Life In Parks

Chapter 11

  The following afternoon he went shopping. He took the underground to Grace Road and ascended to street-level, emerging onto a wide thoroughfare where the congestion of pedestrians was matched by the traffic on the road. Threading his way among the shoppers, he was careful to avoid trampling on the wares of street vendors – sunglasses and compact discs, mainly – that were laid intermittently across the pavement.

  Looking about, the majority of shops were the same that plied their trade in Orchid Hill. Nevertheless, he entered several along the way and bought a couple of shirts from a store boasting a summer sale.

  The further he continued up the busy thoroughfare, the quantity of shoppers thinned and he began to see the more exclusive boutiques that had earned this street its reputation. He would have liked to enter one or two, but felt too embarrassed now that he carried a bag announcing ‘Discounts Galore’.

  It was while he was passing one such designer store, that he happened to peer to the other side of the road. There, heading in the opposite direction, was a man wearing a beaten hat and a brown raincoat. From such a distance Matthew could not be certain who it was, but his thoughts immediately turned to Marcus Gabriel. One thing was clear: if it was the man from Orchid Hill, then he was walking unaccompanied.

  Dodging between the slow-moving traffic to the other side of the road, Matthew went in pursuit, unsure what he would do if he caught him. By now the man was a fair way in the distance and Matthew weaved among the pedestrians, trying to gain ground. They were soon approaching the more popular high street stores and the throng of shoppers thickened.

  The man rounded a corner and disappeared from view and Matthew quickened his pace further. Just as he was approaching the same corner, however, he bounded into a street hawker who was squatting beside a display of sunglasses and went tumbling to the ground.

  ‘Hey, man, where’s the fire?’ the pedlar shouted, remaining on his haunches.

  The palms of Matthew’s hands were stinging and blotches of red had appeared where they had been grazed by the fall.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,’ he meekly replied, his mind refocusing.

  He reached for the carrier-bag, which had slipped from his grasp, and attempted to stand. As he rose, however, his left ankle buckled and pain shot up his calf, jarring his knee. Grimacing as he steadied himself, he repeated his apologies and hobbled round the corner, now not caring that the man in the raincoat had vanished and the pursuit was at an end.

  He limped onwards until well away from the street vendor before leaning over and massaging his throbbing ankle. The pain had become such, however, that simply standing made him nauseated and dizzy. He looked around, seeking a place to sit, but found nowhere obvious. He took a few more awkward steps, attempting to walk off the pain, before realising that he could not go on. Thankfully, a row of vacant taxi-cabs was waiting by the kerb-side, and he hobbled to the first in line and clambered in the back.

  During the fifteen-minute ride to his hotel, although his thoughts were dominated by suffering, he kept an eye out for the man in the raincoat; without joy, nonetheless.

  The taxi dropped him in front of the revolving doors of The Guinevere and he hobbled to his room, whereupon he took off his shoe and sock and examined the ankle for damage. Even though it was clearly reddened and tender, it was not as swollen as he had feared and the pain eased considerably once it was no longer constricted by footwear.

  For a time he sat upright on the bed with his foot nestling on a pillow. The pain was bearable while he remained stationary, and yet a melancholy descended as he realised the implications of his injury. Eventually, gathering his courage, he took Paul Evian’s number from his pocket and reached for the telephone.

  ‘Hello,’ a voice sounded after a couple of rings.

  ‘Is that Paul?’

  ‘It is indeed.’

  ‘Hi, it’s Matt. You know … from Orchid Hill.’

  ‘Matthew! Excellent. I was wondering when you’d call. You are coming tonight, I take it.’

  ‘Well, that’s kind of why I’m phoning. I’m afraid I’ve had a bit of an accident and I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.’

  ‘An accident? What sort of accident?’

  ‘Nothing serious. I just fell and twisted my ankle.’

  ‘Is that all? You had me worried for a moment. So, tell me, why does a twisted ankle stop you coming? All we’ll be doing is eating and chatting. Not exactly strenuous.’

  ‘I just think it’d be better if I stay in and rest.’

  ‘Come on, Matthew, that’s a rubbish excuse. Take a couple of aspirin and you’ll be fine. You can get a taxi right to the front door – I’ll pay for it if you like. And the flat here has a lift, so you don’t have to climb any stairs. There’s no reason not to come, no reason at all. Now, grab a piece of paper and I’ll give you the address.’

  Although far from convinced, Matthew jotted down the address and asked what time he should arrive.

  ‘We’ll be eating at nine o’clock, but I expect the others will get here around eight.’

  ‘And do I have to bring anything?’

  ‘Just a healthy appetite and a kind word for the chef. Which won’t be me, by the way. I can’t cook for shit.’

  After their conversation, Matthew took a bath and soaked his ankle, which helped further ease the pain and brighten his mood. He dried himself unhurriedly and tried on the shirts that he had recently purchased. He decided to wear the blue one to the party, relying on his mother’s advice that he always looked better in dark, neutral colours.

  It was with that simple thought of his mother that a pang of fear welled.

  Fully aware that his parents were due home that same day, he tried to imagine their reaction when they found the note he had left, a note in which he claimed to be visiting Warren. It was a lie that could easily be uncovered, he realised, with a simple phone call to the south coast.

  At seven forty-five, he caught a taxi several miles east along the river to a modern block of flats in a clean and affluent neighbourhood. He pressed the button for 2A on the entry system and was greeted by the sound of Paul’s voice, who duly buzzed him inside. The flat was on the second of five floors, and when Matthew emerged from the lift Paul was there to receive him.

  A broad smile was on the man’s lips and his cheeks were rosy with apparent good humour.

  ‘I’m really pleased you came, Matthew,’ he said and reached an arm round his shoulder in a hug.

  Matthew had little time to react to the embrace because instantly he was being ushered inside the flat. Nevertheless, as he was led down the hallway, he felt the flush of embarrassment at the unexpected physical contact.

  At the end of the hallway, a large room opened out with a beige leather sofa and two matching armchairs placed at right angles around a coffee-table. Four people were present and all eyed the new arrival.

  ‘Everybody, this is Matthew,’ said Paul, placing a hand once more on his shoulder. ‘He’s the neighbour I was telling you about: the one who lives near my parents in Orchid Hill.’

  There was a collective ‘Hi’ and someone said, ‘A bit of a cutie,’ but Matthew failed to notice who it was.

  Paul then began pointing to and naming the guests one by one. On the armchair farthest away sat a dark-haired man called Nathan, a handsome man in a tight black T-shirt that showed off the musculature of his upper arms. Two girls, Abigail and Kate, were sat on the sofa beside a shaven-headed black man named Nigel. One of the girls – Abigail – had on a white blouse and jeans and had cropped hair and black-rimmed glasses; the other girl – Kate – was plumper and wore a floral dress that revealed ample cleavage. In her left nostril she wore a silver stud, with five or six more ranging up the lobe of her ear. The black man, Nigel, was smartly dressed in grey trousers and a grey shirt buttoned to the top, and he stood to reveal a tall and slender frame.

  ‘Come and take the weight off your feet,’ he said, nodding amiably to Matth
ew. ‘What can I get you to drink? We have red or white wine, lager, or something stronger if you’d prefer.’

  ‘A white wine, thanks,’ Matthew answered, sitting, as instructed, on the sofa beside the girls.

  Paul sat in the vacant armchair closest to Matthew. He was wearing similar tatty jeans and sneakers to those he had worn at the club the night before.

  ‘You had no trouble finding the flat, I hope.’

  ‘No, the taxi brought me straight here.’

  ‘Our metro system is amazing, without doubt, but on a warm night like this the last thing you need is to be stuck fifty yards below ground.’

  Matthew nodded. ‘I don’t suppose you heard anything about the girl from last night.’

  ‘The one who fainted? I won’t find out until next week. But I shouldn’t worry. That sort of thing happens all the time: somebody takes one pill too many, or they have a bad experience. I’m sure she’ll be fine. I’d like to know what she was taking, though.’

  From his jeans pocket, Matthew retrieved the tablet that he had been given the night before. ‘Any idea what this is?’

  Handling the tablet, Paul studied the markings on either side. ‘Just your common or garden ecstasy, by the looks of it.’ His eyes narrowed accusingly. ‘I thought you said you weren’t on anything. Whisky, you told me.’

  ‘I wasn’t. Someone gave it to me, but I didn’t fancy trying it.’

  ‘That’s all right, then. So, what are you going to do with the tablet?’

  ‘Throw it away, I guess.’

  ‘In that case, do you mind if I keep it? I might give it a whirl myself later on.’

  Matthew looked on, bemused. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be a drugs counsellor – against that kind of thing?’

  ‘Sure,’ Paul said, a twinkle coming to his eyes. ‘But if you never run with the devil, how can you expect to beat him in a race?’

  Nigel soon returned with a glass of white wine and Matthew immediately moved to stand.

  ‘Relax,’ the man responded. ‘I’ve got to check on the food, anyway.’ Then, to everyone: ‘I hope you lot appreciate my efforts tonight. I’ve been working in the kitchen since four this afternoon.’

  ‘Don’t expect much sympathy from me,’ commented the dark-haired man on the opposing armchair. ‘We’re eating vegetarian, I take it. I mean, how hard can it be to wash a couple of lettuce leaves?’

  ‘Hey, Nate, don’t wind up the chef,’ the man answered, ‘or else the salad-dressing I make for you will include a couple of ingredients you hadn’t bargained for.’

  ‘Promises, promises.’

  With a playful shake of the head Nigel walked away and Matthew took a healthy swig of wine. Reclining on the comfortable, low-slung sofa, he glanced at a pair of dark, abstract paintings that were hanging on the lilac-painted walls. Classical music was coming from a stereo, and a large-screen television sat prominently in the corner of the room.

  Beyond the lounge, a rectangular dining table was already set with place mats and cutlery. Round the corner of the L-shaped room was the kitchen, into which Nigel had recently disappeared.

  ‘What do you think of the flat, then?’ Paul asked, seeming to note Matthew’s interest.

  ‘Yes, it’s very nice.’

  ‘It’s a pretty cool place to live. It’s not mine, though. I could never afford such a flat on my salary. It’s Nigel’s. He’s a property-investor; owns four other flats in this same block.’

  ‘So, what, Nigel is your landlord?’

  ‘Not exactly. We’re together. Have been for almost two years.’

  ‘Together. You mean you’re ...’

  ‘... gay? I’m sorry, I assumed you already knew. I thought my parents might have mentioned it. On second thoughts, maybe it’s not the sort of thing they would go shouting in the streets of Orchid Hill.’

  Sinking deeper into the sofa, Matthew became distracted by the conversation the dark haired man, Nathan, was having with one of the girls.

  ‘So what’s next on the list for you, Sugar Plum? Tongue? Lip?’

  ‘Not sure. I would like to have my tongue done,’ Kate, the plumper girl, said, ‘but they say it hurts like hell.’

  ‘That’s part of the appeal, girl. Something to make you scream.’

  ‘There are plenty of ways to make a girl scream, Nate. Not that you’d know much about that. The thing is, I don’t want to end up talking with a lisp.’

  ‘A girl with a lisp; kind of sexy if you ask me. What about you, Abi?’ Nathan asked the jeans-wearing girl. ‘Have you plucked up courage yet? Something we don’t know about, perhaps. Out of sight, but not out of mind.’

  ‘I might have got a little something done a couple of months ago. But that would be telling.’

  ‘I gave it to her as a birthday present,’ Kate said.

  ‘What are we talking here: top, middle or bottom?’ Nathan’s hand slipped from his pectorals to his midriff to his groin.

  ‘Let’s just say it’s somewhere you’ll never get to see.’ Abigail smiled.

  ‘You certainly kept that quiet,’ said Nathan. ‘Well, come on, you kinky bitch, let’s have a look.’

  ‘Nathan, dear, I’m not about to start flashing my intimates to you.’

  ‘Why not? We’re all friends here. Come on, it’s been ages since I played at ‘Doctors and Nurses’. Let’s see what you’ve got, girlie.’

  ‘Yeah, come on,’ Paul said. ‘Give us all a cheap thrill, now Nigel’s not here to get jealous.’

  The girl peered at Nathan’s goading face, then towards Paul and shook her head in exasperation.

  ‘Christ, it’s like being with a bunch of seven-year-olds. All right, if it interests you so much. Just one thing, boys: Try to restrain yourselves. I don’t want to be responsible for turning you straight. The bum-boys in The Village would never forgive me.’

  She unbuckled her belt and the top button on her jeans before unzipping the fly. Slipping her thumbs into the elastic waistband of her blue panties, she worked the underwear and jeans down until they were just below her knees. Sitting back, she parted her thighs.

  Matthew could not believe what he was witnessing. As his eyes honed in on the girl’s naked lower body, he could see a thick bush of pubic hair. The girl parted the reddened outer lips of her vagina with her fingers, and he could just make out the twinkle of light that reflected off a small silver stud at the top of the opening. Nathan, meanwhile, was bending, inspecting the appendage from a better vantage-point.

  ‘Very nice. Very nice. It’s a bit small, though. Hardly worth the bother, if you ask me.’ And while the girl pulled the jeans to her waist and redid the zip, he stood and made to unbuckle his own belt. ‘This, my friends, is what a proper piercing should look like.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Nathan, put it away,’ Paul said before he had unbuttoned his fly. ‘We’ve all seen your wonderful piercing before. Anyway, dinner’s almost ready and the sight of that thing would put us off eating for good.’

  Sure enough, Nigel was busy laying plates onto the dining table.

  ‘Hate to interrupt the fun, children,’ he said, ‘but if you’d like to come over.’

  Filing across, Matthew found himself sitting between Paul and Abigail at the dining table. Opposite them, Kate sat next to Nathan, with the seat beside him left vacant for the host.

  ‘How’s your ankle, Matthew?’ Paul asked once they were settled. ‘I forgot to ask you before. You seemed to be walking all right just now.’

  ‘It’s not too bad, thanks. A lot better than earlier. I had a long soak in the bath.’

  ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘I tripped over one of the street sellers on Grace Road.’

  ‘It’s easily done. They’ve turned the whole road into an obstacle-course. You should let Nathan have a look. He’s a trained physiotherapist and he’s actually pretty good. Hey, Nathan,’ he said to the dark-haired man, who was pouring himself a glass of wine, ‘you’ll take a look at Matthew’s ankle
after dinner, won’t you? He fell and twisted it earlier.’

  Nathan looked up with beaming eyes. ‘Sure. No problem.’

  ‘There’s really no need,’ Matthew murmured. ‘It’s a lot better now, anyway.’

  ‘It’s up to you,’ said Paul. ‘But believe me, he’s got remarkably good hands.’

  When the food was served, despite the lack of meat Matthew was suitably impressed with the fare. There was a goat’s cheese salad starter, followed by a spinach quiche and sautéed potatoes for main. Much wine was consumed throughout and although the mood was increasingly light-hearted and convivial, Matthew remained on the periphery of conversation.

  While they ate, a little to Matthew’s consternation the subject returned to physiotherapy and it emerged that Kate, also, was a trained masseuse.

  ‘That’s how we met, me and Sugar Plum,’ Nathan informed Matthew. ‘We studied together at college, even shared a house at one time. But while I concentrated on human injuries, she focused more on animals. Racing stallions, wasn’t it, my dear?’

  ‘That’s where the money is,’ the girl responded. ‘Some of these trainers are willing to pay a fortune to have their horses manipulated.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that for a second,’ said Nathan. ‘The thing that’s always bothered me, though, is, what do you have to do to the animal for it to leave a tip on the bedside table?’

  While Nigel let out a raucous laugh, Kate smiled and Abigail tutted disapprovingly.

  ‘I wish sometimes, just sometimes, Nathan, you could rise above the level of Neanderthal.’

  ‘Pull your head back in, Abi,’ Nathan responded. ‘I was only fooling around.’

  A strawberry mousse was served for dessert, accompanied by a glass of champagne. Inevitably, Matthew found that the more he drank, the less inhibited he became. Indeed, his tipsiness was such that, by the time the dessert plates were being cleared, he felt ready to engage with the others.

  ‘So, Matt,’ Nathan said, lighting a cigarette, ‘what brings you to the big city? Here to experience the dazzling sites? Breathe a little history and culture?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ he answered. ‘I did all the touristy stuff a couple of years ago with my parents. I went to The Velouria Gallery the day before last, but that’s about it. Buildings and museums don’t interest me much, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Watch out,’ Nathan said loudly, ‘it seems we have a Philistine in our midst. OK, Matty boy, if you’re not here for the ‘touristy stuff’, then what draws you to our fair city?’

  ‘I don’t know, really. To sample life, I guess.’

  ‘Ah, that’s more like it. A Philistine, maybe, but deep down there’s a libertine waiting to break free.’

  ‘How long are you staying for, Matthew?’ Paul asked.

  ‘I’ve no set plans. A few days, I guess. Enough time to clear my head.’

  Nathan’s eyes widened. ‘That sounds ominous. Are we to gather that all is not rosy in the garden of Orchid Hill?’

  ‘Everyone has their problems,’ Matthew shrugged.

  ‘That they do, kiddo, that they do. This past week I’ve discovered that I’m allergic to Kiwi-fruit. Life certainly can be a bitch at times.’

  ‘You having trouble at home, Matthew?’ Paul asked, adding a touch of solemnity to proceedings.

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. I believe it’s sometimes good to put a bit of distance between yourself and your worries. It gives you a clearer perspective.’

  ‘To be honest, that’s not the main reason I came.’

  ‘No? Then, what’s the main reason?’

  ‘I’m not totally sure, but I just knew I had to come; that something amazing would happen if I did. Kind of like destiny, I suppose. It’s like destiny brought me here for a reason.’

  ‘That’s intriguing,’ said Nathan, a wide grin spreading across his lips. ‘And you reckon you’re going to find it here in the capital, this destiny of yours?’

  ‘That’s the plan.’

  The dark-haired man sat forward in his chair, eying him intently. ‘So, come on, Matty, now you’ve started the subject, what is this big thing you’re hoping to find?’

  ‘I’d like to know, as well,’ said Abigail. ‘What is this destiny you’re chasing, Matthew?’

  In that instant, although he sensed all eyes boring into him, Matthew felt largely at ease. ‘I’m really not sure. All I know is it’s going to be good.’

  ‘That’s a bit vague,’ said Nathan, easing back. ‘I assume it hasn’t happened yet, this good thing of yours.’

  ‘No, but there’s still time. If it’s going to happen, it’s got to happen before my birthday; before I’m eighteen.’

  Nathan’s eyes alit. ‘So, you’re not yet eighteen. You are a young pup, aren’t you? And tell us, when is it your birthday?’

  ‘Monday.’

  ‘The day after tomorrow? That doesn’t leave you long. I’d get a move on, if I were you.’

  ‘What do you think will happen if you don’t find this destiny of yours?’ said Abigail.

  ‘I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.’

  ‘That’s interesting. You see, the thing about destiny is that, by its very nature, it simply must happen.’

  ‘You can always spot the old philosophy student in a crowded room,’ said Paul with a wink. ‘I didn’t realise you were into predestination, Abs.’

  ‘Well, you know, it’s easier to get your head round than the free-will argument.’

  ‘You’re saying you truly believe in destiny?’ Paul asked her. ‘That nobody can control their own future?’

  ‘It seems the most rational explanation.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll turn your question back on you. What do you think would happen if destiny – Matthew’s, yours or whoever’s – didn’t happen?’

  ‘Like I was saying, that is a contradiction that cannot happen. Unless you’re willing to delve into quantum science and multiple realities. And that’s a bloody minefield, I can tell you.’

  ‘Yes, but for the sake of hypothesis, what would happen if something went wrong in this reality and destiny didn’t happen?’

  ‘The universe would cease to exist, I guess. Go up in a ball of flames, or something minor like that.’

  ‘My grandmother believed that the only one with the power to alter the future is God,’ Matthew said, trying to re-introduce himself to the hijacked conversation.

  ‘That’s fair enough,’ said Abigail. ‘Everyone’s entitled to their beliefs. After all, when it comes down to it, that’s what most followers of religion depend on: the power of prayer to influence a higher being. Who knows, maybe she’s right? Personally, I’d rather put my faith in empirical science than some all-powerful mythical entity. Still, each to their own.’

  ‘I’d be careful what you say, Abs,’ said Nathan, getting to his feet. ‘Or else, the moment you step outside tonight you’re going to get struck down by a bolt of lightning. Now, if anyone’s interested, I’m going to the lounge to roll a spliff.’

  The rest followed a few minutes later, and while most resumed their former places, Nathan knelt to the coffee-table and prepared a couple of joints. Once lit, they were passed round, with everyone taking a couple of drags before handing it on to the next.

  When it was his turn to smoke, Matthew took a couple of drags, but exhaled to prevent the smoke from chafing his throat. He was relieved to pass it on and dilute the acrid taste with a mouthful of wine.

  ‘So, what’s the plan for the rest of the evening?’ Kate asked. ‘Are we going on somewhere, or staying put?’

  ‘I’m certainly in the mood for something,’ said Paul, exhaling a cloud of smoke. ‘What about you, Matt? Are you up for a bit of disco-dancing?’

  ‘What sort of place did you have in mind?’

  ‘Somewhere fabulous, no doubt, if Nathan has any say in the matter. The thing is, it’s going to take me and Nigel a while to clear up, so I suggest you guys head into tow
n and we’ll follow in a bit. How does that sound?’

  There was the general murmur of agreement.

  ‘What would you like to do, Matt?’ Paul asked. ‘You can go ahead with the others or stay and wait for us.’

  ‘I think I’ll wait for you.’

  ‘Great, so that means we get lumbered with Nathan,’ Abigail remarked. ‘I’m not sure there’ll be enough room in the taxi for me, Kate and Nathan’s ego.’

  ‘Well, there’s certainly not going to be enough room for the two of you and my massive cock,’ Nathan shot back. ‘And just for that, face-ache, I’m going to let you girls go on your own. I think I’ll wait here with my friend Matt ... But I’m not helping clear up,’ he told the hosts. ‘I’m supposed to be a guest, not a fucking mop-lady.’

  Everybody concurred and a single taxi was ordered. It arrived within twenty minutes and the two girls departed, heading for a club where the others would supposedly meet up later.

  Paul and Nigel disappeared into the kitchen, meanwhile, leaving Matthew and Nathan alone.

  While Nathan lit another joint, Matthew swallowed what was left in his glass and poured another.

  ‘The wine’s going down well, I see,’ Nathan said through a fresh plume of marijuana smoke.

  ‘Too well.’ He rested his glass on the coffee-table. ‘Any idea where the toilet is, Nathan?’

  ‘Down the hallway, the last door on the right.’

  Matthew stood and nodded, and for the first time that evening felt the disorientation of drunkenness. He took a deep breath and spluttered as he inhaled the smoke that permeated the air.

  Proceeding down the hallway, he entered the bathroom and urinated. Afterwards, as he returned to the smoke-filled lounge, he was manoeuvring between the coffee-table and sofa when he jarred his ankle and gave a curse of pain. Nathan instantly set down the joint and insisted he take a look.

  Before Matthew knew what was happening, he found himself sitting on the sofa with Nathan kneeling before him, massaging his de-socked left foot in his warm hands. At first Matthew sat rigid and aghast as the ankle joint was manipulated. Yet the man’s touch was so delicate and soothing that the discomfort – both moral and physical – was quickly forgotten. As he eased against the plush sofa, his thoughts and sensibilities began to drift. For a time, he became aware of nothing more than the relaxing sensation rising upwards from his ankle, a feeling he had never experienced at the hands of another person. He only partially regained his senses when Nathan’s voice sounded.

  ‘How’s that, Matty?’

  Matthew looked down at the intense brown eyes staring back.

  ‘Pretty good,’ he murmured.

  ‘That’s what I like to hear. Your ankle is a bit swollen and knotted, but I doubt there’s any ligament damage. Tell me, does this hurt?’ He gently twisted the foot.

  Matthew shook his head.

  ‘And this?’ The foot was turned the other way.

  Again, he shook his head, unable to muster a greater response.

  Deep lethargy had washed over him. As the other man continued to manipulate his ankle, he became so listless that he felt he could have curled up and slept. His vision was increasingly indistinct and his awareness clouded like the smoky atmosphere around him. All the while, those hands continued to work their magic; only now the magic was spreading.

  As he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, he scarcely noticed that the pleasure-zone was extending beyond his ankle and was working its way up his calf. The muscle was squeezed and flexed with such subtlety that it was soon brought into alignment with his heat-filled, soothed ankle. The hollow at the back of the knee was worked, a natural progression that intensified the relaxation and made his whole body tingle. By the time his lower thigh was being kneaded, the touch had somehow lightened yet remained as penetrative as before.

  The pleasure began to change, from outright relaxation to something more profound. The lightest of touches were now flickering over the top of his thigh, brushing his groin and following the contour of his jeans. A warmth began rising in his belly. Matthew took a deep, lingering breath as his eyes came into focus. And there, before him, was Nathan’s angular face.

  Suddenly realising what was happening, his eyes honed down to where a foreign hand was cupping the mound of his groin.

  Then he truly awoke.

  ‘What the fuck?’ he said, swiping at the hand on his crotch. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Easy, tiger,’ Nathan responded, withdrawing his hand sharply.

  ‘No, tell me, what the fucking hell were you doing?’

  While the other man backed away, Matthew hunched and scrambled for his sock. His face was flush with fear and rage, as well as the vestiges of pleasure.

  ‘I’m sorry, Matty,’ the man said, raising a defensive hand. ‘It’s just that you looked so peaceful, so beautiful. I couldn’t resist.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake. I don’t know what sort of person you think I am …’ He pulled the sock over his ankle and grabbed for the shoe. ‘… but I’m not like that.’

  ‘Not like what, exactly?’

  ‘Not like that. Not like you.’

  ‘Right, I see.’ The man nodded and smiled knowingly. ‘So, you mean to tell me you weren’t enjoying yourself just now.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Because that’s not the impression I got.’

  ‘I was half-asleep.’

  ‘Did that make it any less pleasurable?’ Nathan reached for the half-smoked joint from the ashtray and fumbled in his pocket for a lighter. ‘You see, Matty, I have one major rule in life: If it feels good, you’re probably doing something right.’

  ‘Well, it’s a good job we’re not all like you.’ He hurriedly tied the laces on his shoe and stood, looking towards the kitchen.

  ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to judge. I mean, that destiny stuff you were talking about earlier. It’d be ironic, don’t you think, if this big destiny of yours was to learn something about yourself? Something that I could help teach.’

  ‘Yes, well, destiny can go fuck itself.’

  At that moment, as if alerted by raised voices, Paul emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron with a cartoon gorilla drawn on its front.

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Fine,’ Matthew answered, momentarily distracted by the apron. He approached the host and shook his hand. ‘Thanks for a cool evening, Paul, but I’ve decided to head off.’

  ‘Really? But we’ve almost finished clearing up. Aren’t you coming to the nightclub?’

  ‘No. I’m really quite tired, so I’m just going to shoot.’

  He began walking towards the hallway, ignoring Nathan as he went. Paul followed him to the door.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he asked, with Matthew stepping onto the landing and hailing the lift. ‘Has Nathan said something to upset you?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. Nathan’s done nothing. You’ll have to thank ... Nigel … for the dinner.’

  ‘I will. We’re both glad you came.’

  The lift arrived and Paul rested a hand on Matthew’s shoulder, as if about to offer another embrace. Matthew broke away, however, and stepped into the lift.

  ‘If you’re going to be around for a few days longer, you’ve got my number,’ Paul said as the doors pulled together.

  The lift jolted to descend and Matthew sighed and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his new shirt. His head was now revolving and he felt sick.

  While riding the lift down, the same words kept churning over and over in his head:

  ‘I’m not gay … I’m not gay … I’m not fucking gay …’