Christian had just arrived home after his third night shift in a row. It was just after midday and he hoped there was something edible in the fridge. He planned on having a nap that afternoon, before catching up on his college work. He knew it was best to get straight back into a normal sleeping rhythm or he'd be absolutely shattered by Monday. It did not help that everyone at home had a different shift pattern this week.

The student nurse was yawning as he entered the flat. Then the smell of wonderful home cooked food hit his nose. Alex was cooking his brunch before going to work. "What are you cooking? It smells wonderful."

"Ekoori, spiced scrambled egg flavoured with ginger, cumin and chilli and garnished with fresh coriander. There 's plenty to go round." Alex knew that any acts of thoughtfulness would endear him to his two flat mates. The food was cheap and filling. He had missed home cooked food. This was one of his staples from Madhur Jaffrey classic Indian Cookery book.

The tired student wolfed down the unexpected hot and very satisfying meal. "You are a brilliant cook. You have been holding back on us. I thought you had no culinary skills considering you've been eating just add water noodles or cereal since you moved in."

Alex had savoured every bite. He had finished work late yesterday and with a lovely wad of cash had bought groceries. The pub were paying him at the end of the month, so the work and ready cash from Mr. Shah were a godsend. Alex at 8 this morning had gone shopping for staples. Breakfasts and variations were essential as he normally only ate two meals a day and the hours he worked meant it was breakfast and a late supper for the next two days. "I got some dosh from Mr. Shah, I bloody earned it as well. Clearing out the drains from his place in Wandsworth. Rats and shit galore!"

"Rather you than me on that score." muttered Chris, who could not think of anything worse than wading through raw sewerage.

"Says the nurse who deals with piss, blood shit, and every other type of bodily fluid on a daily basis." Alex was well aware that nursing was hard work. "Get to bed, you look knackered. I'll clean up. See you tomorrow, I doubt you'll be up when I get back at 1."

…

Alex could not believe it as he was propositioned more than the previous weekend. Finally it was Sunday night and the handful of regulars had turned into three dozen. It kept Alex as the only one on the bar on his toes. His would be suitor did not show. So much for going on a date. The part-time barman had a list of other things to spend his money on. He was in dire need of clothes as he could not keep turning up in the same trousers and two shirts. He knew he had landed on his feet as the flat had a washer/dryer. The shirt worn on Friday was washed and fresh for Sunday. He would trawl the charity shops first, he was sure to find some designer label cast off for under a tenner.

…

May promised full shifts worked in the Bank Holidays. His shopping trip had resulted in some excellent finds. He had gone to a Car Boot Sale in Clapham, to find a whole wardrobe of fantastic clothes. Put on sale by a woman whose boyfriend had been unfaithful and Katie had decided to exact her revenge on the said cad, by selling his wardrobe of clothes for knock down prices. For fifty quid Alex had bought two suits, five shirts and two pairs of jeans. Now, he could dress like a model.

…

Si Carrington walked into the Dog and Duck and wondered if he had missed his chance with the beautiful barman. Alex was dressed up to the nines, wearing a £400 shirt from the Tom Ford ready to wear collection. Had the young man found a rich boyfriend in the two weeks he's been abroad? He cursed the fact that he had taken the last minute agency job.

Alex had spotted the handsome photographer and started to pull a pint of Guinness in anticipation of his order. Neil had told him that Si was a regular, predating the transformation from tired traditional local to up market place to be seen in. This particular customer always had three to four pints of Guinness and very occasionally a chaser of Irish Whiskey. Alex noted the sun kissed healthy glow on the photographer's face "Evening handsome. Been somewhere nice?"

"Antigua, Vogue shoot, then New York. I was covering a friend's work commitments. He had a health scare."

"Sorry to hear that, I hope he's OK?"

"Yeah, Gabriel will need to exercise more and eat sensibly. Had a minor heart attack. He's decided to cut out international travel and concentrate on more important things; like his wife and their three kids under ten. In the short term, I've agreed to do what he can't."

"Burning the candle at both ends then?"

"No, I just cut out commercial work a few years ago. I prefer my own projects and freelance work for commercial customers. Fashion and magazine work is not really my cup of tea. Far too narrow a perspective. A break has made going back a refreshing change. All the girls were a delight to work with, not one prima donna."

"Sunshine, wonderful beaches. Working with beautiful girls. All with five star accommodations. Sounds fantastic, wish I'd been there."

"Chasing girls?"

"Been there, tried that. I guess you did too. I don't have a preference on biology, just the person. I have loved both sexes. Not that I'm an expert on dating and relationships as I've been celibate for three years."

Of all the things for this perfect male barman had to admit, the photographer had never expected abstention for a young virile male. He could have expected bi-sexuality and a preference for the fairer sex, as Alex was not on the scene here or in the clubs. Si would have noted him before if he had been. In fact, that brief meeting in Soho had been their only encounter. The Escort Callum was a different matter, a regular in the right sort of eateries and nightspots in the capital. Si then decided to have a dig and enquire about the new clothes "Nice threads, been treating yourself?"

Alex laughed. "You should have been at the Battersea Car Boot Sale last Sunday. I went early and got a wardrobe full of the latest Tom Ford collection for fifty quid. A lovely young lady was selling off all the stuff her ex had left at her flat. I got there for 7 and she asked for a quote. I went super low and she just let me have everything, no haggling. She just wanted rid of the crap and fifty quid would buy her enough Prosecco and ice cream to soothe her broken heart." It helped that Alex had been out for a run and the young lady had gotten the time of the boot sale wrong, it started at 11 not 7. With no competition Alex had bagged the job lot.

"You lucky bastard. A whole wardrobe?"

"Two suits, five shirts and a pair of jeans. All my size as well. Fit lady, I would not have cheated on her." Alex had chatted long enough last Sunday to surmise the ex-boyfriend had been a complete tosser and Katie had been beer off without him.

That said that the young man valued fidelity. Si had and as a result had nursed a broken heart for far too long. All water under the bridge now. The customer enjoyed his drink as Alex worked. For a Sunday evening, this place was full. Busier than it had been for several years.

As Alex rang 'Last Orders', Si ordered "A double Bushmills and asked a night cap for yourself".

"Don't drink alcohol. I'll wait for my three cups of tea when I get back to my digs."

The slip about digs meant Alex was either a student himself or living with students. "Are you a mature student?"

"No, University of Life was enough for me. I hated school. I'm saving up to start my own business and be my on boss."

"As?"

"Work doing up vacant property. I've done labouring for Mr. Patel and worked on and off as a handyman for several years. I'll never have enough capital to go to the auctions and buy for cash. The people that do need to subcontract out for the improvements. They make a packet and get a nice regular income from the refurbished houses and flats." Even shitholes London fetched over 100 grand, needing as much cash to do them up. The only way he'd ever get enough money to be an property entrepreneur was to start robbing banks or sell serious amounts of dope. Neither was going to happen. He would get by just working hard for the independent businessman who did not care for bits of paper, only ability and availability to work.

The dutch courage of the neat alcohole, Si asked "And our date?"

"I'd love to meet for dinner. So neutral ground, can I suggest your studio after work."

Si pulled out his business card. "Wednesday, six or six-thirty. Can't be too late on a work night."