There's a quietness to the days after the hotel. They're warm days with a still kind of heat, and they're long days even if we lie in bed for hours after the sun is up.

I've not got enough summer clothes, he tells me, so we make a couple of trips to the shops and wind up buying more things for him than for me but anyhow, he gets me sorted to his satisfaction and with fewer than the usual number of arguments. We get stuff for the kids too, so. And we walk, along the canal or wherever. Have a coffee one day and a pint the next, and on that afternoon when we've been to the pub we drop by the park. It's the first time I've been there just with him – we're either there with Leah and Lucas usually, or I'm on my own running through it – and we find an abandoned football and kick it around for an hour near enough. He looks extraordinary. One time I look at him when he goes jogging a way off to fetch the ball when it's gone astray: he's got his hoodie tied round his waist and he's lithe and loose in a pale blue T-shirt, and he gives the football a mighty kick back towards me and comes running with his arms in the air fooling around like he's scored a goal, and he's got this big funny smile on his face, and the sun is in his eyes so I doubt he can see what's in mine. I tell him he's a nutter.

:::::::

"Breakfast in bed is it?" I say.

"Only a bit of toast." He lifts the cover and dives over me to get back in. "Thought I better wake you up though cos you've got the hairdressers in a bit."

"Barbers." I sit up. "Thank you."

I pass him his mug, take a drink from mine then pick up the plate of toast. Some of it's just buttered, some has got jam on too. He takes a piece.

"One week and six days," he says.

"Did you just dunk your toast in your coffee? What kind of a delinquent did I get married to?"

"Shut up, I like it. Did you hear what I said? One week and – "

"And six days, yeah. Steven, you gotta... It's just a holiday. Okay? You're counting down the days, but it's – "

"Why? Are you not looking forward to it?"

"Yeah I am. Course I am. Only you got your expectations going sky high, and I just, I don't want you to be setting yourself up for a fall, is all."

"Why? What's the problem, eh? What d'you think's gonna go wrong?"

"Nothing."

"No, come on, you're worrying about something."

"I dunno. What if the apartment's a letdown? Or the weather – you say you don't care if it rains but the kids, y'know, if they're all cooped up all day..."

"We'll deal with it. Bren, two of them live in Manchester and two of them live in Ireland, so they can handle a bit of rain."

"On holiday it's different though. You want things to be right, y'know? If they don't get on, the four of them. Or if they go home at the end of it and tell their mother it pissed down and it was all rows or – "

"Who? Leah and Lucas? Or Declan and Paddy?"

"All of them."

"You think if everything's not absolutely perfect, Amy and Eileen are gonna – ?"

"They could, couldn't they. If I fuck it up, it's just gonna be 'I told you so.'"

"Alright, one, even your Eileen can't blame you for the rain. And two, it's both of us, innit, so they can't blame you for any fuck-ups. If there is any. Which there won't be."

"Your T-shirt's inside out."

"I know. I thought it might be less rank if you couldn't see the palm trees."

"It's not."

He laughs, then he says, "No, but I know what the problem is really. I think I know."

"It's that yellow. Burning my retinas."

"I mean with the holiday. I think you're worried about the lads. I think you think it's gonna go wrong cos you've not spent that much time with both of them, have you, not for years and years, and with everything that's happened you're scared there's gonna be rows or them asking questions about... But Brendan, right, all of us want a nice holiday, don't we?"

"Yeah." I take a gulp of coffee to wash down the toast because it feels like it's stuck in my throat.

"So everyone's gonna be trying their best – we all are. And if there is anything, like, rows and that, it's not the end of the world. Family's have rows, don't they, and then they make up. It's what families are like."

I nod.

"I better get moving," I say. "Ain't like your hairdressers is it, there's no sitting down for half an hour with a magazine and a skinny latte before they start. This barber's like a military operation."

"You should try where I go. You might like it."

"It's all girls, ain't it. They wouldn't know what to do about this." I scratch my beard.

"What about that? You ain't having it shaved off, no."

"Getting it trimmed at least."

"How much trimmed?"

"Decide when I get there."

"Right, I'm coming with you." He scrambles out of bed.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, I'll change out of this T-shirt."

"You better not pack it for the holiday either. That'll be one less row, so."

:::::::

"He just wants it tidied up, don't you." Steven's standing behind me next to the barber, Marco, and they're both looking at me in the mirror. "Not shaved off or anything."

Jesus.

"Will you go and sit down?"

He slopes off over to the seats where people sit to wait their turn. I can't see him now but I imagine he's poised to wrestle this poor bastard to the ground if he picks up a razor.

I get my hair cut first – same as usual, same as it was before only shorter, easy – and when I'm happy with that, Marco asks me what we're doing with the beard.

"Just a trim." Steven's here again behind me, locking eyes with the barber's reflection, answering the question before I've drawn breath.

"It's my face, Steven. D'you wanna butt out?"

"Yeah, but – "

"D'you wanna set your clippers on zero, Marco, and take it all off?"

"No," says Steven. "You're joking. He's joking, mate. He just wants it trimmed. Brendan, tell him."

"Are you gonna let the man do his job?"

"Not if he's gonna – "

"He's not. Just a trim, please, Marco." I say to Steven, "Happy now?"

"I was just saying." He goes off back to his seat.

The other barbers and their customers in the chairs either side of mine resume their conversations.

While Marco is adjusting his blade guard he says to me, "So he's your..?"

"He's my personal stylist, apparently."

"Really?"

"Really. No, not really. He's my fella, is all."

Anyhow. So we're done and we're out on the street.

"Go for a coffee, shall we?" says Steven. "My treat."

"What is it with you and the beard? I never had one before and I didn't see you complaining."

"It's less scratchy than just stubble, that's all. Plus it stops you getting scratched when I'm stubbly, so it's better for you an' all."

"When you've not shaved for a month you mean?"

"Shut up. It's just... it's what you're like now. In our, like, new life, you've got a beard. You want that coffee or not? There's that place over the road."

"Throw in a cake and I'm there."

We cross to that place over the road. I grab us a table and he queues at the counter.

He comes over with the coffees on a tray along with a slice of chocolate gateau and a slice of lemon cheesecake.

"I didn't know what you wanted. You can have whichever, or we can have some of each each."

"Some of each each."

"And no, this ain't a skinny latte before you ask."

"Thank you."

"Your hair looks good." His phone rings and he stands up to get it out of his back pocket. "It'll be me dad, probably, about tonight. Oh, no it's not. It's Declan." He frowns at me.

"Answer it then." I look at my phone but there's no missed call from him.

"Hiya Declan. Alright?"

"What's he want?" I ask when Steven has been listening for a minute saying nothing but the occasional Yeah? and Okay. "Problem or..?"

"Okay. I'll ring you back in a minute, Declan, cos I'm with him now, so I'll... Yeah, in a sec. Thanks for thinking about it, yeah? Bye."

"What? What was that about?"

"It's okay, there's nothing wrong. It's just, he just wanted to know if... Right, Cheryl's there now, like, visiting."

"In Dublin?"

"Yeah. Why he phoned was, Chez was just about to send you a photo of him and her and Paddy, only Declan thought if she did it like, out of the blue, it might make you – "

"He thinks I'm gonna get angry over my sister going to visit my kids?" I throw my fork down on the table and it bounces off onto the floor.

"No, Brendan." He resists calling me a fucking idiot but he's obviously thinking it, the way he's looking at me as he leans down and picks up the fork. "It might make you sad, that's what he said. That's why he stopped her sending it until he'd checked with me."

I get up, go over to the counter and get a clean fork and another sugar.

"'Sad'?" I say when I sit back down. "Because she's gone to visit her nephews? No, that's... It's nice, it's fine."

"Because she's there for Eileen's hen night – that's why she's visiting. So he thought it might be, like, weird for you, Declan did. He just wanted me to tell you first, that's all."

"Okay. Eileen's hen night? I didn't know Chez was..."

"Is it weird?"

"I dunno." I shrug. "No. It's... Weird? Yeah, a little, I guess, maybe. But he's wrong about it making me sad. I ain't sad about it."

"It's nice of Declan to think of you, though, innit. Your feelings."

"He's a good lad."

"Yeah he is. He's kind."

"Kind. Yeah."

"So I'll ring and tell him it's okay to send the photo?" he asks, and I nod. "Or you can ring him, tell him yourself. Go on."

I call Declan's number.

"Hey Dad."

"Alright son? So Steven's told me your Auntie Cheryl's there for your mum's hen then, yeah?"

"Yeah, she's here. We're just out for a coffee now, just Auntie Chez and Pad and me. The hen thing's not till tonight, so."

"Yeah? That's what me and Steven are doing, got a coffee here and a cake. Make sure your auntie gets you a cake, yeah? Tell her from me, she's to spoil the both of you."

"She has, she's got us cake."

Then I hear my sister in the background, "We've got cake, aye, slabs of it big as Paddy's head," and then I hear Padraig laugh, I think. I can't recall how his laugh sounds, but it must be him.

"Your brother skiving off school is he?"

"It's already the school holidays, Dad. You're thinking of England – it's different here."

"That's... Yeah, course. So send them my love, him and your auntie."

"Dad sends his love," Declan tells them, then to me he says, "Auntie Cheryl's got her mouth full but she's saying it back, like, in sign language." He sounds amused, and I can imagine my sister gesturing and pulling faces.

"Listen, son, tell her she can send us the picture, yeah? The one she was gonna send. It's okay, it's fine."

"Okay. I just thought I better ask first, but..."

"Yeah, it's... But I'm glad your auntie and your mum are close again, y'know, cos they go way back, back when they were kids so... It doesn't mean she's taking sides or anything like that. And for Eileen, for your mum, I only... I wish her nothing but the best, so. Whatever she wishes me." I pause for Declan to say something, but he doesn't, so I carry on. "I appreciate you being thoughtful, Declan. You don't have to be worrying about me though, okay? I'm good, we're good here. You don't have to carry that kinda... Anyways, that's your old man's job, worrying about you."

This time when I pause he eventually breaks the silence.

"So we'll send the photo now," he says.

"Good lad. So I better go, else Steven's gonna finish all the cake before I get to it. So we'll be in touch, sort out picking you up from the airport, all that, yeah?"

"Okay. Bye Dad."

"So long, son."

"I an't hardly touched the cake," Steven says when I've ended the call. "You just wanted to get off the phone."

"I don't know what to say to him. How to talk to him, I just – "

"You did fine. You do fine. You was fine by the time he went home last time, Brendan."

"A whole week though, it's gonna be..."

"There's gonna be six of us most of the time, you won't be on your own with them."

I nod.

A minute later we both get an alert on our phones. It's the photograph from Cheryl. Look! No rain! Love from Brady Brady n Brady x x x. She and Declan have got an arm around each other, and Padraig is in front of them. They all look happy.

"He's got a look of you, Paddy has," says Steven. "Same colouring."

"You gonna reply then?"

"Yeah. Hang on a sec." He scoots round to my side of the table and holds out his phone. "Say cheesecake."

"Cheesecake," I say, and he takes the photo of us.

He shows me.

"Not bad," he says. "You almost smiled."

"I did smile. You just didn't press the thing in time."

"I must'a pressed it on cake instead'a cheese." He does a funny grin on 'cheese', and I laugh, and he says, "I've sent it now anyway. Want me to send it to you an' all? Then you can show your hairdresser next time what's the perfect amount of beard."

"Barber," I say. "Go on then."

:::::::

When Harry arrives for work I have a word with him.

"We got guests tonight – Steven's dad's coming, and his stepmother. His real dad, that is."

"Right. Shall I call you when they get here, just in case?"

"No. Only if the other fella shows up. No, just ask their names, yeah? He's Danny Lomax, he's tall, grey hair, forties. His wife's Sam, Samantha. Same age, blonde hair. Flat feet."

Harry looks at me, surprised.

"Police?" he says.

"Detective, no less. I never crossed her path though, in her professional life shall we say. So when they get here, you just bring them in, tell one of the bar staff to take them through to the kitchen so Steven can show it off, then we'll take it from there."

"Will do, boss."

:::::::

Steven texts me later on. Can Danny and Sam go up now? Xx

I make my way to the kitchen. The two of them are standing out of the way while Steven plates up an order. He's flushed form the heat or from his anxiety to impress; his eyes are bright.

I shake hands with Danny and the detective.

"Nice to see you, Brendan," says Danny. "Very impressive, all this."

"All Steven's work. He designed the place, managed the project, runs the whole show."

"So we've heard," says Samantha. "It's nice to see it in the flesh at last, instead of just the occasional update."

"I've been busy," says Steven. "You can see I have."

"Sam didn't mean anything," says Danny. "Anyway maybe we'll catch up a bit in the school holidays, Ste, when I'm off work."

"Anyway, Brendan's gonna take you upstairs and then you can order what you want, can't they, Bren? And have a drink and that. And then I'll come up and see you when I'm finished."

"I won't make you use the back stairs," I say. "Come this way."

I show them back out to the bar; turn as I go and give Steven a wink, and he smiles and gets back to work.

They pause to take in the main floor and then I lead them upstairs and sign them into Members. Inside I take them across to the bar. Alicia's on.

"Steven's guests," I say to her. "On the house, whatever they want."

"Oh, no," Danny says, "We're not here to freeload. It's very kind of you, Brendan, but we'll – "

"I insist. Alicia here'll take care of you. Now I got work to do, but you two relax and enjoy your night. There's menus here. Okay, so I'll see you later."

"What time does Ste finish?" asks Samantha.

"Last orders at half eleven. He's usually done by midnight."

"We can't stay much later than that," says Danny. "Sam's got work tomorrow. Not an early shift, luckily, but – "

"Criminals won't catch themselves," I say.

"They don't have Saturdays off," she says, "Unfortunately."

"Steven'll wanna be getting home anyhow. Picking the kids up in the morning for the weekend. But he'll want to have a drink with you – you won't go before then."

"Wouldn't dream of it," says Danny. "It's obvious how much this means to him, the job he's doing here. It's great to see him like this."

His wife nods.

"It's a transformation," she says.

"You knew this place before we built the kitchen?"

"What? Oh, no. I meant Ste. He's transformed, he's like a different person when we see him now compared with how he was. You probably don't notice as you see him every day."

"It's true," says Danny.

"I admit I had more than a few doubts – "

"We all did," Danny says.

"But so far, so good." She's steely when she says it.

"You make it sound like I'm on probation," I say.

"You are."

"You talking as a mother in law or as a police officer?"

"Same thing aren't they?" Danny says, joking like we're blokes together, and I guess it's an attempt to diffuse the potential tension, because then his missus laughs and says, "I'll stop acting like I'm on duty now I've got a glass of wine in my hand."

I leave them studying the menu and go out the back way and down to the kitchen.

"Hiya," says Steven. "They up there now?"

"Yeah. They'll be ordering in a minute."

"Did they say anything? About me... me kitchen and that?"

"They're impressed, Steven, don't worry." I straighten the collar of his polo and hold his chin for a second. "You've impressed them."

He looks pleased.

:::::::

Steven's texted me to say he's finished work, only I'm tied up for a while so I don't join him upstairs for another twenty minutes or so.

He's changed out of his work clothes into the jeans he came in and a shirt he brought with him, and he's standing at the bar.

"Good timing," he says. "I'm just getting a round in, you can give me a hand."

"Same again?"

"Yeah, except they just want a small one this time."

"You want one?" I ask him.

"Not really, no. They said they'll be going soon so I'm gonna just finish the one I've got."

"How's it going, okay?"

"Yeah, it's going alright. They've had a nice time. They liked the food, or they said they did anyway."

"They said it to me too," says Alicia. "They seem dead proud."

"Ta." Steven smiles, and it's hard to tell in this lighting but I think he blushes a little. "Brendan, if I get Sam out the way will you see what Danny says about being back with her? Like, if he seems like he thinks it's gonna be permanent?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. Man to man sort'a thing. Cos he might not be straight with me, might he, about his love life and that. Cos he's me dad."

I wonder why it matters so much. I want to ask him, is it happy families he's after, taking the kids away at weekends to visit these new grandparents? Is our family not enough for him? Am I not enough? I don't say it though because it sounds pathetic enough in my head, let alone how it would sound if I said it out loud, to Steven.

"Course he's gonna open up to me," I say instead. "Talk about old times, will we, like how I was gonna batter him second time I met him?"

"Try and just have a conversation, right, like normal people. Reckon you can manage that?"

Alicia puts two small glasses of wine down on the bar and Steven takes them over to where Samantha and Danny are sitting.

"Am I getting one for you, Brendan?" Alicia says.

"See how he talks to me?" I say to her, and she smiles, and I ask for a whiskey and tell her to have a drink herself if she wants.

Then I go and join the others.

"Sam was saying," says Steven, "The girls do wanna come but they both work shifts, don't they, and they don't get the same nights off except once in a blue moon."

"I'm glad we've made it now," says Danny, and he reaches and squeezes Steven's shoulder and I think, Don't touch him.

"So you've had a good night, then?" Steven asks.

"Great, yeah. We've really enjoyed it, haven't we, Sam?"

"Definitely. I think my clubbing days are well and truly over but it's very nice being up here with the VIPs, so thank you." She tilts her glass to me.

"Come on, you ain't that old," Steven says to her, and he stands up and pulls her to her feet. "Come and have a dance."

She doesn't take much persuading; they go out onto the floor, apparently unfazed by their oddness as dancing partners.

"Permanent now, is it?" I say to Danny. "This? Feet under the table is it?"

"Erm... Sam and I, do you mean? Yeah, I hope so." He seems taken aback; perhaps normal people don't ask things like that, or at least not without some kind of foreplay. "She's asked me to move back home. Sam and Tegan and Peri, they all want me to, so..."

"How about the other one? Lisa. She got other ideas, has she?"

"Leela?"

"That's the one."

"No, she's fine about it, but she's like Ste, she's got her own place so it wouldn't affect her so much."

"Fallen on your feet, then."

"How d'you mean?"

"Boyfriend runs off with his ex. Next minute you remember you've got a wife and a house to go back to. My sister's house, as it happens."

"That's not how it happened. John Paul and I had been having our problems before his ex came back on the scene, and Sam and I had been getting closer again anyway, just talking, y'know, about Peri, about her course work and so on."

"Fascinating."

"The house thing – it being your old place, or your sister's – it was a total coincidence. Ste never even mentioned it. No, it was John Paul who told me, and that wasn't until months down the line, after I'd moved out anyway. Then I obviously tried to talk to Ste about it but he just shut down. You know what he's like."

Yes I know what Steven is like, more than you ever will.

"So it's back to the missus until the next lad comes along?"

"No. I don't know what you think you know about our situation, Brendan." He pauses, reins in his irritation. "I think we just lost our way, Sam and I, but being apart made us realised what we'd had. We know we've got to work to put things right this time around, instead of brushing them under the carpet like we've done pretty much since day one." He's watching her dancing as he speaks, and it's like he's talking to himself more than to me until he snaps out of it. "Wow, listen to me going on at you as if you're from Marriage Guidance."

"I got that kinda face, makes strangers wanna open up. It's a burden but..."

He looks at me as if he's trying to work out if I'm serious.

"Anyway," he says, "To answer your question, I'm not messing my family around any more."

"You still like lads though."

"That's neither here nor there, is it, because I'm not on the lookout."

I raise my glass.

"Good luck," I say.

"I don't need it, Brendan." He says it with an edge that's surprising in a mild-mannered schoolteacher, but then maybe you've got to have an edge if you're a serial adulterer. "I was selfish, I know that. But I've learnt my lesson."

I glance at his profile as he looks over at his wife. His jaw is set, his expression giving nothing away, only there's something there – a flicker of a muscle maybe – which betrays what he's trying not to show, and for the first time I can see a resemblance between this man and Steven. The sharp edge I heard in his voice a moment ago wasn't irritation, anger, anything like that. It was hurt and it was resolve.

"I believe you," I say. "For what it's worth."

:::::::

I've left Steven and the two of them talking and I've gone downstairs to work.

I get a text not long after: There going. I'm getting my bag. Come an say goodbye xx

I go through to the kitchen. Steven's on his own there.

"They're gonna meet me in front. They said I can go in their cab and they'll drop me home on their way."

"Okay."

"I've done you a snack. It's just a sandwich, just Parma ham and some bits from the menu, some of them scorched peppers and that. A bit random. But I've left it in the oven so it'll still be warm if you have it now."

"Thank you. The bread you made, yeah?"

"Bread I made, yeah. Bren, did you ask me dad about..?"

"Yeah. He said yeah, he's realised his mistakes, blah blah."

"Did you believe him?"

"I did, yeah."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he meant it. I'd say they got as good a chance as most, so."

"Good." He nods, emphatic, like it's a weight off his mind.

"Gonna be happy families now, is it?"

"Hope so anyway." He picks up his bag and heads for the door. "So me sisters won't be on the phone no more getting on at me to go and see him. 'Come on Ste, Dad's all on his own, he's lonely.' He's got Sam now, so he's sorted. You coming?"

:::::::

There's an awkward moment when I think the detective's going to kiss me goodbye and I think she's thinking the same about me, but then we both swerve it and go for a handshake; and then I shake Danny Lomax's hand.

I guess I should apologise for my digs at him, but I don't. He doesn't seem unduly bothered anyways, so.

"See you in a bit," Steven says, and we hug briskly, just long enough to say – cheek to cheek – Love you.

"Text me when you're home."

:::::::

Home. Don't be late xx

I'm always late Friday nights.

I know soon as u can tho xx

Sandwich kills by the way. Fucking class...

I lend a hand on the bar downstairs because it's heaving. Feel my phone vibrate in my breast pocket as I'm making a round of cocktails, and check it as soon as I've taken the money.

Night xx, it says and it comes with a photograph of Steven's face on the pillow, sleepy-eyed, his cheek squashed up a little where he's lying on it.

Night.

A minute later: Kiss me? Xx

X

Another five or ten minutes and then, Wake me up when u home ok xx

And then I remember I've not fucked him since the hotel on Tuesday morning.

Tuesday night when I came home from work he was asleep and he did that thing he does sometimes, huffing when I moved him over so I could get into bed; huffing again as he found his position against my side; not waking up in the process I don't think, and I slept too because we'd tired ourselves out at that hotel with one thing and another. Wednesday morning what did we do? I ask myself as I'm working. Was it Wednesday when he came into the shower when I got back from a run? A hand job, mutual, holding each other's shoulders with our spare hands. Looking down at the job we were doing. Your head's in the way, I can't see. That's it, good lad. Shower gel deployed, the one from the hotel, Noir.

No, that was yesterday morning, Thursday. Wednesday morning I didn't go running or to the gym because it was too good to be home. Our coffee went cold but his mouth on my cock was warm. And Wednesday night he straddled me and we dry-humped, me in my boxers, him in his oldest pyjama pants, and we both ended up coming, and we laughed at his wake-the-neighbours Fuck. Fuck. Fuck – his laugh vibrating through his ribs straight to mine – and we slept like that, the wet patches at our crotches getting clammy then drying in our heat.

Thursday afternoon, home from the park, I stripped his sweaty T-shirt off him, yanked down his trackies to his knees and sucked him off on the sofa.

So no, I've not fucked him since the hotel. I'd forgotten I've not, but I've not.

I type in, On a promise am I? and then I delete it and type, I'll wake you. I love you. X

:::::::

I hang up my jacket on the hooks by the door; go to the bathroom; clean my teeth then go to the kitchen for a drink of water.

I hear him go into the bathroom. I wait where I am till I hear him come out again then I walk out to the hallway.

"Hello," he says, and we stop in front of each other. He's got the dressing gown on, its belt knotted loosely.

"Hello, Steven."

"I'm mad about you."

"Why? What have I done now?" I say, and he raises his eyebrows and looks at me like, Didn't you hear what I said? and he waits for me to catch up, and I say, "Oh. Not mad as in angry. Mad as in..."

"... Sexually attracted." He enunciates the words, each consonant given its due weight. I see the tip of his tongue on the double-L. His lips close together at the end, a pout for a full stop.

"Sexually attracted, are you?" I say and he nods and I untie his belt so the dressing gown falls open, and he's wearing underwear I gave him: very white, very small. "Well, don't you look box-fresh."

"I am box-fresh."

I stroke my knuckle down his belly. My fingers reach the waistband of his briefs and I can feel him breathing, and I'm looking at his eyes as I slide my fingertips between fabric and skin. He's trimmed the hair there, closer than usual so it's not much more than stubble, and it wasn't like this yesterday afternoon when his dick was in my mouth. My mind leaps back and I remember how I caught him once, nail scissors in hand, in the act of personal grooming. His embarrassment was so delicious I laughed, and he sulked for the rest of the day. God, that was years ago. I guess he does it when I'm out of the house nowadays because I've never caught him since, and he's not one for locking the bathroom door when it's just us at home.

"Let's take this off, Steven." I push the robe off his shoulders and it drops to the floor.

We kiss. I don't touch him except with my lips, and then I do, I touch his hips – the bones there – and then I circle my arms around him, pull his body against me. He nuzzles my shirt collar out of the way and kisses my neck.

"Come on," he says, and leads the way.

He sits cross-legged on my side of the bed (the only side that's been slept in) and watches me undress – reaches and switches the bedside lamp on low while he's watching – and then I get on my hands and knees on the mattress and kiss him.

"You're a sexy wee thing tonight, ain'tcha."

He shrugs, and sucks my tongue into his mouth.

I push him onto his back then I roll us so he's lying on me. His kisses are soft, quick, determined. I squeeze his backside with both hands, outside his underwear then inside, kneading the flesh hard enough that there'll be imprints of my fingers and thumbs on his arse and the backs of his thighs.

"He said you were hostile," he says, and each S hisses against my lips.

"Mm?"

"Danny said."

"I never touched him."

"No. Like, getting at him. He thinks you don't like him." He kisses my mouth, obviating any need for me to confirm or deny. "He said at least you didn't rough him up. He said it's progress."

"He said a lot."

"He said you're dark and brooding, specially with the beard." He kisses along my jaw. "He said I'm brave, being with you. Said he never would'a gone with someone like you."

"He said that in front of his missus?"

"No, when she went to the loo. He said, aren't I scared? Cos he's bigger than me, Danny is, he's as tall as you, and he'd be scared, he said. Scared of you, in bed."

I take Steven by surprise, wrestle him onto his back so I'm on top. He's startled. I see it in his eyes, a flash of shock that darkens into desire. I kiss him, get his jaws wide open and my tongue in. His fingernails slowly score my flanks. I move down, gentle now, coax his nipples with my tongue-tip till they're erect. Kiss the mound in his pants. Hairs prickle through the stretched cotton.

I strip him off.

"Gone short here, Steven."

"Eh?"

"Your pubes."

"Oh. Bit short, yeah. Didn't mean to. You don't like it, do you?"

"I should'a stood behind you like you at the barbers. 'Just a trim.'"

He laughs.

"It'll grow back. Be just nice by the holiday, won't it."

He bends his knees up and I get between them, lean over him, nip his ear with my teeth then whisper into it, "I wanna fuck you."

I take my time with the lube, finger him while I work myself up with my other hand and he does the same for himself. I hitch his ankles onto my shoulders. He's already groaning when I enter him: he's got his eyes shut, frowning like he's gone into his own world, and I stop until he opens them, and then we don't break eye contact the whole time we're joined together.

He's noisy enough when he's getting fingered or blown or getting a handjob, Steven is, but there's a pitch that comes only when I'm inside him like this, a sound full-throated and raw, all feeling and no thought. It's incredible. It takes all my concentration to stop myself coming when I hear it because I want him to come with me, and I tell him to, and he jerks himself off hard and the violence of his orgasm forces mine out of me deep into him. We both look then, at the shine of cum on his belly. He touches where it has spat up onto me, and he smears it with the back of his hand.

We clean ourselves. He takes longer than me and I watch him finishing off with his dick, dabbing round it with a wipe. He sees me looking.

"What you staring at?"

"D'you want a sock for that? Got nothing to keep it warm now, poor little fucker."

"Shut up." He pulls the cover up to his chest.

I pull it back, hold him down when he tries to turn away, and give his flaccid dick a kiss. Then I turn out the lamp and cover us over and he fits himself into the space under my arm.

"Be getting light soon," I say.

"Got to fetch the kids in the morning. You coming with me? Amy wants to talk about the holiday."

"What about the holiday?"

"The arrangements. Like, when we're picking them up and that."

"She can sort that on the phone can't she?"

"I know, but we're gonna be there in the morning anyway. Or I am. It's easier than phoning, and if we're both there we'll both hear what she's said so she can't make out I got it wrong."

"Okay. Why wouldn't I wanna go see another one of your relations that thinks I'm a..."

"I love you. Doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, does it."

"I love you too."