Chapter 57

It was strange, seeing Hiro again for the first time in months. Over lunch at Sadler's, Max caught up with all the news, learning that he had found himself a new boyfriend – a chiropodist called Adam – and that yes, this time he knew all about his estranged pregnant husband.

'How about you?' Hiro watched Max's white teeth as he bit into a stem of asparagus.

'Me? Just going for the quiet life. Giving the rock-climbing and the paragliding a miss,' said Max. 'Playing quite a bit of Scrabble though, drinking loads of cocoa, that kind of thing . . .'

Bravado, thought Hiro.

'You'll meet someone else, you know. One day.' For some reason – guilt, probably – he felt compelled to say it.

'Will I? Who knows?' Max shrugged and raised a playful eyebrow. 'I'm not such a catch as you.'

Max was teasing him, Hiro was stunned to realise. What was more, he found he couldn't tear his eyes away from Max. It really was the weirdest thing; Max had this massive bulge sticking out in front of him but somehow he didn't look pregnant either. His gold-blonde hair was glossier than ever, his eyes sparkled, he was laughing and making jokes . . . It was uncanny, thought Hiro, bemused. Where had all this confidence come from? Because he'd certainly never seen any evidence of it before.

Actually, it was quite erotic.

'Okay, this divorce,' said Max, bringing Hiro back to earth with a bump. 'Cheap and cheerful, are we agreed? Oh, yes, please, I'd love another orange juice.' He gave the waiter loitering beside him a dazzling smile and Hiro realised with a jolt that the waiter had noticed it too. He wasn't looking at Max as if he were pregnant at all – putting it bluntly, the guy was ogling him.

Jesus, wondered Hiro, what was going on here? His ex-husband was exuding sexuality like some fifties star and he was managing to do it in white cotton maternity trousers and a pink and white striped shirt.

'Hiro? Are you having another drink?'

Still baffled, Hiro shook his head. He realised how desperately aroused he was. Good grief, he'd never wanted to make love to someone pregnant in his life – just the thought of it had always been enough to make him feel sick.

But he badly wanted to make love to Max now.

'What's the matter with you?' chided Max, leaning across the table and pinching one of Hiro's grilled mushrooms. 'You've hardly touched your food.'

In his mind, Hiro raced feverishly through the options open to him. It was twelve thirty – there was clearly no time to whisk Max back to his flat now. And Adam was coming round this evening at eight, dammit.

'I'm glad we're still friends,' he blurted out. 'Civilised, like thins. Better all round. You're looking fantastic, by the way. Honestly.'

Max sat back, eyeing Hiro with amusement. Whatever had possessed Hiro to come over so complimentary, all of a sudden?

'Well, thanks. Now let me give you my solicitor's address-'

'I could pick you up after work, if you like. Talk about it then. You haven't even seen my flat yet, have you?'

It was the casual shrug that did it. The innocent, oh-so-casual shrug accompanying the boyish smile. Like a great gong clanging in the pit of his stomach, Max remembered when he'd encountered these particular signals before. Oh yes, almost four years ago, just after he and Hiro had first met. When he was doing his damnedest to charm Max into going to bed with him.

And now, incredibly, here it was again, unchanged in every detail, the mating ritual of the greater crested wally.

Well, well, who'd have thought it? Some men, marvelled Max, really were in a class of their own.

Stifling the urge to shriek with laughter, he fixed Hiro with a sultry gaze – well, as sultry as he could manage on short notice – and lowered his voice to a whisper.

'What would we do when you'd finished showing me your flat? Or,' Max's smile was slow, complicit, 'can I guess?'

Hiro grinned. Of course, Max hadn't had sex for . . . how long? Seven months? Blimey, talk about a cat on heat, he must be desperate.

'Don't see why we can't have a bit of fun.' Hiro cocked a playful eyebrow at Max. 'For old times' sake.'

Picking up another asparagus stem, Max snaked it slowly through the puddle of hollandaise sauce on his plate.

'You mean, bed-type fun?'

'Why not?' Mesmerised, Hiro watched him eat the asparagus. Jesus, was Max doing that on purpose? 'Just because we're getting divorced doesn't mean we can't enjoy each other's company every now and again.'

Actually, it was a pretty exciting thought – illicit sex was always so much more a thrill than the ordinary kind.

'I don't know.' Max frowned and laced his fingers together. 'I'm just a bit worried . . .'

'About damaging the baby? Don't be!' Hiro, who had heard all about this on a recent radio phone-in, broke in eagerly. 'I promise you, it doesn't hurt the baby, not one bit.'

'I wasn't thinking about the baby,' said Max.

'It won't hurt you either – I'll be gentle, I swear I will!'

'Look, I'll tell you what's bothering me,' Max said patiently. 'Think back to when you were six or seven years old, okay? Your front teeth are loose and you keep wobbling and wobbling them but they won't come ut. Remember?'

He stopped. Baffled, Hiro nodded.

'Well, yes.'

'Good. And there was always some older boy in your street, telling you that what you needed to do was tie one end of a piece of string around your wobbly tooth and the other end to a door handle. Then someone else slams the door shut and your tooth is yanked out and blood gushes everywhere . . . remember that story as well?'

'Uh, yes, I suppose so.' Hiro shrugged, mystified by all this.

'Right. Well, the thing is, I'm just a tiny bit worried that when I do exactly the same thing to your bits and pieces' –Max's gaze flicked sorrowfully in the direction of Hiro's groin –'it might hurt you.'

It took a couple of seconds for this to sink in. Hiro's face fell. Finally, to make sure he'd got it right, he said, 'So you're saying you don't fancy a quickie, just for the hell of it?'

'You mean one with no strings attached?' Max couldn't resist the pun. 'I don't think so, thanks all the same. In fact, if I'm honest I'd rather stick red-hot pins under my fingernails and jump blindfolded into a snake pit then have sex with you.'

'I only offered because I felt sorry for you,' Hiro hissed back. 'I mean, Christ, who else would want to?'

Their waiter reappeared with the pudding menu.

'The coffee and walnut tart sounds gorgeous.' Max smiled up at him. 'But I have to get back to work. Could you possibly wrap up a piece for me?'

Blushing furiously, the young waiter said, 'I can put it in a patisserie box if you like. Stop it getting squashed.'

The possibility of an entertaining evening having crumbled to dust, Hiro scraped back his chair.

'If you can't even be civil, I don't see why I should have to pay for your meal.' He dug into his pocket and hurled a handful of money on to the table. 'There, that should cover my share. I'm off.'

Startled, Max said, 'I thought you were going to give me a lift?'

Hiro glared at his ex-husband, then at the waiter who had been making such a prat of himself over him.

'Find your own way back. Or better still,' Hiro snapped, 'get your toyboy here to give you a lift.'

'Gosh,' said Max when Hiro's stormed out. 'Sorry about that. Ex-husband,' he added, by way of explanation. 'Bit of a wally. Actually, quite a lot of a wally.'

'I can't give you a lift.' The waiter looked worried. 'I'm only sixteen and a half. All I've got's a pushbike.'

Max tried for a moment to picture himself on it, eight and a half months pregnant and riding pillion.

Maybe not.

'Don't worry. Better cancel pudding, though.' Max flicked open his wallet, praying he had enough to cover the bill. Scattering notes and coins across the table like that had been an undeniably dramatic gesture, but now that he'd counted it up, Max discovered that Hiro had actually left him with a petrol receipt, a parking ticket and the fabulous sum of three pounds twenty-seven pence.

Hey, small spender.

Then again, it didn't come as any great surprise. Hiro'd always been a bit that way inclined. Even before he'd taken to recycling engagement rings.

When the young waiter brought the bill, Max discovered that thanks to the large Scotch and ginger Hiro had secretly knocked back at the bar while Max had been in the loo, he had enough money on him to pay for lunch and twenty-four pence left over for a tip.

On the pavement outside the restaurant, Max watched the bus he could no longer afford to catch sail past him. Stamping his cold feet and pulling his army surplus greatcoat around his huge stomach she set off down the road in the direction of the shop. Just over a mile to be covered in twenty-five minutes. It was achievable, but it would have been a lot easier if only his back didn't ache so much.

Four hundred yards along the road, Max was forced to stop for a rest. He had a raging stitch in his side and the backache was gathering force. Leaning against a phone box, he waited for the stitch to subside. And then something awful happened . . .

Oh, good grief, thought Max. I've wet myself!

Warm liquid trickled in an unstoppable stream down his legs. Thank heavens, the phone box was empty. Crushing his knees together, squeezing his muscles for all he was worse, Max shuffled penguin-style into the phone box.

Phew, right, shame about the glass sides – not a lot of privacy to speak of – but at least nobody could see the puddle forming at his feet, which was the main thing. Flushed with embarrassment – especially when he glanced down and saw that in the cold air the puddle was actually steaming – Max leaned his forehead against the welcoming cool glass for a moment and tried to work out a plan.

No money, that was the first stumbling block, not even ten pee. Oh dear, don't even think of that word, at this rate he'd soon be up to his knees in warm water and the glass would start misting up like a sauna.