"Christian are you not ready yet? We're going to be late, the dinner will be burnt, what are wearing anyway, it's not a vest is it? I don't think this shirt is ironed quite right, the collar's all funny. We're really going to be late, Kamil will have gone to bed so I won't get to see him, Mum will go mad, she'll probably never invite us over again, Dad will think we're not really trying—"

"Sy, chill. I'm ready, you're ready, we have 15 minutes to get there and in case you hadn't noticed, we live 5 minutes away. Your shirt is fine, my clothes are fine, everything is fine." I put my hands on Syed's shoulders and looked him in the eyes, watching how his look of worry and fear gradually reduces. "Breath. Its going to be okay. But we really will be late if you have some kind of panic attack and I have to take you to the hospital. And while spending all night sitting in a hospital waiting room is still preferable to fine dining with your mother," I continued, to the accompaniment of Syed's raised eyebrow, "I do want this dinner to go well. It's important to you and so I guess it's important to me too. Right, let's go then?"

I took his slight nod as agreement, grabbed our coats and we headed out into the square.

We walked side by side, but hands apart, as if there was still anyone left in Albert Square who wasn't completely aware of our relationship. I'm still never quite sure which Syed will be with me when we step outside. I was pleasantly surprised by Syed's relaxed attitude at first. I had been expecting a few more wobbles but aside from the odd fit of paranoia, he seemed to be more comfortable than I had given him credit for. That's Sy I guess, once he makes up his mind, he leaps into things with both feet! Still, sometimes, I'll get the public brush-off, or risk seeing him storm off with the wrong touch. It's usually whenever he is thinking of his family that I get the lines about how things are better when we don't 'flaunt them' out in public. So really I should have guessed that tonight he was going to be in that kind of mood.

A half smile came across his face. "Funny isn't it, the last time we ate dinner together at my parents you were the only one having a great time."

"Odd….I seem to remember you enjoying yourself a bit too. At least, part of you…."

"Me? Nah, must be that old age kicking in and messing with your…..memories."

"Old age? Watch it boy, or else I'll have to prove exactly how young I still am, messing or no messing."

"No messing? Well that would be disappointing. All promise and no follow-through…"

Apparently flirtatious talk doesn't count as flaunting in public. Mind you, even Zainab would need ears like a hawk to hear us right now. And we'd spoken about worse than this while right under her nose before. And in front of others. All through those secret months, a lifetime ago, when we would stand together at the Vic, our whole conversations consisting of double entendres and private jokes. Right now though it was a bit more half-hearted. I think both of us were just trying to distract ourselves from what lay ahead. The idea of eating dinner with Syed's family was hardly going to rank highly in my "Ten Best Things To Do With Your Boyfriend" list, or the Top One Thousand actually, but this feeling of dread was far greater than I would ever let on to Syed. And judging by Syed's silence and tensed muscles as soon as we near the front door, I'm guessing that his fear goes even further than he has told me too.

The door opens. Masood opens it. Masood. Shit.

"Dad"

"Syed." He smiles at Syed, a seemingly genuine smile. "Christian." A sort of smile. I think it's a smile but the expression in his eyes is unreadable. It catches me off-guard as I realise that I have become so used to reading Syed's eyes, of seeing all that remains unsaid within that dark abyss. I wonder how it is that others could be so blind to what is inside Syed, how they would just see the surface and believe his words. Sometimes I think that that is what worries me most about Masood, this feeling that like Syed, there is so much more going on that I have no idea about. And the idea that Masood and Syed are similar in that way scares the hell of me too. I'd just rather not think about that. Thankfully Syed doesn't seem to have noticed our over-cautious tones, reminiscent more of two wild animals eyeing each other up before the fight than of polite adult greetings. He is too busy mentally preparing himself for seeing his mum I expect. personally I'd rather see Zainab, I'm almost looking forward to it in a semi-masochistic way. At least with Zainab you know what you are getting. There is no disguise, no pretence. If she hates, she hates openly. Her disgust at me, at my life and at my 'perversion' of her son appals me, but I can deal with it. I can confront her, argue with her, fight with her. Masood however, I just don't know how to deal with. I used to think we were friends. Well we were sort of, we could share a laugh and a joke at least. But then, after it all came out, I saw this other side of him. This darker side but still behind that smiling face. And I don't have a fucking clue how to confront a darkness that I can't even see. I dunno, maybe I should have confronted him before, told him how I felt seeing him walk away from me in the street, tell him how it felt to have the purest thing in my life treated like a sordid game. But when I got the chance, the one time that it has been just me and him, in private, I failed.


Syed had moved a couple of weeks ago and it was bliss. Sheer delight going to bed with him every night and waking up with him every morning. Not to mention going to bed with him in the morning and the afternoon. And not just bed. Well we were on a honeymoon of sorts even though we barely left the flat. We didn't need to leave, not just then. The novelty came in the joy we found from revelling in our new found freedom. Freedom from clock-watching, from the guilt, from that gnawing feeling that it was all going to end any minute now. But we were about to re-enter the real world, Syed had just gone out looking for work and I was getting ready to go back to the gym. I was in my dressing gown, tidying up my, sorry, our, usually immaculate flat. Immaculate you see, unless you have had Syed 'making an effort' in the kitchen and have had other things on your mind apart from cleaning. I picked up last night's pizza boxes to chuck them into the bin but in doing so knocked Syed's keys on the floor. The buzzer went, and I chuckled, Syed obviously coming back for his keys, and maybe his job hunting could watch just a little bit longer. I picked up the intercom and didn't even bother to ask who it was, just buzzed him in.

I was in the kitchen when I heard him shut the door behind him. "You left them on the table you idiot. But good timing anyway, I was just about to take a shower, don't s'pose you fancy joining me eh?"

"No, don't think I do actually." I started with surprise. The voice was familiar but it certainly wasn't Sy. Masood. The fear that ran through my body surprised me. I had rarely felt like this, so out-of-control, so threatened. I turned around slowly, wishing that I had gone out, or actually asked who it was on the intercom, or at least got bloody dressed! I made myself breath, it's only Masood, you've spoken to him a thousand times. But this was different, we weren't in the Vic, or out in the Square. There weren't loads of people around. I was alone, in my flat, and unwillingly all I could think of was of Qadim and his thugs, and dragging myself downstairs, and of seeing his face. "Masood, Sy's gone out I'm afraid. I'll….tell him you came round."

"I didn't come here to see Syed." The emphasis on the last syllable was subtle but unmistakable. "Actually I waited till I saw him leave this morning. I wanted to talk to you. Alone."

"Right. Okay then." I picked up the kettle to hide the fact that I was shaking. Shaking for fucks sake, shaking because of Masood, what the hell was wrong with me. I was over this, I was. I showed him that in the Vic. He punched me and I laughed in his face. He yelled at me outside the Mosque and I walked away. I am a better man than him. "Tea, coffee?"

"Neither thanks." And he sat on the sofa, looking straight at me. "Just fancied a chat. No problem with that is there?"

Right that was it. I walked over the sofa and faced him, man to man. "Look this is my flat, no sorry, our flat, mine and Sy's "

"Sy's?" Again with the slight sneer.

"Yes, Sy's. And you are welcome here, as Sy's dad, but let's stop this dancing around and just cut to the chase. What do you want?" And I sit down on what is after all my sofa.

"I've never been here before. Been inside your flat, I mean. Don't you think it is right that I get to see where my son is living. How he is living."

"And you want to check out my den of sin?" I can't take it, I leap up and start pacing.

"I worry about my son, I care about my son, I love my son."

"Really? I thought you didn't have a son? Isn't that what you said?" I am raging now, thinking of the way Syed looked when he saw his family ignore him in the street, thinking of the way Masood spoke outside the Mosque.

"I was angry. I'm still angry, but I haven't completely given up on him, I can't. I'm sorry Christian, but you wouldn't understand how it feels, to have a son and to lose him." He looks at me with that condescending 'more in pity than anger' smile that riles me even further. I dig my nails into my clenched fists, he will not get the better of me. Syed chose me, I remind myself. There shouldn't have been any competition, it should never come to that but it did. And he chose me. I calm myself and turn back to the sofa.

"I love him and he loves me." I repeat the mantra that used to keep me company on all those cold nights through that endless winter until he came back and brought the summer with him.

"Well I know he does." I am about to jump in and correct his noted omission. But he continues before I have the chance to speak. "Or thinks he does anyway, even Syed wouldn't ruin his family for nothing. I just need to know one thing Christian, how long?" And again with that condescending smile, although I am now too confused to take it in.

"What?"

"How long will this last, when should I be prepared to have my son back, to repair all this?" He cast his hand around the flat, this one gesture seemingly covering everything that had happened in this last year.

"What are you talking about?"

"I just want to make sure I, that his family, are prepared to look after Syed, once you have finished with your fun and left him high and dry. So what will it be? A couple of months, 3, 4?" Masood's face remained ominously pleasant, which only increased my anger. I think I preferred him shouting at me in public to this, this game. I definitely would rather he just punched me again.

"I love him, why don't you get that? This isn't some stupid game, this is my life, my life with Syed, our life together. For good. So please, for Sy's sake above all, you are just going to have to find a way to deal with that."

"For good? Right, and you know that based on your past experiences right, all those long term relationships that you've had. That makes you so sure that you won't get bored, won't get tempted, won't find it all just that little bit too difficult?" Right, that was it. His sanctimonious smile was just too much, and I lost all control.

"Just. Get. Out. Now. I've tried, I have really tried to be nice, to talk to you with respect, because you are Syed's father but I can't do it anymore. You just see what you want to see. And I will not have you here, sitting in my flat, telling me what I will and won't do. What gives you the right, eh? After what you did. Or didn't do." And now, finally the mask drops and I see Masood begin to crumble.

"I…..I was, it was….you were….."

"Yeah. That's what I thought. Enough now, we can be civil, for Syed's sake but that's it." I walked over and opened the door. Masood stood and made his way to the door. In the doorway he paused for a moment and turned to me.

"Syed….Have you…..Does he…..Does Syed know?" His face is unreadable, but his voice cracks slightly, the way Syed's does when he is asking me a question when he is afraid of the answer.

"Everything I do, or don't do, everything I say, or don't say, is all for Syed. To protect Syed, to take care of him, to do what is best for him. So what do you think?" I looked at Masood. No further words were needed. He nodded quickly and left.


We hadn't spoken since, and here we were, face to face again, but the months had passed and we were on his doorstep this time, and I wondered how much things had changed.

"Masood!" I put a huge smile on my face and patted him on the shoulder as I walked passed him into the house. Game face on, ready to face the music.