Dolphin-san: Hey there everyone! I know that it's been a few months since I last updated and I feel so terrible for neglecting the story, but I badly misjudged how much work I would have to put into my final project at college. But, there is hope still shining on the horizon! I'm finished with college and until I find a job (and even still after that) I no longer have to do stuff in the evenings! So I will have plenty of time to work on this. Hurray!

Chapter 42

It was happening and there was nothing Ray could do to stop it. Everything Bev had warned him about was coming true, his crush was hurtling out of control like a runaway tank and he'd never been happier in his life.

Then again, maybe this was because he knew it wouldn't last. Like eating an ice cream really slowly and concentrating on every lick, thought Ray, because first thing tomorrow you know you have to start that crash diet.

Bev would disapprove mightily, of course, but so what? I'm getting involved with someone I really shouldn't get involved with, Ray told himself recklessly, and I don't care if I'm making a fool of myself, or if I end up hurt. This is brilliant and I don't need a thesaurus any more to remind me what it means.

It was scary to think that another thirty seconds and they would have missed each other. Bryan would have pulled up outside the salon just as Ray was disappearing down into the tube station and none of this would be happening now.

'I have to say,' Bryan murmured beside him, 'I never thought I'd get to sleep with you on out first date.'

'I'm not asleep.'

'Are you cold? We could always zip these bags together . . .'

'Then we'd definitely never get to sleep,' Ray told him. 'And we'd probably end up getting arrested.'

Bryan was dismayed. 'For a bit of harmless alfresco fornication? If anyone needs arresting, it's that tone-deaf chap who keeps singing "My Way".'

Ray stifled laughter.

'He was here last year. And it wouldn't be alfresco, it would be altento.'

'I've never done it in a tent before. Unless you count a wedding marquee.' He paused. 'How many times have you done it altento?'

'Thousands.'

Bryan heaved a sigh.

'Doesn't seem fair, somehow. You so experienced, me such a virgin –'

'Tell you what,' said Ray. 'When Daisy gets back from Australia, I'll lend you my tent.'

Another mournful sigh. Followed by the sound of a zip being stealthily unfastened.

'It's two o'clock in the morning,' said Ray. 'Do it back up.'

'You're a hard man to persuade,' Bryan whispered. 'Actually, that's quite a coincidence because –'

'Ahem. The people in the next tent can here you.' In the darkness, Ray smiled to himself. 'Go to sleep.'

When he woke up the next morning, the sleeping bag beside him was empty. There were sounds of laughter and plenty of activity outside. Moments later the tent flap was pulled back and Bryan – in red shorts, Legionnaire's cap and wrap-around dark glasses – reappeared.

'Morning, gorgeous. Breakfast.' Bryan thrust a melting Cornetto and a can of Lilt into Ray's hands, and dropped a hot, foil-wrapped parcel into his lap.

Mystified, Ray unwrapped the foil.

'Where did you get bacon sandwiches?'

'Chap up the pavement's got a barbeque going, selling them for a fiver each.'

'You paid ten pounds for two bacon sandwiches?' Good grief.

'Nope, there was a queue.' Bryan took off his glasses and flashed his wicked grin at Ray. 'I bought them off a kid at the head of the queue for fifty.'

'I'm a vegetarian,' Ray told him, then lunged forwards squealing, 'No I'm not,' as Bryan tossed the sandwiches over his shoulder and out through the tent flap. A volley of joyful barks outside signalled their unhappy fate.

'Fifty pounds!' wailed Ray.

'Worth it, to see the look on your face.' Bryan kissed him. 'And I knew you weren't a vegetarian. Now eat the rest of your breakfast – before it melts.'

The early-morning sun was already beating down on the tent. Ray's ice cream dripped on to his bare legs and the dog out on the pavement – a boisterous chocolate-brown Labrador – poked his nose through the tent flap to see if they had any more bacon sandwiches they might fling his way.

'If you can't stand queuing,' Ray licked his fingers with relish, 'you must be hating every second of this.'

'If I was hating every second of this, I wouldn't be here.' Bryan leaned back on his elbows, watching Ray with amusement. 'In a tent the size and temperature of your average microwave. On a rock-hard pavement. Outside the All England Lawn Tennis Club, waiting for the gates to open with a guy who dyes his hair purple and green and won't even let me join my sleeping bag to his in case we accidentally have altento sex in the night, and who snores like a train –'

'Oh God! Did I really snore?'Mortified, Ray clapped his hands over his eyes.

'Ha, got you worried.' Bryan grinned and shook his head. 'And no, I'm not hating every second. I'm loving it.'

Breakfast over, Bryan donned his disguise once more and together they dismantled the tent. Ray didn't tell Bryan that he hadn't let him zip their sleeping bags together because there was such a thing as too much temptation. Not on Bryan's side; on Ray's.

'Can't imagine Daisy doing this,' Bryan murmured when their overnight kit had been stuffed into bags.

Ray, who did this every year, said, 'She doesn't know what she's missing.'

Bryan ran his fingers through Ray's spiky purple and green hair.

'Does this wash out?'

Quivering beneath Bryan's touch – heavens, and that was only his hair! – Ray nodded. 'I don't suppose Daisy would do that either.'

'She would,' Bryan's mouth curled up at the corners, 'if it was on the cover of Vogue.' Idly, he took Ray's hand, inspecting his short purple and green nails. 'When you come to watch me race, will you do this for me?'

His team colours were orange and yellow ochre. For a dizzy millisecond Ray pictured himself decked out like a Satsuma, leaping up and down and cheering Bryan on from the stand as he tore round the track at ten thousand miles an hour. Then he pictured Daisy, in a short skirt, throwing her arms around Bryan on the winner's rostrum, flicking back her blonde hair and flashing her dazzling smile for the photographers . . .

'We're talking weeks away.' Ray kept his tone flippant. 'You'll be tired of slumming it by then.'

Bryan tilted Ray's face round to his. He lowered his dark glasses for a second.

'I might not be.'

Oh dear, it wasn't easy trying to be realistic when you were on the receiving end of that amethyst gaze.

'Okay,' Ray managed finally. 'I might be bored of you.'

'What if you're not?' Bryan paused. 'Is that what you think I'm doing? Slumming it?'

'Look, it doesn't matter, I'm not expecting anything to –'

'Sshh.' Bryan pressed a finger to Ray's lips, silencing him. 'I don't want to hear this.' He raised an eyebrow. 'Anyway, don't be such a pessimist. You never know, I could be a much nicer person than you think.'

'In that case, you'll be quite safe,' Ray told him ruefully. 'I only fall for men who are complete pigs.'

'Come on, I know you're bored,' said Bryan several hours later. 'Let's go.'

He reached for Ray's hand. Without looking at him, Ray pinched it, hard.

'Six games all,' announced the umpire. 'Tie break. Ladies and gentlemen, quiet please.'

The atmosphere on Centre Court was electrifying. The no-hope young British player was having the game of his life against this year's number one seed and Ray's nails were bitten down to his knuckles. Now, at two sets to one up, victory was in his grasp.

'I love you, I want to marry you,' whispered Bryan, 'I want to adopt children with you.'

'Ssshhh!'

A fraught ten minutes later, the number one seed crashed the ball into the net and the Centre Court crowd erupted. A great roar went up and wild applause drowned out the umpire's attempts to relay the final score. Tears of joy were pouring down the young British player's face.

'What a nancy,' Bryan complained, his tone scornful. 'Won't catch me doing that when I win the world championship.'

Ray, leaping up an ddown and screaming with delight, cannoned into Bryan and threw his arms around him.

'Wasn't that fantastic? Wasn't he brilliant! Oh God, that was so . . . so . . .'

'Almost as good as watching you.' Grinning Bryan steadied Ray, who was still trembling all over, awash with adrenalin. 'I thought you were going to jiggle right off your seat.'

'Don't make fun of me. I get excited.' Ray wiped his eyes. 'Oh, bless him, look, he's signing autographs for the ball-boys . . .'

'You squeaked,' Bryan told him, 'every time he hit the ball.'

'. . . and he's still crying . . .'

'That's because he knows he's going to be knocked out in the next round.'

'Heavens, the next round! Who's he going to be playing?' Feverishly, Ray scrabbled in his backpack for his programme. 'Yikes, that massive Russian.'

'Oh well, in that case he's going to need all out support.' Bryan gave Ray a nudge. 'You'll have to sleep with me again.'

Ray heaved a sigh of regret.

'I can't.'

'You can, I'll get tickets for us.'

'I mean I'm not able to take another day off work. I've used up all my leave. And you can't just buy tickets for the show courts.' Kindly, Ray explained the rules. 'You either apply for them by ballot about a hundred years beforehand, or pitch a tent out on Church Road.'

'Or become a racing driver,' said Bryan, 'and mention to one of your sponsors that you wouldn't mind a couple of Centre Court ticket's for the men's semi-finals.'

Ray stared at him, realisation slowly dawning.

'You mean . . . what you're telling me is we didn't have to queue up overnight?'

Bryan shrugged.

'Of course we didn't have to. But you kept insisting it was more fun. You said,' he reminded Ray, 'that sleeping on the pavement was the only way to do Wimbledon, that it made you appreciate the tennis all the more, that people who didn't pitch a tent didn't know what they were –ouch.'

Ray thumped him again for good measure, because if Bryan was laughing it meant that he hadn't hit him hard enough.

'I only said that because I've always had to sleep on the pavement,' Ray wailed. 'It's called making the best of the situation. Because I've never' – thump – 'had any other' – thump – 'choice.'

'Oh.' Bryan was still laughing and rubbing his arm. 'Should have said.'

Ray shook his head, marvelling at Bryan's lack of intuition.

'Should have known.'

'But you were right. It was more fun.'

'Only because you did have the choice.'

Bryan nodded, put his arm around Ray's indignant shoulders, and kissed him on the cheek.

'You're right. I'm a thoughtless pig, and I'm sorry. Let me get tickets for the semis.'

Pride welled up.

'I still can't. Work.'

If Takao could hear him now, Ray thought, he'd be astounded.

'The final, then.' Bryan hesitated. 'I won't be able to make it, but you could bring a friend.'

Of course he wouldn't be able to make it. Daisy would be back by Sunday. Feeling like a small child being placated with sweets so the grown-ups could go off and enjoy themselves, Ray shook his head.

'Don't worry, I couldn't make it on Sunday either.'

'Tell you what. You cancel your arrangements and I'll cancel mine.'

Oh yes, terrific idea.

'Daisy wouldn't be thrilled.'

'What's Daisy got to do with it?' Bryan grinned at Ray. 'I'm racing at Silverstone.'

It was eight o'clock by the time they reached Tredegar Gardens. Expecting a goodbye peck on the cheek and a vague see-you-around, Ray raised his eyebrows when Bryan jumped out of the taxi with him and paid off the driver.

'Are you Bryan Kutsenov?' The cab driver peered at him suspiciously; with that Legionnaire's hat and those dark wrap-around glasses it was impossible to tell, but on the journey back from Wimbledon he had definitely heard them talking about next Sunday's Grand Prix.

'Don't I wish.' Bryan's reply was cheerful. 'I wouldn't say no to his money.'

It wasn't him. Disappointed, the driver said, 'Not to mention the birds.'

'Oh, I don't know. I don't do so badly.' Bryan grinned.

Ray, hot and dusty and desperate for a shower though he was, thought indignantly that there was no need for the driver to look at him with quite such blatant disbelief.

'It was the hair,' Bryan told him when the cab had moved off.

'Why aren't you going home?'

'Friendly.' Bryan hauled the backpack containing their tent and sleeping bags on to his shoulder. 'Because I'm not bored with you yet.'

'I might be bored with you.' Ray's tone was challenging.

Bryan's mouth twitched.

'No you're not.'

Dolphin-san: LOL Wouldn't that be a funny sight to see? Ray decked out in a giant Satsuma suit jumping up and down in a crowd of racing fans.