“So listen up, Q1,” said Cole, thumping his mug of coffee onto the table. Ever since Kieran had mentioned Pete’s nickname for him on the cruise—Queer One—Cole had been hooked, calling him either Q1 or plain Q. “Gay friends of mine are coming over from Tokyo to stay with me at the beginning of December—Jon and Takamori—on their way up to Scotland to spend Christmas with like-minded folk. Apparently a whole bunch of them get together each year and they missed out last year. Staying at some kind of castle owned by friends of theirs. Sounds like a perfect antidote to Christmas. Anyway, can you stay with your sister for a couple of weeks while they’re here?”
Kieran lowered the screen of his laptop and forced a smile.
“Of course I can. Sorry, I should’ve had my own place by now.”
“Not your fault, Q. Our female brethren are famous for their fussiness. Besides, it’s been nice having you here.”
Two days ago, the promise of a flat share with a lesbian couple had fallen through when the two had finally decided they wanted another woman sharing their space, and especially their bathroom and kitchen. Kieran’s holiday money from Kennedy hadn’t stretched to him being able to put down a deposit to rent his own apartment, although now the second month’s salary from Leonard had hit his bank account, he was in a better position. But the whole process took so much time. Now he’d need to call on his sister’s goodwill again after finally giving her and her boyfriend back their space.
“I’ll call Jules later.”
“What are you doing on your laptop? Better be gay porn, or pervy chat rooms, and definitely not study. Our next module isn’t due until after Christmas. Shit, don’t tell me you’re working? On a Saturday morning?”
Cole knew how much he loved his new job. Len had instigated a regular weekly meeting with him—usually in the morning, informally, over cappuccinos and chocolate muffins—to go through his achievements. Much of the technical detail went over Len’s head, so Kieran had learnt to show rather than tell—the redesigned antique furniture website, fast and slick, allowing browsers to view the pieces in three dimensions and rotate them on the screen, the site selling listed or character buildings, which now had a handful of three-sixty-degree tours of properties online and direct links to Len’s other complementary sites, such as the antique store and the tasteful draper and haberdashery—which included a link to Steph and Laurie’s furniture renovation service. He always saved the figures until last, knowing Len’s main concern. The most recent spreadsheet showed not only the exponential rise in hits on each of his sites, over four hundred percent, but figures indicated an initial five percentage increase in sales across all sites in the last month alone. And Kieran had only just begun.
“Nah, just browsing media sites. Nothing in particular,” he lied.
He had been checking the photograph of Kennedy and Giorgio Milletto again, the one relating to the announcement of their merger. Kennedy had maintained his amazing tan and, with him looking directly into the camera when the shot had been taken, Kieran felt as though Kennedy was staring straight at him. And he knew just what that felt like. Every time, the sight gave his heart a tiny squeeze of regret. Kieran still had Kennedy’s number plugged into his phone, and a couple of times he had even been tempted to call. But each time he’d managed to resist the urge. Kennedy needed to make the next move.
“Q, honey. Not only is it the weekend, it’s the end of the month. So not only do we have time, but we also have money. Let’s head up to London and do something fabulous. You have any plans for brunch?”
“Heck, don’t remind me. I’m meeting my mother up in Waterloo. And coming out to her.”
“Oh shit, yes, I’d forgotten. Good luck with that. Even if the weather turns shite, I’m not sitting in watching more episodes of RuPaul’s Drag Race. So let me know if you need emergency cocktails afterwards. I’ll be at The Nipple Clamp in Soho for happy hour from four ‘til nine. Gerard, Nob and Lickme are joining.”
“Let’s see how things go.”
“It’s just a chill-out bar, Q. No deafeningly loud music, no pungent aroma of poppers, no sweaty bodies wrapped around each other, sliding down the walls—more’s the pity. I’ve learned my lesson. Say you’ll come.”
Cole had taken Kieran to Pulse, a club beneath Waterloo Bridge. From the moment he’d walked down the steep stairs and through the door, Kieran had disliked the crush and backstage darkness. Two men had stumbled up to him, clearly off their faces on either alcohol or recreational drugs, and both had spoken to him in their usual voices as though he could even hear anything. Even the next morning, his ears had rung with pain. Although he’d never openly complained, Cole knew he hadn’t enjoyed the experience.
Cole must have taken Kieran’s silence for refusal, because he continued his case.
“Look, darling. Despite the world painting us fabulous people onto one easy-to-point-to billboard, we’re different shades of gay. I am flaming pink and you are more of a darker red, like burgundy, more into Daddies—”
“I am not into Daddies.”
“With their beer bellies, man boobs, bald heads and hair on their bums.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll come and join you afterwards. Give you the Mum download.”
“Oooh, goss? Priceless. Now we’re talking.”
* * * *
At midday, Kieran met his mother at the Skyline restaurant in the Royal Festival Hall on the South Bank. Their table for two sat right next to the window, the whole space located above the walkway below, overlooking the Thames and Waterloo Bridge. Every now and again Kieran enjoyed treating his mother to a special meal, even though she would inevitably make a point of commenting on the exorbitant prices. Living in Hove on the south coast, she rarely came into London, so when she did he’d spoil her with lunch and a movie or a trip to the theatre. Unfortunately, this time she needed to get back by six o’clock for dinner at one of her friend’s houses.
A few years off sixty, she still looked good—happy and settled. She’d dyed her hair recently, a deep red that covered up the persistent grey. Not really one for makeup—something Kieran admired about his mum—she arrived fresh-faced and red-cheeked, courtesy of the chill weather. Over the past few years she’d had a number of boyfriends, but nothing she’d ever referred to as a relationship.
Over a glass of wine each, they caught each other up on their lives, Kieran enthusing about his new job, much to his mother’s delight, but never mentioning his month as a paid travel companion. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, he’d taken the month off to travel the country with his friend, Cole. Nice and general, not too much detail. Besides, he had bigger things to discuss with his mother. Two glasses of wine later and now on desserts, Kieran finally found a pause in the conversation to bring up the topic foremost in his mind.
“Mum, I’m bisexual. Actually, I’’m probably leaning more towards being gay.”
For a few seconds she stared at him, before smiling and nodding. After a moment, she turned her gaze out to the scene beyond the window.
“I thought you might be. Even in your early twenties you were never really into girls, not like your brother. And, let’s face it, you and Jennifer were hardly love’s young dream. Even though you told me otherwise, I never saw her making you happy, never saw that spark between you.”
“You knew? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Oh, honey. What would I have said? And, more importantly, what would you have said to me? I don’t think you even knew yourself. But a mother knows. Of all my children, you were the sensitive one, the worrier, always fretting about me, worrying if we’d be able to make ends meet. Half the time your worrying helped to stop mine, if that makes sense?”
“But how does that make me gay?”
“It doesn’t, but—I don’t know—I just saw something special in you. Of all my children, you are most like my oldest brother, Peter.”
Uncle Peter. Or Gay Uncle Peter, as most of the family had come to refer to him. Kieran liked him and
Uncle Gino. Along with his grandparents, they’d helped care for Kieran and his siblings as kids. Both men had been low-key and fun, sharing a tiny bungalow in the country that had a huge garden backing onto a farm.
Did he have the family gay gene? Kieran wondered. And was that even a thing?
His mother must have sensed his confusion, because she went on to clarify.
“Don’t get me wrong, love. I think you’d have made a brilliant husband for Jennifer. But she’d have been the one ordering you around, getting you to do what she wanted, when she wanted it done. There would’ve been no give and take. She’s that kind of woman. And I know you, dear. Eventually you’d have walked away. So better it happened sooner rather than later, when you’d have had far more to lose. Do you have someone?”
“Sorry?”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
Kieran blanched. His mother had actually used the word ‘boyfriend’ with him. As natural as breathing. No drama, no crying, no accusations. For a moment, he felt the sting of tears in his eyes.
“I did. That’s where I was in September.”
“And what’s he like?”
How the heck did he explain Kennedy to his mother?
“He’s amazing, Mum. Smart, successful, handsome, funny.”
“Sounds like somebody’s smitten.”
“No, we’re not together anymore. Just travelled as companions for the month.”
“Then he’s not as smart as he thinks. My son is a catch.”
Kieran laughed, his mother’s approval and the rumble of his own amusement in his chest lightening his mood. After coffee arrived, both of them fell quiet again, until his phone beeped with a message. Even before he’d pulled the phone out, he was pretty sure the sender was Cole. But the display announced something different altogether.
Steph: Not counting our chicks just yet, but doctor says we’re likely going to be a mother.
Kieran put his phone face down, then grabbed his wine and emptied the glass. After a taking steadying breath, he smiled weakly at his mother.
“Mum. There’s something else I need to tell you.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Kennedy
In early December, two months after the end of what Kennedy now considered to be the best holiday and the biggest mistake of his life, he found himself marching through an almost empty, unfamiliar office space at seven-thirty on Friday evening, with nobody there except the cleaning staff, most of whom stared at him suspiciously. Not that he cared. This was something he should have done weeks ago. He had been directed to the sixteenth floor and to the reception for Leonard’s office space.
Standing still, he stared around himself at the completely empty reception area as a sinking feeling filled him. But then, beyond, in the fishbowl office, he noticed the familiar dark-haired man stand up and walk to the photocopier, prodding buttons on the display.
Kennedy rarely felt unprepared, but this whim was like walking on broken glass. Without hesitation, he marched over and tapped his knuckle on the window of the security door. After peering up, the figure frowned then moved towards the portal.
“Len’s not here,” said Kieran, after opening the door for him, and before turning back to the machine.
“Oh, okay,” said Kennedy, stood awkwardly in the doorway, his back propping the door open, his hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets. “So how—uh—how have you been?”
“Fine. I’m doing fine.”
“Okay. And the job’s going well?”
Kennedy had never been very good at small talk.
“Loving it. Lots to do, but we’re getting there, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Good. That’s good. Got you working late, I see. So what’s with the suitcases?”
Kennedy recognised a large black case up against the wall, the one Kieran had brought with him for the holiday, plus a couple of other, smaller ones. At his remark, Kieran let out a small sigh.
“I’ve been staying with Cole since I got back. Had a flat-share lined up, but it fell through at the last minute. Anyway, Cole’s friends are over from Tokyo, so I’m bunking back with my sister for the week, until I get something permanent sorted.”
Kennedy stared at the sad line-up of cases until Kieran broke the silence.
“What do you want, Kennedy? I already told you Len’s not here,” said Kieran, after lifting the top of the copier, placing another sheet inside and slamming down the lid. The question sounded so harsh and direct that Kennedy faltered for a moment, unable to speak.
“I—I wanted to see you.”
“Me? Oh, let me guess. You want your dad’s watch back?”
“No, that’s not why I’m here at all,” said Kennedy, rubbing a hand nervously around his chin. “At least, not unless you come with it.”
“Unless…what?”
“You heard me,” said Kennedy softly.
“Okay, Kennedy, what’s going on?”
This time Kieran stopped his work and folded his arms.
Kennedy came into the room, let the heavy security door slam closed behind him and perched himself on the edge of a desk. For someone so accomplished in his professional life, he felt in unchartered waters here. But he had never been one to back down from getting something that he sorely needed.
“I’m going to say some things to you that I’ve never said to another living soul.”
Kennedy waited to see Kieran’s reaction, but he simply leaned back against the copier, his arms still folded.
“I’m listening.”
“You’ll need to be patient. This is somewhat difficult for me.”
“Do I need to sit down?”
“You might want to.”
Kieran wheeled over an office chair and sat with the backrest to his chest, his arms draped over and his hands clasped together.
“First off, I need to say I’m sorry. Sorry for not being brave enough to tell you how fond I’d grown of you. Sorry for not keeping in touch after the holiday, although God knows we’ve been rushed off our feet with the merger, which is all coming along nicely, by the way, with regular updates from Giorgio and Sloan. Yes, I took your advice.”
“Good.”
“And the second thing is—”
“You mean there’s more?”
“Is that as much as I feel this particular word has become bland, overused, and, in this case, is totally inadequate—I mean, for goodness’ sake, the Eskimos have fifty words for snow, so why do we only have one—sorry, getting off topic. What I mean is, Kieran, I’m falling in love with you. No, sorry, scrub that. I’m already in love with you. Have been since our tango together on the cruise. Maybe even before that, and now I’m—”
“Stop,” said Kieran, softly, which caused Kennedy’s voice to break with emotion.
“I’m second-guessing everything, Kieran. Every decision, which is not like me. I’m fucking asking for your opinion in the mirror every morning, asking you as though you’re standing there in the bathroom next to me. I can’t do this without you. Move in with me, not with your sister. You can have a spare room as long as you want, if that’s what you want. Hell, you can stay forever, which is what I’d prefer. But it’s your choice. I want you to do what you want.”
“What if I tell you I’ve met somebody?”
Kennedy’s heart sank then, all the hope he’d been storing up evaporated, and suddenly he felt a sting in his eyes. And the Greys never shed tears—his father had taught him that. Was he too late? Trying to pull himself together, he stared down at the office carpet.
“Have you?”
“What would you say if I told you I have?”
With an effort of will, Kennedy brought his emotions into check and eventually smiled, still unable to meet Kieran’s eyes. Something else his father had taught him was that even in defeat, an Englishman remained gracious, a gentleman above all else.
“I’d say that man—or woman—is the luckiest person alive. I’d tell them they’ve just hit the ja
ckpot with the most beautiful person in the world. Someone who lights the room up just by walking in and makes the person with him feel like they’re blessed. And I’d make sure they tell you so every day you’re together—”
Kennedy didn’t hear the soft movement from across the room, but suddenly found himself being enveloped by Kieran’s arms. While Kennedy wrapped his arms around Kieran’s waist, Kieran pulled Kennedy’s head down onto his shoulder.
“For fuck’s sake, Kennedy. Why couldn’t you have told me that before?”
“Because I was scared. Because I was worried I might fuck up and let you down one day. Because I’m a coward and an ass.”
“No argument here.”
Kennedy chuckled softly, and breathed in Kieran’s unique scent, one he’d missed so much. When he pulled his head away and faced Kieran, he saw that his lover’s eyes were moist, too.
“Have you really met someone else?”
“Of course not. Cole took me to a couple of clubs—gay and straight. Must say, the music’s better in the gay clubs, but it wasn’t really my scene. Neither of them were. And, more importantly, nobody looked like you.”
“Thank goodness. So will you let me try again, to be your partner, or boyfriend, or whatever you want to call us? And will you come and stay with me? If I ask you nicely? You can have your own room, if you want. Or you can—you know—sleep in mine.”
In response, Kieran pressed his lips gently onto Kennedy’s. Soft kissing soon became more, something Kennedy had dreamed about every night. Kieran also warmed to the connection, except before things got too heated, he put his hand on Kennedy’s chest and pushed him away.
Companion Required Page 20
