by Matt Cain
Spike feigned indignation. ‘You got me all wrong, blud. I’m a proper softie. And I don’t pounce. Well, only sometimes.’
They looked at each other and grinned. Harvey felt a flicker of happiness that everything was going so well. And he’d really needed today to go well. Since giving up the booze, not only were first dates much more tough but even pulling men was becoming a rarer and rarer occurrence. It wasn’t as if he thought of himself as particularly inhibited, but he’d discovered that he didn’t tend to launch into a full-on snog, let alone jump into bed with a stranger, when he was stone-cold sober. He’d started to joke that these days he couldn’t even pull washing off a line, but behind the gags he was starting to suffer – and for the first time in his life he knew what it meant to feel lonely.
He was sure that Spike had never been lonely. Spike was smart and sassy with a mischievous sense of humour but also a sensitivity and a vulnerability Harvey had been right to identify when they first met. And his smile was like the bright sun emerging from behind a dark cloud.
They strolled on, passing a couple of amateur painters engrossed in the view of the river, a trio of Asian Goths smoking cut-price cigarettes in the shade of Tate Modern, and an ageing drag queen singing away to herself as she applied too much make-up on the steps of Shakespeare’s Globe. All around them milled people of every conceivable colour, shape and size. And Harvey couldn’t help noticing that all of them were smiling.
‘You know, this is why I came to London,’ he beamed, waving his arms around to take in the scene. ‘This is why I love it here!’
He explained to Spike that he’d been brought up in Wigan, where his parents worked for the Post Office, his dad as a postman and his mum behind the counter. But he’d never felt like he fitted in and his withering spirit had gradually gravitated towards a city where creative or quirky individuals had the freedom to become the people they really wanted to be. Of course he’d also moved to the capital to be closer to the country’s highest concentration of gay men, and for his first ten years in the city had worked his way through a sizeable proportion of them. In fact, they were about to pass an alleyway that led to the Male Box, a gay sauna where Harvey had ended up after many a drunken night out, engaging in all kinds of sexual activities he wouldn’t have even thought possible when he was a little boy hanging around the Post Office in Wigan. But he wouldn’t be sharing that kind of information with Spike just yet. That kind of thing I’ll save for much later.
‘Fancy fish and chips?’ he asked, worried that Spike could read the shame on his face. ‘My favourite chippy’s just there.’
‘All right, man. Sounds cool.’
He led Spike over to the Cod Squad, where they sat down outside at a picnic table in the sun. From behind his shades he allowed himself to gaze at his date as he perused the menu. So far Spike was proving surprisingly easy and enjoyable company and already Harvey could feel his emotions racing ahead. But he stopped himself; he’d learned his lesson years ago about what he called fast-track intimacy, when you get carried away and go much too fast on a first date, only for both parties to panic and pull back shortly afterwards. No, I can’t fall in love with him just yet. I’ve got to find some way to stop myself . . .
As he called for a waiter he heard the sound of a Spanish guitar and recognized the intro to Lost in Love come lilting out of the restaurant. As the music built he could feel his spirit being infused with the heady excitement of a sexy summer romance.
But stopping myself is going to be difficult – very difficult.
*
Over in Bermondsey, Lola was starting to get impatient. She’d been here an hour now and there was still no sign of her drummer.
‘Where the hell is he, Mike?’ she asked her musical director. ‘This is really starting to take the piss.’
‘I know, I’m sorry, Lola,’ he said, twiddling with the ends of his handlebar moustache. ‘Apparently there was some mix-up with the car.’
She tutted and rolled her eyes. She really didn’t need this.
Tonight she and the band were due to perform on Lucky Star, the TV show which currently commanded the highest ratings on Saturday prime time by combining the traditional talent-show format with the added twist of a star-shaped roulette wheel which randomly ruled out a different contestant each week. Already this week she’d had costume fittings and dance rehearsals but she’d been so tied up with promotional commitments that the band had been forced to practise without her – until today. Three hours had been set aside and she really needed to make the most of them; this wasn’t the kind of platform on which she could risk messing up. Unfortunately, though, apart from working on her vocals with the girls, without a drummer there wasn’t much else she could do.
Just then the door swung open and in waltzed Jake.
‘Hey guys,’ he breezed, ‘I’m really sorry I’m late.’
As he strode towards them, Lola remembered his entrance into the same room just a few days ago. On that occasion she’d been thrilled to see him. But if she remembered rightly, on that occasion he’d also been late. Hmm, I’m starting to see a pattern here.
‘Look, it’s no excuse,’ he shrugged, ‘but my goddam car didn’t show.’
He moved over to Lola and flashed her those penetrating green eyes and that sloppy grin she was sure had never failed to get him off the hook in the past. But she wasn’t having any of it. His hair was a mess, he looked like he’d just got out of bed and, if she wasn’t mistaken, he smelled of women’s perfume – the kind of low-rent scent she associated with glamour models or lap dancers. Wait a minute, has he just been shagging some bird?
‘I’m not interested, darlin’,’ she snapped. ‘You’re more than an hour late.’
‘I know, man, and I’m really sorry.’
Mike stepped in and put a calming hand on her shoulder. ‘Lola, don’t you worry about this, it’s my job to sort it.’ He turned to look at Jake. ‘Mate, just go and tune your kit. We’ll talk later but we really need to crack on now.’
Lola huffed as loudly as she could. She couldn’t believe she’d been standing around for an hour while her drummer was off having sex with some slapper. And it wasn’t just her who was offended; the rest of the band looked riled and the atmosphere in the room had soured.
‘Can you believe this guy?’ she whispered to her backing vocalists. ‘What a dick.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Gloria, ‘sometimes hot guns and a cute smile just ain’t enough.’
She tried not to give off a naughty cackle. ‘Ain’t that the truth?’
As Jake tuned his drums, Lola made a big show of standing behind the mic and tapping her foot impatiently. To think she’d planned on flirting with him to wind up Harvey and Mike. To think she’d actually found him attractive.
Well, from now on she’d just have to forget about Jake and concentrate on having a laugh with the BVs. They both seemed like fun and Harvey had reminded her that she’d met Gloria when she’d been signed to her record label as a solo artist. Unfortunately her first album hadn’t taken off and she’d been dropped shortly afterwards. But at least she’d been in the same position as Lola so would understand the pressures she was under and hopefully be an ally.
‘Right, come on then,’ smiled Mike, obviously trying to defuse the tension. ‘Lost in Love, take it away.’
As the music kicked in, Lola had to admit it was sounding good – and exceptionally polished after just a few days’ rehearsal.
Like a vision,
He waltzed into my world . . .
She launched into her vocal and glanced over at Jake. He was actually quite revolting and thinking about him while singing a song about falling in love was something of a challenge. He looked up and caught her eye. She was surprised to see that he held her gaze.
The scent of danger,
The swell of desire,
And I was lost, lost,
Lost in love.
Lola broke off from his gaze and allowed the beat of the song to
run through her and carry her away. As her vocal loosened up she could feel herself gradually starting to relax. Oh what does it matter if Jake’s a wanker? What does anything matter when me and the band are sounding this good?
Right now Lola realized that she wasn’t interested in losing herself in love. Losing herself in the music was much more important.
*
As Gloria swayed to the beat and mouthed the odd lyric, she couldn’t help thinking how humiliating it was to have been demoted to the role of backing vocalist. All she had to do was sing the words ‘lost in love’ during the chorus and whisper the odd ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ during the verses. And to think that once upon a time she’d recorded her own album and everyone had told her she was a major talent. Well, this was quite a comedown.
And the worst thing was, she was having to sing some stupid song about being in love – when it was that long since she’d been in love she could hardly remember what it felt like. Lost in love? Some of us don’t have that luxury. Some of us can’t imagine ever being in love again.
Not that Gloria would be sharing those kinds of thoughts with Lola, even though she’d been trying her best to be friendly all day. But no, Lola wouldn’t have the slightest idea how it felt to be lonely. Lola could probably have any man she wanted. And from what Gloria had heard she’d had several, most of them in her last few bands – which probably explained why this one was some kind of freak show. With the exception of Jake, obviously. And Gloria wasn’t stupid; however much Lola moaned and bitched about her new drummer, she could tell she fancied the arse off him. No, that whole playing-hard-to-get act didn’t fool her – not for one minute.
But who could blame her? Certainly not Gloria; she fancied Jake so much she’d hardly been able to take her eyes off him ever since he’d arrived. He was just her type. In fact, he reminded her of her last boyfriend, Ned. He too had been a drummer and like Jake he’d been tall with long, chestnut hair, stubble and thick, muscular arms. Of course he didn’t have Jake’s irresistible lazy grin or his piercing green eyes. But that hadn’t stopped Gloria falling head-over-heels in love with him – so in love that before long she couldn’t understand how she’d ever existed without him. And then Chanelle had arrived and she’d been overwhelmed with happiness; she’d thought the three of them would be together forever. But she’d been wrong. Shortly after she’d been dumped by her record company, Ned had packed up his stuff and walked out on her. Lost in love? What a load of crap!
Now that she thought about it, in a roundabout way her disastrous love life was all Lola’s fault. Because if it wasn’t for Lola she’d still have a solo career – and she’d still be with Ned. But instead here she was singing a load of stupid backing vocals while Lola screeched away into the main mic about falling in love. The irony of it was breathtaking.
God, that woman had a lot to answer for. But Gloria reminded herself not to go there – not to even think about what had happened. You’re not going to let all that get to you, remember?
No, Gloria needed to keep a lid on her resentment – or she had no idea where it would take her.
*
Once they’d placed their order, Spike stretched out and let the beat of the music pulse through him.
Like a vision,
He waltzed into my world . . .
He looked at Harvey and felt a little rush of excitement. Meeting him had taken Spike by surprise – and he was surprised by how much he liked him. Last night he’d stayed up late planning his outfit, trying on all the options for his flatmate Serenity, a fashion-conscious party girl he’d met at journalism school who now worked as the gossip columnist for a downmarket women’s magazine. Spike didn’t want to draw attention to his youth and make Harvey think he was some uncouth kid who wouldn’t fit into his high-powered, highly sophisticated world. Which was something of a challenge considering most of his clothes had been bought to impress the kind of man who’d only be attracted to him if he were dressed like a dodgy gang member who might whip out a knife on him on their way home. In just a handful of years on the scene, Spike had already discovered just how sexy some people found dancing with danger.
The scent of danger,
The swell of desire,
And I was lost, lost,
Lost in love.
Unfortunately, while trying to resolve the dilemma, Spike and Serenity had got blind drunk and when Spike had woken up this morning he’d seen that his flatmate had spilled her vodka and coke all over his chosen outfit. In the end he’d had to settle for a pair of three-quarter-length trousers he’d bought after seeing them in a fashion feature in Attitude magazine and a tight-fitting polo shirt that showed off his gym-honed physique. He was relieved to see that so far things seemed to be going well and Harvey was proving to be easy and enjoyable company.
I was lost, lost,
Lost in love.
There’d only been one awkward moment when the two of them had passed the alleyway that led to the Male Box, a gay sauna Spike often ended up in after a mad night clubbing. Of course that wasn’t the kind of information he was going to share with Harvey – at least not on their first date. But as they’d passed the entrance to the sauna he’d been convinced Harvey had spotted him shudder with shame. He was just about to suggest they sat down for fish and chips when Harvey had beaten him to it. Oh I bet he’s never been anywhere as nasty as the Male Box, Spike thought. Harvey was possibly the most amazing man Spike had ever met, with an absolutely mesmerizing smile. When he turned away it was like the light went out, like when you were sunbathing and a cloud came along and cast a shadow.
The blaze of the sun,
The beat of the drum,
And I was lost, lost,
Lost in love.
As their drinks arrived, Spike began telling Harvey about growing up in Peckham, the son of parents who’d emigrated from Nigeria and worked as a tube driver and an office cleaner. He explained that his real name was Abayomrunkoje, but he’d grown so bored of repeating it for people or having to spell it out over the phone that he’d started to introduce himself as Spike – a nickname he’d earned at the age of ten when his mum had found him trying to spike up his Afro hair with a jar of cocoa butter and a steaming-hot iron.
He gestured towards the National Theatre and a group of pink-and blue-haired students sitting by the entrance dissecting some old play and explained that although he’d been born in London, this kind of scene had never felt like part of his world – and he’d been brought up to think he and his family lived in their own little outpost of Nigeria.
‘So what would your mum and dad think about you eating fish and chips with a white bloke from Wigan?’ Harvey asked.
Spike smiled. ‘Oh the fish and chips they’ve got used to, man. The gay thing I’m still working on.’
For years Spike had avoided telling his parents about his sexuality as they came from a small village in northern Nigeria with no experience of openly gay people. When he’d eventually come out they’d reacted almost as badly as he’d feared, as had everyone else from the community he’d grown up in. At the same time, he’d found it difficult to fit into the gay scene and make real friends rather than just clubbing partners. And there were times recently when he’d begun to understand how it felt to be lonely, although he wouldn’t be sharing that kind of intimate detail with Harvey just yet. Harvey’s so cool, I bet he’s never been lonely in his life.
‘Well, I think you’re an amazing man,’ Harvey whistled. ‘And I reckon your story’s just about trumped mine.’
‘Yeah, well, the story ain’t over yet, man,’ Spike smirked. ‘I’m still working on my happy ending.’
My head turned,
My heart burned,
And I was lost, lost,
Lost in love.
As the music reached its climax, Spike was growing increasingly excited about the possibility of new love. And already he could tell that it would be all too easy for him to fall for Harvey. But he tried not to get too carried away, remi
nding himself that this was only their first date so he should do his best to hold back.
But holding back is going to be tough – proper tough.
*
In the car park of the studios where Lucky Star was filmed, Freddy’s eyes alighted on a long white trailer. There was a sign stuck to the door with two words written on it – Lola Grant. He took a deep breath and gave a little jog up and down on the spot. Come on, champ, you can do this!
All week he’d been thinking about Lola, reliving the moment when she’d called him handsome and turning it over in his mind. Of course he’d had no contact with her since the album launch but she’d been a constant presence in his life, appearing on the radio and in the tabloids every day as sales of her album soared. Resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t know how she felt about him till he met her again, he’d spent much of the week negotiating with Barbara Bullock to secure permission to film a behind-the-scenes report from her next video shoot. But he knew what video sets were like and didn’t expect to get any personal time with Lola – which was why he was here now.
He took her sunglasses out of his breast pocket and knocked at the door of the Winnebago. He was so nervous he felt like he was at the top of a mountain breathing in thin air. And as he felt the hot sun burning the back of his neck, he knew he was breaking into a sweat.
‘Just a minute!’
At the sound of Lola’s voice his heart began beating so strongly he could almost see it pulsing through his shirt. Just as he was wiping the sweat off his brow the door was flung open. But it wasn’t Lola – it was Barbara.
‘Oh, hi, Freddy.’
‘All right, Barbara?’
‘What are you doing here, doll?’
‘I, urm, I wanted to return these, like.’ He held up the sunglasses. ‘Lola left them with me the other night – at the album launch.’