He lived in Manchester when he was a kid. Before his mother and stepfather moved with him down Chester way, this was where he lived. Hence the accent.
I don't know much about that early part of his life. I think he knows he can tell me about it if he wants; I just don't think he wants, not because he doesn't want me to know stuff but because he doesn't want to call the memories to the front of his mind. I wish he would for the clues I might glean about that man whose name he carries – clues I might use somehow in dealing with him – but I'll not make Steven tell me because childhood recollections are better left to emerge in their own time, if at all.
He's got in his head that he knows where there's a good chip shop. We've gone past places where we could have gone in for a bite to eat but he's on a quest so we keep walking.
"I don't even know if it's still there," he says. "Ain't been there for years, but they was the best ones. I used to get the bus into town instead of going to school, yeah, and if I got me mum's voddy from somewhere cheap I had enough change for at least some chips."
"You sound like Oliver fucking Twist. Picked a few pockets as well I don't doubt."
"He was nice, the bloke that worked there. He might'a been the owner, I don't know. Anyway I used to get me chips and put me ketchup on and then like, stand in the shop and eat half the chips, all the ketchuppy ones, and then I'd put some more ketchup on the rest. Cos you get more that way, and the ketchup was free, weren't it, once you bought your chips. And the bloke, he used to say, give us that here, and he used to take me bag of chips and give us a few more on top."
"What was he after?"
"'After'? Nothing. Nothing. I just think he felt sorry for me, that's all."
"Okay."
"He weren't after anything, Brendan. He just... He could see I was scraping to pay for it, couldn't he, plus I was dead skinny so maybe he thought I was gonna faint in his shop and put the other customers off." He's making a joke of it, but I bet there were days when that mother of his forgot to put food on the table. "Right, it should be just up the road if it's still there."
"Is that it?"
"Yeah, that's it. It's probably different people now, but the chips must be boss still or there wouldn't be a queue."
The shop front looks like it hasn't changed since long before Steven's time, but when we go inside it's brightly lit and spotless. There are a three or four square tables but it looks like most of the trade is takeaway.
"D'you wanna sit and eat, Steven?" We're almost at the front of the queue now.
"No, shall we eat them walking to the pictures?" Then his voice drops and he says, "It's him, it's the same bloke."
"Yes please?" says the guy behind the counter.
I look at Steven. He's looking at the guy but not saying anything, and I get it, it's weird seeing a face from a former life.
"You gonna order, Steven?" I say.
"Erm... Can I have just chips please?"
"I'll have the same," I say.
"Open?" the guy asks.
"Yes please," says Steven.
"That's three-eighty please gents."
I pay, and we move along the counter with our bags of chips to shake on the salt and vinegar.
It's when Steven is helping himself to red sauce out of a squeezy bottle that the man behind the counter says to him, "Did you used to come in here?"
"Yeah I did, yeah. When I was a kid, but like, yeah I did."
"You know, I was looking at you and I thought, is it him?" He takes the next person's order then he says, "You're doing alright then, son? I always wondered what happened to you. D'you remember you came in and told me you were moving away? Where was it again?"
"Chester way."
"And I thought, how's that little lad gonna get on, new school and all that? Sorry, that's four-seventy please my darling. Ta. What was I saying? Yeah, I wondered about you, y'know, if you were okay."
"I am, yeah." Steven smiles at him.
"I never would'a thought you'd grow up so... Cos you were a funny looking little lad. Just goes to show. I used to tell my wife about you, she'll be glad you... Well, glad you made it."
"You were kind to him," I say to the man. "Thank you."
"Yeah," says Steven, "Thank you."
"It was nothing. Sorry, I'd better..." The queue is getting restless. "Made my day though, this has."
We start to go, then Steven hesitates and goes back.
"It weren't nothing," he says. "You said it was nothing, but it weren't. Cos I... I was hungry."
The half dozen people in the shop are looking at him. We leave quickly.
"You alright, Steven?" I ask when we're up the road.
He nods.
"I've not even thought about it, not for years," he says. "Cos everyone looked at me in them days like I was just a... Or never even looked at me at all. But it's like, I forgot there was someone that was nice."
"Until today."
"I'm glad he remembered."
"You made his day."
"Yeah." He beams a smile.
"You're right about the chips, by the way."
"Good?"
"Yep."
"I told you. Proper chippy innit, better than them fries from Maccy D's."
And he's back to normal. No memories clouding him; no self pity over how his life used to be.
:::::::
We're outside the cinema looking at the list of films. It's a long list but there's nothing much worth seeing, at least not that we both like the look of.
"Star Trek Three," says Steven.
"Wouldn't mind that."
"Shame it's sold out, then. I've seen Star Trek Two, that was good. An't seen Star Trek One but it didn't matter, cos I could still follow the story in Star Trek Two."
"I saw the first one. That was the last time we went to the movies, me and Eileen and the boys. Y'know, before I moved over to England. Didn't even know there was a Star Trek Two."
"You was away."
"Okay."
"He's gay, that Spock one."
"What?"
"In real life, yeah. Gay."
"That why you wanna see it?"
"Don't be stupid." He knocks his shoulder against mine, and when I look at him he shakes his head.
"Just checking." I eat my last three or four chips. "So we'll see that one, yeah?"
"Sold out, Brendan."
"Gotta be worth seeing, then."
"I think it's cos it's only just come out. People wanna, like, be the first, don't they. Here, d'you want these? I can't finish them."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Give us yours."
"Mine are finished." I take his bag of chips and he takes my empty one.
"I like the crispy bits, don't I." He licks his finger and delves in for the deep-fried shards left in the bottom of the wrapper. I can see salt on his lip.
I look at my watch.
"Starts in five."
"What you gonna do? We can't bunk in, there won't be nowhere to sit."
I finish his chips and give him the bag back.
"Crispy bits," I say.
"Ta." He folds the paper into a funnel and tips the crumbs into his mouth. "I'm thirsty now."
"We'll get a drink inside in a minute."
I stand and watch the trickle of people wandering up to go into the foyer. It's mostly groups of young lads, or families with kids (out on a school night, but it's still early, still daylight.)
Then a couple, the female half dressed like she's thought more about the bar they'll go to afterwards than about the couple of hours they'll be sat inside the cinema first.
"Seeing Star Trek?" I say to them.
They both look at me, and the guy says, "Yeah."
"Couldn't persuade you to part with your tickets, could I?" I address myself to the girl. "See, this is our only night off and we didn't expect it to be sold out. Should'a booked beforehand like you did, obviously." I smile, What am I like?
"Sorry, but..." the fella says.
I count out a few notes from the wad in my back pocket.
"I appreciate we'd be messing up your night, so... For the inconvenience."
They look at each other.
"I wouldn't mind," she says to him. "See it another time? We could go in and rebook for next week?"
"Looks like you've got yourself another date," I say to the guy. "Lucky man."
Steven is grinning when I go back to him with a pair of tickets in my hand.
"The cheek of you," he says, and we go inside.
"It's the Irish charm, it's gotta be good for something. What d'you want, coke?"
"Yeah. I'll get them though. And what shall we have, popcorn or pick and mix?"
"Thought you'd had enough to eat."
"Pick and mix dun't count."
:::::::
The film is good. Enjoyable. Not that I'm a fan of the communal experience – I get more than enough proximity with strangers at work – but here there's a sense of these rows of people knowing that it is what it is and surrendering to the ride, and I guess we both get swept along. There's people either side of us and in front and behind, but still, whenever he's not dipping into our paper bag of sweets, Steven's hand is resting on my thigh.
So yeah, good. Enjoyable.
"It's dark," he says when we come out onto the street when it's over; and then, "My teeth feel furry. Do yours?"
"Yeah. All that sugar."
"We've still got most of them left, so – "
"Our teeth..?"
He laughs.
"The sweets. So we can save them for the kids, they'll like that. A treat, like."
On the walk back to the hotel we talk about the movie, or he does, more like. It's Did you like the bit when..? this and Did you like the bit when..? that, and all I have to do is make the right noises, and on he goes. He's happy. I love him. I love his happiness.
"Is it better than the one you saw before?" he says.
"Better, yeah." The one I saw I barely remember. I was too busy worrying about if my boys were liking it enough to forgive me for whatever my latest misdemeanour was. I'd have let them down in some way, I know that much, although the specifics have faded.
"It was better than the one I saw an' all."
"Who'd you see it with? The last one, when I was away – who'd you go with? A date, was it?"
And I know I'm only asking in order to bring some pain on myself because of that woken memory of letting down my sons. Only it stands to bring some pain on Steven too, but it's too late now, I've already said it.
"Saw it on the telly," he says.
I glance at him to gauge if he's lying. Maybe he is: he's looking straight ahead instead of at me. Or maybe he's just thinking I'm being a prick, in which case he's got a point. Fuck.
"This one was better because I saw it with you anyways, so."
"Good save," he says.
"Had to try, didn't I, if I want to make it through another six months without you throwing me out."
I catch his arm, make him stop and look at me.
"And that's what you want, is it?" he says. "Another six months?"
"Six decades if you'll have me."
"Only six?" His head tilts to one side. His eyes are smiling.
"Come on." We're outside the hotel. "The night is young."
We go in and up to our floor in the lift.
"It's been tidied," he says when we go in, and he's right, there's a fresh towel folded on the side of the bath, the robes have been hung up and our used coffee cups are gone. "Look at the bed."
"What?" I say. "Oh. That wasn't there before."
The bed has been made and there's a grey fur throw artfully draped across it.
"It's not real is it?" he says. "Our Declan would kill us."
"Real fur? No, gotta be fake." I feel the edge of it. "Yeah, it's fake. So can you remember how we left the bed..?"
"Bit of a state."
"Okay."
"Look, look at that."
On the table by the bed there's a plate with two chocolates on it, and Happy anniversary is written across it in melted chocolate.
"How did they..?"
"I said it when we was checking in, didn't I," he says, "I said it's our anniversary. D'you think that's why we've got the furry thing an' all?"
"Dunno. Maybe, yeah." I notice they moved the canister of lube in order to put the plate down. Okay. "Want a drink to go with your chocolate? I'm gonna have one."
"We're going to the bar in't we?"
"Yeah. While we get ready though."
"Like, from the mini bar? Yeah, go on then. I'm just gonna brush me teeth first though."
He goes off to the bathroom and I follow him in after a minute. He's stood at the basin looking in the mirror as he brushes. He sees my reflection.
"Move over," I say, and I squeeze paste onto my brush and we both stand there cleaning our teeth. We take turns to spit.
"That's better," he says. "You can kiss me now if you want."
I wipe away a trace of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth with my thumb, then kiss him as requested. Then he wraps his arms around my middle and we stand there in the bright light holding on to each other. I turn us a little so I can see in the mirror his face where it's resting against my shoulder. I expect him to be looking too but he's not. His eyes are shut.
I kiss his hair.
"Come on, you. See what you want to drink." I pat his backside with both hands, rat-a-tat, and he looks up at me. "You've caught the sun today, Steven."
We go back into the room and over to the mini bar in the wardrobe, and stand there considering our options.
"Right," he says, "So what are we gonna have?"
"You wanna have cocktails when we go up to the bar? We better have something along the same lines if so. Spirits anyways."
"What are you having?"
"D'you like a martini, Steven? We got no ice but the gin's in the refrigerator, and there's olives." A martini seems to fit the surroundings – plus they've got the right glasses here – but I don't think I've ever seen him drink one.
"I'll give it a go."
I mix them, and I take them across to where he's gone to look out of the window.
"Here."
"Ta. It looks nice now it's dark, dun'it, all them lights. You wouldn't think it was just Manchester."
"Sláinte."
"Sláinte," he says.
I like how he hold the glass, like it's something rarefied. We clink glasses carefully and he looks at me across the bowl as he sips.
"Alright, is it?" I ask.
"Refreshing," he says.
:::::::
I've changed into a pair of dark grey suit trousers, and I've got a black shirt to put on but I'm running an iron over it first.
He comes out of the bathroom. He's taken off his top and drops it on top of our bags in the corner; he hasn't buttoned his jeans so his underwear is showing. White.
"I like how the ironing board's on the inside of the wardrobe door," he says. "Better than putting it up and taking it down all the time or just leaving it stood there. Wouldn't work at home though cos we've got sliding doors."
"Put it on your list for our next place."
"What? Our next flat, you mean?"
"Or house, whatever it is."
"I've not got a list anyway."
"No? That's not like you." I look at him and smile at his instinctive pout at being teased; then he smiles back. "Want me to leave the iron on?" I ask.
"Yeah, ta. Mine probably needs doing." He picks up his drink, sips it. "It's funny thinking about moving. Are we definitely going to?"
"I've only got this job for another eighteen months, ain't I. Depends what happens after that, if we stay round Chester or move away. We'll have to get a bigger place in a coupl'a years anyways, Steven. Leah'll be turning eleven, she can't be starting big school and still sharing a bedroom with her brother."
I've finished my shirt and we swap places so he can do his. I kiss his bare shoulder as we pass.
"I know, yeah. It's lucky it dun't bother them now. Might be different if they had friends round ours cos then they might get embarrassed I s'pose, but their mates are all round their way." He takes his white shirt off its hanger, shakes it out and scrutinises it: "Not too bad. I know we'll have to move though, like you said. It's just... it's our little love nest, innit."
"We'll make it ours, wherever we go."
"N'aww."
"Watch it."
He smooths a sleeve out along the length of the ironing board with his hand.
"D'you still think we might move to Dublin, Brendan?"
"I don't know. It's the kids, ain't it, we're used to... They're used to coming to us, ain't they. Won't be so easy if we're over there."
He's quiet, ironing methodically, then he looks up.
"We better get a wiggle on, eh?" he says, "If we're gonna have time for a coupl'a drinks up there."
"It's a club, this bar. It won't be pub hours, it'll be open till late. We'll have plenty of time."
"I'm quite excited, going to a bar right on top of the roof." Then he frowns at me. "You've got proper trousers on. You wearing a suit? I thought you said jeans would be okay? I didn't bring anything else."
"I'm not wearing a suit. Didn't bring the jacket. You'll be fine in jeans, Steven, okay?" At his age, with a body like a mannequin and his hair just so, he'd be fine in a bin liner; I, on the other hand, need to make a little more effort.
"If they don't let me in, you ain't going in either." Then he looks at me again – I've buttoned my shirt and I'm tucking it in – and he says, "You look amazing."
"Don't look so shabby yourself."
"I ain't put me shirt on yet."
"Like I said..."
He laughs, then he holds up his shirt to show me.
"Good enough?" he says.
"Looks fine."
I finish my martini and watch him put it on. Unlike me, he buttons it all the way up to the collar. It looks like it's made for him, the way it fits across his straight shoulders and skims his body.
"Cufflinks," he says to himself, and he goes and rummages for them in the side pocket of his bag. He sits down on the couch and fits one to his left cuff, then he fiddles with the other one but he's awkward doing it with his left hand.
I go and stand in front of him and get his wrist and hold my hand out for the cufflink. He doesn't look at me when he drops it into my palm.
It's silver. The letter B.
"Where'd you get this?" I look at the one in his other cuff and it's the same, B. "These. Where'd they come from?"
"Couldn't find my ones when I was packing, could I, so I borrowed some of yours."
"Steven, I ain't seen these since before I went away." I fasten it in place then I sit down next to him. "Just tell me, yeah?"
He shrugs.
"I found one of them, like, down the sofa, didn't I."
"After I was gone?"
"No, before. And I was gonna put it with the other one, like, in your drawer. I was. So I went and got the other one off your shirt, and then I... Like, I kept it."
"You kept it."
"I dunno, I just got a feeling, just..."
"Did you wear them?"
"No. This is the first time. I never even had them all that time cos when I... When Doug moved back in I gave them to Leah to look after cos I didn't want... So she had them in her jewellery box, only she gave them back to me one day when I was visiting cos she thought it would make me feel happy again. It's funny, that was only last year. It's like she knew deep down you was coming back. You can have them back, can't you, or after tonight anyway cos I need them now."
"You can keep them. They're yours now."
"You don't mind?"
I stand up and pull him to his feet by his hand.
"You ready, you wee rógaire?"
"Yeah."
"Let's go."
:::::::
We get out of the lift and we're greeted by a girl in a cocktail dress.
"Are you staying in the hotel?" she asks, and I show her our room key which gets us membership of this club for the duration of our stay.
"I wish it wasn't just one night," Steven says to her, "We're going home in the morning."
"Have you arranged a late check-out?" she says.
"No?" Steven looks at me.
"No," I say. "Didn't know we could."
"Well, you can't always. It depends on if your room's booked out for tomorrow, or what time we're expecting the guests if it is. I can check for you if you like, give you a chance to make the most of tonight and not worry about oversleeping in the morning."
"Yes please," says Steven.
"Leave it with me, I'll make a call now and if you pop back over here in a bit I'll let you know how I've got on. Okay? So enjoy your evening, gentlemen."
The room's got the same retro New York vibe as the rest of the hotel, decadent like a speakeasy in the prohibition. The guests are going with it: there's a lot of laughter like they're several drinks in, but the atmosphere isn't lairy. It's as if everyone's unconsciously wanting to live up to the era that's being evoked.
"I thought it was gonna be, like, actually on the roof."
"It is on the roof."
"No, I mean, on top."
"In the open air, you mean? Steven, this is Manchester. It's a miracle it ain't raining."
He laughs. "I know, I never thought."
"There's a terrace though. We can go out there. That'll be actual roof for you."
We head for the bar first. There's a young barman with a waxed moustache. I try not to roll my eyes.
"Gentlemen, what would you like?"
"We're on the martinis," says Steven.
"Gin, I presume?" he says and I nod. "Dirty?"
"Why not," I say.
As he's working he asks for our names and room number so our drinks can be charged to our bill.
"Brady and Hay," I say, and I show him the key.
He writes it down then finishes making our drinks. We take them and Steven heads over to one of the banquette seats along the edge of the room; we sit.
"Crowded outside by the look of it," he says. "We can go out when it's quieter."
We touch glasses and drink. It's good.
"Better than the one I made. He had all the equipment though, so it ought to be."
"I quite like this old fashioned music, do you?"
"Goes with the theme I guess, yeah."
"Makes a change from our club. Different." He sips his cocktail. "We could have a dance."
"We've got a drink."
"When we've finished our drink."
"I ain't dancing, Steven."
"There's other blokes here. Couples. It's not just straight people."
"Where?"
"I saw some when we came in."
"Ain't dancing though, are they."
"Hardly anyone's dancing though, that's why." He sighs. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna force you."
"Ha. I'd like to see you try."
That's annoyed him.
"Would it really be that bad, getting up and having a dance with me, eh? It's not like I haven't seen you dancing in public before, or doesn't that count because you were trying to get in me boyfriend's knickers?"
"Trying to get – ? Are we really gonna talk about that? Jesus, Steven, I'd forgotten his very existence and I was kinda hoping it was gonna stay that way."
"Noah."
"Was that his name?"
"D'you know what? I'm gonna go and ask someone else to dance. Mind me drink."
He stands up and looks around. I look where he's looking and there's a fella there I reckon is queer. Fuck. But then he doesn't go there. He marches over to where this young couple's just stopped dancing when the tune has finished; he speaks to the girl, and next minute she's in his arms as the next song kicks in.
There goes my baby with someone new
He sure looks happy, I sure am blue
He was my baby till she stepped in
Goodbye to romance that might have been
Connie Francis. Brilliant.
"Brilliant," I say, and I down the rest of my drink and his, and go back to the bar.
"Same again?" says the barman.
"Yeah." I turn and watch Steven and the girl. They're talking, smiling, and I've got to say they're not making a bad job of the dancing; but when I happen to catch Steven's eye I turn back to the barman. "Interesting choice," I say, and I indicate that moustache of his. I reach out as if I'm going to touch it. I don't look back at Steven but my senses tell me he's looking.
"The 'tache? Yeah. Didn't have one till I started working here, obviously, but it's the right look, y'know? Course, I don't wax it when I'm off duty."
"Course." I've run out of small talk so I just watch him mixing the drinks.
The song finishes and I expect Steven to appear at my side but he doesn't and it's on to the next song, and I chance a glance and he's still dancing with the girl, and Connie's singing Bet your bottom dollar, you and I are through, cos lipstick on you collar told a tale on you.
Couldn't make it up.
He looks good though, luminous in the low lighting, his wilder movements constrained because he's holding the girl.
He comes over after the second song.
"Good dance?" I say.
"Really good actually. Good chat?"
We both watch the barman completing the cocktails.
"Mr Hay was just commenting on my moustache," the guy says conversationally.
"I'm Mr Hay," says Steven.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I just assumed it was the other way around because of the..." And he nods at Steven's cufflinks.
"These?" says Steven. "No, he makes me wear them so I remember whose property I am. They match the tattoo on me bum."
"Mr Hay thinks he's funny," I say.
"Mr Brady thinks he's clever," says Steven.
"Enjoy your drinks," says the barman.
We pick them up and move a little distance away.
"Her fella didn't mind, then? Her dancing with you?"
"I told them my husband wouldn't dance with me cos he thinks it's gay. So he didn't mind after that." He tastes his martini. "When you think about it, it's ironic, innit, seeing as you're gayer than me."
"Excuse me? How can I be gayer than you? I'm not that sticks his tail in the air, am I."
"That doesn't make you less gay, Brendan. It takes two."
"I know, but it's... I know."
Hetero-normative, that's what the shrink called it when he was straightening out the tangled wires in my head. I'd convinced myself from when I first started going with lads that being a top was analagous to doing what normal men did, therefore I wasn't queer. Then I projected onto the ones that let me fuck them my hatred of myself.
So I do know.
"What I mean is," says Steven, "How many girls have you, you know..?"
"Just Eileen," I say, and he looks surprised. "What, did you think it was more?"
"No. I'm just... I didn't think you'd say it straight out."
"So to speak." But yes, I've surprised myself too.
"And did you ever like, proper fancy her?" His tone has softened but he still wants to make his point.
"I must'a done. We had two kids."
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah. No, it was... I did what I had to do."
"See, that's all I was saying. Them girls I was with, I did fancy them."
"So you're bisexual now are you? Is that what you're telling me?"
"No, Bren. All I meant was, I do know what it's like to actually want to be with a girl, and you don't. That's all. But that was before I knew who I was... Before you showed me. Cos I wasn't brave enough before, was I. I mean, I couldn't be gay where I came from, could I, cos me mum was horrible about people like that, and me stepdad was... I don't know what he would'a done to me, I don't, but he would'a used it to... to..."
I feel the hairs bristle on the back of my neck at the reminder of Steven's stepfather. It's like he's in the shadows, just out of sight.
"Hey. Come on." I touch Steven's cheek. "We're meant to be having a night out, ain't we? Come here."
I give him a one-armed hug, and we manage not to spill our drinks in the process.
"I'm just explaining," he says. "I weren't with girls because I'm bi or something. It was because no one was gay, not that I knew. Not real people. So if I had any, like, thoughts when I was a kid, I didn't know what they were or I just shoved them away again. And like, when someone at school was gay, I was nothing like them. John Paul McQueen, that was, and I know the McQueens are rough as, but they loved him. I didn't have nothing like that, did I, so I couldn'a been gay even if I had'a known I was."
"It's okay, Steven, you don't – "
"And once you and me were, you know... I never would'a got with Rae if you hadn'a made me. Cos it was kids' stuff when I fancied her before. I realised that when I got with you. It was just easier though, being with her." He frowns. "So why was I saying all that? Oh yeah. No, Bren, I'm not bi."
"Good."
"And I don't think about that Noah either, by the way. It's only that his name come into me head cos of what the stuff in the bathroom's called, like, the shower stuff and that."
"It's called Noah?"
"No, it's called Noir. Only it made me think about pinot noir. It's a kind of wine."
"I still don't get..?"
"It's when I first started working for Tony, right, years and years ago. He sent me out the back to fetch a bottle of pinot noir and I come back cos I couldn't find it. So he said there's a whole crate, and I had another look and I come back again and I said no, that crate's all 'pint Noah'. So then he told me how you say it. I felt like... But he was dead nice, how he told me. He didn't laugh or anything." He stops, possibly because he's run out of breath, then he says, "I'm talking too much, aren't I."
"No. No." I pause. "I never would'a shagged him, Steven, okay? Noah. That was never the plan. All's I was aiming at was stopping him shagging you."
"Can we stop talking about him now?"
"Deal," I say, and I hold out my hand and we shake, and I hold on to his hand until he smiles.
"We better go and ask that lady on the door if she's sorted our late checking out," he says.
That old black magic's got me in its spell
That old black magic that you weave so well
"Then I'll know how much more booze I can ply you with," I say.
"Yeah, let's go and see."
Those icy fingers
Up and down my spine
The same old witchcraft when your eyes meet mine
She comes to meet us.
"Good news, your room's not booked out till later so you can check out any time up until one o'clock."
"That's brilliant, thank you," says Steven.
In a spin, loving the spin I'm in
Under that old black magic called love.
:::::::
I've been to the gents' while Steven's gone to get some more drinks in.
When I join him back at the bar he's got a drink in one hand and he's mid-apology.
The barman is saying, "No worries. I'll make you a fresh one," and picking up slivers of glass from the surface of the bar.
"What's happened?" I say.
"I don't know," says Steven. "I was gonna pick it up but I knocked it over instead."
"You ain't had that much to drink, what's the matter with you?"
"It was an accident."
"No harm done," says the barman.
"You didn't cut yourself, no?" I take the drink from Steven's hand and set it down while we wait for the second one.
"No, just sent it flying."
"It happens. Look how many glasses need replacing at work every week."
"True." Then when the barman's finished mixing the replacement drink, Steven says to him, "Ta. Sorry."
"Go outside now, will we? Out on the terrace, yeah?"
"Yeah."
We make our way outside. The air is cooler compared with inside, but still it's a warm night. There's a low buzz of conversation from the handful of people who are out here. We walk over to a table to put our drinks down, and stand looking out over the city.
"Hell of a view," I say.
He works out which way we're facing, then he tells me the directions of places he knows. His cufflinks glint as he points; I pull his shirtsleeve up a little to check he's still wearing his silver cuff. Then I pick up the drinks, hand one to him.
"Cheers," he says.
"Here's looking at you."
He smiles. He's almost leaning on me, his arm against mine.
"I'm just drunk enough," he says.
"Good. Don't want you passing out on me."
"No chance."
"You had a good night? Barring the row at the start, obviously."
"Call that a row?" he says, and we look at each other and smile.
"Point."
"Shall we make this the last one, Bren?"
"The last row?"
"The last drink, you muppet. I wanna go home. To the room I mean. The room-home." He laughs.
"You're a funny one, Steven."
"I love you, so I must be." When he tilts his head back to drink his drink, he looks at the sky. "There's stars look, loads of them."
"No clouds. Beautiful."
"And the moon."
"Yeah. Half moon anyways."
"Half-iversary, that's why." He nudges me and when I look at him he smiles, and we both look up again at the endless sky.
"I looked upon the moon," I say, "Longing to knead and pull it into shape, that I might lay it on your head as a crown."
"Is that, like, a poem? Is it from the book I gave you?"
"Yep."
"Kneading the moon." He laughs again, warm and low. "You could do that, Brendan, cos you know how to knead. I showed you how, didn't I."
"Yep. You showed me how."
:::::::
"I've put the water on for tea," he tells me when I come out of the bathroom.
"Tea?"
"Yeah, I fancy a cup. Why? Don't you?"
"I guess."
"Take these off for me." He holds out his arms and I unfasten his cuff links. "Ta."
"You're welcome."
He goes and zips them away in his bag.
"Won't be a minute," he says from the bathroom doorway. "You can make the tea if you like."
I'm sitting on the couch when he comes back, and he sits too. His shirt is unbuttoned.
"Tea," I say.
He drinks. "That's lovely, that. I was gasping for one."
"We didn't eat these chocolates." I pick one off the plate on the coffee table and make out I'm going to feed it to him, but I snatch it away at the last second and eat it myself.
"Oi!" he says.
I pick up the other one and I'm going to put it in his mouth for real this time but he must think I'm going to pull the same trick again, because he grabs my wrist and bites the chocolate out of my hand.
"Take my fingers off, why don'tcha?"
He gets hold of my hand and examines it for injury. I don't know how a person can kiss sarcastically but that's what he does to my fingers, and he says, "I don't think I need to phone 999."
I kiss his mouth and he winds his arms round my neck so we keep kissing. I can feel the bones beneath his skin. Ribs and vertebrae so close to the surface that they feel unprotected. His strengths lie elsewhere.
"I love you," I tell him.
"Yeah." His voice is a breath.
"You gonna be okay if we..? After today, y'know..."
"After this afternoon?"
"Yeah. You ain't too sore for..?"
"I'm alright long as we use enough lube. Like, loads."
I undo his jeans and he wriggles and pushes them down. I stand up and pull them off his ankles.
"Take your shirt off."
"Take yours off," he says, and he slips his off as he sits there looking up at me.
When mine's off he lifts his leg and pushes his foot against my stomach. I run my hand along his shin against the grain of the hair.
"Underwear."
He slips his thumbs into the low waistband and stretches the fabric but he doesn't take them off. He slides his foot down to my crotch and then to the floor and stands up. His breath is on my lips, warm like steam. I push down those white briefs for him and he steadies himself with his hands on my waist and steps out of them.
It takes the lightest of shoves to send him toppling back onto the sofa. I move the coffee table out of the way and then I stand in front of him and drag him by the hips so his arse is right on the edge of the seat, then I kneel on the floor between his spread knees. He thinks I'm going to blow him but he's wrong. I lift his legs, bend them back so I can see his hole, and he gets my drift and holds his legs up for me with his hands at the backs of his knees. I press my hands on his buttocks and spread them with my thumbs. Get in there with my tongue, no messing around, in through the ring of muscle, licking inside like an upward tick.
I raise my head and look up at him.
"Will you get your nuts out the way?"
"What?"
"Don't get me wrong, they're cute. As nuts go. I just got a faceful of 'em, is all."
"I've only got two hands," he says, but then he parks one foot on my shoulder so he hasn't got to hold that leg up with his hand now, and he delicately scoops his scrotum out of my way.
"Thank you, Steven. That's helpful."
I get my face back down there, my lips and tongue on his rim.
It's thirsty work. Eventually I come up for air and sit back on my heels. That cup of tea was a good idea of his; I finish it although it's tepid by now, and he finishes his too when I hand it to him.
He looks flushed, breathless, wrecked.
"On the furry thing?" he says.
We both stand and walk round to the bed and again I shove him and he lands on his back on that throw.
"Turn over, Steven."
He rolls so he's face down, one leg bent out to the side from the hip to give his pelvis a little lift, a little spread. I stroke his backside then strip off and get on the bed, pump lube into my hand (like, loads) and spread it thickly onto him and inside too so it's everywhere.
His fingers close on the fur when I fuck him – open and close and open and close. His face is buried in it.
This is easy. I know everything about his body down to the angle of the curve inside him. All that's unfamiliar is the scent I breathe in at the crook of his neck – must be something from the hotel bathroom – but his taste is the same and so is the texture of his skin between my teeth.
I push myself up on my arms when I'm getting there. I'm still going slow though, only then Steven twists his head around to look at me. I don't think he says anything and I don't think I do either. He nods his head maybe, or something like that, but anyhow I know it's okay to go hard at him for the last few thrusts. His cries are full-throated but I reckon I drown them out when I come. Then I slip off him and we both lie here on our bellies on the fur, and we look at each other and his panting bubbles into laughter.
He shifts onto his side. He hasn't come yet. His dick is stiff and there's a shine of pre-cum around its head.
"Rim you if you want," he says. "Fair's fair."
He doesn't wait for an answer, just moves down the bed and jostles a space between my legs to kneel in, and then I feel his hands on the backs of my thighs, and his breath coming, and then his tongue. He's got a noisy way of doing this, same as his blowjob technique, all mmming and slurping, and breaths gasped between licks and sucks. He's thorough, concentrated.
The lube is lying next to me on the bed where I dropped it. I pick it up and I look round at Steven; he looks up when I move, and I reach back and hold it out to him.
"What?" he says, and I keep holding it out to him and if he doesn't take it right now I'm going to change my mind – and then he takes it. "D'you mean..?"
I turn away. I'm face down, my forehead resting on my folded arms on the pillow, and I slide my knee out to the side like he does.
For a minute there's nothing, just the sound of my blood pulsing in my head, and then there's the hiss of the lube as he squirts it out, and I wait to feel it on me but that's not what he does. He's lubing his dick with it, getting himself hard enough. I can hear his hand going at it, his breath shaking with the quick rhythm, and then it stops and the bed dips where he's positioning himself. He plants a hand on the mattress about next to my waist, and then his other hand touches my arse, tentative, and he says, "Is this what you want?"
When I nod, the sweat on my forehead slides stickily on my forearm.
His hand moves from my backside. He's holding his dick now, must be, and then I feel the head of it nudging at my hole, and I breathe, and my eyes are tight closed and I tell myself in my head, It's just Steven. It's just Steven.
There's no pain. I don't like it, but there's no pain. He's doing this slowly, inching in, finessing his angle, and it's not like it was then. Nothing like then.
There's breath on the back of my neck. I tell myself, It's just Steven – only I don't have to, not any more, because this is nothing like then.
And then I feel him pulling out, and he's at my side.
"What's the matter?" I say.
Does it feel wrong, is that it? Where the damage was done, where the scars are – the physical ones – does it feel wrong inside of me? I sit up, get on my knees and look down at him. Anger is knotting my stomach.
"It's not what I want, Brendan."
"What?"
"It's not what I want. It's not what I want. It's just... it's not me."
"You did it before, with – "
"So what? That weren't me. I'm not me if I'm not with you. Brendan, right, if you want I'll... we can try again, but – "
"I don't want you to do something you don't wanna do." My anger is resolving into shame. "I'd never... I never – "
"I know. You never did." He moves to kneel in front of me.
"I just wanted to see if..."
"And you did. And that's... But I don't think it's you, Bren, is it. Us, I mean, it's not what we're like."
I nod. Steady myself with a breath. Look down at his half-mast dick.
"Given up, has it?"
He laughs like a sigh of relief, and I take him in hand; let go for a second because it feels tacky from where it's been. Then I get over it, and I jerk him off, both of us kneeling here, his hands on my shoulders while he looks down at what I'm doing.
"Uh," is the noise he makes, and his cum spurts over my hand and wrist and thigh.
"I'm gonna..." I say. "Just gonna go and..." And I go and take a shower.
The water doesn't get hot – maybe the hotel's system is temperamental in the early hours of the morning – but that's okay, it feels good streaking down my back and it gets me clean.
"We forgot to bring wipes," he says when I go back into the bedroom; he's got a bunch of tissues crumpled in his hand. "They had these though. Just gonna flush them. Oh, I got a bottle of water out the fridge, it's by the bed if you want some."
I drag the throw off the bed – it'll be too warm under the covers with that on top, even if Steven wants to keep his distance – and I get in.
He's back in a minute, and he lifts the cover and climbs over me and he lifts my arm so he can fit himself to my side. No distance. No difference.
"Is he s'posed to be Irish, that one in Star Trek?" he says, then he yawns. "Cos his accent weren't very good."
"Who? Scotty?"
"Yeah."
"I may be wrong, Steven, but I got a feeling he's Scottish."
"Oh. Oh." He laughs at himself, then he's quiet for a while till he says, "Why tonight, Brendan? Doing it like... What made you wanna do it tonight, after all this time?"
It's dark in the room now. Dark enough to talk.
"Hasn't been all that time though, not really. I went away, didn't I, soon as I told you about the..."
"Abuse."
"And I couldn'a done it before. Wouldn'a risked it, wouldn'a, in case I... So it's only been since I came back. Months, but... It was what you said to that fella in the club, those fellas, y'know?"
"Them homophobic ones?"
"Yeah. You said how it takes guts to be... to do what you do. Couldn't do it if you weren't man enough, you said. Just got me thinking, have I got the guts? Or did... Seamus take that away like he..."
"D'you think our love life is how it is because of him? Eh? D'you think we do what we do because of what that bastard done to you?" He sounds outraged, bewildered. "Cos it's not. He ain't in our bedroom, mate, he's got nothing to do with us."
"That's not what I'm saying. It's not what I think, Steven, I just think I... And then what you said tonight, y'know, how it don't make you more gay or less gay, it's..."
"Did you know you was gonna do it? Like, plan it?"
"Didn't know until you were down there with your tongue in my arse." I half laugh. "Kinda felt like now or never. Wouldn'a done it at home, in case..."
"In case you, like, freaked out?"
I nod. "Memories, they attach themselves to places, don't they, so..."
"You didn't want our bed to be, like..."
"Tainted."
"Anyway it turned out alright cos you didn't freak out."
"No, I didn't."
"But did you actually want it though? Like, fancy it, or – ?"
"No. It was just... I dunno. Proving something, I guess."
"To me? You haven't got to prove anything to me."
"To myself, more like. I shouldn'a used you, Steven."
"You didn't use me. I didn't like it so I stopped."
"Sorry."
"You didn't like it either, Brendan."
"No."
"Did you feel like I was – ?"
"No. No, Steven, it was nothing like then, okay? Nothing. What he did, it felt like... punishment."
"I hate him. I'm glad he's dead."
"Me too."
"I used to... When you was gone, I used to think about killing him. Like, if Cheryl hadn't, I used to think about how I would'a done it. See, I would'a made sure you had an alibi – cos you would'a been at the club at night, loads'a witnesses, right – and I would'a found out he was down the pub, and I would'a took someone's car and sat and waited, and I would'a waited till he was going home." He's fluent: there's no doubt he's had this in his head for a long time. "Cos there's places where there's no cameras, I would'a found that out first. And I would'a run him down. Dump the car, walk home the back way. It wouldn't even matter if he didn't die, he'd still be smashed up anyway."
I kiss him, startle him with the force of it.
"Couldn'a let you do that, Steven. It fucks you up, killing people."
"He fucked you up. You couldn'a stopped me. I love you."
"I love you too."
:::::::
I wake up and it's lighter than it was but you couldn't call it morning. Steven is standing framed in the window looking out. I sit up.
"You better hope there's no one over there got a long lens."
He glances at me than out of the window again.
"Over the road? They're not flats are they? No one's got their lights on if they are."
"Dunno." I get out of bed, pick up the fur thing from the floor and wrap it around him from behind like a cape and hold it in place with my arms, and look over his shoulder at the buildings opposite. "Yeah, offices probably."
"I hope so. Don't want randoms spying on me bits, do I."
"It's them I feel sorry for. They don't wanna be looking at scrawny-arse hotel guests, do they."
"They might."
"Give us a kiss then. Give them something worth spying on."
We're too high up for street lights so it's just the early dawn softly lighting his face as he turns in my arms. A gentle kiss seems to suit the hour.
He feels slighter than ever, cocooned as he is in the bulky throw. He's standing on my toes.
"I'm glad we haven't got to check out straight after breakfast now," he says.
"Me too."
"I like your beard."
"Are you still drunk, Steven Hay?"
"No." His lips rest momentarily against mine, not even a kiss. "I'm tired."
"Too tired?"
"For what?" His words fall into my mouth.
I answer his question with my tongue and he yields to it, answering mine.
I carry him the short distance to the bed, lie him there, unwrap him. We kiss and his hand drifts to my cock and works it up lazily. The can of lube has made its way across the bed and I reach over him for it. He watches me pump it onto my fingers.
"More?" I say and he nods and I squeeze out another blob.
He winces when it touches him but it's only because it's cold, he says, and I soon warm it up. I kiss him – his chest, his stomach, the shaft of his dick – while I finger him. Then when he's ready I bring him to the head of the bed and I rest my shoulders against the tall headboard and sit him astride me. He can ride me this time, so how far and how fast will be up to him.
He's happy to be put where I want him, but he gets me inside him himself. Then he's got one hand on my shoulder and the other grasping the top of the headboard, and he kisses me. And then he gives it some, tired though he is. I can feel the strain in his thighs as he rolls and jerks his hips. The muscles inside him grip and pull me. I do the same to his dick with my hand.
He starts flagging. I lift him by the waist so I fall out of him, and I sit him against the headboard, crouch in front of him and suck him. He leans forward over me, stroking as far down my back as he can reach, and when he comes his fingers spasm into claws and score my skin.
"Tastes of jelly beans," I say, and I sit back.
"No it doesn't."
"Yeah it does. And cola bottles. And flying saucers."
He comes to me and we kiss, and then he's on his back and I'm in him again, filling him, collapsing on him when I've come, and he's captive under my weight. He strokes where he's scratched me.
When I get off him we straighten the bed and get under the covers.
"I can't believe sports day was only today," he says. "Well, yesterday, cos it's practically morning now. Seems like ages ago."
"Get some sleep, yeah? We're getting a lie-in, remember?"
"Yeah. Brendan?"
"Steven."
"About before..."
I knew it. I knew what we did tonight is a bigger deal to him than he made out. It's on his mind and it's going to stay there, getting in the way of us.
"What?" I say, and I brace myself.
"You are gonna dance with me. I'm telling you, right. In Brighton, you and me are gonna have a dance."
It takes me a second to re-calibrate. He's being the same to me as he always is.
"We won't be going out dancing," I say, the same to him as I always am. "We'll have the kids to look after."
"A dance. You and me, in public. I'm telling you now."
"Go to sleep, Steven."
"I love you. Say I love you too."
"I love you too."