Pricks and Pragmatism Page 4

  “Porn?” Tom asked, clearly not knowing what was good for him.

  “What would he need that for?” Nigel said archly. The words “when he’s got the real thing” were clearly implied.

  At least it was clear to me and Tom. I was hoping Russell hadn’t got the message. Peter and Darren looked like they were trying not to.

  “An X-Men one and a French film, actually.” I told them.

  “Ah, la cinéma française,” Tom gushed. “C’est belle.”

  “Actually, cinéma is masculine,” Nigel put in carelessly. “So that would be le cinéma, c’est beau,” and Russell and I just looked at each other and tried not to laugh.

  “Whatever,” Tom muttered sulkily. “Are we ready to order yet?”

  I’d expected Tom to make a big fuss about ordering something posey just for him, but when Russell suggested we go for the banquet menu, Tom just said, “Oh, it’s your birthday, Russell, you order what you like.” So we ended up sharing the old favourites of Dim Sum and crispy duck, and it was a lot more fun than I’d thought it’d be. Russell looked like he was having a great time, and Tom was a different bloke with someone he loved and a bunch of friends.

  Well, not that different, maybe. He still rolled his eyes when the fortune cookies arrived and muttered something about them being “hardly authentic”.

  I needed to visit the Gents after we’d eaten, and as it happened, Peter came along too. I could feel him watching me all the time, and while we were washing our hands, he came out with it. “What on earth are you doing with Russell?”

  Well. There were several ways I could have handled it. I could have said we were just mates. I could have said he was just helping me out with a place to stay. But I’d had a few glasses of wine by then, so I gave him a cheeky grin, said, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” and blew him a kiss on the way out.

  When we left the restaurant, I persuaded Russell to drop his car off home and we walked to the Frog and Frigate from there, Tom grumbling half-heartedly at the prospect, but cheering up soon enough once we’d got some drinks in. Nigel cornered me while Russell was buying a round. “You’re all right, you know,” he told me graciously, his voice only slightly slurred. I resisted the urge to tug my forelock and say “thank ’ee kindly, sir.”

  “You’ve been good for him,” he carried on. “He’s a lot happier these days.” He sniggered into his beer. “And let’s face it, a thirty-year-old virgin would have been just tragic.”

  Thank God he was too drunk to notice my reaction. Russell was a virgin? He’d never…? Never? At thirty? I mean, come on, I’d thought I’d been a late starter, at sixteen, but I’d certainly made up for it since. How could anyone live for thirty years without having sex? I’d been finding it hard enough going the last few weeks.

  Suddenly it all dropped into place. If you’d waited that long, well, you weren’t just going to throw it away on the first bit of scum that floated to the top of the gutter. You’d save it for someone special. You wouldn’t waste it on someone like me. “Got to go,” I mumbled, lurching to my feet and nearly knocking over my chair. “Got to revise tomorrow. Tell Russell I’ll see him later.”

  Nigel gave me a bleary-eyed wave, and I headed out into the darkness.

  I’d only got halfway down the street when Russell caught up with me. “Luke!” He was panting a bit. “Are you all right?”

  I smiled. I’m good at that. “I’m fine, Russell. Look, you should get back to your mates. This is your birthday party. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.” It was God’s honest truth. I wanted to sleep for a week.

  “Oh, well…to be honest, I’ve had enough, really. I’ve still got to work tomorrow. And you shouldn’t really be walking home on your own.”

  I stared at him. Because although he was a couple of inches taller than me and maybe had the weight advantage, I’m pretty much all muscle, and Russell, well, isn’t. The thought of him wanting to protect me was utterly ridiculous. And really sweet. But painful too. I wasn’t sure why. “Russell, I’m a big boy. I can look after myself.” I laughed despite myself. “But I’m touched, honestly.” And then I took his arm. Because why should those tossers have him back, anyway? They didn’t really appreciate him. Not like I did. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  The wind was blowing in off the Solent again, carrying the scents of salt, seaweed and oil in from the water. It had been a chilly day, for late May, and I was hugging myself for warmth by the time we got back to the flat. Russell had his hands jammed deep in the pockets of his suit jacket and the collar turned up. We were like two small boats battening down the hatches against an icy sea.

  “Do you want a coffee?” Russell asked when we got in.

  I stood for a moment looking out the window, across the water. It was never still, even at this time of night. Always people there, going about their lives. Going out to work; setting off on holiday. Going home. “No, thanks. I’ll just get to bed. Goodnight, birthday boy.”

  I smiled and went past him into my room. I’d been planning to offer him a birthday kiss, and maybe something more, until Nigel’s little revelation. It was just as well I’d found out. Having Russell turn me down again would only have been embarrassing.

  “Goodnight,” Russell called, sounding almost uncertain, and just for a moment I wondered… But then I heard his bedroom door shut behind him, so I pulled off my clothes, hung up my suit and kicked the rest into a corner before crawling into bed.

  It took me a while to get to sleep. For some reason, Patricia’s line from À Bout de Souffle kept running through my head.

  “It’s sad to fall asleep. It separates people. Even when you’re sleeping together, you’re all alone.”

  Chapter Four

  Russell was great while I was doing my exams. He insisted on taking over the cooking, so we ended up eating a lot of beans on toast and Russell’s version of risotto, which basically consisted of a bit of everything in the fridge mixed with rice and soy sauce. Still, it went down all right. I was starting to get a bit nervy, anyway, so half the time I hardly noticed what the stuff tasted like. It was daft, because I knew I’d done well on my dissertation—but these exams could make the difference between an Upper Second and a First, and I’d worked bloody hard all year. I didn’t want to let myself down now.

  Russell seemed to understand. He was good like that. Plus, he’d been through it all himself, of course. We hadn’t talked yet about what would happen after I’d finished my exams, but I didn’t think he’d be in a hurry to kick me out. Too nice for his own good, he was. In fact, it occurred to me, if I left it up to him I’d probably still be living there when we were in our eighties driving matching Zimmer frames.

  Although, come to think of it, I’d probably have died of sexual frustration long before that.

  My exams finished on the Thursday and okay, I’ll admit it, I was completely rat-arsed when I got back to the flat that night. Not so much three sheets to the wind as a whole bloody duvet set and pillowcase. To give you an idea how drunk I was, I doubled over laughing and nearly pissed myself at the thought of Sebastian’s face if he’d heard me mangling sailing metaphors like that.

  Russell looked up anxiously when I staggered in. He was sitting in front of the telly, eating a pasta salad out of the packaging. “How did it go?”

  “Bloody marvellous,” I slurred at him. I frowned. Slurring was not good. Wouldn’t want him to think I’d been drinking. “How was your day, darling?” I pronounced carefully.

  Russell’s whole face creased up in a laugh. “Do you have any idea at all how much you’ve had to drink?”

  I had to laugh with him. You couldn’t look at that face and not laugh. Then I took a minute calming myself down. Because I had something important to tell him, that he needed to know. “Your face is, is a laugh,” I said. Slowly, so the words wouldn’t blur together. “Like, like, if you couldn’t hear. You could look at you, and you’d know. What a laugh is. You know?”

  “I know you’re going t
o have a hell of a hangover tomorrow,” he said.

  I frowned again. “Thass not very nice. Thass. Lat’s. Oh, buggrit.” I collapsed on the sofa. “Water?”

  “Oh, yes. And quite a lot of it, unless you want to spend tomorrow wishing you’d never been born.”

  I laughed. “Firss—first time I’ve agreed with my dad in a long time, that’d be.” Russell didn’t seem to react. I frowned again. “’S a joke. You’re s’posed to laugh.”

  He didn’t. “Did he really say that to you?”

  “Say what?”

  “That he wished you’d never been born.”

  It wasn’t fair, him saying it. It was okay for me to say it, but Russell shouldn’t say it. It wasn’t fair.

  “Oh, Luke, it’s all right. Shush. Don’t cry. I’m here.” There were arms around me, and something was tickling my ear. It felt sort of nice. I didn’t want it to stop, so I twisted ’round and kissed the lips hidden in that tickly beard. They were still for a moment, and then they kissed me back.

  Russell. I was kissing Russell.

  All at once I didn’t just want it not to stop; I needed it not to stop. I clambered up on his lap and slung my arms around his neck. He was soft and warm, smelling of fabric softener and cheap shampoo. His lips tasted of mayonnaise, and I was so hungry for him I couldn’t think straight. I pushed his shirt up with one hand and bent to kiss his chest. Why the hell hadn’t we done this before?

  Suddenly I couldn’t reach. I frowned. He was holding me at arms’ length. “Luke?” he said, his face flushed and his lips redder than I’d ever seen them. I bent my head to try and taste them again, but his hands were too strong. When did his hands get so strong? “Luke,” he said again. “I’m going to get you some water, okay?”

  “Don’t need it.”

  “Yes, you do. Come on. Dehydration’s bad for the skin. Don’t want to lose your lovely looks, now, do you?”

  I slumped off his lap sulkily and watched him go into the kitchen. My cock was aching, so I gave it a couple of rough strokes through my jeans. God, he was taking his time. I leaned my head back against the cushions, hoping it would make the room stop slipping off to one side, the sneaky little bugger.

  And then I passed out on the sofa.

  The first thing I saw next morning was Russell’s face, peering down at me with a look of concern.

  “Oh, God,” I groaned, my voice unfortunately totally failing to drown out the pounding in my head.

  His beard twitched as he smiled. “How are you feeling?”

  “Indescribable. Literally. There is no profanity vile enough to let you know just how bad I feel right now.” I sat up and had to take a couple of deep breaths, trying to stave off the nausea. I was still on the sofa, but the duvet from my bed seemed to have migrated here during the night. “And sorry, by the way.”

  “You’re allowed to get drunk when you finish your Finals, you know,” Russell said with a grin. “In fact, I think it’s in the University statutes.” He passed me a glass of water. “See if you can keep any of this down.”

  “I meant…” I took a cautious sip of water. My mouth liked it, but my stomach was still reserving judgement. “Last night’s a bit fuzzy, but I’ve got a feeling I sexually assaulted you.”

  “It’s all right. I’ve decided not to press charges.”

  Something occurred to me. I frowned at him and then stopped as it made the pain behind my eyes even worse. “Shouldn’t you be at work today?”

  “Oh, I, er, I decided to take the day off. Seeing as it’s almost the weekend.” He gave me a whiskery grin. “I wasn’t sure what state you were going to be in this morning, anyway.”

  He yawned, and another cog turned slowly in my aching brain. “What time did I get in last night?”

  “It was around three, I think. But it’s all right,” he assured me quickly. “I was up anyway.”

  Russell, you silly sod, I thought affectionately, touched that he’d waited up. “I’m sorry, Russell. I’ll cook you something really nice to make up for it, promise.” My stomach roiled. “In about a decade, probably, when I might be able to face food again.”

  Later that day, when I was starting to feel a bit better, to the extent that sudden death wasn’t looking quite as overwhelmingly attractive as it had when I’d woken up, Russell came and sat down on the sofa next to me. He fiddled with the TV remote for a minute, then put it down again.

  “Luke, can we talk? Now your exams are over—”

  Stupid, the way it shocked me. I should’ve expected it. Especially after I’d made such an idiot of myself last night. It was just that he was so bloody nice. It made me let my guard down. “’Course, Russell.” I smiled. “I’ll pack my stuff up and get out of your hair. Is the next day or two all right? You’ve been great, putting up with me for so long.”

  “Luke?” He sounded hurt. “Have you got somewhere to go?”

  “Yeah, of course. I’ve got a mate called Calum, he’ll put me up.” It’d only have to be until I got a job. I could stick it out that long.

  “A mate?”

  My smile was making my face ache. I don’t think I’d had that since moving in with Russell. “You know. Friend with benefits.”

  “Oh.” He turned away and looked out of the window for a minute. The wind must be mild to nonexistent. Southampton Water was as flat as a pancake below us, looking cold and grey under a cloudy sky. “It’s been really nice having you here,” Russell said. “I just…”

  “It’s all right, Russell,” I told him before he could say anymore, because the thought of him trying to tell me tactfully that I was a worthless piece of shit was more than I could bear. It wasn’t like I didn’t know it already. “I know. You want to meet someone special. I get it. I hope you find him, you deserve it.”

  “You too,” he said, still staring out of the window. I looked at his rounded shoulders, and the way his hair curled all over the place when it hit his collar, and for the first time ever I wanted to make a fuss about leaving. I wanted to tell him Calum was a vicious little sod, and I was sick to death of selfish bastards who thought they owned me just because they hadn’t kicked me out on the streets yet. I wanted to beg him to let me stay.

  But I couldn’t do that to him. Not to Russell. So I went back to my room and I started packing up my books, and wondered if it was too early to call Calum.

  I don’t think I heard Russell come in. Maybe I just felt his gaze on me. I looked up at him, at those kind blue eyes behind those bloody awful glasses, and for the first time in my adult life I couldn’t dredge up a smile from anywhere. “Um,” he said. “I thought, well. Interest rates.”

  I stared at him blankly. “Interest rates?”

  “Um. I read in the paper they’ll be going up soon. Probably around the time you get a job? So it’d be—if you’re not that keen on this friend of yours, that is, which obviously is entirely up to you, none of my business at all, but anyway—”

  Somewhere along the way of Russell’s complex ramble, my spirits went from lying hungover in the gutter to spaced out on E’s. “You could do with some help with the mortgage?”

  Russell burst into a relieved smile. “Yes, that’s it. Only when you’re earning, of course.”

  “Right. Well, I wouldn’t want to leave you in the lurch,” I told him, a big grin on my face to match his. “Not after, you know, everything. So, what do you fancy for dinner?” I grimaced, as my stomach reminded me how I’d mistreated it last night. “I was thinking something plain.”

  Russell laughed. “That’d be fine.”

  I got out my laptop and started looking for a job the following Monday. Even with Russell’s super-fast connection some of the sites took a minute to load, so I found myself staring out of the window at the harbour below. I wondered if Russell had made anymore holiday plans since the last time we’d spoken about it. He hadn’t mentioned anything, and I hadn’t been tripping over holiday brochures in the flat, but it was easy enough to book stuff online in your lunch hou
r. But he’d have said, right, if he was going away? So maybe we could do that trip to France like we’d joked about? Not with Tom, obviously. But it’d be nice, just me and Russell.

  Anyway. Sitting there daydreaming wasn’t getting me anywhere. I updated my CV and made sure I had a cute photo attached. I’ve got the sort of looks that appeal to women as well as men, so I reckoned they’d get me an interview at least. That’s all you need, if you’re any good; a foot in the door.

  That reminded me to give Amit a ring. Amit was a…well, I wasn’t really sure what he did, precisely, but he’d got a finger in a lot of pies, business-wise, and he knew everyone. I’d met him a few times when I was with Sebastian and, put it this way, he’d been all over me like Kate Moss on coke. Allegedly. I didn’t think he’d turn me down if I asked him out for a drink.

  I didn’t reckon he’d turn me down for anything.

  “Russell?” I said over supper that night. “I’ve got a date this evening—so if I don’t come home tonight, no need to call the police.” Because he would. Russell was just that kind of bloke. Last week had proved that. “Russell?” I asked again. He seemed a bit distracted. Maybe he’d had a bad day at work.

  “Oh. Sorry. So, er, you’ve met someone? That’s. Um. Nice.”

  I laughed. “Nah, it’s not that kind of date. This is just some bloke who might be able to give me a hand finding a job. Get your mortgage paid off quicker.”

  He didn’t look exactly grateful. “So why would you need to stay out all night with him?”

  For a thirty-year-old, he was bloody naïve. “Russell, it’s the way of the world. I want something from him. He’s going to want something from me.”

  Russell pushed his plate away roughly, his food only half-eaten. First time I’d ever seen him leave pasta. I was a bit hurt, to tell the truth. I’d made that sauce ’specially because he’d said how much he liked it last time. “People do help other people without expecting them to jump into bed with them!” he snapped.