Good Thing Bad Thing

by Nick Alexander

  A few drops of rain lash against the window revealing at least one aspect of what’s in store. I move myself an inch to the right so that our legs are touching. It feels so good, that soft human warmth, magical – mystical almost. Tom replies with an “Umh,” sound and then with stunningly crisp diction, does his sleep-talking thing – answering, I reckon, a dream telephone.

  “Hello? Yes?” he says. “One moment. I’ll put you through.”

  As I start to smirk he raises his knees and breaks wind – a vibrating two-second whoopee-cushion number.

  “Jesus!” I snigger. “Tom!”

  Tom clears his throat. “Uh?” he says, maybe to me, maybe to his dream caller.

  I study his face and see the smoothness slip away, see the brow wrinkle, see him change from angel (OK… farting angel) to human being as something slips into and possesses his body. Ego maybe? His face takes on a recognisable configuration: bleary, slightly irritated. “You woke me,” he says.

  “You farted,” I reply.

  “I was asleep,” he says, groaning and rolling away. As he turns he pushes a foot out backwards to find my leg – all is not lost.

  I yawn and stretch luxuriantly, then curl towards his back and think that no matter what the day brings – rain and storms or sunshine and laughter – fifteen hours from now we will be back in this bed, cuddled together in animal comfort, for the simple reason that we have decided that, from now on, this is how it is going to be.

  *

  We duck, laughing, into Monoprix. It’s raining hard now, and still too windy for umbrellas – water is trickling down my back.

  Tom runs his fingers up through his normally spiky hair. “Wow!” he says. “You never warned me about the joys of the Mediterranean climate.”

  I shrug and shiver. “It’s November – at least when it rains it rains… And it never lasts more than a couple of days.” I pick up a shopping basket.

  “So,” Tom says pushing through the turnstile. “Where’s the frozen stuff?”

  “You’re gonna be disappointed,” I say, pointing the way. Monoprix is like a New York supermarket, sandwiched into the available, ancient space, aisles not big enough for a full-width trolley. The frozen food section is about three square meters.

  I follow him – intrigued and determined not to say anything, just to see what he buys. I’m thinking about this strange mutant entity that is coupledom: not Tom, nor I, but a pick and mix of both. It’s surprising and intriguing to watch the boundaries fade, the compromises form, as this third entity that is us appears.

  In French law, legal associations or companies are called a Personne Morale – those thus joined together create a new legal “person,” with the same legal and moral requirements as an individual, and it strikes me that coupledom is similar. There is Mark and there is Tom, and there is a third person called us. A third person that likes this but not that, that hangs out with him but not her … And right now we’re in the process of deciding every aspect of who this new being will be.

  We’ve been together a while now, of course. But when we lived apart, though there were moments when we formed an us, ultimately we still had very individual identities, habits: the books I read, the TV Tom watches, the friends Tom sees, the shopping that goes into each refrigerator – in my case, vegetables, cheese, butter, in Tom’s, frozen pizzas and oven chips. Now we’re living together we’re slowly whittling away at the individualities to get to a common core. It’s not less… for every friend I stop seeing because Tom doesn’t seem to like them much, I usually gain one from his side, and for every meal I stop cooking, something else replaces it. But it is different. And that process of negotiating common ground isn’t dull, and it’s not entirely without pain.

  Tom drops two frozen pizzas into the basket, and says, as an afterthought, “Two of these? I love these spinach ones.”

  I used to make pizza – with flour and yeast and mozzarella cheese. Frozen pizza somehow feels naughty, hedonistic even. “Sure!” I say, grinning and following Tom on through the store.

  He grabs a bag of washed salad leaves and despite myself I intervene. “Can we just get a lettuce?” I ask. I’m sure someone, somewhere in the world truly doesn’t have the time or energy to rinse a lettuce leaf, but that person isn’t me.

  Tom hesitates then drops the bag. “Sure,” he says, then, looking perplexed, as if this is maybe a challenge, a trick question he thinks he might get wrong, he adds, “You choose.”

  As we leave the store with our hybrid shopping – Tom’s pizzas, my lettuce, Tom’s Molten Centre Chocolate Pudding (!), my eggs and flour, Tom says, “So… A film?”

  I frown. “A film?”

  Tom smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “Shall we go see what’s on in English?” He nods in the direction of the cinema, not two hundred yards away across Place Garibaldi.

  I smile and nod. “Sure,” I say. “Why not?”

  “Not much else to do on a rainy Saturday afternoon,” Tom says, pulling his collar up and heading off.

  Not much indeed – it’s a great idea, and strangely, one that would never cross my mind, for no reason I can think of except that it isn’t something I do on a Saturday afternoon.

  “Will the frozen stuff be OK?” I ask, trotting to catch up.

  “We’ll just eat it when we get back,” he says.

  So, it’s a pizza and cinema kind of a Saturday then. I feel like I’m living someone else’s life. I push my lip out and nod approvingly. It feels just fine.

  “Tom,” I say, back at the flat. “Do you have to?” After our special Saturday, I’m feeling quite in love with Tom. I would have liked the feeling to last a little longer.

  “Have to what, babe?” he asks.

  We’ve been in for seconds. The shopping is still defrosting in the carrier bags beside him on the big red sofa. “Do you have to skin up?” I ask trying to keep the petulant tone from my voice.

  Tom shrugs and clicks the remote, switching on the TV. “Have you come over all evangelical on me?” he asks, licking the edge of the paper and expertly sealing the joint.

  I force a smile and move to the arm of the sofa. I ruffle his hair. “It’s not that. It’s just that once you start smoking, well, that’s it. Nothing else happens,” I say.

  Tom lights the end of the joint and shrugs. “We’ve been out,” he says. “We’ve seen a film, we’ve bought dinner, what else do you want to do?” He clicks the remote, swapping from one Saturday game show to another; only this one is a little louder.

  I was thinking of a snooze and a shag actually. I’ve nothing against dope, though it doesn’t seem to do it for me – if anything it makes me paranoid and depressed. But if you can’t join in, if you’re sitting on the outside, it just makes other people so boring. I’m not evangelical at all – it’s just, well, give me an evening with someone doing coke or speed any day. And Tom, once he starts smoking, really won’t do anything else. The joint equals Game Over. No cooking, no cleaning, no going out – that I can cope with. But it also means permanent trash TV dominating the living room, no visible awareness of my existence, no meaningful discussion, and above all, no sex. Despite the myth, dope does not make Tom horny. I try to think how to reply, but the moment has passed. Tom is already lost in the TV, blowing smoke rings into the air, and settling back into the couch, struggling half-heartedly to kick off his trainers.

  “You smoke a lot these days,” I say.

  Tom replies without pulling his eyes from the TV. “I always did,” he says. “It’s just you weren’t there to see it. It’s what I do. It’s how I relax.” He proffers the joint over his shoulder at me.

  “Nah,” I say. “I think I’ll go out for a walk along the seafront. The weather’s changed. The rain’s stopped. I’ll check at Jenny’s on the way out – see if she’s up for it.”

  “Why?” he asks. “We just got in.”

  I shrug. “Dunno really,” I say. “It’s just what I do.”

  *

  Sunday morning and who
could ask for more? I writhe and stretch, basking in the warmth of the bed, the sound of the rain hammering down anew mixes with Tom’s saxophone practice wafting from the office. Strips of dim light pushing through the shutters pattern the ceiling.

  The sax inevitably makes me think of Steve – it always happens and it always makes me feel a little guilty, as if thinking about Steve is being unfaithful to Tom in some way. I sigh and stretch again and tell myself that it’s OK to think about him. It was of course, Steve’s Selmer that Tom is playing.

  I wonder how good his playing was. He was a professional; it’s what he did for a living, so he must have been good. I listen for a while. For once Tom is playing a complete tune – a Sade song I recognise – dodgy taste but tuneful. I wonder, in a vague, parallel universe kind of way, what would have happened if Steve hadn’t died. Would he have been next door instead? I smile and wonder if he farted in his sleep. Would we have even got to this stage or was it just another of those illusory love affairs? Silly to be wasting thinking time over it if that’s the case. Silly to be wasting time thinking about a dead man anyway.

  “He’s dead!” I think, jerking myself out of the reverie. “Get over it!”

  Tom’s playing pauses for a second as he coughs with gusto, then picks up where he left off. “Your Love Is King” – yep, that’s the song. A bit dated, but as Tom pointed out, he’s been half-heartedly trying to learn it since it first came out.

  I think about other relationships I’ve had and how some of them were better in some ways, some of them worse in others, but then I decide it’s ultimately pointless – like browsing Ikea catalogues or reading beauty magazines; it can only make you feel dissatisfied with what you’ve got – a solid relationship with farting, burping, underpant-discarding, pot-smoking Tom. Far better to focus on the positives of here and now.

  I throw back the quilt, suddenly optimistic and ready for the day. I stand and pull on my jogging trousers and head through to the office. Tom pauses his playing as I open the door, lowers the sax and grins at me. He looks hopelessly cute in a dishevelled kind of way. “Did I wake you?” he asks.

  I bat a hand at the thick smog hanging in the air and grin to show I don’t really mean it. “Nah,” I say. “It’s lovely. Can’t think of a nicer way to wake up.”

  Tom grins again and raises the instrument to his lips again, then pauses and says, “Oh, there are croissants and coffee in the kitchen.”

  I blink at him slowly and nod. “Thanks,” I say.

  As I pour the coffee I think about the fact that this gorgeous feeling – Sunday morning with someone playing the sax in another room – was a sort of recurring dream of my perfect relationship. It all started years ago when a busker woke me up in exactly that way one Sunday morning by playing beneath my window. He had been cute, and I remember having thought, “Imagine waking up to that every Sunday.” And I wonder at the power of life to order coincidences, meetings, chance; to replace actors with fresh personnel when required – seemingly whatever it takes to make sure the future manifests exactly as imagined.

  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 e
ver 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