He's amenable (not always, but most of the time) to being handled. I've found out in our time together that he can sleep any which way, Steven can: facing me or facing away or on his back or on his belly; my arm across him, or my leg; or his across me. Where he's put, he'll sleep. Where he puts himself or where I put him.

Last night when I got into bed he was face down, sprawled. He woke up and lifted his head and I think if I'd wanted him to stay awake he would have, but I was tired out so I didn't say anything, just drew him onto his side with his back to me and held him near. And that's where he's stayed.

I wake up and it's light but I know without checking the time that it's too early to think about getting up, even if I didn't have this boy here with his backside parked against my pelvis. My arm is round the front of him, inside his vest. We're warm under the cover in our humidity; when I kiss his shoulder it's clammy with our mutual heat, and my lips take up the oil of his skin.

He does a waking-up sound, something between a snore and and a sigh and a yawn, and he shifts himself, twists his head around to look at me and I get up on my elbow and kiss his mouth.

"Is it Monday?" he says.

He resumes the position he slept in, and I stroke his stomach.

"Yeah, Monday."

"Seeing Mitzeee tonight."

"Nothing to do till then."

"That's nice," he says, and I don't know if he means having nothing to do is nice or if it's nice what I'm doing with my hand under his vest, stroking, stroking; either way, I keep doing it. "Did anyone say anything last night, Bren? I mean, after I came home."

"About the food? Yeah, you were getting complimented left right and centre. Your ears should'a been burning."

"Is that true?" He removes my hand from his belly and takes it to his mouth instead and brushes his lips against it.

"You did a good job, Steven. Good idea, letting the staff try it out. Made a difference, you know? Could'a been resentment, the ones who're gonna have to be taking the orders and fetching and carrying, on top of working the bar, but they're on side. You got them on side."

"I've been thinking about that. Are they pissed off? Cos they're bar staff, in't they, not waiters."

"I just said, they're on side." I feel my way into his mouth with my thumb. "You did a good sales job. Plus they seem to like you for some reason."

His suck becomes a bite, and I laugh. Then he huffs his way around to face me.

"You like me," he says. "You want me."

We kiss. His hand is flat on my chest. His toes touch my toes; his nails are scratchy. Then he pushes the cover back, climbs over me and gets out of bed.

"Where you going?"

"Need the loo."

"I've got a hard on."

"I know, yeah, but if you wanna do it, I need the loo. Or I can stay and just suck you off if you want?"

"I wanna fuck."

"Right, so you'll have to wait a minute, yeah?" He comes back to the bed, lifts up the cover and gets hold of my cock like he's holding a microphone, and he leans down and says into the head of it, "Don't go away."

As he's going out of the door I say, "The fuck are you wearing?"

He turns back to me.

"Me pyjama bottoms, in't they."

"What happened to them?"

They're not much longer now than a pair of baggy boxers.

"The knees wore out, didn't they, so I cut them off."

"Why didn't you just throw them out?"

"I like them, that's why."

"They're hanging off your arse."

"Shut up. I won't be long."

And off he goes. And here I am, thinking about how the seat of those hacked-off pyjamas is worn just as thin as the knees were, soft enough to wrap a baby in; and about how the elastic in the waist is loose with age so it's gravity-defying how they stay up at all, and if the old vest he's wearing wasn't so long, the whole of his tattoo would have been on show and so would his treasure trail.

"Finally," I say when he comes back into the room. I swing my legs out of bed and sit there.

"It didn't go away, then." He raises an eyebrow at my erection.

"Can't think why."

He undresses without ceremony, and I stand and he comes to me and we kiss. His arms are round my back, his nails light on my spine.

He's washed himself for me: my fingers slide in through a film of soap, and the Ah he makes – pleasure and surprise – opens his mouth for my tongue.

He turns around and we fuck sitting down, me sat on the edge of the bed, him sat on me. I hold his hips and he holds my wrists and I stare at his back. It flexes like a whip, and his shoulder blades almost touch their points together as his body jerks.

He stops before either of us has come; he stands up so I fall out of him, and picks up the lube from where I'd dropped it on the floor.

"Put more on," he says, and he pumps it onto my hand. "Don't like this one though, it's too runny."

"You bought it." I palm it onto my cock.

"Only cos they didn't have the nice one."

"Did you ask?"

He turns and looks at me.

"Er, no. Would you ask? It's always them ladies on the counter, like someone's mums."

"Course I would."

"Yeah, right." And then he does his best attempt at my accent when he says, "'My husband Steven prefers the thick lube, do you have it at all, at all?'"

I slap his backside. He looks affronted, and rubs it.

"You asked for it. Come on, I'm gonna burst here."

"Put more on. On me."

"Say please, or you can do it yourself."

"Please."

So I treat him to a squirt more of lube, smooth it on him and under him; try different fingers in him till he turns the air blue and begs me to fuck him again. He throws himself onto the bed on his back. I bend up his leg and bite the stretched inner side of his thigh until I can taste the iron in his blood below the surface; his hand loosens and tightens in my hair. And then I get on top and fuck him, with one hand around his dick till we both come.

Then I go and make the coffee.

When I come back all I can see is his head poking out of the cover.

"Don't tell me you're cold?"

"No. Just cosy, innit."

"You're a funny little fella, you know that?"

I get in and he sits up next to me and takes his cup.

"Nice way to start the week, weren't it," he says.

"Yeah. You okay?"

He nods as he sips his drink, then he says, "Yeah. I feel amazing."

:::::::

Them: did he say that to them? Did he make them slather lube onto him? Because he doesn't like doing it himself: did they know that about him?

:::::::

When I wake up again it's because my phone is ringing.

"Who's that?" Steven asks blearily when I pick it up.

"It's Fergus." I answer: "Fergus, what can I do for you?"

"Morning, Brendan. Hope I've not woken you, I know you keep late hours."

"Nope, it's fine."

"Good. So, how are you keeping? Everything's back on track still, is it, after that business with the newspaper?"

"Everything's fine."

I wait for him to get to the point of his call.

"So, just calling about our next meeting."

"Ain't due yet, are we?"

"Give or take. How are you fixed this week?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Only I need to make it a home visit this time, so I – "

"A home visit?"

"Aye, it's... We're meant to see you at home, you know, with your partner there."

"Why? You never have before."

"Just ticking boxes, Brendan, it's nothing for you to... So, is Steven around this week? During the day, obviously."

"'Just ticking boxes'?" This doesn't feel right for some reason. "You sure about that?"

"What is it, Brendan?" Steven asks.

"Nothing," I say to him. "He's got to do a home visit, is all. So you need Steven here?" I ask Fergus.

"Like I said, aye. When would suit you both?"

"I dunno. We're both working nights now, so yeah, daytimes are..."

"That's good. So are there any dates to be avoided, say this week or next?"

"Don't think so, no."

"Okay, so what I'll do is, I'll give you a call back when we've come up with a day, and we'll take it from there."

"We can come up with a day now, Fergus."

There's a hesitation before he says, "Got to coordinate things here at the office, that's all. Glad to hear things are good, son. I'll give you another ring to firm things up. Bye for now."

What needs coordinating? I want to ask, but he's gone.

"What was all that about?" says Steven. "Is he coming to see us?"

"Yeah. Don't know when yet, but... Says it's routine anyways, so."

"It's not routine, your probation officer coming to see me. If it's routine he would'a done it before."

"He did, I remember now. Not to see you, but he did a sort'a home visit when I first got out – came round to that place Nate rented for me. So I guess this is just..."

"He never came round when you moved to mine though."

"I guess that's why he's doing it now, y'know, catching up. They got targets, ain't they. Ticking boxes, he calls it."

"Right. Anyway it can't be anything else, cos he's not the police, is he."

"No, it'll be what he says it is. He's alright, Fergus, he's straight with me." I bring Steven's head towards me and kiss his forehead. "Come on, we gonna get up? I could eat a scabby horse."

He laughs, "That's what Cheryl says."

He says it like he's forgotten the wrong he thinks she's done him, but I know he can't have. He's just not letting it get in the way.

:::::::

The kids have phoned after school. Steven's gone into their bedroom while he talks to them like he sometimes does, and when he comes back he doesn't look right.

"Steven? They okay?"

"Yeah. No, Leah got upset cos of her project that she's been making, that I've been doing with her."

"The comic book thing?"

"Yeah, cos she's s'posed to hand it in tomorrow but she's left it behind here. Cos we were gonna finish it at the weekend, weren't we, but then they didn't come. I told them not to come."

"She can explain, can't she? There's gotta be other kids that leave stuff at the wrong house, she can't be the only one who's got..."

"A broken home?"

"Two homes. Come on, Amy can explain to the teacher."

"No, cos Leah says she's gonna do it all over again. She's gonna ask Simon to do it with her, when he gets in from work."

Fuck that.

"Go over, Steven. Yeah? Drive up, take it over for her."

"What? No, but what about Mitzeee?"

"You'll be back. If you leave now, spend an hour with Leah or whatever, long as it takes to finish the thing, you'll be back in time. Go on, call Amy back, tell her you're coming."

"Will you come too? They'd like to see you."

"No. Spend an hour sat there with Amy rolling her eyes at me? No, I'll see them at the weekend. It's you Leah needs tonight."

"Are you sure?"

"Call Amy. And don't let her say no."

:::::::

The drive over to Manchester took him longer than usual, apparently, and then the time got away from him when he was with the kids, so he called me to say he might not make it to the club for seven and if he doesn't, he'll see us at eight at the restaurant.

It's fine. At least I've had the bathroom to myself, no getting elbowed out of the way at the mirror so he can primp his hair.

I consider putting a tie on but then I don't. My suit is killer though.

"Mitzeee not here yet, no?" I ask Maria when I get to the club.

"Not yet. No one's in Members so I've not opened the bar yet up there."

"Okay."

I stay down here so I can see Anne when she comes in, and go behind the bar while I'm waiting, help out serving a couple of punters.

It's dead on seven when they walk in, Anne and her man. I go and meet them: she smiles when she sees me, a proper smile, not the kind she does for the cameras that's all light and no heat. I bend and kiss her on the cheek, and she holds me there with an arm hugged around my neck.

I straighten up and look at her fella.

"Brendan," Anne says, "This is Richard. Richard, Brendan."

We shake hands.

"Good to meet you at last," he says. "Obviously I've heard a lot about you."

"And yet still you came."

"I might've skipped some of the details," Anne says.

"Come on up," I tell them, "See where your party's gonna be."

The lights and music are on when the three of us go upstairs, even though no members are in so far.

"Nice room," Richard says. "I like it."

"It's only this quiet because it's early. We open up so's people can come in for a drink after work or whatever – it's just, it's a well-kept secret so far."

"You wouldn't associate it with a nightclub, I s'pose," says Richard, "Coming in this time of an evening."

"Yeah. Pays for itself though, just a couple of staff on, so."

"Maybe after the summer," Anne says. "People don't want to be in the gloom while the sun's out."

"Don't they?"

"Well, you do, obviously. Gloom is your natural habitat. Always used to know where to find you in the old days, you'd be in Chez Chez with just those green lights on – d'you remember? – staring into a glass of whiskey, never mind if everyone else was outside getting a suntan. No, I meant normal people."

"Cheers. Cheers for that."

She smiles at me.

"Talking of sunshine, is Ste not here?"

"On his way back from Manchester." I walk round behind the bar. "What'll you have?"

"Ooh, a glass of red?"

"The same, thanks," says Richard.

"Coming up. Yeah, so Leah left her project behind last week when she went back to her mum's, needs to hand it in tomorrow though or the world's gonna end. You know kids, they're... So if Steven doesn't see us here he'll see us at the restaurant."

"We've got all that to look forward to," Richard says. "School, projects, homework..."

"You're not..?" I say to Anne.

"What? No!" She holds up her wine glass: obviously she's not pregnant, is she. That was how I knew before she did that she was going to go through with her first pregnancy – because when I poured her a drink when she came to Chez Chez to tell me about it, she didn't touch a drop.

"I was talking about Nicky – Phoenix," says Richard.

"Course."

We take a seat and get the business side of our meeting out of the way, finalise the date for the party, talk about numbers and the style of the event and the choice of booze. We defer discussion of the food until Steven is with us, though, because that's his department.

It's almost time to go when I get a call from Steven.

"I'm home," he says. "Got stuck in traffic, that's why I was so long."

"Princess Leah okay now she's seen her daddy?"

"Yeah, she's fine. We got the project finished anyway. And Lucas made you something, I'll show you when we get back from dinner. Where are you, still at the club?"

"Just leaving, gonna get a cab up to the restaurant. We'll stop by and pick you up, yeah?"

"Why you getting a cab? You'll walk it in ten minutes."

"Mitzeee's got five inch heels on though, so."

Anne narrows her eyes.

"Oh, right," says Steven. "But anyway, don't pick me up. I've had me shower but I've still got to get ready."

"We'll wait for you, it's okay."

"No, you lot go, and I'll come to the restaurant after. Cos you've got to tell me what the waiters are wearing, then I'll come."

"I've got to – ? Why's it matter what the waiters are wearing?"

Anne and Richard are looking at me curiously.

"Cos if they've got black suits on I can't wear mine, can I."

"Steven, no one's gonna mistake you for a waiter. You know how much I paid for that suit?"

"No, I don't know."

"Enough to buy a suit for every waiter in Chester, and then some. Just get dressed, yeah?"

"No, you've got to tell me. I mean it or I won't come."

"Okay."

"I'll put it on so I'm ready, alright? I'll only get changed again if I have to when you've phoned."

"Okay." Okay.

"Ta. Love you."

"Love you too. Good." We end the call, then I say to the others, "I've got to phone him to tell him what the waiters are wearing."

"In case they're dressed the same as him?" says Anne. "Makes sense."

Jesus.

"He doesn't look like a waiter in it. You'll see, he's..."

"God's gift, I know."

"Something like that."

Anne smiles. She reaches a hand out and touches my cheek.

"I'm just gonna..." says Richard, and indicates the direction of the toilets.

"Sorry," Anne says to him. "We were just having a moment, Brendan and I."

He gives her a kiss and they look at each other, all eye-contact and soft focus, and then he goes off to the gents'.

"So," I say. "That's your suitor."

"So, does he meet with your approval?"

Her tone is arch, a little bit Mitzeee, but it doesn't hide the truth – not from me. The truth is, this matters to her; it matters to her that I like this man of hers.

"Seems decent, yeah. So I take it it's serious?"

"It is." She takes a gulp of her wine. "He's the only man I've... Since Riley, I'd never... I mean I'd dated a couple of times, you know, gone out, but not..."

It's hard to tell in this light but I think she's blushing.

"Other than the stripper," I say, and now she's definitely blushing.

She hits me with the back of her hand.

"You can keep your mouth shut about that," she says.

"Lips sealed."

"Good. I mean, he knows most things, but..."

"We've all got secrets." I swirl the whiskey in my glass, watch the last of the ice melt, and finish it. "Steven's told me some things, just... Just recently, some..."

"What things?"

"Things about when I was away. He..."

"Brendan?"

"No, nothing. I shouldn'a... Ain't for me to tell."

"But you're okay? You and him, whatever it was, you'll get through it."

"Is that a question?"

"No it's not. Come on, you're Brendan and Ste."

"Steven."

"Brendan and Steven. And I very much doubt that whatever he's told you is anything like as bad as some of the things he knows about you – never mind the things you haven't told him."

"That's not what I'm – "

"At least, I'm presuming you still haven't told him everything?"

"I'm saying I can't get it out of my head, y'know, what he's told me, cos it's... It wouldn'a happened, Anne, if I hadn't gone away."

"You can't know that."

"I do. He told me."

"Ah."

"Yeah, ah."

"Well, just as long as you don't take it out on him."

"What?"

"You know. It's what the old Brendan would've done, isn't it, punish himself by punishing Ste. You're better than that now, or what's it all been for?"

"You remind me of him."

"Of Ste? How so?"

"Cos he's right all the time too."

"Good answer." She looks up as Richard comes back. "Hello, lovely. Thought you'd got lost."

"Thought I'd give you a moment – it looked like a private conversation you were having."

"We better head off." I stand up. "I'll bring you down the back stairs, you can have a look at Steven's kitchen while I get us a cab."

:::::::

When we get out of the taxi at the restaurant I tell the driver to wait.

The three of us go inside. There's a desk inside the door – small, more like a lectern kind of thing – and a fella comes over and greets us and stands behind it. Richard's booked it so he talks to him, and a girl comes and takes Anne's coat.

I scope the place out. There are big tables here at the front, big enough for groups, then there's two or three stairs up to a raised level where the tables are smaller and the lighting is lower: it's lit by candles on the tables supplemented by lights set into the walls all around. Looks classy but not stuffed-shirtish, just like Anne said in her email. It looks pretty full, even on a Monday night, and the clientele have dressed up to come here.

Someone comes to walk us to our table.

"I'm just gonna..." I say to Anne and Richard. "I'll find you in a minute."

I go outside and call Steven.

"Black trousers," I say to him. "Black shirts."

"Black jackets?"

"No jackets. Shirtsleeves rolled up."

"Ties?"

"No ties. You ready?"

"Yeah, I'll come now."

"I'll send our cab for you, Steven. He'll be there in five, okay?"

"Alright, ta. See you in a bit. Love you."

"Love you."

I tell the driver where to go then I go back inside and join the others at our table, up on the raised level towards the back. The two of them are sat next to each other; I sit down facing Anne.

"He's happy he's not going to be asked what the soup of the day is?" she says.

"He's good to go. I've sent the cab for him, so."

"Good. Right, you two play nicely. I'm just going to powder my nose, if I can find the ladies'."

We watch her go. She almost gets to the door then she asks the guy with the lectern, and he directs her to a doorway just this side of him; she disappears, and he's left looking after her with a hazy smile on his face.

"She has that effect on people," Richard says, then when I look at him he says, "I think this is the bit where you ask me if my intentions are honourable."

"Excuse me?"

"I just mean, I get the feeling I've got to get your approval. You know, no dad on the scene, so she... Not that you're old enough to be... Sorry, I'm making a right mess of this. What I mean is, I get the impression she values your opinion, Anne does, so it's important to her that you – "

"What's she told you about me?"

"Oh. Okay, she's told me you've been in prison and what you were in prison for, only it's not straightforward, she says. The way she put it was, if she tried to write your story in her next book, I wouldn't publish it because no one would believe it."

"She said that?"

"She did. Also I know you've done things for her, helped her out of situations in the past, and recently – sorting things out with her ex, Warren, so she feels safe coming back to England. I didn't even realise how much it was on her mind until you made it go away, so I'm – "

"She's done things for me too."

"She's got a good heart. She says you have too, even if there's much evidence to the contrary. Our Anne's got a way with a backhanded compliment, you've probably noticed."

"Are they?"

"Sorry?"

"Your intentions. Are they honourable?"

"I love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I want to be a dad to her Nicky. I think Anne's glorious. I love her."

"You already said that."

"I meant it."

"If I don't approve?"

"I'll still spend the rest of my life with her. And she'll give you earache till you come round to her way of thinking."

I smile at that, and he looks relieved.

I glance down towards the front of the restaurant and Steven is just coming in. He looks so good in that suit I immediately want to see him out of it. He starts to look around for us but then the greeter speaks to him. Steven looks a little awkward – I guess he doesn't know the name the table is booked in – and I'm just about to call out to him, but then Anne comes out from the toilets and sees him and they beam at each other. Her feet leave the floor when he hugs her. Then she stands back and checks out his suit, and nods her approval.

They hold hands and weave their way through the tables on their way to ours. They're talking, looking at each other's eyes, smiling. Everyone is looking at them: they look like they'd stop traffic.

They look like a couple.

I stand up as they reach us. Steven looks at me, and I touch his waist and kiss his lips for long enough to make it clear to anyone still looking – and they are, I bet they all are – whose man this is.

He looks surprised: pleased-surprised. He looks sleek and skinny, his skin glowing, his hair just so.

"You look taller."

"What?" He's frowning, still smiling.

"The suit. Makes you look taller." I don't know what I'm talking about; so I turn to Richard who is standing up too. "This is Steven."

"And this is Richard," says Anne.

"It's Ste," Steven says to him.

"It's Rich," says Richard, and they both smile and shake hands. "Richard's what Anne calls me."

"Steven's what Brendan calls me. He'll call you Richard an' all, whatever you tell him."

"Yeah, Anne's told me there's no point telling Brendan otherwise. Richard's fine."

We all sit; Steven's next to me, facing Richard.

"We had a look at your kitchen," Anne says to Steven, "Before we left the club. It's transformed since I saw it before."

"Ta, yeah, I'm made up with it. Can't wait to get started."

"Tomorrow's the big day?"

"Yeah. Well, sort of. Tomorrow's me soft launch, like, when people can order food but it's not all official. Like, no menus and that, and the prices are lower just to get them interested, hopefully."

"Course they'll be interested," I say. "He's cooked for the staff, you should'a seen them, they couldn't get enough of it."

A waitress comes up with the menus and leaves us to decide what we want. We all decide to skip the starters, then conversation is on pause while we all read what's on offer for the mains. Anne and her fella tell each other what they've decided after a while, then Richard says, "Shall I get the waitress back, if we're all ready?"

I don't know what it is, maybe it's the way Steven is breathing, but I look at him and I can almost feel the speeding of his heart. He's staring at his menu but it's not making sense to him, and I get it: the headings and the names of the dishes are all in French, and it's thrown him so he's not seeing that they're described in the kind of English he could pick his way through; he's not seeing anything.

"Can't decide between the rack of lamb and the seared sea bass," I say to Steven, and I point at them each in turn on Steven's menu. "Or maybe the scallops."

"I'm gonna have the sea bass," he says.

"I'll have the lamb then, okay, then I can try some of your sea bass. Yeah?"

He nods. He's okay.

"All ready?" says the waitress when she comes back.

"Long as you don't expect me to order in French. I'm Irish, it's unnatural."

She smiles.

"English is fine," she says.

:::::::

Over dinner we've been settling the details of the book launch party. Steven's thrown in some ideas for the kinds of canapés he'll make, and between them they've decided on a half a dozen different ones. I've got the numbers of guests and so forth back at the club so he'll work out later what he can do on the publisher's budget.

"Mitzeee likes the suit, by the way," Steven says to me when we've moved on from talking shop.

"I very much like the suit," she says. "Would've looked lovely in the wedding pictures if you'd actually worn it – although it's weirdly romantic, Brendan marrying a drowned rat in a hoodie. If that's not true love I don't know what is."

She winks at him.

"What about you, Mitz, eh? You gonna be getting married or what?"

"Funny you should say that." She and Richard look at each other: gaze at each other like there's no one else in the room. Jesus, do people really look at each other like that?

"You want to..?" he says to her.

She nods.

"So, that's the other reason we wanted to see you tonight. Me and Richard... Richard and I, we've got engaged."

"Yeah?" I say.

"Yes."

"Congratulations." I refill our glasses.

"Yeah, congrats Mitzeee," Steven says. "And Richard. Rich, I mean. That's brilliant, innit Bren."

We raise out glasses and drink.

"Thank you," Richard says, and he looks at me when he says, "I'm going to do my best to make her happy."

"No ring though?" Steven says. "What's that about?"

"We're choosing one when we go down to London. I proposed on Skype before Anne came back over, so I couldn't do the ring thing. It wasn't planned."

"I think we just realised how much we missed each other, and then..."

"Not that I hadn't thought about it before."

"Adorable," I say.

"Sarcastic," says Anne.

"No, I mean it. Happy for you."

"Thank you." She sips her drink. "I'm keeping my name, though, or I'd be Anne Hathaway, which would just be silly."

"Mitzeee Hathaway," says Steven. "Sounds like a porn name."

"Charmed, I'm sure. No, I'll still be Anne Minniver in real life, and I've got to be Mitzeee Minniver for the books anyway, so I'm not changing it."

"We wouldn't let you anyway," Richard says, "From a publishing point of view."

"Oh yes," says Anne, "Have I told you what the first book's called? Double M for Murder. D'you like it? So it sort of works with my initials. Mitzeee's initials, I mean."

"Cute," I say.

My club is hosting the launch of a book with murder in the title. Okay.

"Anyway, my name is just about the only thing my mum ever gave me," says Anne, "So I don't want to give it up."

"I wouldn't keep my name for me mum," Steven says. "And I hated Terry Hay, didn't I – that's me stepdad. But it's our Lucas's name, that's what it is now, it belongs to him, so I wouldn't ever change mine."

"Blokes don't, anyhow," I say. "You ain't a bride, Steven."

"You could double-barrel it, Ste," Anne says. "Make it Brady Hay like your email."

"Could I?"

Richard says, "You can call yourself what you want, but if you want to make it official you can get a change of name deed drawn up. Some of our authors do it, say if they want to be able to sign contracts and receive money in their pen names."

"It's funny," Steven says to him, "You know how you, like, imagine what someone's gonna be like before you meet them? Well, you're not like I thought you were gonna be, I never thought you were gonna be – "

"Mixed race?" says Anne.

"No, northern. Cos it's like, publishing and that, it's posh, innit. I thought you was gonna be all stuck up – you know, like, poncy – but you're dead normal."

"Are you saying you thought I'd abandoned my roots, Steven Hay? When did I ever have a boyfriend who wasn't a northerner?"

"I s'pose you didn't, no. Not unless you count Brendan."

"Brendan's the exception that proves the rule," she says. "In oh so many ways."

"I'm from north Dublin, anyhow. FYI."

"Well there you are, then. You can't say I'm not consistent."

"It's true what you were saying, Ste," Richard says, "About imagining people. I saw the photos of you two, y'know, your wedding ones that you sent to Anne, so all this time I've been imagining you with a moustache, Brendan."

"I still do, too," Anne says. "When I think of you I always picture the tache, so it's always a surprise when I see you and you've got all that fuzz." She turns to Richard and says in a stage whisper, "Ste likes the beard, it's kinder on his skin than stubble."

"Shut up," says Steven, and changes the subject. "Anyway, so when's the wedding? And where? Decided on your dress yet?"

"Whoa, slow down, we've not got that far. Not for at least a year – next summer, probably. We've not even tried living together yet, have we. He might have all kinds of habits."

"Or you might," Richard says, and they smile at each other.

"I do know I don't want an extravaganza, though," she says. "Something nice."

"Not gonna get Hello to pay for it, then, no?" I say.

"No. But I'm not doing it in a tracksuit and no guests, either. Something in between."

"Here, though? In England?" I can't go abroad, not to America or anywhere else, not until my licence runs out in twenty-one months' time. I don't know if Anne knows this.

"Of course in England." She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.

"Good. That's..."

"Here," says Steven, "D'you wanna finish mine?"

He swaps his plate for my empty one; he's done okay, eaten a good two thirds of what he was given.

"You gannet," says Anne to me. "How do you put away so much food?"

"What can I say? I get hungry for some reason."

"It's alright," Steven says, "He goes running and he goes to the gym all the time, dun't he, or I wouldn't let him eat so much."

"You two." Anne shakes her head. "You're so married. You'll have to watch him, though, Ste – don't they say everyone puts on weight after they say 'I do'? You won't, obviously, or you'd never get into that sexy suit again, you skinny boy."

Steven squirms, self-conscious. I enjoy it for a moment before I rescue him by changing the subject again.

"You're heading down to London tomorrow, then, yeah?"

"We were going to," Richard says, "But we're staying up here another night now."

"Yeah, Richard's not met Nancy yet, so her and Darren are coming round to see us at Maxine's. Should be fun, all the kids'll be there. Plus Max's boyfriend, who seems nice, thank god."

"Oh yeah, she was with that right nasty bastard before, weren't she," Steven says.

"Don't remind me. I'm just grateful she had good friends around. Nancy and Dennis – d'you remember him, Brendan?"

"Can't say I do."

"Dennis Savage. Little. Glasses. Funny."

"Looked like a mole? Yeah, I remember now," I say.

"Anyway, he worked out what was going on, Dennis did, and he told Nancy, and Nancy got straight on the phone to me, and Carl and I jumped on a plane and came and sorted it. That was what I was over here for when I went to see you in – "

She stops dead when I glare at her. There's just a chance Steven won't have registered her words or noticed the momentary panic in her eyes, so I attempt to move on, say to Anne, "So, you're staying till Wednesday now?"

I don't risk looking at Steven, just hope his silence means everything is okay.

"Yes," Anne says, "And it means Seth can catch up with some of his old school friends up here before he gets all wrapped up in his intern thingy in London."

"I'm just gonna..." Steven scrapes his chair back as he stands up.

He doesn't make eye contact, and as he walks away there's something in his posture that tells me he's not happy.

Fuck.

I get up and follow him. He's walking quickly through the tables and for a moment I think he's going to leave the restaurant, but before he gets to the exit he turns off and disappears to where the toilets are.

When I get in there he's stood in the middle of the floor like he doesn't know what he's doing there, but when he sees me he darts into a cubicle and I hear the clunk of the lock. I hit the door with the palm of my hand.

"Steven. What's the matter?" I know what the matter is. "Something the matter?"

"Nothing. Go away."

There's a fella at the urinals, screened off by a shoulder-height smoked glass partition (this being a classy establishment that does not allow for accidental browsing.)

"Private conversation," I say to the guy, and when all he does is give me a puzzled look I say, "Move!"

He zips up hastily, tries to come past me to the door, says "Sorry," because I'm in his way.

"Hey," I say, and I reach and turn on the tap on one of the basins. "Hands."

"Sorry," he says again. He washes his hands, I pass him a pile of paper towels, and he goes.

I go into the cubicle next to Steven's, step up on the toilet seat and look over the dividing wall. He's standing leaning with his back against the door. He looks up at me, startled.

"Either you unlock the door or I'm coming over."

He considers the two options, blank faced, then he turns and undoes the bolt. I get down and go and push his door open.

"So Mitzeee went to see you inside," he says. "How many more things haven't you told me?"

"She wrote to me, asked for a visiting order."

"And you sent her one."

"Yes. Where'd you get that tie?"

"I found it."

"Where'd you find it?"

"Your drawer."

"I bought it to wear for our wedding."

"You never wore a tie for our wedding."

"Took it off before you got there. Suits you, anyways, so."

"What if I'd wrote to you? Would'a sent me a visiting order, would you?"

"No. I couldn't... couldn'a stood it, Steven. Saying goodbye again, I... It was okay with her, y'know, I could handle it, seeing her go. Same as with Chez each time, it was... But not you."

He looks behind him, closes the lid of the toilet and sits on it.

"Anyone else visit you?"

"No. Just Eileen once or twice when she had to talk about the kids, and Nate when he came with Chez sometimes. That's all, I swear."

"Weren't you lonely? All that time..."

"You angry?" I ask, but he doesn't answer, just waits for me to answer his question. "Wasn't lonely, no – no more than I used to be before, y'know... Did enough talking anyways, didn't I, with the shrink and the fucking counsellors, therapists, whatever. Didn't wanna be making conversation with visitors no more than I had to. You angry?" I ask again, because he doesn't seem it, and it's weird.

He shakes his head.

"I'm hurt," he says.

"Sorry."

"Not by you. You lie all the time or, like, hide things. By her. She did what Cheryl did, didn't she – she found out you didn't get life but she never came and told me. I thought she was my... But she's not."

I turn when I hear someone come in.

"Fuck off," I say to the guy, and he fucks off. "It wasn't like that, Steven, okay? It wasn't the same, Anne wasn't the same as Cheryl. Okay, I lied to her. I told her you'd left me."

"What?"

"So that's why, it's why she didn't get in touch with you. I told her you'd finished with me, I said it was better that way, you were living your life. I told her you thought it was better for the kids, you had to put them first. Steven, if I could go back and change things, I'd... Jesus, I... But this, it wasn't her keeping something from you, okay, it was me. Anne didn't know any different, not like..."

"Not like Cheryl."

"Not like Cheryl. Not... Not like my sister."

Again I hear someone come in, and I'm going to get rid of them in the same way but when I turn to look at them, it's Anne.

"Oh god," she says when she sees that we're both in a cubicle, and she shields here eyes theatrically with her hand. "You're not – ?"

"What? No! Jesus."

We both come out and join her by the basins.

She's serious now: "So, is this about..?"

"It's okay," Steven says. "He's explained now."

"So, are we okay?" Anne says to him. "I don't blame you if you're angry with me, but Ste, I swear if I'd known – "

"Why's everyone thinking I'm angry?"

"I thought you'd kick off," I say to him.

"Yeah, cos that's how it goes. One of us kicks off and then the other one kicks off and then we're not talking or we're pretending like nothing's happened, and then it all happens all over again. It's stupid, Brendan, it's just – "

"Circles."

"Circles, yeah. See, we both know it. So I'd like if we can just for once, just both of us try and have a nice time."

"We are having a nice time." I touch his hand with my finger tips, lightly, briefly. "We're having a nice time."

"Good," says Anne. "So that's that sorted. Now can we go and rescue my boyfriend? Last I saw, he was trying to talk the manager out of throwing us all out."

"What for?" says Steven.

"Apparently one of our party was aggressive to another customer." She arches an eyebrow at me. "Come on then. This isn't the most insalubrious of men's loos, but I'd still prefer not to linger."

Steven and I follow her out.

Richard is standing talking to (I presume) the manager.

"Is there a problem?" I say.

"Someone's said they got insulted in the gents'," says Richard.

"Who's said that?"

"Another customer," says the manager. "He told us when he left. I was just explaining, we can't have people – "

"I reminded him to wash his hands, is all."

"It's true," Steven says, "I heard him."

I get very close to the guy and I say, "Is it because I'm gay?"

"Sounds like it to me," says Anne. "Sounds like your other customer is a teeny bit homophobic, sees two law-abiding gentlemen in the loos, jumps to the wrong conclusion and starts casting aspirations. I'm just glad you're far too smart to fall for that sort of thing."

She picks an imaginary speck from the manager's lapel and bestows on him her most dazzling smile. He blushes.

"That's cleared that up, then," says Richard. "Good. Shall we..?"

So we go back to our table and order dessert.

:::::::

It's back to wedding talk.

"We've not thought about venues or anything," Anne is saying. "I don't even know what the rules are about churches – do you have to live in the parish or can you just pick a pretty one?"

"Doing it in a church, are you?" asks Steven.

"Probably not, actually. It's just that girly dream you have, isn't it, walking down the aisle with the organ playing and a man in a dog collar waiting to do the 'To have and to hold' bit. But it's not really me, I haven't seen the inside of a church in years except for other people's weddings. What about you two, though? I'm surprised you didn't think about doing it in church, Brendan."

"A Catholic priest wouldn't marry us, not until Hell freezes over."

"Some churches do though, don't they?"

"Yeah, some, maybe, but it don't work like that. You know what they say, 'Once a Catholic...' You can't just pick some other denomination and make your vows their way, Anne, y'know?" I glance at Steven; he's pushing his profiterole around his plate. "Anyhow, you both gotta believe it or it's just words. The way we did it, it was the right way for the both of us."

Steven looks at me.

"Aww," he says, "Listen to you being all romantic."

"You gonna eat that?"

"I've ate the cream out of it, you can have the rest."

"I'll pass."

"It's true though, cos like, I don't even know if I believe in God, so why would I stand there making promises to him? It's you I made me vows to, not no one else."

I taste butterscotch sauce on his lips.

:::::::

We've shared a cab, and it's dropped us at our place.

It doesn't take much to get him drunk but he's not too bad. I put an arm round his waist as we head up the stairs although I don't need to, he's nowhere near the falling down stage.

When we get inside the flat I push the door shut by pushing him against it. We stare at each other while he unties his tie then while I kiss him I unbutton his jacket. His hands are on my waist, his thumbs sliding inside my belt.

Next, his shirt. I stand back a little so I can see what I'm doing because there's a lot of buttons and they're small and it's quicker if I can see them. I'm half way down when he starts undoing mine, and it's a race to the bottom. He wins, and yanks my shirt free of my trousers. His hands are cool on my chest.

I open his shirt and view the heave of his diaphragm, the sheen of his skin. I open his flies, ease his tight black trousers down a little. His underwear is purple.

I drop to the floor.

Before I've got his dick out of his pants I'm anticipating the ammonia tang on the back of my throat and how it'll give way to salt after a second. I let his tastes melt into my saliva as my expectation melts into the reality. I feel the tremor on my tongue as the blood pulses into his shaft to harden him, and I make a cock ring of my finger and thumb tight around his root and sit back on my heels to look: his skin has darkened, it's wet with my spit, the head exposed and vulnerable.

"Please," he says. "Please."

I take him in my mouth again, in front of him on my knees.