Pricks and Pragmatism

by J. L. Merrow

  I nodded. “If you don’t mind telling me, Mr. Matlock.”

  “He said, if I looked beneath the surface with you, I might be pleasantly surprised.” He paused, to see if I’d react to that. “So go on, Luke, surprise me. Convince me you’re not just another pretty-boy who’s only interested in designer suits and sleeping his way to the top.”

  “I got the job!” I couldn’t wait until Russell came home to tell him. I’d got on the phone and rung him at work the minute I was out of the Daily Echo building. “They’ve offered me a training contract!”

  “That’s fantastic!”

  “We’ve got to celebrate tonight,” I told him. “I’m taking you out for a meal. Where d’you want to go?”

  “Wherever you want—it’s your celebration.”

  “Okay, I’ll surprise you. See you at six.”

  I took him to Ennio’s. It’s a smart Italian restaurant down on the waterfront, attached to a small hotel. The food’s superb, but the atmosphere’s relaxed, not at all stuffy. And okay, at this rate I’d be spending my first pay cheque before I even started earning it, and yes, I was totally fishing for Russell to say their pasta wasn’t as good as mine. I wasn’t disappointed, although I think he might have been bending the truth a little, bless him.

  As we walked back home, the best part of a couple of bottles of Montepulciano keeping us warm as the wind blew in off the sea, I couldn’t remember a time I’d felt more content. It’d been the perfect evening. I almost slipped an arm around Russell’s waist—and then I remembered just how he’d probably react to that, and suddenly I didn’t feel so warm any more.

  Russell was still laughing at some daft joke I’d made, and I tried to smile back, but it just felt all wrong, with him.

  “Luke?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

  I shrugged. “Just tired, I think.”

  “Are you sure that’s all it is?” We’d stopped under a lamppost, and his eyes looked into mine.

  It hit me like a punch to the gut that one day he was going to be doing this sort of thing—going out for the night, having fun, walking home together—with someone he really cared about. They’d maybe hold hands as they walked—or maybe not; even in this day and age that sort of thing was asking for trouble. But when they got home, they wouldn’t have to pretend they were just friends. He’d kiss Russell, this bloke I’d never met and already hated. He’d tease Russell about his fashion sense as he undid the checked shirt and slipped it off those broad shoulders. He’d make a note to take Russell shopping, and then he’d forget it like he always did, because what was important was what was inside. He’d have that, all of it, and he’d take Russell to bed and show him what he’d been missing all these years. I only hoped that bloke would realise how lucky he was.

  And it wasn’t going to be me. I’d never felt so empty in my life, not even after I’d finally got up the nerve to leave Nameless Bastard and was walking ’round town with my rucksack wondering where I was going to sleep that night. I felt the weight of Russell’s hand on my arm, its touch warming my skin but not reaching my heart, and I had to look away. “Bit of a stressful day, that’s all,” I told him. “Come on, let’s go home.”

  Once we’d got back to the flat, Russell put on the kettle. “You know, you should give your dad a ring,” he said, looking intently at the coffee he was spooning into the mugs. “You can tell him about the First, and your job, and…”

  “No.” I stood. “Russell, just leave it, will you? I’m not getting back in touch with him.” I went into the living room and switched on the TV, hoping I could find something that’d distract him from taking this any further.

  It was daft—I’d got my degree, I’d got a job and I could stick two fingers up at all the bastards who’d treated me like some pretty little toy they could play with for a bit then chuck out with the rubbish when they got bored. I had everything I’d ever wanted.

  Everything.

  But I still wasn’t happy.

  The morning of my graduation, Russell was fidgeting around like mad. “Sit down, will you?” I told him, exasperated. “Anyone would think it was you who was going to have to go up on stage dressed up like you’re headed for Hogwarts.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “Have you got your ticket?” I asked, doing up my formal shirt. I’d be picking up the gown and mortarboard at Uni. “They won’t let you in without one.” Russell dug in his back pocket and waved the ticket at me. “Good. Actually, tell you what, we’ll take the spare as well—you never know, someone might turn up on the off chance, hoping for returns.” I darted into the kitchen and grabbed the envelope the tickets had come in from the letter rack, then frowned when I saw that only the cover letter was there. “Russell? What’s happened to the spare ticket?”

  I think it was the fact that he didn’t answer immediately that put me on my guard. “Russell?”

  “I, er…it got lost?”

  “Russell!”

  He squeezed his eyes shut as he spoke. “I’m sorry! I sent it to your dad! I know it was none of my business, but I thought, well, there can’t be that many Corbins living in the New Forest, and I looked in the phone book, and he was the only one, so I sent him the ticket.”

  “You what?” I felt hot and cold at the same time. “What the hell gives you the right to arse around with my private life? What the fuck did you think you were doing?” I realised I was pacing up and down the room and stopped abruptly. “Think it’s going to be all hugs and tearful reunions, do you? You can fucking well forget about that! You’ve never met my dad. The best we can hope for is that he chucked your letter straight in the bin! Even if he does turn up, it’ll just be so he can have another go at telling me what a disgrace I am to Mum’s memory!”

  Russell looked like he was about to cry, and for a moment I bloody well hoped he would. “Luke, I’m sorry, I just thought—”

  “No. No, you didn’t think. You didn’t fucking think at all.” I checked my watch and unclenched my jaw with an effort. “We’ve got to go now or I’ll be late. Come on.”

  We drove there in silence. I felt like I was about to throw up. The last memory I had of my dad was him telling me how disgusted he felt to be my father. I wasn’t sure I could handle going through that again. This was supposed to be my day—the day I showed the world what I was worth. And now, thanks to bloody Russell, it was going to be like a bad episode of Eastenders. If Dad even bothered turning up, that was.

  I didn’t even say goodbye to Russell as I slammed the car door and headed over to the Student Union building, where I had to pick up my gown. I smiled at the guys from Uni as they congratulated me on getting a First, but I was hard pushed to remember to return the favour. It was almost a relief when we all had to line up to go into the hall.

  All the guests were already there. Some of them looked ’round as we trooped in, but it was hard to see individual faces in the crowd. Graduands had to sit at the front, so I couldn’t even look ’round to see if Dad was there. As I walked up on stage, I wondered if I’d see him—but I was up there for only a minute. Shake Vice Chancellor’s hand with right hand, take diploma with left hand, move along now, next please. My gaze barely had time to fall on Russell, sitting looking miserable in the sea of proud parents on uncomfortable chairs.

  After the ceremony, there was a drinks reception in the sports hall. I wouldn’t have bothered, but we all got shepherded along there en masse. I half-expected the faculty staff to start whistling and calling “Come by!”

  Russell caught up with me inside. “Have you seen him?” he asked as we headed over towards the table where the drinks were laid out. “Look, we don’t have to stay—”

  I stopped walking, and he trailed off. I’d just realised who was making his way through the crowd towards me.

  It was my dad.

  He looked a lot older than I remembered him. And smaller—though he was still taller than me by a good few inches. I got my mum’s genes. He wasn’t smiling. Plus ce change, as To
m would say. “Lucas,” he said, and his voice sounded different too. Rougher, but not so harsh, if that makes sense, which it probably doesn’t. “Well done on getting your First.” He thrust out a hand. “You should be proud of yourself.”

  “Shake his hand,” Russell hissed in my ear, and it broke through my momentary paralysis.

  “I—thanks, Dad,” I managed, and gripped his hand briefly. It felt cold and dry. He nodded, and an awkward silence fell.

  “I’ll, um, get some drinks?” Russell suggested nervously and escaped over to the bar area.

  My dad and I looked at each other. I wondered how different I looked to him. I’d bulked up a lot since I was sixteen, but did he still see the effeminate little runt he’d tried so hard to toughen up?

  “You look well.”

  “Thanks.” Pause. “You too.”

  It did get better. By the time Russell got back with the drinks, Dad had managed to enquire about, and comment on, both my job (“I suppose you have to start at the bottom”) and where Russell and I were living (“You’ll need to be careful after dark”). He’d even invited me out for Sunday lunch sometime (“You can bring your…Russell”).

  He obviously thought Russell was my boyfriend, and I didn’t bother correcting him. With Dad making all that effort to accept me as a gay man, it didn’t seem the time to explain that Russell and I were just living together, not living together.

  There were four separate graduation ceremonies that day, so the drinks reception didn’t last long, thank God. After we’d walked out, and Russell had gone to fetch the car, I was left alone with my dad for a few minutes. We spent them scuffing our feet and trying to think of anything we could possibly talk about.

  It was Dad who broke the silence. “This…Russell. What does he do?”

  “Oh, he’s a chemical engineer. Works up at Fawley.”

  Dad nodded. “And you’re…happy with him?”

  “He’s great,” I told Dad truthfully.

  Dad sniffed. “I would have thought you could do better,” he muttered.

  I gritted my teeth and managed not to say something we’d both regret. In his own, cockeyed way, Dad probably meant it as a compliment.

  “Your dad’s, um, nice,” Russell offered as we were driving back.

  “No, he’s not.” I sighed. “But he’s my dad, and at least he was trying.”

  Russell was silent for a moment as we went ’round a busy roundabout. “I’m sorry I went behind your back like that,” he said hesitantly. “I just thought, if he didn’t turn up, at least if you didn’t know, you wouldn’t know.”

  He pulled into the parking spaces behind the flats and switched off the ignition, then turned to me, a worried expression hiding somewhere in the foliage of his face. “Are you still mad at me?”

  “Russell…” I had to look away for a moment. “You’ll never know just how tempted I was to slap you today.” As his face dropped, I leaned over and kissed him on one hairy cheek. “I’ll get over it. Come on, I could murder a beer.”

  Chapter Six

  I started work a couple of weeks after graduation. It took a bit of getting used to, but I loved the job. Seeing words I’d written come out in print—well, I’d never get tired of that.

  Towards the end of my first month, I’d just finished up for the day and was walking down Northam Road when I heard Tom’s ringtone. I’ve got it set to Bill Wyman’s “Je Suis un Rock Star” for reasons which should be obvious. I flipped open my phone. “Hi, Tom. You okay?”

  “Marvellous, Luke. Marvellous.” He paused. “Can I meet you for a drink?”

  I assumed he wanted to talk about the wedding. Russell was going to be Nigel’s best man, and I wondered if Tom wanted to ask me. I’m not even close to being his best mate, let alone the awkwardness of him being my ex, but there’s very little Tom would let stand in the way of an aesthetically pleasing wedding photo. “Well, Russell’s expecting me home for dinner, but it’s early yet. I could make it for a quick drink.”

  We arranged to meet up at El Nino. Curiously enough, it was the wine bar I’d first met Sebastian at. I’d been living with Calum, but I was fed up dealing with his shit, was on the lookout for somewhere new to live. So I’d been dancing at this place, and I think I had my shirt off for some reason that escaped me, and, well, you get the picture. I’d packed my bags the following day. Calum hadn’t tried to stop me.

  Tom flashed me a smile when he walked in, but he looked out of sorts, somehow. God, I hoped he and Nigel hadn’t had a bust-up. Just as I was wondering why the hell Tom would have called me if that had been the case, a nasty thought crossed my mind. Maybe it wasn’t just a drink Tom was after? If that was it, I was turning him down flat. Nigel was a good mate of Russell’s.

  “Luke, come and sit down.” Tom pushed a glass towards me. “I ordered you the usual.”

  “Thanks.” I picked it up and took a sip. “So what’s this all about?”

  Tom fiddled with his coaster for a minute, which wasn’t like him. Then he sighed. “Nigel asked me to have a quiet word with you. He’s a bit concerned about Russell.”

  “Russell? Why? What’s wrong? He hasn’t said anything to me about anything being wrong—”

  “Calm down. Nothing’s wrong. But, well, nothing’s right, either, if you get my drift.” He placed his hand briefly on mine. “Luke, you know I love you. But isn’t it about time you moved on? Russell’s never going to find Mr. Right with you hogging the bed. And now you’re earning, there’s no need for you to keep taking advantage of him like this. It’s time you moved out. Pour encourager les autruches, so to speak.”

  My whole body felt numb, my fingers suddenly clumsy, so I put my glass down quickly in case I spilled it. “Right,” I managed to say. “Of course. Actually, I’ve started looking for a place already. Didn’t think there’d be too much of a hurry, but if you’re concerned—”

  “No! God, Luke, no. We don’t want to kick you out on the streets. Just as long as things are moving along. That’s fine.” He leaned back and beamed at me. “Now, I’m afraid I’ve got to dash. Nigel wants to talk cakes. Soooo tedious, but one has to suffer for love.”

  I sat there for a long while after he’d gone, staring into my glass. Tom was right. I knew he was right. And if anyone deserved to find love, it was Russell. So why did I feel like someone had just opened up my chest with a steak knife and ripped out my heart?

  The numbness had gone, but God, I wanted it back. Why the hell was I feeling like this?

  Oh, God. Realisation washed over me, soothing as battery acid. I was in love with Russell. The one man I knew who had the sense not to have anything to do with me. Not in that way. It was so fucking ironic it was almost funny, but I didn’t feel much like laughing. I wanted another drink, but I couldn’t face getting up and going to the bar. I’d have to talk to people, smile at them, and I wasn’t sure I was ever going to be ready to do that again. God, why did it have to hurt so much?

  And then I heard a familiar voice calling my name. I looked up. “Sebastian?”

  He was standing by the table, his Armani suit slightly rumpled, Dior tie just a little bit askew. “Luke!” he said, beaming at me like I was the love of his life. “I’ve missed you so much! Come and have a drink with me.”

  I don’t know why I went with him. Maybe it was because he’d said he’d missed me, and I was sick and tired of not being wanted. Maybe it was just the promise of another drink. Sebastian led me over to a booth and ordered champagne. Proper stuff; none of that Moet crap. As the first bubbles tingled across my tongue, I realised how much I’d missed this. Sebastian was smiling at me with all the force of his porcelain veneers, and I knew that all I had to do was go home with him and I’d be back here every week if I wanted. I could be back drinking this stuff in his Jacuzzi; could be back to shopping at Harrods and dressing in Armani.

  Not to mention, Sebastian… Well, he was gorgeous, of course. Tall, broad-shouldered, not an inch of him that wasn’t toned, buffed and pol
ished to perfection, with discreet help from his plastic surgeon where necessary. He was solid establishment; could easily give me a leg up in my career, at least with a certain class of periodical. I’d be mad to turn him down for anyone, let alone a shy engineer with no muscle tone, mediocre career prospects and a secret comic-book stash.

  Especially seeing as Russell didn’t even want me.

  “I got my First,” I told Sebastian.

  Sebastian looked at me like he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about for a moment. “Oh! Your degree, of course. Congratulations.” He topped up our glasses.

  “Got a job too. I’ve got a training contract with the Daily Echo. Okay, it’s just the local rag, and the pay’s rubbish, but you’ve got to start somewhere, right?”

  “That’s nice. Listen, Luke, I’ve been thinking. Xander was a dreadful mistake. Why don’t you come back home? Same arrangement, obviously.”

  I hesitated, not sure what to say. “I’m sort of with someone,” I told him at last.

  Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I know exactly who you’re with, so don’t start this game with me.” He sighed. “What do you want? More pocket money? A new laptop? Clothes?” His hand reached across the table to cover mine, and I felt heat spread through me from the point of contact. “We both know you’re not seriously planning to stay with the hairy social misfit.”

  The hairy social misfit who didn’t want me. Not that way, anyway. And I was desperately missing feeling wanted.

  Sebastian’s hand tightened on mine. “Come home,” he said.

  I stood. “All right,” I said.

  “Place hasn’t changed,” I commented as we walked into Sebastian’s flat. It was almost as if I’d never left.

  “Well, it’s only been a few weeks.” Sebastian sounded impatient. “What did you expect—Sixty Minute Makeover?” He fussed about for a minute, taking off his shoes and washing his hands afterwards like he always did. “Now, do you want more wine? Coffee?”