by Fabian Black
Dee-Dee pulled a face. “Trust me to have a disaster just as she steps out of her lair to go shopping. Talk about bad timing.”
“As a matter of interest why are you lugging a grow bag into an apartment which doesn’t have so much as a window box let alone a greenhouse?”
“I like tomato sandwiches,” he said.
“What has that got to do with anything?”
“They were selling the grow bags at Tesco for next to nothing, sale stuff. I thought I might stick it in the bath and have a go at growing tomatoes in it, save money on my food bills.”
“Most folk grow indoor tomatoes in pots on a sunny windowsill not in grow bags in the bath. There won’t be enough natural light and heat in there.”
“Shit. I never thought of that.” His Snow White blush made an appearance. “It seemed a good idea at the time. I suppose I could put the bag in the living room. It’s bright in there.”
“Then you’d get water all over your floor. Besides it’s a bit late in the season for growing tomatoes. You need to plant them in the spring, unless you’ve bought a special indoor variety of plant for autumn growing. Have you?”
“No,” he said gloomily, “I couldn’t find any actual plants. I bought a packet of seeds. Tesco were selling those off as well. They only cost me ten pence. Guess they’re not much good.”
“Not until the spring anyway.” I said.
“What a waste of money. Took me ages to walk home with the bag as well.”
There was a moment of awkward silence.
“I haven’t seen you about, Dee-Dee. I thought you might have called in to say hello and let me know how you’re doing.”
“I got the impression you needed some space, plus I didn’t want you thinking I was a sponger always looking to soak up stuff for free.” He shrugged. “You could have called on me. Why didn’t you?”
I thought for a moment. “I suppose I didn’t want to crowd you or make you think you were somehow beholden to me for lending you money.”
“Both daft arses then. It’s nice to see you now.”
“Ditto.” I gave his shoulder a light slap. “Come on. Grab a brush. Let’s get this mess cleaned up. We’ll chuck it on the flower beds out the back, give them a boost.”
It didn’t take long to sweep up the dry compost and return it to nature. As we walked back into the building I pointed at his eyes, asking, “why pink?”
“I was a bit down when I woke up this morning. In the psychology of colour, pink is a positive. It’s supposed to offer hope.”
“So what are you hoping for?”
“Well I was hoping to see you and I have so it shows the psychology works.” He beamed a smile. “Who needs expensive therapy when you can just bung in a pair of pink contacts. They should be on prescription. Are you coming to mine for a cup of tea?”
“Depends where you got the bags from.”
“Tesco.”
“In that case I’d love a cup.”
I gazed around his kitchen as he filled the kettle with water. “Looks better than the last time I saw it, no smelly rubbish bags on the table for a start.”
“Yeah,” he laughed, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s amazing what you can do with hot water and a splash of Flash. It was good to get the place cleaned up properly, and me too. I was starting to get depressed. Thanks again, Si, for helping me out. It was good of you.”
“Got you boiler fixed okay?”
“Yep. It was more expensive than I thought it would be, but it’s done and under guarantee. My electricity debts are settled and, as you can see, I’m reconnected.” He plugged the kettle in. “The washing machine was well fucked though, no surprise really, it was damn near as old as me. I had to get a replacement. I could only afford a refurbished one, but it does the job.”
I studied him critically. He hadn’t put weight on since I’d last saw him. “How are you managing on the food front, you’re not going short I hope? I’d be annoyed to think you were still going hungry while I was upstairs with food to spare. Do you need to borrow a little more money?”
“I’m okay, Si, honest.” He grabbed a couple of blue earthenware mugs from a cupboard and popped a tea bag into each from a box on the worktop. “I’m not dining on caviar and champagne. I’m on basic fare, but it’s still a luxury compared to bin scrapings.” The kettle boiled. He poured the water into the mugs, stirring each one.
“Have you been to see your solicitors about getting a rise in your allowances?”
“I went to their offices. I couldn’t bring myself to go in. It felt like begging.”
“It’s your money. I’m sure your uncle wouldn’t want you going short.”
“I’ll manage. I’ll have to learn to budget better like you said.” He handed me a mug of tea.
“Make an appointment, Dee.” I took a sip of the industrial strength brew. “Get it sorted. I’ll come with you if you like, for a bit of moral support. Solicitor’s offices can be intimidating places.”
“My uncle’s firm is. The building is like something out of a Dickensian novel. I don’t think it’s had a makeover since Victoria was on the throne. I’m sure uncle Desmond used it in one of his books. The Runaway Heiress.”
There was a note of reverence in his voice as he said the title. I couldn’t resist teasing. “Let me guess, a handsome alpha solicitor takes on a hissy heroine and turns her into a purring pussycat with a few choice words and a trip over his knee. Subjugator and subjugated then live happily ever after in a spanky paradise.”
“Actually, Simon Putney, it was nothing of the sort,” he said snootily, giving me a very pink look. “It was a client of the solicitor. He was a lord of the manor and the runaway heiress was his ward.”
“I stand corrected.” Raising my mug I offered a solemn toast. “To runaway heirs and esses everywhere and to the alpha men who hunt them down and bring them to heel.”
“You’re a bad man. If I was a Top type I’d spank you for making fun of me.” Laughing he chinked his mug against mine.
“So.” I put my mug down. “You’ll make an appointment and I’ll come with you to make sure no domineering solicitor spanks you for daring to ask for more. Try to get one in the next two weeks, before I go back to work.”
He gazed at me thoughtfully. “You asking or telling me to make an appointment?”
“Ultimately it’s up to you, Dee. I think it’s a good idea. Why struggle any more than you have to?”
“I’ll make one on Monday.”
“Good. It makes sense. What’s on your dinner menu for this fine summer evening?”
“Beans on toast.”
“What did you have for lunch?”
“Toast.”
“Breakfast?”
“Cup of tea and an apple.”
“You’re not eating enough.”
“I know, but at least I’m not starving, Si. Two more weeks and I’ll be able to buy more.”
“Have dinner with me tonight. I’m doing my Saturday night special, juicy rump steak, pork sausages, battered onion rings and chips, only oven chips, but with my own special twist.”
“What twist?”
“I slather them with olive oil and sprinkle them with chilli flakes, rock salt and sliced peppers. They’re delicious.”
“You don’t mind sharing?”
“Would I ask if I did? Come on, Dee. Have dinner with me. I enjoy cooking far more when I’ve got company. You’ll be doing me a favour.”
“All right. Thank you.” He was suddenly shy again, lowering his eyelashes, which was something of a relief given the colour of his eyes.
“I must go. I’ve got some work to finish off. Term starts soon. I’m preparing lessons.” I abandoned my super strength tea and rose to my feet. “I’ll see you this evening, about sevenish. The dress code is informal, but normal eye colour is obligatory.”
He made a sad face. “You don’t like my rose coloured lenses?”
“They’re not rose. They’re bright pink like a
n albino rat’s or a rabbit with myximatosis. I hate them.” I said cheerfully. “It’s like speaking to someone wearing mirrored sunglasses. You can’t see the person or make a guess at what they’re thinking. I like to see people’s eyes when I’m talking to them.”
“Normal eye colour it is.” He walked me to the door. “What side of sevenish shall I come, Si, the early-ish side or the later-ish side?”
“Surprise me,” I said, raising a hand in farewell.
Chapter Fifteen
After finishing my batch of work I had a tepid shower and changed into a fresh top and jeans before making a start on dinner. It was true what I’d said about enjoying cooking more when I had company. Meals cooked and eaten alone were just meals, but meals shared were an occasion, one of the little pleasures in life.
The meals I had shared with James had always been cooked by me, except for the rare occasions we dined out in a restaurant. He had never cooked me a meal and I rarely saw the inside of his house. My place. My cooking. My sofa. My bed. Such was the pattern of our relationship. After my probationary period I had wanted to apply for a permanent post at the same school as James, but he persuaded me it would be better, simpler, if I worked at a different location, to reduce the risk of gossip developing. I was glad of it now.
I glanced at the fridge, at the space where James’s photo had been. Since discarding my blinkers, thoughts of him brought a gnawing sense of emptiness, not only because he was no longer in my life, but because he had never been in my life in any real sense. He had made stops, but never with the intention of staying. “Like my bloody father.” I said aloud and then winced. Jesus! I swiped a hand through my hair. Where had that thought come from?
I opened a bottle of wine and poured a glass, taking a long drink of the smooth full-bodied Merlot. I hadn’t heard from James, not directly anyway, since moving to the bakery. I doubted I’d hear from him again, not unless I pushed the matter and either physically visited or phoned him. I wouldn’t, couldn’t, not now. I felt too much of a fool. Him asking me to be his best man had been more than a payoff. It had been the drawing of a clear line, for him anyway. It had taken me longer to recognise it enough to stop stepping over it. His life was with Kye now, no looking back. Maybe things would have been different if I were a clingier type, if I’d made more demands of him.
Tears dried, I took another swig of wine, took a deep breath and got on with preparing dinner. I set the table first and then put the sausages in the oven and the steaks in a griddle pan ready to cook to order. I liked mine rare, but had no idea how Dee-Dee liked his steak.
My intercom buzzed at exactly seven o clock. I couldn’t help but smile as I heard his voice. He sounded eager, like a kid waiting for Christmas.
“Is it okay if I come up now, Si? It is sevenish enough?”
“Perfect, come up. I’ll open the door ready for you.”
He was wearing faded jeans and a white shirt with a pale blue pinstripe. The collar was a little frayed, but it was obviously his smart shirt. The absence of shoes and socks somehow added a gauche sexiness to the outfit. I stifled a reaction in my groin area.
“Misplaced your shoes again I see.”
“Not exactly.” He wiggled his toes. “They were grubby so I put them through the washer this afternoon. I think they’ve shrunk because I couldn’t get them on afterwards. They might fit again when they dry out properly. I’ve stuffed them with newspaper to try and re-stretch them.”
I shook my head. “That’s another thing to put on your essentials list, some new shoes. If they don’t stretch to fit I’ve got some flip flops you can borrow to tide you over.”
“This is for you.” He thrust an A5 size envelope at me. “I couldn’t afford to buy a decent wine to bring, so I thought you might like this drawing.”
“You didn’t have to bring anything, but thank you.” I opened the envelope. I must have looked apprehensive.
He gave his husky laugh. “Don’t worry, Si, it isn’t of Anne.”
I gave a gasp of admiration as I withdrew the picture. It was a small but stunning colour pencil sketch of a sparrow amongst a throng of sunflowers. “Oh, God, Dee. It’s beautiful.”
He looked pleased. “Do you really like it?”
“Like it? I love it. Boy, can you draw.”
“I did it after visiting Jen a while back. I took sunflowers and sat with her all day. The sparrow came down to investigate the flowers. I watched it for ages. It got stuck in my head. I had to draw it to get it out.”
I put the drawing back in the envelope and propped it on a bookshelf. “I saw you going into the cemetery carrying the sunflowers when I was driving past. I wondered if you were visiting your friend and uncle.”
“Uncle Desmond isn’t buried. He specified a wish to be cremated, it was in his will. He didn’t say about his ashes, whether he wanted them scattering or burying. I’d have kept them, but Anne took them back to New York with her. I think he would have preferred to stay here. He was never a one for travel. I go in his study when I want to remember and feel close to him.”
He looked teary. I moved to distract him. “Thank you for the sketch, Dee-Dee. I’ll have it framed and treasure it. Come in the kitchen and have a glass of wine. You can slice up some peppers for me.”
“Ah.” He followed me into the kitchen. “I’m to be the chef’s assistant. Does it pay well?”
“No, but you have the pleasure of my company and all the spiced up oven chips you can eat.”
“Sounds like heaven.”
“How do you like your steak cooked, rare, medium or well done?”
“It’s been so long since I had steak I’m not sure.” He wrinkled his nose, considering. “I’ll go for well done, to be on the safe side. I don’t want to show myself up by fainting if it bleeds on me.”
“In that case I’d better put yours on to cook now.”
By the time the food was cooked and on the table we’d almost finished the bottle of wine between us. We’d chatted as we prepared the meal, but we ate in near silence, a comfortable silence, each of us concentrating on enjoying the food.
After clearing his plate, Dee-Dee slumped back in his chair with a blissful sigh. “That was the best meal ever.”
“Ever?” I asked quirking an eyebrow.
“Ever.” Reaching for his wine glass he drank off the last drops and set it back down. “I haven’t had that much meat since the last one night stand I told you about, hung like a stallion he was.”
“Dee-Dee!” I almost choked with laughter on the mouthful of wine I’d taken.
“Sorry, Si, was that too much information?”
“Totally. I’m shocked.” I reached for his empty plate, stacking it on top of mine. “As a penance you can wash up.”
He grinned. “Fine by me. I was going to offer anyway.”
“Do you want dessert? I’ve got some Ben & Jerry’s apple pie ice-cream.”
“I’d love some, but not at the moment. I’m too stuffed, maybe later though.” He pinked. “If it’s okay for me to stay for a while. I’ll go if you want me to, when I’ve done my penance.”
“Of course it’s okay.” I stood up. “I thought we might watch a film again. I’ve bought some new Blu Rays, recent releases.” I carried the plates over to the worktop next to the sink. “I’ve got ‘Dredd,’ ‘Looper’ and ‘The Bourne Legacy,’ the new one with Jeremy Renner. I missed them all at the cinema, so I’m looking forward to watching them.”
“It’s easy to see what kind of men you fancy.” He followed me across the kitchen, opening the cupboard under the sink to get out the washing up liquid. “Action men with ripped bodies.”
“Everyone loves an action man.”
“True.” He squirted liquid into the washing up bowl and turned on the tap. “Karl Urban is especially hot. I can imagine him being a natural alpha, even when he’s not playing a role.”
“I can see it all.” I swept a mystic hand through the air. “Judge Dredd, marching in and sentencing cr
iminals to a severe spanking for being naughty.”
Tilting his head forward, as if peering over the top of a pair of glasses, he gave me a scolding look. “I shan’t be confiding in you again.”
“Really, so you won’t be telling me just how well hung your stallion friend was?”
“He was eight and a half inches with balls the size of oranges.” He pulled a face. “It made me feel inadequate. I’m strictly mister average in the penis department, just under six inches at full stretch.”
“I’m nine and a half at attention.” I said casually.
“NINE!” He almost dropped the plate he was washing. “Seriously, nine and a half inches?” His gaze filtered down to my crotch area. “Wow, Simon, that’s some package.”
“Too much of a one at times.” I admitted. “It has disadvantages, when using a public urinal for example. Not even straight men can keep their eyes off my dick. I’d prefer something a bit smaller to be honest.” It was true. Gay and straight men love the fantasy of a huge penis, but the reality is something else. The thought of being penetrated by something the size of a truncheon scares a lot of men and women. Bigger isn’t necessarily better. Sex could actually be uncomfortable and finding comfy underwear was another problem.
I picked up the plate he’d washed and dried it. “I hated the communal showers after sports at school. Everyone used to call me King Dong.”
“I suppose it’s like those ladies who have really big breasts.” He put a second plate on the drainer and then plunged the griddle pan into the washing up bowl. “People objectify them because big breasts, like big penises are the stuff of porn fantasy. People see only the parts and not the whole person.”
I nodded agreement. “And they expect you to fulfil the fantasy. It’s definitely better to be average.”
He put the washed pan onto the drainer and then gave me a playful grin. “Remind me never to tell Anne I have a friend with a nine inch plus penis or she’ll be asking me to take a cast she can use as a dildo mould.”