OK, then. Right.” Noah shifted about awkwardly on the spot, wanting to go, but feeling a lot was now up in the air. “And, look, it was nice… The picnic, I mean. The picnic was a good picnic. Lovely, in fact. I liked it. So … thank you.”
“You are welcome. We are friends?”
“Yes!” Noah said. “Friends, for certain!”
“We hug? As friends?”
Noah took a breath. Swallowed. “Sure. As friends.”
With permission apparently granted, Pierre came up and enveloped Noah in his arms, pressing himself tight against him, breathing heavily into Noah’s neck. They stood like that for what felt like minutes. But it was a “friends” hug, so it was fine. Just friends, saying goodbye. Just friends, who may totally coincidentally have had hard-ons, saying thanks for a nice evening, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Totally fine.
Noah wriggled free. “OK. Right. Thanks. Bye, then.” And he turned and scooted off. Heart racing. Mouth dry. Doing his best “trying to make it look like fast walking when you’re really running” walk, perfected through years of hurrying along school corridors. He tried to rationalize what had just happened.
Why hadn’t he just run away after Pierre first kissed him? Why did he let it happen a second time?
Shit, he hated himself.
How could he have been so weak and pathetic?
Was it because part of him was paranoid that Pierr
e had done the same thing with Harry, and Noah needed proof he was worthy of being snogged too? Like, some stupid game of boy one-upmanship?
Christ, what a mess.
He hurried towards the exit on to Gordon Road. He would make this up to Harry. He would redouble his romantic efforts with him. He would make it very obvious to Harry that he was the one for him. And by next week, Pierre would be gone, and with him, the horrible secret that must never be told.
He jumped when he saw her, looking like the Slender Man, lurking in the shadows by the street lamp. “Eva?”
“Hallo, Noah.”
“You scared me, Eva. What are you doing here? It’s late.”
“Waiting,” she replied.
“Well, I would call it lurking, Eva. Lurking is a criminal offence in England, did you know that? You must come home, Eva. Where it’s safe.”
Eva glanced at him. “Meeting a friend.”
“What sort of friend?” He glanced down at her guitar case that rested on the ground.
“Enjoy your evening with Pierre?” Eva said, a twinkle in her eye, the merest hint of a smile playing on her lips.
Noah froze. “Just chatting.”
“Nothing else?”
Noah felt his heart jump into his throat. He took a breath. “Er, bit of food. Some … crisps. A Coke. Nothing major. Just catching up. Why?”
Eva shrugged and looked away. “Cool.”
“OK, then. So, come on. I’ll walk back home with you.”
“Go away, Noah.”
Noah gasped. “Eva! I am your English host! You must come with me!”
“I’ll come back when I’m ready.”
“Er, no, you’ll come back now!”
“Or I’ll tell Harry what you did with Pierre.”
Noah stopped. “Didn’t do anything.”
Eva snorted. “Cool.”
“OK. OK, then, fine. Do as you please.”
“Leave the front door unlocked.”
“OK.”
“And don’t wait up for me.”
Noah looked her in the eyes – her stare was hard. Defiant. “Fine.” Noah turned, plunged his hands in his pockets and walked off, deep in worry about what Eva might or might not have seen. Noah knew he hadn’t actively kissed Pierre back, but what might Harry make of a maliciously presented report suggesting the contrary?
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