Stockholm Syndrome 2- 17 Black and 29 Red (17 page)

 

"No."

"Be nice. He's still my best mate. You can't get jealous or nothing when he's still hanging round cos nobody in the world's worth falling out with him, not even you."

"Why would I get jealous? You're not my
boyfriend
."

"Yet," Valentine says, wearing that familiar bright sunny fauxinnocent smile. He's finally reached the end of his needle, and he tucks the knitting back inside his bag so he can shuffle closer on the blanket and lean against Lindsay. It's not quite a hug, but he rests his dark head there on Lindsay's shoulder and starts following a crease in the thigh of his old blue jeans with a fingertip. There's a gentle breeze blowing little bits of his hair so they catch in Lindsay's beard like it's velcro. "Do you love me?" Valentine says softly, and Lindsay breathes out very slowly and puts an arm around him so it
is
a proper hug, or very close to it.

"I can't stay, I've got things to do in the library. I just wanted to bring you something... here." He rustles in the plastic Boots carrier bag he dropped on the grass next to them when he sat down and brings out a tube of sunblock. "You'll burn sitting out here for hours. I know you forgot."

"Oh shit, yeah I did. Thanks."

 

"You're welcome."

There's a little pause. Valentine frowns, but more like he's thinking than annoyed, then he breaks back into that massive smile. "You can bring me flowers next time if you want," he says, and Lindsay swats him gently round the back of the head and stands up. He's half-expecting some kind of filthy comment from Valentine about exactly which part of Lindsay's body his face is aligned with when they're positioned like this - of course, he gives it right away with a slow smirk, one side of his mouth curling up gently. "Alright, or let's get straight to it."

"I've got to go."

"Me too, I got some mates booked in at three." He starts rolling his blanket up and shoves everything into his bag, talking as he does it. "My mates Gem and Andri off my course, they say it'll be dead funny to get BA (Hons) 2:1 inked on our middle fingers so we can show all the people who thought we couldn't do it."

"You got a 2:1?" Lindsay says, then feels mean about how surprised he sounds. Valentine gives him a black look.

"Gutted, I should've got a first, my big show was
ace
. You should've seen it, it was like neo punk Bollywood, I wanted to do for ikat and bandhani what Vivienne Westwood did for tartan, it was class. Nothing wrong with what I
do
, I just can't write about it, well pissed me off cos that shouldn't matter. I weren't doing an
English
degree, I was showing people how good I sew. Still, least I never failed, right?"

"Are you mad? 2:1 is brilliant, you should be pleased."

"Spose." He
looks
pleased now, a bit pink in the cheeks. Maybe it's too much sun. Lindsay takes the tube back off him and swipes a fingerful of suncream across his nose, Adam Ant style, and Valentine cracks up laughing and starts rubbing it in. "Thanks. You in a hurry? Share a cab if you like, it's on my way."

It's kind of a bad idea, being in a car with him. It feels stuffy and claustrophobic. Of course Valentine has to sit
right
next to him so their legs are pressed together instead of sharing the space properly like a normal person. He's glad the journey is only a few minutes. A tiny little idiotic part of him wishes they never had to move anywhere ever again, but he's
mostly
glad the journey is short.

"My dad's doing me a 'thank fuck you ain't actually a useless waste of space who won't ever do nothing with your life' party in his bar tonight," Valentine says when the car pulls up at the side of Euston Road, speaking very quickly and not looking at Lindsay's face but down at his hand instead, where his sweaty fingers are curled with Valentine's in a way they're very obviously both trying to make look casual. "Please come."

"I might." He reluctantly pulls his hand out of Valentine's grip and slides across the car seat to open the door, but Valentine plucks at his shirt to make him stop.

"Like you've got a social life. Please come."

 

"I said I might."

 

"Have I got to get down on my knees right here in the street and beg?"

The words tear through him like a comet, not the idea of him actually doing it but some kind of abstract lust that makes his throat constrict. "Alright, I'll come."

"That's the spirit," Valentine says softly, smirking again and shifting over the seat to lean against the opposite door in the space Lindsay just vacated. He's twirling a bit of hair around his finger, making a big show of looking coy. He's never been any good at subtlety.

Lindsay's phone beeps before he's even inside the library, just as he's about to turn it off. He can still see the cab halted in traffic just down the road, an indistinct patch in the corner of the window that must be Valentine's head.

missed you nagging me about my textspeak x

He lingers there outside the door for a minute, not sure how to respond, eventually settling on "missed you full stop" and sending it quickly before he can change his mind. Then he turns off the phone and goes inside to do something sensible.

13.

It'd be so easy to get blind drunk tonight. There's so many people shoving glasses and bottles at him. He's in that kind of mood where you could drink and drink forever and know it's not going to make you miserable, only delirious and giggly, but he stops himself just when he's starting to feel it, when he can feel his cheeks flushing and the edges of things going a tiny bit fuzzy.

Lindsay's in a corner booth and Pip is pretending not to watch him. He's been doing it all night, this
pretending
, but he keeps catching Lindsay's eye by accident and after about the twentieth time it feels a bit pointless so he gives it up and goes over.

"I'm being a shit host. You want another drink?"

 

"You're not the host, the party's
for
you."

 

"Still."

 

"I'm okay, I've still got this." Lindsay sloshes half an inch of beer around the bottom of his bottle.

 

"Give me a hug," Pip suddenly says, before his brain can be sensible and talk him out of it.

 

Lindsay just looks at him for a moment then sort of smiles. "Why?"

 

"Cos I want one."

 

"Fair enough."

He moves his jacket onto the table so Pip can slide onto the bench on his side of the booth. The table is too close and it's awkward, it's not at all comfortable, but they try. Pip ends up leaning against Lindsay with his knees pulled up and his feet on the cushioned bench, pulling Lindsay's arm around his body and stroking the fine hairs on the back of his wrist. "Ain't this cosy?" he says, and when Lindsay laughs he can feel the warm breath first, close enough to ruffle his hair, and then the pressure of a clumsy kiss bumping off the top of his head.

"Come home with me," he murmurs, and Pip can feel tingles dancing down his spine. There's no point resisting any more. He picks up Lindsay's hand and puts a kiss right in the middle of his palm, closing his fingers over the top of it like a secret present.

"Lemme just go and say bye to my dad."

He finds Phil leaning against the bar just people-watching. Pipwatching, really, it's quite obvious. He smiles a bit when Pip dodges around people to get to him and says, "What you drinking?"

"Nothing, I was just gonna say I'm off now."

 

"Alright. Your mum took Dory home ages ago, she couldn't find you to say bye but she-"

 

"I ain't going home, I'm going with Lindsay."

 

"Oh." Something seems to pass between them, not in words or looks or gestures or anything, it's just there. Phil's face is expressionless and he drinks half his beer before he speaks again. "Have you got anything?" "Any what?"

 

"Christ Almighty, Philip, do you need a diagram?"

Pip's not sure whether to laugh or be sick when he realises. "
Oh
. Fucking hell. I ain't talking details with you, don't think it's none of your business, is it?"

"Well yeah I think it is, actually, unless he can give me a list of everywhere he's put his dick the last four years."

"DAD!" he yelps, laughing at the same time but only because he's horrified. Phil doesn't even crack a smile, he seems deadly serious, and that only makes it funnier and more awful.

"I ain't kidding around. Here..." He digs in his pocket for change and holds the pile of coins out. "Three quid, go in the gents' and buy a pack."

"Oh my god." Pip does as he's told, though, laughing and blushing all the way over to the toilets and giving Lindsay a helpless shrug and a 'just one minute' gesture where he's waiting by the door. It's years since he had to buy johnnies from a vending machine in a bar. There's something horrific about it, it feels disgustingly sleazy. He can't even look at the machine on the wall while there are still other people in the room. As soon as he's alone in there he drops the coins in and turns the handle so quickly he almost sprains his wrist and goes back to report to his dad. "Happy now?" he says, showing him the little box hidden in his palm so nobody else can see.

"Not really."

 

"I'm twenty-six. I'm old enough to choose what goes down my throat and up my bum, you know."

"Ain't even that." He's not really looking at Pip any more, he's scanning the room and ends up with his eyes fixed on Lindsay, smoking and chatting with someone just outside the door now. "Don't care if it's a bloke or what, you shouldn't be copping off with
no one
. You should be playing your Lego and riding that twatty bike you had with ribbons on the handlebars."

"I ain't a kid no more."

"You're
my
kid." Pip hugs him then, for the first time in about a decade. He doesn't know he's going to until he gets the sudden overwhelming urge and can't stop himself. Phil seems surprised and like he's got no idea what to do. He finally manages an awkward couple of pats on the back and doesn't want to make eye contact when it's finished. "Fuck off then," he says brusquely. "And don't forget you owe me three quid, you little poof."

***

The taxi seems to take forever, even though the roads aren't particularly busy. They don't talk the whole way. They're not even touching this time, they're sitting at opposite sides of the back seat looking through opposite windows. Pip watches Lindsay's ghostlike reflection for movements, trying to work out what he's thinking. Sometimes it's so obvious, even when he thinks he's hiding it. Sometimes it's impossible, like now.

Lindsay's house is dark. There must be a lamp on somewhere, dimly glowing around the corner of the stairs and bleeding into the downstairs hallway, plenty to see by but not enough to make this feel like anything more substantial than a dream. It's the sort of faint light that makes things look strange and crooked, like a fairground hall of mirrors or The Cabinet of Dr Caligari. Pip unzips his jacket and hangs it up on the coatstand by the door, but he goes in the pocket for something before he steps back.

"What's that?"

 

"Remember it?"

 

Pip shows him the orange plastic ring on his finger and Lindsay's eyebrows shoot up, then he looks like he's trying not to smile.

 

"I can't believe you've still got that piece of tat."

 

"I told you before, I'll stop wearing it soon as you buy me something big and diamondy."

Lindsay's hands are huge. He holds Pip's in both of his and it almost disappears; he feels silly and small like a child, but then Lindsay kisses over his knuckles and everything's okay.

"I don't know. You'd look stupid in diamonds. You suit plastic kiddy jewellery."

 

"Thanks?"

Lindsay drops his hand to take his own jacket off, then they stand there by the door for a while, shuffling and embarrassed and not doing anything, not wanting to be the one to make the move. "Do you want a drink?" Lindsay says, and Pip shakes his head and takes a breath and steps closer.

"No," he says, and he slips his arms up around Lindsay's neck and kisses him. Nothing like the hesitant terrified kisses on the face and neck yesterday, but a proper kiss on the lips, frantic and hungry like he can't get enough. Lindsay makes a strange happy sound through his nose and brings his hands up Pip's back to clutch at him and hold him closer. It's rushed and clumsy and not very good, their noses feel like they're getting in the way and it's too wet and their teeth clack together. Pip pulls away after a moment, laughing and wiping his sloppy mouth on the back of his hand. "This ain't gonna happen if we can't do no better than this."

"Come upstairs."

He can't help the prickling, thrilling rush he gets from that, being told what to do, being led upstairs by the hand. Lindsay kisses him again as soon as they're in the bedroom and this time it's so so much better. Pip falls back against the closing door and Lindsay moves with him, pressing him there and pinning his wrists above his shoulders. He's been wondering for ages what it'd be like, whether it'd be strange or easy kissing Lindsay again after all these years without. It's the most natural thing in the world falling back into it, feeling all the old ways rushing back. He makes a quiet, helpless noise into Lindsay's mouth and tries to move his hands, just to see what happens, but Lindsay slams them back against the door and bites his lip and Pip submits happily with another shaking little sigh, not moving at all, just letting himself be kissed. He's got his eyes open and he can see the bed. Tingles dance up his spine and into his brain, chasing the thought:
This time it's actually going to happen.

"Take this off," Lindsay says. His voice is quiet, rough with deadly intensity. He lets Pip's wrists go and fumbles between them for his buttons, and when the shirt's off his shoulders Pip puts his hands right back where they were because he's not been told to move them. Lindsay is reading Pip's tattooed arm again. His bottom lip is wet from kissing and Pip keeps his eyes fixed there, he can't look anywhere else. He can barely even
think
anything else, just Lindsay's mouth and the soft brown curls of his beard and the taste of his tongue.