Barging In

by Josephine Myles

  “Ugh, can’t breathe!” Tris flung the pillow to one side. “Oh my God, you’ve grown your pubes. And is that a tan line I can see? Are you having some kind of early midlife crisis I should know about?”

  Dan glanced down at his stubbly groin. “Maybe I’ve decided to go for the natural look.”

  “Natural? Why on earth would you want to do that? Now be a dear and close that blind before you go. Need sleep.”

  Dan pulled on his swimming trunks, wrapped a towel around his waist and headed down to the pool. It was early yet, but Shane would be waiting for him. The thought filled his stomach with butterflies. He’d known the bloke only for a week, but already Shane had him doing something he’d never thought possible.

  Shane had him enjoying swimming.

  This was the pattern of Dan’s days. He headed down to the pool early to get his lesson in before any of the other guests woke up. Then, after a shower and checking in on Tris, he’d pick up his camera and head down to the bus station. It never ceased to amaze him how much there was to see on the island. Previous times he’d visited, he’d never ventured far from the bars and clubs of Playa Del Inglés, but there was a whole native community out there. Tiny villages nestled precariously on steep mountainsides. Roadside shrines glittered with votive candles and a bizarre mix of offerings. Hand-painted icons and plaster statues of saints rubbed shoulders with silk flowers and holographic portraits of the Pope. Goats scampered up the hillsides, and giant cactus plants grew through tumbledown stone walls.

  He’d take his lunch in some tiny restaurant that usually catered only to locals, then head back down to the resort on the last bus. He’d go out for a couple of drinks with Tris, then spend the rest of the evening holed up in their villa. He’d download the day’s photographs and sort through them.

  He’d dial Robin’s number again and again and again.

  He’d sleep alone. Sometimes Tris would fall into bed at a late hour, but they kept to their own sides of the mattress.

  He couldn’t wait to get back home.

  Home wasn’t London.

  Home was wherever Robin was.

  “Robin, my dear, have you seen the Observer magazine yet? Oh, you simply must come and have a look.”

  Robin followed Charles down to his temporary office. He had an idea what he might be asked to look at but was unprepared for just how sharply his stomach lurched when he saw the double-page spread.

  Dan’s photographs filled the pages like a mosaic. Robin’s fellow boaters stared down the lens as if challenging the world to judge them. Charles was still talking, but Robin barely noticed, absorbed in studying the pictures. He lifted the magazine to take a closer look. He’d forgotten about this side of Dan. This side that could see the essence of someone and bring it out. Could help them open up in a way that they never normally would. Could make them feel comfortable in their own skin.

  The way he made Robin feel whenever he was around.

  The pictures blurred. He blinked to clear his eyes.

  “I say, whatever is the matter? There, there, no need to get upset.” Charles folded his arms around Robin and handed him a large handkerchief that smelt of cedarwood. “Now come on, you’ve obviously been working far too hard just lately. You’re coming out with me for a drink, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Robin nodded, not trusting his voice right now. Strange how easy it was to sink into Charles’s embrace. He’d never have expected to welcome it like this. Must be the effect of seeing those photographs.

  After what felt like an age, he extracted himself from Charles’s arms and risked a quick look at his face. Charles smiled, and Robin couldn’t for the life of him work out if it was a leer or simply friendly, or even which one he’d prefer right now, but there was only one way to find out.

  “Okay, let’s go,” he said, wondering what the fuck he thought he was doing.

  Robin grabbed his coat on the way out, pulling on a layer of guilt with the woollen fabric—he was going for a drink with another man, wearing his Christmas present from Dan. But he couldn’t keep thinking about Dan. It was time to move on. To forget. He drew in deep lungfuls of frigid air and focused instead on the plumes of steam he exhaled.

  Charles steered them down through the village, then turned towards the humpback bridge that crossed the canal. Robin balked as they neared the Queen’s Head. “Does it have to be here?”

  “Do you have a problem with the place? I admit Nigel may not be the most genial landlord, but he does know how to cellar his beers, which is your preferred tipple if memory serves me correctly.” Charles held open the door for him, and as ever, Robin found it almost impossible to argue with the man. “Don’t worry, darling.” Charles lifted Robin’s chin with a finger. “You just trust me to know how to deal with Nigel. We were at school together, you see.”

  “No! I can do it. I’ll get the first round in. I owe you a drink.”

  “Stubborn creature, aren’t you?” Charles gave a wolfish grin. “Very well, then, I’ll allow you to treat me for a change.”

  Nigel was his usual, odious self. “Pint of bitter and a double brandy. That’ll be six sixty,” he said, slamming the drinks down so hard they sloshed into the drip tray.

  Robin tried to pay, but Nigel wouldn’t put his hand out. In the end, he had to put the tenner down on the bar. The change was shoved back towards him in a similar, begrudging fashion.

  “Now, now, Nigel,” Charles said, his voice so icy it sent a chill down Robin’s spine. “There’s no need to treat your customers like that. We expect better service in future.”

  Nigel muttered something under his breath that Robin didn’t catch, but Charles drew in a sharp breath and puffed up with anger.

  “Lest you forget, Nigel Truman, I’m still Chairman of the Bath Chamber of Commerce, and I can make things very difficult for you if you carry on spreading vicious rumours about the boating community. I’ll have you know this young man has been doing sterling work around my house. I’d trust him with my life.”

  “Oh yeah?” Nigel’s usual ill-tempered sneer seemed to have returned. “I’ll bet he’s been doing work for you. I know your tastes, Charlie. Remember them well.”

  Robin’s rage rose, quick and hot. He’d defend Charles if things turned ugly. There was no way he’d let Nigel pick on the harmless old gent.

  But Charles didn’t seem to need his help. He pulled out a handkerchief and started polishing up his glasses. Eventually he held them up to the light, nodded and pushed them onto his nose. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and pleasant, but somehow even creepier because of that.

  “Nigel, my dear, I can assure you that if you continue to spread your particularly virulent brand of homophobia around here, then I am going to inform all your customers exactly what it was you used to get up to in the boat sheds at school.” He paused to look around the pub. It wasn’t crowded, but there were at least eight other punters listening in and not bothering to hide the fact. “Now, are you going to apologise to young Robin here, or do you want me to tell everyone your old nickname?”

  Nigel stared like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, then turned to Robin and glowered. “Sorry,” he forced out through clenched teeth.

  “What was that?” Charles demanded. “Speak up, man. Sorry for what?”

  Nigel looked mutinous for a moment, staring at Charles. Robin watched Charles mouth something that made Nigel blanch.

  “I’m sorry for spreading rumours about you,” Nigel muttered, his gaze fixed on the floor.

  Robin stared at him. He’d always known the day he saw someone get the best of Nigel Truman he’d be overjoyed, but was surprised to find it tempered by pity for the man, who looked like he’d been kicked in the guts.

  “It’s okay,” Robin said. “Apology accepted.”

  Nigel looked daggers at him. “How noble of you,” he spat out.

  Charles took hold of Robin’s arm and pulled him away from the bar to a quiet corner table. Robin kept his eyes
fixed on Nigel for as long as possible, but then allowed Charles to distract him with his customary genteel flirtation. It didn’t creep him out anymore, which was good. In fact, watching Charles stand up to Nigel like that had increased his respect for the man a hundredfold.

  There was one thing he had to know, though. “What was Nigel’s nickname at school?”

  Charles gave a sly grin. “We used to call him Two-Man Truman on account of what he used to get up to after dark, and I hope you don’t need me to draw you a picture.”

  Robin blushed, laughed and drank some beer to try and compose himself. “Are you serious?”

  Charles winked, then changed the subject. “Robin darling, have I ever told you how ravishing you are when you’re embarrassed?”

  “Um, no.” And he wasn’t sure how he felt about being told, either. It was flattering, and it made his heart beat faster even as he squirmed in his seat.

  Charles laid a hand over his. “Oh, believe me, darling, you are breathtaking. You make an old man feel young again.”

  Robin swallowed hard. What with the way Charles was gazing at his lips, Robin could almost feel the kiss they’d never had.

  He was beginning to wonder if he might be ready to find out what Charles really wanted from him.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Dan stared out at the rolling waves breaking on the sandbank. A lagoon of still, shallow water sheltered behind it, such a startling shade of turquoise it hurt to look at it.

  Or perhaps his heart was hurting for some other reason.

  He watched the white boats bobbing out in the open ocean.

  He’d been here for almost two weeks now, and it was absolutely beautiful. He had a well-appointed villa in a luxurious resort packed with attractive and available men, and by all rights he should be having the time of his life.

  But the only place he wanted to be was on a poky little boat with one special man.

  The man he now knew he loved.

  It was terrifying, this love. It demanded that he change everything. That he give up his independence, his whole way of life and merge it with Robin’s. And he was ready to do that. Ready to compromise and move on.

  But how on earth could he cope with living together?

  He watched the boats, and an idea dropped from the sky, sending his thoughts rippling out from the impact.

  Of course! That could work. He’d need to check out some facts and figures, he’d need to run up one hell of a phone bill, but he thought he could probably do it. If Tris would help him, he could definitely do it. He could finish his assignment, and he could get back home and show Robin exactly how much he loved him.

  He headed back to his room and booted up his laptop. He spent half an hour checking websites and made a couple of phone calls, then sent a text to Robin. He yanked the covers off Tris.

  “Rise and shine, lazybones. I’ve got a job for you to do. I need you to go back to London for me.”

  Robin lay back on his sofa, weighed down by Morris on his chest and his constantly circling thoughts. The magazine lay next to him, open on the page of Dan’s photos. It was a week since Charles had showed it to him, but he’d been looking at it every day since. A whole week of brooding and indecision and gnawing temptation. He tickled behind Morris’s ears, imagining he could hear his mum pestering him to get up and about like she did after Jamie died.

  “Robin? Are you there?”

  His imagination was more vivid than usual. It sounded like she was right outside.

  “Robin? I can see smoke coming out of your chimney. Are you going to stop sulking and help me over this death-trap jetty?”

  He sat up. Morris protested, but he pushed him aside and went to the window. She was there, all right, standing next to Charles and decked out in a green waxed jacket and thigh-length wellies like some kind of fancy-dress farmer. Her nose and cheeks were bright red with the cold. Ordinarily he would have laughed at the sight, but right now all he wanted was a hug.

  He burst out of the doors and cleared the jetty, almost knocking her over. “Mum,” was all he could say. He repeated it again, his voice cracking.

  “I’d best leave you to it,” Charles said, backing away from them with a fond expression. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

  “Mum, I’m so sorry.”

  “Oh, you silly boy, how can I stay mad at you when you greet me like this?” She tightened her arms around him. Her face was icy where it touched his. Despite the watery sunshine, it was a chill day. “Now come on, you’d better show me onboard this boat of yours. I’m going to freeze out here, and so are you. You’re not even wearing your coat.”

  Robin gave a small smile. “Come on, then. I’ll hold your hand if you want, but you should be fine. It’s much safer than the plank was.”

  He ushered her into his home for the first time. Her eyes were huge, wary, but not disapproving.

  “Oh! Isn’t it cosy? So warm. I thought it would be cold with the water so close.”

  Robin watched her taking it all in. She ran her manicured fingernails over the shelving between the galley and saloon. “Did you really build all of this?”

  He nodded. Usually he’d want to show visitors around and watch their awed gazes with a quiet pride, but right now he just wanted to look after his mum.

  “Sit by the stove. I’ll get the kettle on.”

  He remained silent for a couple of minutes while waiting for the water to boil. His mum was too taken up with removing her excess layers and greeting Morris to grill him, which made a pleasant change. In the end, it was Robin who spoke.

  “How did you find me?”

  She sniffed, and Robin braced himself for disapproval. However, she just pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket and blew her nose. “It wasn’t easy, darling. I had to park in that delightful little village and ask the landlord of that pub. What a pompous, bigoted fool! I gave him a piece of my mind, I can tell you.”

  “Nigel, you mean? I’d love to have seen that.” His mother was not the sort of woman you wanted to cross. Fierce didn’t come into it when she was defending herself or her loved ones. “What did he say to you?”

  She sniffed again, but this time it really was in disapproval. “Oh, I don’t need to repeat it. Some poisonous diatribe against boaters. And you in particular.” Her face sagged, the self-righteous indignation giving way to sorrow. “I’m so sorry you have to put up with that kind of thing. Your lifestyle choices are no one else’s business.”

  It would have been rude to remind her of past tirades against Robin’s way of life, and besides which, it was too good to see her to risk spoiling the mood. Her presence was lifting the leaden weight inside him. He remembered how he’d kept himself out of contact for almost a month, and shame rushed up inside him, hot and sharp.

  “I’m sorry, Mum.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, darling. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I do. I should have called you, let you know I was okay.”

  “Yes, you should have. Don’t ever do that again, darling. I’ve been worried sick this last month. I kept thinking something awful had happened.” She gave him a funny look. “What has happened? Why are you moored up in this Charles fellow’s garden? Is Dan treating you properly?”

  He laughed, surprised at how bitter it sounded. “Not really. He’s gone off with Tristan, hasn’t he?”

  “What do you mean? Robin, what’s going on here?” He watched the realisation dawning on her face. “Is that why you’ve had the phone switched off all this time? Have you been avoiding Dan’s calls?”

  “No! Yes. I don’t know. I just—I don’t want to know what he’s doing out there with all those other blokes. With Tris.”

  “But what makes you think he’s doing anything? I don’t understand.”

  “It’s a gay resort, Mum. You know the sort of things that go on somewhere like that.”

  “I certainly don’t!” She pulled her cardigan around her primly.

  “No, oka
y, maybe not. But trust me, there’ll be sex on offer everywhere. It’ll be a meat market.”

  “What makes you think that, darling? Have you ever been to one of these places?”

  “No fucking way!” She flinched, and he made a conscious effort to calm down. “Sorry. No, no I haven’t. But I know what gay blokes are like. They’re sluts.”

  She frowned at him, and Robin busied himself making the tea.

  “Are you like that, Robin?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you said,” she enunciated carefully, “a slut.”

  He gaped at her and was about to say it was none of her fucking business, but something about her expression warned him not to. He thought about it. Thought about how he’d been out on the prowl when he first met Charles. Thought about how readily he’d leapt into bed with Dan and how he’d recently started flirting with Charles. But then there were all those years of staying faithful to Jamie. And then he hadn’t gone near a bloke for years, and he’d been faithful to Dan so far, even though they weren’t really together anymore. If indeed they ever had been.

  “No,” he whispered. He cleared his throat and spoke louder, clearer. “No, I’m not like that.”

  “But you think Dan is?”

  He didn’t want to answer that one, so he turned back to the mugs of tea and slopped milk into them. “Jamie was.”

  “Jamie was a manipulative little S-H-one-T and I don’t think you should be judging Dan by his standards.” She looked shocked at her outburst, but then her shoulders sagged as she sighed. “Look, sweetheart, I don’t know Dan’s history, and I’ve no idea what it’s like in these gay resorts, but I don’t think you do either. Besides, it’s plain to see that no matter what, that young man is besotted with you.”

  Robin grimaced. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t love me.”

  “Nonsense! Of course he does. You can see it every time he looks at you. If that’s not love, then I’m the Queen of Sheba.”

  Robin wanted it to be true. He saw the conviction blazing in her eyes. But just because his mum said it was love, didn’t mean Dan would agree.