by Clare London
But things weren’t the same. Jesus, that sounded like he was pouting, like a schoolkid who couldn’t get his own way. Garry wasn’t too good on the phone at the best of times and, unlike their usual daily chats, he struggled with the “hello” stuff, and especially the “goodbye” stuff. He expected to hear Will knocking on the door to take him out for a beer, sitting beside Garry on the bus, stealing the chilli off the top of Garry’s late-night kebab.
Garry supposed he’d have to look into learning to Skype.
MAX HAD arrived back at the seats with provisions and proud tales of having fought off marauding tribes of rabid passengers for the remaining food. Garry looked at the squashed packet of fries and admitted that it did indeed look like it had gone four rounds with Genghis Khan and lost on points. Max plumped it on Garry’s lap and settled himself back into his chair.
Garry lifted the packet, looked at the grease stain on his jeans, and finally abandoned any hope of saving his clothing.
They started to munch on the fries with familiarity. Garry left the longer ones for Emily and let Max take the first handfuls. He thought briefly about just pouring the ketchup onto his knees for them to dip into it, but decided that was a little extravagant. Far more fun to see the gradual recolouring of the denim to a dark—and erratically spotted—crimson hue. The announcements started up again with some hope that rescheduling had occurred. A few of the flights were arriving earlier than expected. The Delay was being reduced.
Refreshed after her snack, Emily peered at Garry with barely suppressed glee. “He’ll be here soon,” she assured him. “Will.”
“Okay.” Garry smiled. “I know. It’s cool.”
She turned to her brother with the unmistakable light of triumph in her eyes. “Will is his special friend. Will gets him sweets. They’re going to have six kids like me.”
“No!” Garry gasped. The Twilight Zone music hammered in his head like a heavy rock anthem. His eyes had rolled so frequently today he’d need a trip to the optician.
Max snorted, unimpressed. “Men can’t have kids, stupid.”
Garry shut his eyes, briefly, and waited for them to start fighting—or probing his love life again. If he were a religious man, he’d have prayed to whatever patron saint there was of embarrassed young men and oversensitive young girls.
But Emily seemed to have recovered her equilibrium now. She glared at Max and shrugged as if everyone knew—didn’t they?—that her brother was only one evolutionary step up from ketchup itself.
“Where there’s a wheel,” she said, in a sing-song voice.
Garry studiously avoided catching Max’s eye, and the brotherly contempt he knew would be there.
Emily’s gaze swung back to him. “Will’s special, isn’t he, Garr-ee?”
Garry groaned inside. “Umm. Yes, of course.”
Umm… yeah… very much so. His gut was cramping again, and he knew it wasn’t the fries.
Emily stuck her tongue out at her brother as if to say “See?”
“Why?” Max was finally pitching in with his inimitable contribution. “Why’s he so special?”
“He’s bright and brainy. Sporty. Loves music, though not always the same stuff as I do.” What the fuck am I doing? Garry was astonishing himself more than anyone. Suddenly he wanted to talk about Will—he wanted to have him beside him, and if he couldn’t have the man himself, he wanted him in his mind, in his words. “He’s loyal and thoughtful and confident.” And gorgeous and generous and more than hot in that blue shirt I helped him choose last summer…. “He more or less saved my life once, when I got a cramp in the swimming pool. He lent me money until I got settled in my flat. He’s helped me in my work. He laughs at my jokes. He remembers things I said and did—oh—months ago.” Garry smiled, his mind far away now with memories, though he didn’t miss out of the corner of his eye the smirk Emily half-hid behind her hand or Max’s raised eyebrow.
“That’s so sappy.” Emily giggled. Max punched her on the arm, and she snorted back at him.
“So you told him all this,” Max stated, as if needing to check something off.
“No.” Garry’s mind was full of strange thoughts and emotions. He was amazed his voice still sounded the same. “Well, I said something to him about it… did something. Last time we met up.”
The bar. The bumbling. The kiss.
God. No, the memory definitely didn’t get any easier.
“I didn’t do it properly. Not at all.” I fucked up. “You have to be careful about these things, even with your best friends. Stuff like that, you know?”
“No I don’t know” came Max’s prim voice. “Adults are very poor at explaining stuff. That’s a word they use when they can’t be bothered with kids.”
Garry wasn’t really listening. “He looked at me like I was mad,” he said slowly, feeling his face reddening at the memory. “His mouth just hung open—he obviously couldn’t find anything to say back to me. I made a speedy exit, of course. Haven’t referred to it again. Neither has he. He’s forgotten all about it.” I hope. Though I don’t wish. The kiss had been spectacular for him. Clumsy and stupid, but very, very special.
The stuff of dreams.
“He thought you were under the elephants,” Emily announced cheerfully. “That’s what beer does to you.”
The influence of something, Garry thought. But not alcohol. Of Will himself. The taste had been sweet in a way his dreams had only imagined.
Sweet and anguished.
The PA system twanged in the background, and a new announcement nagged him to listen. The Delay was almost caught up; there’d be no need for travellers to spend the night on the chairs. A few people cheered tiredly. A list of flights now arriving over the next hour or so appeared on the screens, and the loudspeaker rolled the numbers out of its electronically modulated mouth, slowly and with inappropriate relish. One of the first numbers announced was familiar to Garry.
Will’s flight would be arriving soon.
“Mum says—”
Max groaned theatrically, wrenching Garry’s attention back to the kids. Garry was glad of the distraction, really. There was a strange ache in his chest that was a mixture of confusion and an overwhelming desire to return to that evening of honesty—even if Will never forgave him.
“Mum says,” Emily continued, “that men-who-don’t-have-wives mess about.”
Huh? Garry thought it sounded like he’d been discovered peeing in the sandpit, or painting with his hands on the living room wall. “I don’t know what you mean, honey.”
Max coughed to gain his attention. “What Mum actually said was that they fool around. That’s what all her friends say. Actually,” he went on, and his face had gone a bit red. “Actually, what her friends really say is that single men like to screw ar—”
“Okay, that’s enough, I think!” Garry interrupted quickly.
“Why?” Emily looked surprised. “And it’s rude to butt in.”
“Please,” Garry said and could hear the heartfelt plea in his voice. What the hell was this business of apologising all the time to minors? “I want you to know that not everyone’s like that. Not every single man, anyway. I mean, I’m not like that. I’m pretty sure I’m not.” He cast his mind back over a sex life that was notable for its careful respect but intermittent frequency, and he felt more than embarrassed about discussing this with children. “Guess I’m still waiting for the right person to come along.”
Emily looked up at the announcement board and then back to him. “Fifty-five minutes,” she said. Her words were clear and she obviously didn’t expect any argument from him. “That’s how long you have to wait for him.”
Garry stared.
Yes—resistance was futile.
THE ATMOSPHERE in the lounge was one of anticlimax. The passengers’ anger and frustration had largely dissipated; people were tidying up their messes and getting ready to complete their journeys.
Garry couldn’t remember what his lounge-rage felt like. It had p
assed and been superseded by something worse. His mouth was dry and his thudding heart seemed to be pushing the nausea up into his throat in waves.
Max leant back in his chair, thumbs flashing over his game and his eyes glued to the lights and figures. Emily seemed to have dropped off to sleep on Garry’s arm, and he didn’t have the heart to move her just yet. Plenty of time before Will’s flight arrived. Plenty of time to rework his welcome speech, his apology, his rueful recovery. Plenty of time to find Emily and Max’s elusive parents and try to tidy up the mess.
And he didn’t mean the kids.
“Garr-ee?” Emily’s voice was very soft and sleepy. And really quite adorable.
“Yes, honey?”
“Are you upset you can’t have kids?”
He brushed his lips against her hair. He was quite used to her special little-girl smell now, a mixture of soap and sugar and the tang of petrified ketchup. If he were truly honest—though he mightn’t have said it aloud—he’d miss her and her bookend brother when they all moved on.
“No, love,” he murmured. “It’d be difficult to find another one as sweet as you.”
She wriggled against him, obviously pleased. “So are you homey special?”
He frowned. He didn’t want to keep questioning her, but this one had him foxed. No combination of vowels or spoonerism made this one clear.
Max barely moved his head, but he answered as usual for her. “She means ho-mo-sex-u-al.” He enunciated every syllable as if it were a marble in his young mouth. He seemed extremely proud to have pronounced it correctly.
Garry’s mouth fell open and stayed there. His gran would have told him sharply he could catch flies. “Max, does she know what that means?” He looked down at Emily’s messy blonde head and then across to Max’s. “Do you?”
“You like to kiss boys, not girls,” Emily said, in her sing-song voice. It didn’t seem to faze her.
“Something like that,” Garry said. That kiss….
“We know,” Max said. He stabbed at the Game Boy, concentrating on a battle. The subject of personal sexual preferences didn’t seem to faze him either.
“Mum calls you happy.” Emily giggled.
“Huh? But I don’t know your mum.”
“She says men like you are happy!”
Garry stared at her, uncomprehending. He’d rarely felt less happy in his life.
“She means gay,” Max said, and he was grinning.
Garry grinned too. He hadn’t heard anyone connect the alternative meanings that way for a long time. “Kids, does it upset you?”
Max snickered. “No, of course not. We’re used to lots of different people. Do you think we’re babies or something?”
“No,” Garry said. “Perish the thought.”
Emily yawned and lifted her head. “So do you kiss Will?”
“That’s enough about me,” Garry said, firmly. “Adults don’t like discussing these things out loud, you know.”
“You should,” she muttered. “’Specially if you love him.”
Ouch.
“Emily, please don’t worry yourself about people you don’t really know. It’s not a question of love. You get your words mixed up, honey.”
“Not always, I don’t.” She sighed.
Garry looked to Max for masculine support.
“Not always, she doesn’t,” the boy said. He looked across at Emily, then his eyes dropped back to his game. Emily snuggled back up against Garry and fell silent.
Why do I feel I’ve been outmanoeuvred again? Garry was out of his depth. It was the same feeling as missing the plot of a movie because he was still out in the foyer, deciding what popcorn to buy. Or catching Allen and Leonard exchanging sinister little glances over his head when he had no new love life stories to report.
The loudspeaker twanged. Will’s flight was due in fifteen minutes.
Emily was a soft, gentle weight on his arm. Garry found it quite soothing. He could feel the tiredness catching up with him as well, now, and he yawned. “Your sister is really something,” he murmured to Max.
Max coughed pityingly. “I know. That’s what my uncles say all the time.”
WHEN WILL actually, finally arrived, Garry risked missing him. He was asleep on his chair, his long legs bent up awkwardly on top of his bag and his tangled hair trapped between the back of the chair and his left ear. His head lolled down onto his shoulder at an awkward angle, as if it had been resting on something supportive but lost it somewhere along the way.
Someone leaned over him and coughed loudly.
He opened his eyes a little painfully, squinting into the still-bright lights of the lounge. A man stood in front of him, dark hair, broad shoulders, patiently waiting. Garry straightened up, groaning aloud.
“Will? Shit, I can’t believe it. After all that, I fell asleep!”
“Garry.” Dark blue eyes ranged over him; a smile brightened the travel-weary face. “Dammit, you waited.”
“Hi,” Garry said. “Yeah, of course I did. You asked me to.” His heart was thumping again, maybe from the shock of waking suddenly. “It’s good to see you.”
Whoa there, Mr Witty.
Will just smiled.
Garry stared back for a long moment. There was something indefinably different in his friend’s attitude. Tension? Nervousness? Maybe it was due to the stress of the delayed flight. And Garry knew plenty about stress, didn’t he? Stretching out his arm, which was painfully stiff from hugging Emily to him, he looked around. Neither of the kids was anywhere to be seen.
“I didn’t like to assume,” Will said. “But I really hoped….” His voice was unusually hesitant, but his smile was full of pleasure. “You see, I wanted some time with you before we go on to the hotel. Otherwise we’ll soon be meeting up with the others, and although I’m looking forward to that, it means we don’t get time together on our own. The way we usually do, at home. The way I’ve missed, this week.” For a second his eyes looked oddly unfocussed. “Do you mind?”
“Mind?” Garry still felt a little disorientated. Where were the kids? Were they okay? Why was Will acting so weirdly? “Of course I don’t mind.”
“I’d like to talk to you about some… stuff.”
Stuff? Will didn’t use slang like that. Will was always articulate, choosing his words carefully and without waste. Will was the epitome of self-confidence and assertiveness. Garry wasn’t surprised in the slightest that Will had nailed the transatlantic job.
Just bereft.
He looked more carefully at his friend. Despite his weird behaviour, Will looked okay. His clothes were creased and probably a little sweaty, but he looked damned good. As always. Garry’s throat tightened. “You look really good in that blue shirt, Will. Guess you always know how to dress for the occasion.”
Will’s gaze slipped over Garry’s body again. “I wish I could say the same for you.”
His smile took any offence out of the words, but Garry looked down with dismay at the ketchup on his jeans and the palette of stains all over his shirt. “Hell, I need to freshen up. Perhaps we could go find some coffee or a beer or something. What was the stuff you wanted to talk about?”
Will took a deep breath. He looked around the lounge, then dropped his bag and sat carefully down on the next chair. His thigh pressed against Garry’s. “It was about what happened the last time we were out together.”
“Last time?” Oh, bloody hell. “Will, look….”
Will shook his head. “Stop right there.” He grimaced. “I’ve been stuck for seven hours on a flight—plus delay time—in a narrow seat, with nothing but egg-and-cheese wraps, Disney on the screen, and a fellow passenger beside me who told me every detail of how tin cans are made. Whether I was interested or not. I’ve had plenty of time to think.”
“Think?”
“About how we’ve been stepping around it, ever since. How you never want to talk about it. And how I don’t feel I can push you about what’s going on.”
“And that�
�s… what?”
“It’s been worrying me ever since,” Will said, more or less ignoring Garry’s pathetic responses. He looked very determined. “How I reacted. How you took that reaction. That I may have given you the wrong idea.”
“Wrong idea?” Garry felt he’d spent most of the last day of his life trying to make sense of other people’s conversations. “Look, fuck, no problem. It was all my fault. It was just the excitement of hearing about your job. High spirits, you know. You moving on—”
“Do you know how long it took me to agree to go on the damned interview?” Will interrupted, peering at Garry as if trying to see something more than blurred surprise. “I’d been turning the decision over in my mind for a month before I told anyone.”
“Huh? But it’s a great opportunity. All the benefits you’ll get from it….”
“And what about what I’d miss? The guys, my flat, the neighbourhood, the beer.” His smile wavered. “Working with you. And after work too—the easy times together, the fun, the understanding. But I’d persuaded myself it’d be good experience. And you seemed okay about it, pleased for me.”
“Right.” Garry’s voice came out as a strangled whisper.
“Then we went out for that stupid drink, and you… you were keeping really close to me. We got separated from the others, and when we got pushed into that corner, you started to tell me what you really thought about me going away. I never knew you felt like that, Garry. I mean, about me.”
A family rushed past the chairs, their cases rumbling over the flooring, sending vibrations up his legs. Garry wondered if it were really the sound of the humiliation freight train, approaching fast and preparing to crush him. “Will, don’t make me feel worse than I already do.”
“Worse?” Will’s eyes widened. “You didn’t mean it? It was the beer talking?”
“Fuck, no, I didn’t mean that.”
“You said you’d feel really bad about losing my friendship on a daily basis. Gutted, you said. That I was way more than a colleague and friend. Or that was what you’d hoped I’d be. Garry, don’t get coy on me now. Not after the tin can salesman and Little Mermaid for the third time.” His eyes darkened, his face flushed, though he was still hanging on to the smile. “I may get dangerous.”
