Noah Could Never

by Simon James Green

  “Surely they’re heading to London,” Mick said as she walked away.

  Noah nodded. “Maybe.”

  “If you were trying to sell some diamonds, though, surely Hatton Garden is the obvious place?” Mick insisted.

  “No,” Noah said. “That place is too above board. Dad’ll need to sell to a dodgy contact, someone who can get the diamonds out of the country, and who can then maybe take them to someone in Antwerp for recutting.”

  Harry made a little groaning sound. “Mm, I love it when you talk like this,” he murmured.

  “Sexy, right?” Pierre agreed. “Antwerp. Recutting. He knows all the words!”

  Noah gave Pierre a warning stare. “I’m merely stating facts.” He turned to Harry. “And like I said before, there’s nothing sexy about being a criminal. It’s a bad thing. Right!” Noah slammed both his hands down on the table. “We need more info. I’m gonna call Eric!” He got up from his seat. “I’ll call from outside – don’t want him to know exactly where we are. Information is power, after all.”

  Eric finally picked up on Noah’s third attempt and Noah went right in hard, to show he wasn’t messing about. “Where are you, cock cheese?”

  “Some place you’ll never find us,” Eric said. “And I wonder where you are, Jessica?”

  “Don’t bring Dame Angela into this!” Noah glanced around his surroundings – by the huge wheelie bins to the side of Route 66, the sound of traffic in the distance, but no way would Eric be able to hear that. “And I’m nowhere. Just at home.”

  The sounds of the waitress on a PA system suddenly came blaring across from the restaurant. “WE’RE CELEBRATING A BIRTHDAY. WOOO. SO GIVE A ROUTE 66 CHEER FOR MAVIS – WHO IS SEVENTY-FIVE TODAY.”

  Noah cleared his throat. “Just hanging around at home.”

  Eric laughed. “Yeah, I heard that loud and clear, Noah.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Noah hissed. “Gran needs that money! We could put her in Kingfisher Meadows with it! Have you literally no heart, Eric? Are you, in fact, the very devil himself?”

  “Probs,” Eric sniffed. “Look, I’m just the monkey in all this. Dad’s the organ grinder.”

  “But you were all too happy to help! Judas!”

  “This will all be over by eleven tomorrow morning, so if I were you, I’d let it go.”

  “Never!”

  “Tick-tock, then, Noah. Better come and find us quick, before it’s too late. I’d suggest you leave Route 66 sharpish and head, ooh, I dunno, south?”

  “Right, well, I’m not at Route 66, but that’s interesting.”

  “You’re at Route 66. I literally just heard.”

  “No, I’m not,” Noah insisted.

  “Whatever,” Eric said. “Check your food before you eat – I found a pube in mine.” And he hung up.

  Noah chewed his lip. Damn him. “Head south,” he’d said – but what if that was a bluff? What if Eric and Dad were really heading north? Or maybe it was a double bluff, and they really were heading south, or maybe…

  “The food is here, so I come get you,” Pierre said, appearing at Noah’s side. “Although I must say, it is not as good as our picnic the other night! Not like my fine Merlot, huh?”

  Noah took a deep breath. Pierre’s little remarks needed knocking on the head. Noah had played the whole thing down to Harry, but Pierre risked making Harry think it was a whole bigger deal than it really was. “You told me Harry knew about the picnic, but he didn’t know,” Noah said.

  Pierre shrugged. “He know I came to see you to apologize.”

  “Yes, but not about the picnic.”

  “The picnic was a, how you say, a thought after. A special thing I just decide on.”

  “Yet you told me Harry knew.”

  “A mistake! Come inside, the food!”

  Noah looked Pierre up and down. God, he was handsome. It wasn’t just the obvious physical perfection – the chiselled jaw, the defined cheekbones, the carefree hair – Pierre oozed confidence, charm and … sex. It was disarming. It made it very difficult to be cross with him. “All I’m saying, Pierre, all I’m merely asking, is that you back off with the little sexual remarks about me a bit. OK? Just less of ‘Noah is sexy’ this and ‘You make me hard, Noah’ that. OK?”

  “I see you are still upset by our kisses of passion. Maybe we should just tell Harry everything, so it is all out in the open?” Pierre suggested.

  Noah grabbed Pierre’s arm. “Let’s just leave it, yes?”

  “Ha!” Pierre laughed. “I joke with you!”

  “Oh fuck,” Noah said, staring over Pierre’s shoulder.

  Pierre shrugged again and walked back towards the restaurant. “Chill out, is not a serious thing.”

  But that wasn’t the thing.

  Noah was frozen, staring over towards the far corner of the car park.

  A car.

  With a registration plate he recognized.

  The black Vauxhall Astra.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-ONE

  Dinner had passed in a blur. All he could think about was that car: why it was here, and why the hell he was clearly being followed? What was it they thought he’d done? Or what did they want? Was it Mick? Pierre? Or were they following his father’s trail, too?

  And by the time Mick had found a random field to camp in – which wasn’t even a designated campsite and clearly risked them being shot by the farmer if he found them trespassing – Noah’s lack of complaint was clearly making Harry suspicious.

  “What’s wrong?” Harry said.

  Noah eyeballed him. “Nothing. All good.”

  “Right, well, that’s obviously not true – I was watching you out of the diner window when Pierre came to get you for the food, and you were just staring across the car park doing that feet-shuffling, need-a-wee thing. I nearly came out to check, but OK.”

  “I didn’t need a wee. I’m just worried about the diamonds.” Noah nodded. “Trying to … piece the mystery together.” He tapped his head. “All up here.”

  “Harry! Come and help me hammer these stakes in!” Mick shouted over.

  “Make sure it is nice and erect!” Pierre grinned.

  “Pierre,” Harry warned.

  Pierre held his hands up. “What? I say the wrong word?” He reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of wine. “Everyone needs to chill.”

  Noah watched as Pierre unscrewed the cap and splashed the wine into a plastic cup. “Here,” Pierre said, passing Noah the cup. He lowered his voice. “Not as nice as before, but better than nothing.”

  “Stop mentioning ‘before’,” Noah said, downing the cup. “Thirsty,” he explained, seeing Pierre’s surprised expression.

  Pierre refilled him, and glanced over at Harry, bashing a tent peg into the ground. “I lost my virginity in a tent.”

  Noah took another gulp of wine.

  It was going to be a long evening.

  But alcoholic oblivion was definitely better than living in fear that a black Vauxhall Astra was going to come screaming into the field any moment, with masked and armed heavies bundling Noah into the vehicle so they could…

  No. Don’t think about it. It’s FINE!

  It wasn’t fine.

  He drank some more wine.

  “What the hell are you wearing?” Harry said, watching Noah struggling to take his chinos and hoodie off inside the tent.

  “This is a ribbed thermal long john,” Noah explained. “With matching vest top. I know it’s not particularly sexy, but it’s practical.” Noah giggled. “Now my willy won’t get frostbite.”

  “How much have you been drinking?” Harry said.

  “Oh, for shame! What makes you think I’ve been drinking?”

  Harry sighed. “I’ve literally seen alcohol pass your lips.”

  “The merest soupçon,” Noah shrugged. “The slightest hint of wine, that is all.”

  Harry grinned. “You’re tipsy.”

  “No, no, no,” Noah said, attempting to pu
ll the right leg of his trousers off, which were caught up in his hiking socks, “no, because alcohol is very damaging on the immature liver, so.” He hiccuped. “Mmmm, ver, ver, nice here –” he hiccuped again “– sausages,” and giggled.

  Harry leaned up on his elbows, already in his sleeping bag. “Need a hand?”

  Noah giggled again. “Naughty! Naughty, Harry! ‘A hand’ indeed! La!”

  “Literally just offering to help, but—”

  Noah toppled over and collapsed in more giggles and a snort.

  “Jesus,” Harry said.

  “Gaaahhh!” Noah said. “These clothes.”

  “What about them?”

  “I’m too … mmm…”

  “What’s the matter? Are you too hot?” Harry said,

  “Too … hot … yes. Hot. Am hot. All the clothes.”

  “CAN YOU KEEP IT DOWN IN THERE?!” Mick shouted from his tent.

  Noah flailed around on the floor. “I am quiet, though! These walls … are paper thin! I remember when houses were made of bricks and … wood!”

  “This is a tent, though,” Harry said, getting out of his sleeping bag and crawling over to Noah. “Come here.”

  “I want to be just in my boxers and a T-shirt, like you,” Noah said.

  “Well, that’s fine…”

  Noah hiccuped. “No, but, the long johns … they’re too complicated to take off… I wish I’d never… Awww, your nose is so pretty,” Noah said, pressing Harry’s nose with his finger. “Beep, beep! So cute.”

  “Thanks.”

  “SHUT UP!” shouted Eva from the tent she was sharing with Pierre.

  “SHUT YOURSELF UP!” Noah shouted back.

  “Noah!” Harry said. “SORRY ABOUT HIM, I’M SORTING HIM OUT!”

  “WE DON’T WANT TO KNOW!” Mick shouted.

  Harry grabbed hold of Noah’s trouser leg and pulled the trousers off, along with one of his socks and then, on Noah’s insistence, turned his back, closed his eyes, and put his fingers in his ears whilst Noah removed the long johns and put on his normal boxers.

  “Am ready!” Noah declared, tapping Harry on the back. “Now, cuddles.”

  Harry was barely back in his sleeping bag before Noah had wrapped his arms around him and was snuggled into his neck. “Nom, nom, nom,” Noah said.

  “What was that?”

  “Good enough to eat, you are, mister man.” Harry’s face was so close to his. They were almost kissing. Pretty soon, they would be. “Mmm, Hazza?”

  “What?”

  “Mmm … if we … one day, if we lived together… You know, in a house, or apartment, or villa, or flat, or … yeah? If we did, OK, would we … do you think if we had a Nespresso machine, it would be one of the ones that had its own integrated milk frother? For cappuccinos and the like?”

  Harry exhaled, clearly thinking about it. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that right now, Noah.”

  “No, but, I do. Would we?”

  Harry stroked the back of Noah’s head. “Probably.”

  “Mmm. Good. That’s nice.”

  They lay in silence for a bit, their breathing the only sound.

  “Mmm, Harry?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why … why is your ear so cute?”

  “IT’S JUST HIS FUCKING EAR, SHUT UP!” Mick shouted. “FUCK’S SAKE!”

  “Ver, ver rude,” Noah muttered. “Such … foulness. The drag artiste doth not appreciate your fine, fine, ear, Hazzaroo. But I know! ’Tis the finest ear I have ever seen, my liege.”

  “Maybe try to sleep,” Harry suggested.

  “No, but another thing,” Noah said, “I was wondering what our ship name should be because should it be ‘Narry’ or ‘Norry’?”

  “Or ‘Hoah’?”

  “Hoah!” Noah giggled. “That’s so…” He hiccuped again. “Mmm, need a Pepto-Bismol. Mm. Mm, Harry? Harry, can I ask you a thing?”

  “Sure.”

  “I want … with my finger … to … put it here,” he said, placing it on Harry’s nipple. “On your teat.”

  “Nipple. Fine. That’s fine, Noah.”

  “Yes.”

  “OK.”

  “Is that nice?”

  “Er, yes.”

  “OH FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!” shouted Mick. “CAN YOU PLEASE JUST SCREW AND GET IT OVER AND DONE WITH!”

  “Ignore him,” Noah whispered. “He is only jealous of our young love and that everything is unicorns and sparkles for us. Mm. Now I just move my finger like this a bit,” Noah said, delicately making small circles on Harry’s lovely pert nipple.

  Harry exhaled unsteadily.

  “I read about this in a … hiccup … book my mother has called … hiccup … Foreplay for the Over Forties, subtitle: New sexual excitement for jaded lovers.”

  “Uh … huh…” Harry muttered, eyes closed, with his head back on his pillow.

  “Mmm, Harry,” Noah said, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder, while continuing to make the little circles. This was all so much easier to do after a bit of wine. Noah was feeling so emboldened, he traced his finger down Harry’s chest, down to his tummy button, and then lower, down to the waistband of his boxers, gently lifting the elastic and sliding his finger just underneath, running it along under the band. Noah looked back up at Harry, who was still lying back, open-mouthed. Harry was adorable. His adorable boyfriend. How had Noah been so lucky to end up with someone as lovely as him? Noah traced his finger back along the waistband. It felt strange, touching Harry like this. This boy who he’d grown up with. This boy who, he realized now, he’d longed for, for so … long. Sometimes, in the safe solitude of his bedroom, he had thought about Harry. He had thought naughty things. So it was confusing, because here he was, right in front of Noah now, in just his boxers and a T-shirt, and Noah knew, if he wanted to, he could trace his fingers lower … he could do that … and Harry was clearly quite keen for that to happen… And yet … why wasn’t Noah? The thought of doing anything more made his insides quiver. And yet, in his head, he’d done that. In his head, he’d done loads of stuff with Harry. But the reality felt scary and … Noah didn’t even have an erection.

  What the hell? That could not be normal. He liked Harry. More than liked … so what did this mean? Noah took his hand away and looked back at Harry, who was smiling at him.

  “Night, then,” Harry said.

  “Goodnight, Harry,” Noah said. “I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-TWO

  Noah stumbled out of the tent, crusty-eyed and gasping for water, blinking into the bright Saturday-morning light.

  Mick had gone.

  But Bambi had appeared, in a shimmery metallic halter-neck dress with cutaway shoulders, high heels and a huge blonde wig.

  And she was humming Justin Bieber’s “Baby” whilst pushing some bacon around a frying pan.

  “Um, is there any water?” Noah croaked. “I’m a little—” “Hungover?” Bambi smiled.

  “Thirsty,” Noah corrected her.

  Bambi rolled her eyes and handed Noah a little bottle of Volvic, which he drank, gratefully. “How come you’re Bambi now?” Noah asked as he finished the bottle.

  “Takes me hours to get all the gear on, and I’m worried with all this tracking down your dad shit I might not have time later,” Bambi said. “I’ve been sitting in the van doing my make-up since five, ’cause I wanna be ready to hit London with a bang. Bambi’s a walking advert, babes. You watch the heads turn as I hand out the flyers! Bet you everyone takes one – very hard to refuse a drag queen!”

  Noah nodded, glancing over at Eva, who was unenthusiastically buttering some white baps, like the knife and margarine were completely alien objects to her. Pierre was sitting on a little camping chair in jeans and a hoodie, sipping coffee from a tin cup, looking all rosy-cheeked and healthy from all the fresh outdoor air. Noah didn’t dare imagine what he looked like right now. Pale and sickly would be a good guess. Decomposing zombie w
ould be another. Noah looked at his phone. “Where are you, Eric? Why do you not communicate? Damn you!”

  Harry scrambled out of the tent. “Do I smell bacon? Oh God, bacon!”

  Noah gave Harry a “good morning” type of nod and dropped his eyes. My God. Something could well have happened last night – but not if Noah couldn’t even get a boner. What was wrong with him? He’d had the opposite problem in many awkward situations. The time he got called up to the whiteboard in maths to solve an equation – boner. His Year Nine assembly on dying bees – boner. Really lovely and potentially sexy evening with boyfriend – no boner. If Harry knew, he would surely think Noah didn’t fancy him.

  “Dead things,” Eva said, handing Noah a white bap filled with bacon and a fried egg.

  Noah took it. “Thank you.”

  He made a half-hearted attempt to eat it. He didn’t feel hungry. He had heard of men suffering from these sorts of “performance issues” before, and, underlying medical reasons aside, it was often due to things like worrying about your mortgage, or being stressed at work. Whilst his finances were dire, and GCSEs were a nightmare, Noah felt the problem lay elsewhere. Because, try as he might to blot it all out, the strangers in the car, the stolen diamonds, Pierre, Ms O’Malley, the goddam shed … they were all he could think about, and in different ways they all scared him.

  He had to put an end to all this.

  And that meant getting to the bottom of everything.

  Noah’s phone chirped. Eric, with a text that simply read: Facebook.

  Noah sighed, logged on to the app, and was immediately confronted with pictures Eric had uploaded, with classic gloating captions that make you want to punch whoever posted them in the face:

  Pic of hotel room. Caption: My crib for the night.

  Pic of en-suite bathroom. Caption: #bathroomgoals

  Pic of Eric, topless, lying in hotel bed, lips slightly parted. Caption: Come and get me, ladies…

  “Damn him!” Noah shouted, throwing the phone to Harry, who caught it with the hand he wasn’t eating a bacon butty with. “He’s just doing this to provoke me! Lording it around, ‘Look at me, look what a great time I’m having, your life is shit compared to mine, I’m so much better than you are!’”