Out!

by JL Merrow

  “Dodgy boyfriend?”

  Mark’s eyes went wide. “God, I hope not. Ellen never said… I mean, she’s only fourteen. Far too young to be going out with boys.”

  Patrick laughed. “Think you’ll find she’s got a very different opinion on that, mate.”

  Mark gave an exaggerated shudder. “You’ve seen how she dresses. No, wait, I don’t suppose you have, have you? Just take it from me, I hate to think what sort of boy she’d attract.”

  “Nah, you can’t go judging a book by its cover.” Patrick amused himself trying to imagine what got Mark so wound up about the way his daughter dressed. Skirts more than an inch above the ankle? Tops that didn’t button up to the neck? Mark seemed like he’d reckon anything short of a full burqa was dangerously revealing, where his little girl was concerned. Seriously, the bloke needed to lighten up.

  “Can’t I? That’s all people seem to do these days. Like on all these dating sites. It’s just all so…shallow. All about how much they want to jump into bed with you. I mean, Ellen and I were friends before we were anything else. That just doesn’t seem to be the way people do things nowadays.” His shoulders slumped. “God, I sound about a hundred years old, don’t I?”

  “Never mind, mate. You don’t look it. Not a day over seventy-five.”

  Mark laughed. “Don’t you start.” He picked up his pint and drained the dregs. Patrick had finished his a while ago. “Right. Are we heading off?”

  “Yeah, but I’m gonna need to take a pit stop first.” Patrick looked down at their still-bound ankles. Now he could offer to release Mark… Nah. It’d be more fun this way. “Coming?”

  Chapter Ten

  Patrick could see the indecision on Mark’s face. He was pretty sure he could see the temptation too.

  “Oh, right. Yes,” Mark said at last, and they got up and made for the gents’, where the double swing doors proved a bit awkward. There was no one else in there as they stood side by side at the urinals and unzipped. Patrick cast a glance over towards Mark’s face and nearly cracked up at the way he was resolutely staring dead ahead at the plain white tiles on the wall. “You can look if you want,” he said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  Mark’s face went as red as his shirt. “I wasn’t looking!”

  “I know you weren’t. That’s why I’m telling you, you can.” Patrick grinned as Mark’s gaze darted over for about a millisecond, then nailed itself back to the wall.

  Okay, maybe it was the beer—and Jesus, after three pints he really had needed to piss—but he wasn’t going to let that one go. “So is it all right if I take a look too? Only fair, innit?”

  “It’s a free country.” Mark’s voice sounded a bit strained.

  And yeah, it was definitely the beer, but if Patrick hadn’t already been pissing, he’d have been pissing himself laughing. He took a quick peek—and, oh, wow, that was definitely worth his undivided attention. Patrick took another, longer look.

  Just in time, as Mark shook himself off and did up his jeans. “When you’re quite ready,” he said pointedly.

  “Yep, I’m done.” Grinning, Patrick zipped up, and realised it wouldn’t really be polite to put his arm around Mark again before washing his hands. “Okay, this is gonna be a bit more difficult. Go on three?”

  Somehow they made it to the sinks without falling over, although their shoulders seemed a lot more in the way than they had before and they were both walking like they’d just got off a horse to compensate. By silent agreement, they didn’t bother with the hand dryer over on the other wall, just dried their hands on their trousers.

  “Definitely easier with a cuddle,” Patrick said, slipping his arm back around Mark’s waist.

  Just as the door swung open and a bloke almost as wide as they were together walked into the gents’. He gave them a good, long look, taking in their arms around each other and Mark’s flushed face. “Been having fun in here, have you?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Patrick loaded his voice with suggestion. Okay, that beer had a lot to answer for.

  The bloke took a step back. “Not much, no. I’ll come back when you’re, um, done.” He turned and strode back through to the restaurant like he was aiming for the world speed-walking record.

  Patrick and Mark barely made it out of the pub before cracking up.

  “Christ, did you see his face?” Mark asked.

  “Yeah, I think he was worried he was gonna be next in line for a cuddle.”

  “I don’t think he even noticed the—” Mark gestured towards the band tying their ankles together. Then he sobered. “You don’t think he’s a local, do you?”

  “Nah, never seen him before. Don’t worry about it.”

  Mark shivered, although heat was coming off him in waves where he was pressed against Patrick’s right side.

  “Getting a bit nippy, innit?” Patrick used the excuse to pull Mark in a bit closer. The breeze blowing down the High Street wasn’t all that strong, but it was definitely on the chilly side.

  “It must be nice,” Mark said after a moment. “Not worrying about things like that.”

  “You mean about people knowing I’m bent?” Patrick shrugged, one-shouldered. “Yeah, well, take me down to some dodgy part of London and I doubt I’ll be so open about it. But here in the village… People might have their opinions about it, but they’re too worried what the neighbours’ll say to voice ’em, on the whole. And it’s not like I’m the only gay in the village. It’s helped, having people like Rob around, and him and Sean getting engaged and stuff. Makes it more just part of village life. See, this is why gay marriage is so important. People say there’s other stuff that’s more urgent, like campaigning against discrimination, helping homeless LGBT kids, but it’s all part of changing attitudes, innit? Making people see we’re no different from anyone else, ’cos we get married, buy houses, raise kids and all that crap. Just like they do. You get that right, and everything else’ll follow.” He paused. “I’m up on that bloody soapbox again, aren’t I? Sorry about that.”

  “No… No, it’s fine.” Mark might have been looking at him a bit oddly, although it was hard to be sure what with it being dark and them still being tied side by side. “I agree totally, as it happens. If things had been like they are now when I was growing up… God, who knows how things would’ve ended up. Um. So, this place—not on the pub-crawl route?” Mark waved at Badgers, the wine bar, which was just over the road.

  “Nah, we didn’t reckon they’d appreciate a bunch of rowdy blokes barging in. Okay, we need to go right here, then up the hill.”

  “Oh? I thought The Hill was that way?” Mark pointed off at right angles to the way they were now going.

  “Yeah, well, that’s The Hill, with capitals. This is just a hill. Come on, keep up. It ain’t rocket science.” Patrick laughed at Mark’s expression. “No, seriously, it’s not that hard. My mum’s got a cousin who lives in a village called The Lane. Her address is 5 Mill Lane, The Lane. That’s confusing. This is easy.”

  “If I get lost on the way home, I’m blaming you. How far up is this place anyway?”

  “Just up past the houses and down the lane. That’s with small letters. But don’t worry. I’ll see you get home safe.”

  “Planning to give it your personal attention, are you?” Mark asked, and there was something in his voice, something warm and yet nervy, that made Patrick feel every inch of where they were pressed up against one another. He couldn’t judge right now if he was holding on too tightly, but fuck, no way was he gonna loosen his grip.

  The street was deserted, lined with cars parked on the road. The houses were a lot more affordable here than in posher parts of the village, and they looked it. Satellite dishes sprouted from the walls like high-tech fungi, and abandoned tricycles lay drunkenly in the front gardens. Everyone here was either still out at the pub or tucked up indoors for the night. A stre
etlamp flickered as they passed by the old Methodist church, its steep gables and austere frontage looming over them as if about to pass judgement.

  Funny, really. Patrick knew the minister a bit through work, and she was the jolliest God-botherer he’d ever met. Maybe she was trying to make up for the image the building gave out.

  “Everything all right?” Mark asked softly.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Sorry. Just thinking.”

  Mark huffed a laugh under his breath. “It’s that sort of night, isn’t it? You’ve made me think about a lot of things. God, you’ve made me talk about a lot of things. Things I haven’t really told anyone before. Christ, it’s dark up there. Is that the way we’re going?”

  They were nearly at the end of the houses, and the lane ahead disappeared into a tunnel of blackness. Patrick frowned. “Think there’s a street lamp burned out up there. But yeah, that’s the way.”

  “I hope we make it without falling into a ditch.”

  “Nah, there’s no ditches up that road. No footpath either, so we’ll need to keep an eye out for cars.”

  “It’d be supremely ironic if we ended the evening being knocked down by the rest of the Spartans on their way back home.”

  “God help us if any of that lot’s driving tonight. Nah, we’ll be fine. We’ll see cars coming a mile off.” Patrick gave Mark a friendly squeeze. “It’s just the road we’re not gonna be able to see.”

  “I hope it’s not the local farmer’s route for driving his cows to the next pasture. I’m rather fond of these shoes.”

  “Nah, worst I’ve ever stepped in up here was a dead fox. Very dead fox. Took me a whole can of Febreze to get the smell out of my trainers.” The face Patrick made at the memory was lost to the darkness, which was probably just as well.

  “Wildlife does seem to be flourishing around here,” Mark said approvingly. “Judging by the amount of road kill, at any rate.”

  “Yeah, you might wanna look at your definition of flourishing, there. Just saying.”

  Mark laughed, and God, it felt good, with their bodies still pressed together at the hip and Patrick’s arm warm from its hold around Mark’s waist, little vibrations running through them both from Mark’s laughter.

  They walked on, Patrick trailing his free hand along the hedge because, Christ, it was blacker than his dad’s heart out here, with that street lamp out. Even the moon had stayed in tonight, and the stars weren’t making a right lot of effort.

  On a dark night like this, you could kiss a bloke right on the street and no one would know. Do other stuff too, long as you kept an eye out for headlamps coming your way. It wasn’t what Patrick had planned, but sod it, maybe it’d be easier for Mark to let go like this? Him with all his hang-ups? Patrick could just suggest they stop walking for a mo to catch their breath, and then he could stop feeling up the hedge and start feeling up—

  “Is that a light up ahead?” Mark asked.

  Patrick would’ve laughed at himself if he hadn’t felt so gutted. He’d missed the boat again. “Yeah, that’s the Pig. We were nearer than I thought.”

  There was a loud cheer when Patrick and Mark walked into the Pig & Poke. And a couple of wolf-whistles too. They’d put this place last on the route for a reason—it was a bit rougher and readier than the other village pubs, more your old-fashioned sort of local where men and dogs went for some serious drinking and unaccompanied women risked being looked at a bit funny, although that was all they risked, the landlord not being the sort to stand any shite. Still, the odd touch of rowdiness was pretty much par for the course on a Friday night.

  Patrick had used to come here a fair bit while he was still at school, ’cos the landlord was a soft touch who’d sell you a pint without asking for proof you were over eighteen just as long as he knew you or you’d come in with a regular. Not so much now, though. He preferred the Three Lions, where he could arrange to meet people like Heather or Lex without worrying they’d feel uncomfortable waiting for him if he got held up.

  The lads were all clustered around the bar—no surprise there. Patrick and Mark made their way over to join them, weaving around a table full of young lads without two whiskers to rub together between ’em.

  “Thought we’d lost you,” Si said, clapping Patrick on the back and giving Mark a good-natured prod in the chest. “Thought this young lad here had led you astray.”

  Mark coughed, looking a bit embarrassed.

  “Give the poor bloke a break. And oi, where’s your other half?” Patrick couldn’t see Alasdair anywhere.

  Those two tended to stick together, maybe ’cos they were both non-English. Although, to be honest, Alasdair only looked the part, with his red hair, freckles and tall, bulky frame that seemed built for tossing the caber. He’d lived way south of the border since he was a nipper, spoke just like the rest of them and was only Scottish when it suited him, like on Burns Night when the local Caledonian Society hosted a gigantic haggis dinner and general piss-up.

  Maybe him and Si’s friendship was just down to their mutual love of cultivating big, bushy beards.

  “Well, we’re at the last pub, aren’t we? No need to stay hitched up now.” Si gave Mark and Patrick a too-knowing look. “Of course, if you two would rather stay like that…”

  Mark bent down to untie the band around their ankles a bit quicker than Patrick found totally flattering. Still, it was good to have both legs under his sole control again. The left one had been aching a bit by the time they’d got all the way up here, not that he’d have said anything about it to Mark, of course.

  “Right, do I give this back to Barry?” Mark asked, holding up the band as Patrick tried to rotate his ankle without anyone noticing it wasn’t the one he’d had tied up.

  “Give it here, and I’ll put it in the bucket with the rest,” Alasdair said over Patrick’s shoulder, standing so close his beard tickled Patrick’s ear.

  Patrick turned. “You looking after the money too?”

  “I’ve got that,” Si said. “We thought Barry might not be feeling up to the responsibility right now.”

  Barry himself stumbled up to join them at that point, dragging Rory with him. They were still tied at the ankle, but Patrick would be willing to bet it was more to do with a lack of coordination to untie the knot than to any desire to stay yoked together. Well, on Barry’s part, certainly. He was still on the fence about Rory. “All right, lads? Nobody too pished to get home?”

  Patrick reckoned Barry was the only one in danger of that. Well, maybe Rory too, now he looked a bit closer. “Yeah, we’re good. You wanna sit down for a bit? Maybe get a glass of water down you?”

  “I’ll get it,” Mark said, nipping off to the bar.

  Patrick got Barry and Rory uncoupled and then led Barry over to a chair. He hadn’t rated his chances of doing it the other way around without someone ending up on their arse. “All right, mate?”

  “Coursh I am. You shaying I can’t take my drink?” Barry blinked up at him in halfhearted boozy belligerence.

  “Perish the thought, mate. Perish the thought.”

  Mark returned with a pint glass of water. “Here you are. Probably best to drink it slowly.” He handed it to Barry, making sure the bloke wasn’t going to drop it before he let go.

  “Yeah,” Patrick encouraged him. “You drink that up, and we’ll see about getting you home to the missus.”

  Barry’s face softened. “She’s lovely, she is. You seen my missus? She’s lovely. Got great… Great…” He couldn’t seem to find the word, making vague hand gestures instead. Mark stepped back as the water sloshed in his direction.

  “Great big tracts of land?” Patrick suggested, holding back a laugh.

  “’Sright. Nosso big, though. Not ’nymore.” His soppy smile turned upside down.

  “Been on another diet, has she?”

  “An’ then shome. Dieting,
running, gym… I just wish she’d ease off a bit,” Barry slurred. “’S nuffin’ left of her. ’S like bein’ married to th’incredible—’scuse me—shrinking woman. Man likes a bit of something to cuddle at night, don’t he?” He blinked up at them.

  “Er, yes, of course,” Mark said. Patrick was still reeling from the alcohol fumes from Barry’s godalmighty belch.

  “Can’t cuddle her anymore. She’s all ribs and elbows. Worried if I get on top of her, she’ll snap—”

  “Okay, mate, we’re veering into too much information here.” Patrick slapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

  “Y’r a good bloke. But ’s all right. Rory’ll see me home, won’t you, mate? He’s my best mate, Rory is. Never let a bloke down. Never get all skinny and make you feel like a lard-arse.” Barry looked around blearily. “Where is he?”

  Patrick held back a laugh. “He went home. Si and Alasdair took him in their taxi soon as you two untied the knot. Looks like it’s just you and me.”

  “Are you going to be all right with him?” Mark asked.

  Barry staggered to his feet. “Course he will be. Course he will be. Just ’cos he’s a woofter don’t mean I’m gonna…gonna… What you incinerating?”

  Mark was frowning, so Patrick thought he’d better get Barry out of there before it escalated. “You’re the one who’s gonna get incinerated, mate, if we don’t get you home. And it’ll be the missus lighting the match. Come on. Leave Mark alone. He knows you’re a perfect gentleman.”

  “Too bloody right. Too bloody right. Ask the wife. I always give her—”

  “Too much info, remember?” Patrick gave Mark a nod as he steered Barry out of the pub and into the cool night air.

  Not exactly how he’d hoped the evening might end.

  Even if it had ended with him taking a bloke home.