The Beard (10 page)

As they approached, with almost everyone looking on in bemused wonder, Tom spun on his heels. Stopping dead and smiling like an inmate on day release, he scanned the rows of people who’d sat in silent critique of them both.

“Thank you,” Tom said, his hand performing yet another arc of melodrama as he sought to wave at everyone he was addressing. “Thank you for haughtily dispensing your unfavourable verdicts on me and my friend, Amy. I hope that whatever you all have is terminal, you miserable, horrible fat chavs.”

And with that, he spun again, took Amy’s arm and they left. 

Amy rifled through the cupboards in Tom’s kitchen, looking for the elusive biscuits.

Tom wandered in and sighed. “I love him but, boy, he’s hard work.”

Amy smiled and chuckled. “You can say that again,” she said. “Is he just loving the attention?”

Ever s
ince Ash had moved into Tom’s from the hospital (so that he wouldn’t be alone), there was an element of Ash milking it. Not that what had happened wasn’t real or horrific. It’s just that there was a sense that Ash was eking it all out.

“I could’ve died,” he’d say, drawing his hand to his chest with diva-like precision. “I fought as many of them off as my weak limbs could manage, but I was overpowered by 12 angry homophobes.”

At this point, he’d look up at Tom and Amy, his eyes big, sad and droopy, like a puppy’s. Then, having revealed his perilous fragility in the face of hatred, he’d wait to be rewarded with a biscuit, or some affection. Again, just like a puppy. In truth, this need to bask in tragedy to illicit security revealed how tragic his life had been. Given the injured innocence on display, Tom and Amy felt unable to address the issue head-on. It was, nonetheless, getting irritating. Especially as the number of assailants differed depending upon what Ash wanted.

He’d been attacked coming home from a club. The latest love of his life had picked him up in a bar. They were on their way home, laughing and joking, when the guy was spotted with Ash. Seemingly, the man wasn’t out to anyone and, upon being spotted, shouted across to his mates, “Lads, this poofter is trying to feel me up – let’s show him what real men do.” And before Ash knew what had hit him, it was naked homophobia that was hitting him, repeatedly.

They hauled him off the main road, down into a dark, dank alley, where he heard one say, “Let’s finish the job.” Mercifully for Ash, a fire alarm at a nearby bar spewed many revellers out into the back street through the fire exits and the men fled. Ash was left in a pile of rubbish bags, bruised, battered and shaken. Having managed to drag himself to his feet, he accepted a lift from a kindly stranger. He asked to be taken to Tom’s house, but the guy dropped him a few streets away – having mugged him in the process.

It was clear that, while the physical damage wasn’t too horrific (although bad enough), the psychological effects were significant. Ash was attempting to put a brave face on things but, in reality, he was shaken to the core. His confidence, for so long his lone ally in life, had been very badly affected. Tom noticed that he turned on all the lights in the house at all times, and when he thought someone was in the house who shouldn’t be, he lost control and freaked.

Tom had sat him down and explained that he was under no pressure to leave. That so long as his recovery was underway, he could stay as long as he liked. That said, Tom was worried that Ash now merrily inhabited this cosy world, leaving him without the capacity to deal with the attack’s resulting demons.

“I’m not sure,” Tom shrugged. “To be honest, I just think he feels safe here. Really safe. And that’s all he can think about. I don’t think he’s milking it because he wants to, I think he’s milking it because he’s scared. He’s had such a shit life, it’s hardly surprising. I want him to be safe and I want him to feel safe. It’s just…”

He didn’t get much further before Amy interjected, “You don’t want him to think that you two are an item? Is that what this is about?”

Tom was surprised he’d been deconstructed so efficiently. He looked up at Amy as if to query her extraordinary deduction.

“It’s fairly obvious,” she said.

Tom looked back at her, aghast at the prospect that he was giving off anything other than welcoming vibes.

“Oh no, I don’t mean that,” Amy continued. “I mean, it’s obvious that he could – what shall we say? – suffer from the Stockholm syndrome.”

Tom looked unnerved by the suggestion. “Don’t be daft,” he protested unconvincingly. Amy took one of the biscuits from the jar and nibbled at the edge, looking up at Tom playfully. “Shut up!” he said in response to her coquettish advances.

“I’m not saying he does or that he will, but come on. You started out like a big brother. You took him out drinking, helped him get laid and kept a protective eye over him. Then things progressed – you’re always there, telling him off for the mistakes he makes in his love life. Now he’s basically moved in and you’re protecting him, nursing him and sheltering him. What next?” Amy’s eyelids fluttered at the suggestion. She took another nibble from the biscuit, which was serving more as a prop than a treat.

“You’ve got a warped sense of… sense of… oh, Lord. That’s what’s worrying me. You know that I think he’s great, but him and me? You’re kidding. I’d kill him! That’s the last thing I want to happen. No, it would be as
pointless as you falling for me.” Tom shook as if the very thought made him shiver.

Amy laughed. “Oh yes, first you think I’m besotted by you, and now it’s poor Ash.”

Tom took a step forward and pointed at Amy with a jabbing motion: “It wasn’t ME who said he might love me, it was you. Ha!”

Amy looked down at the biscuit, brushing crumbs onto the floor. “I never mentioned love,” she said, looking up at him again. “You brought that up. Maybe it’s the Stockholm syndrome in reverse. Maybe you need him more than you know. MAYBE, papa bear, you need someone to mother – or father; whatever it is that your lot does – and Ash neatly fills that hole, er, so to speak.”

Tom looked back at Amy blankly, then with a sense of annoyance. “Not only do you have quite the filthy mouth, dear lady, but I shall be telling everyone at the wedding just what you’ve been saying. Let’s see what they all have to say about that.”

Amy’s face cleared of any mischief as the thought occurred. “That’s a point, what about the wedding? I mean, are you going to leave him on his own?”

Both stood staring at each other, at a loss for words. “Alternatively,” Tom offered, “this could be the perfect get-out-of-jail card. I could stay to look after my best friend, who’s been savagely beaten up in a city centre. That would get me added brownie points, surely?”

Amy looked unimpressed but was evidently mulling it over. “Could do. They already know about it, so it wouldn’t come out of the blue. They know he’s living with you at the moment, too. OK, leave it with me. I’ll call Mum later and
see if I can get you out of it. How’s that?”

Tom walked over to the counter top and opened the biscuit jar. “That, my dear Amy,” he said, plundering the pot for cookies, “is the best thing you’ve said all day.”

“Hello? Anyone? There’s a dying man wasting away from starvation and dehydration through here.” Tom and Amy looked at each other as the shrill voice screamed out from the sofa.

Amy stood up abruptly. “Well, I’d better get going.”

Tom looked at her curiously. “Going? Where you going? I thought you’d be staying for dinner. More to the point, helping me order dinner. Curry?”

Amy immediately adopted her lying face. Tom could spot it a mile off. As soon as she wanted to keep something secret or conceal something she wasn’t massively proud of, this was the face she used.

“Oh yeah?” said Tom mischievously. “What have you got planned for tonight, then?”

Amy did her very best to look innocent, but failed quite magnificently. Her hesitance served as sticky footprints leading to the honey pot of truth. Out of the blue, Tom’s face cleared of any smile. “It’s that man, isn’t it?” he said jealously.

Amy’s immediate reaction, a sudden flash of guilt across her face, answered the question.

“He’s firmly back on the scene, then, is he?” asked Tom, somewhat defensively.

There was an uncomfortable gap in the conversation as both looked around the room. It seemed most odd that here they were, two friends who were somehow answerable to each other for the people in their lives. Tom knew in his heart of hearts that this matter was nothing to do with him and it was great that Amy had found someone… at last. Presently, however, this arrangement suited them all very well. In many respects, the longer it continued, the better it was. But as Tom wasn’t looking for love, it would ultimately suit him for longer than Amy – assuming that she met someone she liked. It also meant that the longer it kept going, the longer it enabled both of them to avoid the issues that had to be addressed.

This new man wasn’t just a possible path to happiness for Amy but, more tellingly for Tom, a threat to this charming way of life. Tom was allowed to live in blissful denial, save for bouts of righteous posturing. Amy, in turn, had a man to go to the cinema with and keep her mother at bay. Not that this worked in reality, as Tom liked rom-coms and Amy like horrors. But still. They had a good working relationship – a fake marriage of convenience.

What Tom failed entirely to comprehend was that while he remained in the sexual shadows of society, Amy didn’t. She wanted to find love. She wanted to be loved. Yes, she’d had relationships in the past that had failed - spectacularly. Yes, she’d been let down and upset many times. So Tom was naturally protective and snarly to every man who entered her life as a result. That didn’t mean, however, that Amy wanted to remain chaste. She didn’t.

Tom had no right to feel jealous or even demand answers. He had no authority over Amy’s life choices and started to feel foolish for doing so, anyway. He did, however, have some level of antagonism towards this man – whoever he was – simply because he’d been shown up by him. Admittedly, the guy knew nothing about it and wasn’t even there, but some primeval level of acrimony remained.

“You’re still pissed about the other night,” Amy stated quite accurately.

Tom thought about lying and saying that he wasn’t, but decided against it. For one, it was true and for another, there was already one liar in the room.

“A bit,” he admitted begrudgingly. “You’re not going out unless you tell me about him and why you’re leaving a night with me, the patient and a prawn bhuna for him.” It was an attempt at sounding lighthearted. They both knew it was forced.

Amy sat back down again. “Well,” she said, “as you know, he’s called Sam. He’s a lawyer.”

“Oh God,” Tom blurted without any humour.

“No, listen…” Amy urged. “Listen! He works for an international charity, human-rights stuff. He travels the world and does work in various countries. He’s not some slick, money-grabbing praying mantis, OK?”

Amy raised an eyebrow to check that this news had Tom’s approval. He nodded but looked away in a display of petulance. Amy took some pleasure from seeing this. It wasn’t often that she had two men bidding for her attention.

“Is he good-looking?” Tom enquired.

Amy sighed gently as if indicating that the conversation could be curtailed at any minute. “Yes, he is. He’s got blond hair and he has a really rugged build – he does a lot of rock climbing. He’s about your size and he’s in really good shape. His eyes are an amazing greeny colour…” It was obvious that Amy had started drifting off into her world of lust.

“I see,” said Tom. “So, would you say he’s better looking and more rugged than me?”

Amy smiled. Although it was only a playful question, she knew that Tom was being needy. “Of course not,” she said, standing up and walking over to him. “You’re my Superman!”

Tom attempted a thin smile, but gave up halfway through.

“Look…” began Amy.

Tom stood up as abruptly as Amy had. “You don’t have to,” he said, looking at her. “You really don’t.”

“Tom…” she said, aware that he seemed upset.

He looked straight at her and took her by the elbows. “Look, I’m a bit jealous, of course I am. He’s the man you were seeing behind my back! Plus, I don’t want to lose you.”

Amy pulled away slightly. “Oh, Tom, Tom, Tom…” Her sigh felt seismic and indicated much frustration on the subject – something that Tom registered immediately. “You’re not going to lose me. We’re friends. Friends forever – for life. But sweetheart, you need a man in your life, not a cinema buddy or a beer buddy. You need to feel love and you’ll never feel it in the way you need to with me. You know that, I know that. We’ll always have this…” She made a circling gesture with her hand, her voice firm but shushed lest Ash heard. “But you need to be in love. One day, you might be and I might be single. Then it might be me wanting to go to the cinema and you’ll have plans with what’s-his-face. I won’t feel bad, I’ll feel happy. But you need to move on. We both do. This is great but it’s not healthy and it’s not forever. You must know that, Tom. I’m not the only one who knows and feels that.”

Amy stopped to take a breath. Both of them seemed surprised at the outpouring of emotion. Amy seemed taken aback by the ferocity of her own feelings.