Hard Tail (8 page)

Matt looked up, his eyebrows disappearing under his shaggy fringe. “Oh, no. I mean, it’s a busy time, lunch. Jay always brings stuff and eats it when he can. I mean, I get an hour off, but…” He trailed off a bit awkwardly. “If you want me to stay, you know, that’s fine.”

“You mean you’re willing to sacrifice your lunch hour for the useless newbie? No, don’t worry about it—but if you could hold the fort while I go and find some sandwiches or something, I’d appreciate it. Er, any suggestions as to where to get a sandwich around here?”

Matt looked a bit doubtful. “Well, there’s Asda… I always make my own.”

“I gave up on that years ago. There’s only so many days in a row you can stomach cheese and pickle.” Plus I’d had an unerring knack of getting the pickle on my tie.

“It’s all right if you vary it a bit,” Matt said, shrugging.

“Yes? What have you got today?” Maybe I could pick up some tips. Spending a fiver on lunch every day probably wasn’t a great idea while I was without gainful employment.

“Carrot and hummus in a wholemeal wrap. With a bit of salad and stuff, obviously. And fruit salad for afters.”

“You made all that yourself?” I calculated that must be at least three of his five fruit and/or veg a day. In one meal. I was pretty pleased with myself if I managed one.

“Yeah, it’s dead easy, and it’s way cheaper than buying food out. I do lunch for me and Steve every day. Course, he’s not so keen on the veggie stuff—I had to put chicken in his.”

My stomach rumbled. Lucky Steve. “I think that sort of thing’s a bit beyond my culinary skills,” I said sadly. “I’m still at the ‘How to Boil an Egg’ stage.”

“I could do you too, if you like,” Matt said, his soft brown eyes gazing at me.

What?
“Er, pardon?”

“Lunch. I could make some for you, if you like. I mean, I’d have to ask for a quid or two for the ingredients, depending on what it was—but it’d be just as easy, making three. And it’d save you going out for stuff.”

“I couldn’t put you to all that trouble…” I trailed off so he’d know I was only being polite. I was having to hold myself back from biting his oily hand off. In a manner of speaking.

“Nah, it’s no trouble. We can start tomorrow, if you like.” He smiled. “Or do you want a bite of my wrap first so you know what you’re getting into?”

Why did everything he said have to sound like a double-entendre? At this rate, I’d have to nip to the loo and, ahem, adjust myself. “No, that’s quite all right,” I protested.

“Go on,” he encouraged, wiping his hands on a rag. He grabbed a brown paper bag from the side and withdrew a foil-wrapped package, which he started to undress.

Great. Now my treacherous, sex-starved brain had me salivating for a taste of Matt’s package. “Seriously, you don’t have to—”

Before I could finish speaking, a large, well-stuffed wrap was waved under my nose, mouth-watering smells coming from it. I bowed to the inevitable and tried to judge the size of my bite just right, reckoning that taking too little would seem just as rude as taking too much.

When I tasted it, I wished I’d been a little less restrained. It was delicious. Really, really delicious. Obviously, I’d had carrot and hummus before—Kate and I had sometimes bought packs of crudités from Marks and Spencer and eaten them in front of the telly. But this—this was different. The carrot was crisp and sweet, the hummus piquant and rich. The wrap itself tasted freshly baked, and the whole effect was not so much food as an almost religious taste experience. I had to hold myself back from groaning in a decidedly unseemly fashion.

I swallowed the exquisite mouthful, suffering a pang of regret for its passing. “That’s amazing. Seriously, amazing. I’d sell my grandmother for regular lunches of this quality.”

Matt grinned. “If it’s all right with you, I’d prefer the two quid.”

I nodded. “It’s probably just as well. I think the authorities tend to frown on unofficial disinterments, anyway. And my mum would kill me.”

My sandwiches from Asda tasted like plastic garnished with blotting paper by comparison. I choked them down with the aid of a smoothie—had to get some vitamins in somehow—and prepared for another long, lonely afternoon.

Only to find I was rushed off my feet booking in repairs and services. Perhaps the decent weather we’d been having had prodded people to make sure their bikes were roadworthy—at any rate, I wasn’t complaining. I just hoped Matt wouldn’t be, seeing as he was the one who’d have to do the actual work.

I hardly saw Matt until it was closing time—just quick words in passing as he brought out bikes people had come to collect and took in others to get to work on them. When the bell jangled dead on six o’clock, I had to stifle a groan—didn’t the customers realise we had homes to go to?

On seeing it was only Adam, I gave a relieved smile. “Are you here for Matt?”

“’S right. Goin’ f’r a beer.” He gave me a long look.

Feeling a bit like a bug under a microscope, I escaped to the back room to tell Matt his friend was back. As he wiped his hands on a greasy rag, the necklace caught my eye. “Matt?” I said without thinking.

“Yeah?” He turned. Smiled.

My stomach flipped over. “Er. Your necklace.” I faltered. I couldn’t just come out and ask him about it; that would be weird. “It’s really nice.” I cringed internally but forced myself to carry on. “Unusual. Did you get it on holiday?”

Matt’s smile wobbled. His gaze darted over my left shoulder to where I realised Adam had followed me in. “This? Oh—no. I mean, um. I can’t really remember. Probably in a shop somewhere. I mean, obviously, it must have been a shop. Cornwall, maybe. Or somewhere else. Probably.” He was blushing crimson by the time he finished speaking, and he was looking anywhere but at me.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Why would he lie, if there was nothing to hide?

Chapter Six

After I’d wrangled my new bike into the car and got it home—easier than you might think, as it all seemed to clip together like an expensive bit of Lego—I was itching to try it out. Should I eat first, I wondered? Wolverine hadn’t turned up, so obviously it couldn’t be dinnertime.

Then again, he hadn’t turned up for breakfast, had he? I tried not to worry too hard. Maybe he’d just found someone else to bully into operating a tin opener for him. Maybe he’d even taken up hunting.

Yeah, right. That was about as likely as me taking up pole dancing in a sparkly thong.

I decided to ride first, eat later, so I wheeled my bike into the hallway—after all, it was brand new and clean as a whistle; Jay’s carpets had nothing to fear—and went to get changed. Seeing as I was still a bit short of clothes, I slung on a pair of jogging bottoms and a T-shirt I’d already worn once. They hummed a bit and were terminally crumpled from where I’d hung them on the floor last night. I grinned at my reflection in the mirror. Kate would have had conniptions.

Then I ran downstairs to get out my new toy.

I kept away from the main roads and the industrial bit, taking Eling Lane down to a sort of causeway across the river with a tiny toll booth, and stopped for a bit to admire the view. To one side was marshland; to the other, a sailing club, with a forest of white masts bobbing gently on the water. Beyond them lay warehouses, and in the distance, the edge of Southampton docks with a stack of brightly coloured containers like a child’s building bricks. People were out walking their dogs, and the occasional fellow cyclist whizzed by. Despite the evidence of busy commerce around me, it felt extraordinarily peaceful.

I crossed the causeway and headed up Eling Hill, which was pretty steep but mercifully short. It wound up past the pretty stone church of St. Mary’s on the left, and some equally attractive cottages on the right. It was all very picturesque, but I couldn’t shake the feeling it wasn’t exactly what the Genesis had been designed for.

As soon as I could, I decided, I was going to find out where the proper mountain bike trails were. Maybe Matt wouldn’t mind me tagging along on a Thursday night? I’d definitely have to get in a bit of practice first, though, so as not to look like a total wimp. Going uphill, I could already feel the unaccustomed exertion in my thighs and in my buttocks. Reluctantly, I turned the bike around and headed for home, not wanting to overdo it the first time out and end up walking funny next day. Yes. That was what I’d do: get in a week or two’s practice, and then ask Matt if I could go out with him.

In a totally non-date fashion, obviously.

When I got back, I wheeled the bike into Jay’s garage for safekeeping. Right next to Jay’s impressive tally of three mountain bikes, only one of which was in pieces. I had a bit of a “D’oh!” moment as it occurred to me I could have just borrowed one of them rather than blowing the redundancy money on a bike of my own.

Nah. He’d never liked me playing with his toys. Besides, God alone knew how much he’d spent on these babies, even at trade prices. He wouldn’t be too happy if I went out and trashed a thousand-pound piece of precision engineering. Pleased with that little bit of self-justification, I headed into the house.

Wolverine had finally turned up and was sitting in the middle of the hallway, where he could keep a beady eye on both the front door and the back—just in case I’d tried to sneak in and out without feeding him, I supposed. He
miaowed
impatiently at me. “All right, all right—hold your horses.” Relieved to see him safe and sound, I grabbed a can of tuna. He made a beeline for me as I crouched down to fork it into his bowl, sniffing at me and then recoiling hurriedly.

A bit miffed, I gave my armpit a quick sniff and immediately wished I hadn’t. “Okay, you’re right,” I conceded. “I stink worse than that cat food.” Looked like my own dinner would have to wait—right now I was putting us both off our food.

I headed upstairs to get cleaned up.

After my shower, I checked my chest for grey hairs (none yet, but it was only a matter of time) and towelled my hair dry. Then I wrapped a towel round my waist and was about to go downstairs when it occurred to me I was alone here. No one to care if I walked around naked; no one to hiss
what
if the neighbours look through the window
at me. I blew a kiss at my hazy reflection in Jay’s tiny bathroom mirror; already the clear patch I’d wiped was misting over again. After slinging the towel over the side of the bath, I sauntered downstairs, my cock bouncing lightly at every step. Damn, it felt good to be free.

Until, of course, the front door opened when I was halfway down the stairs and Olivia stepped into the house, her eyes exactly level with my tackle.

I did what any red-blooded male would do at this point, which was to cover myself up with both hands and splutter at her incoherently.

Olivia’s perfect mask didn’t crack. Either she had the world’s best poker face or there was a really good staff discount on Botox at that salon of hers. “Tim,” she said without lifting her eyes from my hastily hidden crotch. “Jay asked me to pick up a few things for him.”

“Right,” I said, a bit more croakily than I’d intended. I cleared my throat. “Do come in. I’ll just, er, go and…” My hands made vague going-upstairs-with-a-suggestion-of-putting-some-clothes-on gestures, realised they’d abandoned my rapidly shrivelling manhood and scrambled back to bolt that stable door.

“I’ll be in the lounge,” she said glacially and swept away.

I bolted upstairs and grabbed the first pair of trousers I could find. Then I took them off again because they were Jay’s and, as predicted, looked ridiculous on me. By the time I’d made myself decent and got downstairs again, Olivia’s perfectly pedicured foot was tapping on the hallway carpet. “Coast’s clear,” I said with a nervous smile. “No more naked men up there.”

She raised a pencilled-on eyebrow. “Should I have expected some?”

“Er, no. Definitely, no,” I told her, my face about to spontaneously combust.

She swept past me and disappeared into Jay’s bedroom. I tried to remember if I’d left my dirty underwear on the floor and came to the depressing conclusion that yes, I probably had.

There was the distant sound of drawers opening and closing; then Olivia’s precise footsteps came back down the stairs.

“Get what you were after?” I asked to justify hovering by the door.

“Yes, thank you.” She didn’t enlighten me as to what it might have been. Small enough to fit into her handbag, whatever it was. Then again, her presumably fashionable handbag was so large she could have comfortably fit the bed in there. “You know,” Olivia said thoughtfully as she turned to go, “we have a lot of male clients at the salon. Have you ever considered a little personal grooming? We do a good deal on male waxing.”

I shuddered. “No, thanks.”

“Or if you’re nervous about pain, you could consider getting your intimate hair dyed. It’d cover up the grey beautifully. It was nice seeing you, Tim.”

She swept out again, leaving me standing there, mortified. I had grey pubes? She’d
seen
my grey pubes?

I mentally added tweezers to the shopping list.

And some carpet slippers and a walking stick. They’d go nicely with the pension book I was obviously due for any day now.

I sighed and rummaged in the fridge for a ready meal.