Jenny manages a little laugh. “Actually part of me agrees with him. Part of me understands that it will be the end of holidays and skiing and white carpets. Part of me doesn’t want kids either. But another part of me wants it passionately, desperately,” she says.
“And did you know that Nick didn’t want kids when you got pregnant?” I ask.
Jenny nods and blinks slowly.
“You didn’t trick him like Suzie did, did you? You didn’t stop taking the…”
Jenny shakes her head. “I wasn’t on the pill, I couldn’t. Anyway. We were using condoms, but we ran out. It was only once.”
I nod. “So it’s his fault as well; I mean, his responsibility.”
Jenny pulls her mouth downwards. “It was weird, special circumstances really. I said I thought we’d be OK. What with the time of the month and everything.”
I shake my head. “Why didn’t you just go get condoms?”
Jenny laughs mockingly. “We were in a traffic jam.”
I bite my lip. “You conceived in a traffic jam?”
Jenny nods. “Oh, it’s a long story, but we were on holiday and we got stuck…”
She breaks into a smile. At first I think it’s at the memory of traffic-jam sex, but then I realise she’s looking towards the door, re-composing her face.
“Tom!” she exclaims.
Leap Of Faith
Tom looks suspiciously between us. “Did I interrupt something?” he asks.
Jenny shakes her head slowly. “Nah,” she says, standing. “I have to go to the loo.”
Tom looks at our glasses. “Better get myself a drink I guess,” he says. “You two OK?”
Just as Tom sits down with his drink, Jenny returns, her face washed and re-composed.
“So what were you two discussing?” Tom asks. “You seemed very intense.”
Jenny shakes her head. “Nothing really, what’s new with you?” she asks brightly. “You look good.”
Tom licks his lips and looks at Jenny then back at me, apparently deciding how much to tell.
There seems to be a twinkle in his eyes, but whether it’s desire, joy, or simple intrigue, I can’t tell.
“Well,” he says, lowering his head theatrically. “Antonio and I had some big, big discussions last week.”
I straighten in my seat and nod.
“I think we kind of worked out where we’re at,” he says, blushing slightly.
I wrinkle my brow and suck the inside of my mouth.
“So where are you at?” Jenny asks.
Tom nods. “Well, I haven’t really told you, but we’ve been a bit make or break lately…”
My diabolical couple-buster does a silent, secret, jump for joy.
“And we’ve been kind of thinking, well, I have, that we need to either get it together, or, well, split up really.”
I nod.
“Sooo…” Tom chews a fingernail and looks cutely at me out of the corner of his eye.
I grin and nod. “Yes?” I say.
“So Antonio is moving to Brighton,” he says. “Maybe.”
I order my face to maintain the current expression of amused intrigue, at least until I’ve worked out a more suitable one.
“Gosh!” I say.
Jenny casts me a worried glance. “Wow!” she says. “You must be chuffed.”
Tom breaks into the sweetest grin of child-like joy. “We’re maybe going to buy a house together,” he says. “Possibly.”
I decide to emulate Jenny. “Wow!” I say.
“That’s great,” she says.
“Yes, great!” I repeat.
Tom nods and fingers his little beard. “I mean, nothing’s certain yet, and I’m trying not to get too excited because, well, in case…”
Jenny and I nod.
“But Antonio’s told me to get my place valued and look for somewhere bigger. His company have offered him a UK post and he reckons he could live here and commute to London.”
I nod. “You’re selling your flat then?” I ask.
Jenny frowns at me.
Tom nods. “Yeah, well, we couldn’t live in my place. We’d kill each other.”
“Have you ever lived together before?” I ask.
Jenny glances at Tom and, confident that he won’t see, she crosses her eyes at me. I can see her point. My inability to feel happy for them shocks me too.
“No,” Tom says. “But I guess you just have to just make that leap of faith at some point don’t you.”
I nod enthusiastically. “Yes,” I say. “I guess you do.”
Strategic Decisions
We say goodbye to Tom, who grins, gives us a little wave, and heads off towards Storm. The moon is full and bright in a cloudless sky giving an eerie bleached effect.
Jenny links her arm through mine.
“That’s a very bad strategy you know,” she says.
“Strategy?” I ask.
“Yeah, resenting Antonio,” she says.
I laugh lightly. “Who resents Antonio?” I ask.
“Well,” Jenny says. “If you want Tom then my advice is to just hang around, be there, and be as perfect as you can. And perfect means not disliking his choice of boyfriend.”
We swap over to the other side of the road.
“Jenny, they’re moving in together,” I say. “They’re buying a house together. And anyway, who says I want Tom?”
Jenny laughs. “You do. And you’d be stupid not to. You two are perfect together.”
I frown. I’m somewhat shocked that she thinks so too.
“Perfect except that he’s in love with Antonio,” I say.
“Well, my bet is that it won’t happen,” she says. “I mean; would you move here? From Italy?”
“Well, maybe,” I say. “Plenty of people do,” I add, thinking of Benoit. “But even if he doesn’t, it still doesn’t mean that anything will happen between Tom and I.”
“Have you seen the way he looks at you?” Jenny asks. “I mean, do you actually notice anything?”
I frown again. I smirk lightly. “I thought that was just in my head,” I say.
Jenny shakes her head. “It’s not. He’s falling in love with you.”
I snort. “He’s not!” I laugh. “Anyway, if anything, I think I actually need to see less of him.”
“Less?”
Jenny tries to walk on ahead, but I drag her right, into the top of Owen’s street.
“Oh!” she exclaims. “We’re here already!”
At the bottom of the road the sea is reflecting the moon. “Wow! Look at that,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says reverently.
“I don’t think it’s healthy for me to be spending so much time with him,” I explain.
Jenny shakes her head. “Why on earth not?”
“Oh I don’t know. I suppose I like him too much really. I don’t want to be his mate. You know what I mean?”
Jenny makes a thoughtful, Hum sound.
We walk down the hill towards the sea in silence. Eventually she speaks.
“For what it’s worth,” she says, “Not seeing someone because you like him doesn’t make any sense at all. In fact it sounds stupid as can be.”
I nod. “I guess so.”
“And while you’re being consumed by jealousy, Tom is alone in a club full of men, just waiting to meet whoever will take Antonio’s place.”
We turn up the short staircase to Owen’s and I jiggle the key in the lock.
“I must oil this,” I mutter, pushing the door open. “That’s a bit cynical don’t you think?”
Jenny shrugs. “I’m good at relationship stuff,” she laughs. “Well, other people’s anyway. And long distance relationships never last.”
I sigh. “We’ll see,” I say.
“Actually relationships never last, full-stop,” she says.
I throw my jacket over the back of the chair. “Yeah, well… As I say, we’ll see,” I repeat.
Jenny sighs. “Not unless you’re around t
o see you won’t,” she says.
The strange moonlight in the room produces a surreal two-dimensional effect. I look around in surprise then move to the window.
“That’s an amazing moon,” I say.
“Get back there,” Jenny tells me. “Go dance, have fun. Be enthusiastic about Antonio coming. Show your friend how happy you are for him.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I want to be his friend though,” I say. “I’m too greedy to make do with part time slots with someone else’s boyfriend. I want someone of my own. I don’t want to be shagging one guy and talking to another.”
Jenny moves to my side and looks out of the window. “Who are you shagging?” she asks. “You never mentioned…”
I shake my head and interrupt. “It’s not important, and that’s the problem. I want it to be important. I want to be in love; I want to have that full-on mad impossible love thing again,” I frown in surprise at myself.
“It’s overrated,” Jenny says. “That full-on love thing.”
I turn from the moon to look at her. “Tell me,” I say. I touch her shoulder but she pulls away, spinning on one foot and heading towards the door.
“Tomorrow,” she says. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I nod.
“Now you go back and save that boy,” she says. “I’m going to bed.”
I shrug. “Save him from what?”
She smiles. “Who knows?” she laughs. “You won’t know unless you go.”
“I’m not sleepy at all,” I say thoughtfully. “The full moon I guess.”
Jenny nods at me. “You see.”
I shrug. “I suppose I might as well.”
Look-alike
The seafront is strangely deserted; I guess everyone is either already in a club or safely home.
As I walk I stare at the moon floating above the sea. A single semi-transparent cloud has formed in front, making it look even bigger.
At Storm, the bouncer opens the door and utters a simple, “Evening.”
I start up the stairs, and then pause. “Oh!” I say. “You’re leaving?”
Tom, who is at the halfway landing heading down, grins at me.
“Oh, you’re back!” he says.
I climb the stairs until we’re face to face. “I wasn’t sleepy so…” I nod behind him. “Is it no good in there?”
He waves his head from side to side. “I was bored really, that’s all.”
He looks sad. His earlier effervescence has faded.
“You OK?” I ask.
He wrinkles his nose and nods. “I hate clubs on my own,” he laughs. “Still, seeing as you’re back…”
He reaches for my hand and turns and starts to climb the stairs again.
“Lets give it another go,” he says.
The club is busy and bouncy. It’s difficult to see how anyone could be bored and the thought that Tom was leaving until he saw me leaves me feeling flattered.
The majority of the men are muscle-boys, T-shirts in pockets.
“Wow!” I shout as we push towards the bar. “What a selection!”
When I reach the counter I turn to Tom, squeezing his way through behind me.
“The trouble is,” he says looking left and right, “these people all spend more time at the gym than they do reading.”
I frown at him and shrug. “So?”
“They’re all so fucking ignorant,” he says.
I wrinkle my nose at him. “Let me get a drink and you can tell me all about it,” I laugh. “Lager?”
Tom nods.
I wave a banknote at the barman and scrutinize the men lined up along the bar.
I catch sight of a guy who seems familiar, and I frown, then realise that he looks exactly like Jimmy Somerville.
I suddenly wish they were playing Small-town Boy, or Tell Me Why instead of this smooth funky house. I wonder when club music stopped being fun, stopped being music you could whoop and shout and jump to, when the tunes people sang along with, the b52’s or even Sylvester finally disappeared from the clubs.
I pay for the drinks and pocket the change, pushing my way back to Tom who has been squeezed away from the bar.
“Thanks,” he says, reaching for the drink. “I ran out of cash, so…”
“So what happened?” I ask. “Not like you to be pissy.”
He shakes his head. “Oh, some arsehole had a go at me on the dance-floor. He tried it on with me once, and got upset when I refused.”
I nod and sip my beer. “What did he say?”
“When? Today?”
I nod.
Tom laughs. “He didn’t actually say much. He just pinched my waist and said, Oh dear, Tom. If you can pinch more than an inch.”
I grimace. “Ouch.”
“In the middle of the fucking dance floor.”
I pull a face. “That is pretty rude,” I say. “Arsehole.”
Tom nods. “I know; gay men are the most fat-phobic society on earth.”
I shrug. “Except maybe models; anyway, they’re only trying to cover how unworthy they feel,” I say. “It’s not really their fault.” I open my eyes wide. “Society made them feel that way.”
Tom shrugs. “Did society make them arseholes too?” he asks.
I laugh. “No, you’re probably right. They did that all themselves.”
He sips his drink again then frowns. “Can I ask you something?” he says.
I nod and smile.
“And you’ll answer honestly?” he asks intensely.
I nod again, beginning to worry that he might ask me how I feel about him. Jenny hasn’t prepared me for that one.
“Do you think I’m fat?” he asks. “I mean… I know I’m not skinny, but do I look fat?”
I laugh. “Absolutely not,” I say.
He grabs my free hand and slides it under his T-shirt, placing it on his waist.
“I mean, there’s a bit of fat there… But I’m 40, right? That’s normal, isn’t it?”
The contact with his hand, his waist, his body, is giving me the stirrings of an erection. I laugh, pull my hand away and shake my head.
“Tom, if you didn’t have fat, you’d be dead. Your body is perfect.”
Tom pulls his T-shirt back down and looks left and right.
“Yeah,” he says. “Fuck ‘em.”
“Tom, really,” I say. “You’re…” I shrug.
Tom looks at me and frowns. “Go on?” he says.
I decide to make a joke of it. I think of a character from a comedy series, who says everyone is gorgeous.
“You’re gorgeous!” I laugh.
He breaks into a grin. “Well thanks,” he says. “You’re pretty lovely too.” He stares into my eyes. “I’m glad you came back,” he adds.
I swallow and glance towards the bar.
“Did you see that guy?” I ask, changing the subject. “The one that looks like Jimmy Somerville?”
Tom shakes his head. “Nope.”
I step back towards the bar and peer through the crowd.
“Still there,” I say, nodding towards the end of the bar. “Over in the corner, alone.”
Tom follows my gaze, and then breaks into a grin.
“That is Jimmy Somerville,” he laughs.
I smile and shake my head. “Yeah right,” I say. “That’s Jimmy Somerville twenty years ago. Think about it.”
Tom nods, then peers at the distant figure again.
“No that is him,” he insists.
I look again at the figure. “If that’s Jimmy Somerville I want to know what skin cream he uses!” I laugh.
Tom laughs. “He probably uses fresh sperm,” he says.
I open my mouth in mock outrage. “You’re getting confused with Marc Almond,” I say.
“Well, he has aged well, I give you that,” Tom says.
“It’s so not him,” I insist.
Tom looks at me coquettishly. “I bet you,” he says, his eyes twinkling.
“You bet me what?”
I grin and reach forward to shake his hand, then I start to move away.
Tom grabs my shoulder. “Where are you going?” he asks.
I shrug. “To ask him!”
Tom groans.
The Jimmy look-alike is propped in the darkest corner of the bar, and as I approach, I realise that the shadows may be hiding wrinkles, but as I get closer I’m certain that it’s not him; the guy looks twenty-five for heaven’s sake.
“Excuse me?” I say.
The man glares at me over his beer.
“Are you Jimmy Somerville? Because I betted that you weren’t and…”
The man forces a tired grin and nods. “I am,” he says with a sigh. His accent is thick, Scottish.
I laugh. “Sorry,” I say. “It’s just, well, I said you looked too young to be… Erm.”
He wrinkles his brow and nods at me to continue.
“Well, to be you, really.”
He looks at me tiredly and rolls his eyes. I start to realise that he thinks I’m some drawling fan, thinks that I’m simply fawning over him.
“I said you looked like Jimmy Somerville twenty years ago,” I add, blushing at the realisation that I’m making it worse.
“Soo,” he says with a nod. “Am I supposed to be flattered?” He pronounces supposed, suppoosed.
I realise the awfulness of fame, the impossibility of accepting a simple compliment, and at the same time I start to feel annoyed at his arrogance.
I shrug. “Take it how the fuck you want,” I laugh. “But if someone told me I looked too young to be me, I’d be flattered.”
With that, I give him a slap on the shoulder, and spin back through the crowd towards Tom, or rather towards where Tom was.
Fat Fighters
I find Tom on the dance floor, shimmying again with his tranny admirer. Tonight she’s wearing a leather mini-skirt and thigh high boots.
He makes a drinking gesture and points to where he has left my pint. I down half of the remaining lager before heading across the dance floor towards them.
“So?” he asks.
I nod. “You’re right. I owe you dinner,” I shout.
“This is Belinda!” Tom says, tipping his head to one side.
The tranny dances up and gives me her limp hand. I bow and kiss it.
Sottopassaggio Page 11
