The Beard (19 page)

“And you know,” continued Josh, “there was this one horse. I used to joke that he was called Mister Ed, ’cos he and I used to chat. Not literally, you know? I don’t mean he spoke. That would be mental. You know? I just mean we could communicate on some level. And he was, like, ‘I face hurdles in my life, you face hurdles in yours. So you must get fit, get ready and just clear those hurdles.’ You know? And I was, like, ‘Yeah, that’s so… you know? So, just, you know?’”

“Yup,” Tom smiled, stuffing his face with the salmon starter in a bid to finish the meal as soon as possible. “Salmon’s nice,” he said, hoping to encourage Josh to stop talking and eat. So he could leave…

Josh looked at Tom. He picked up a strip of salmon and, attempting to eat it seductively, managed to drape it across his chin. As he hauled it into his mouth, it left a fishy slug trail in its wake. Tom stared at this in burgeoning dread.

“Ash was right about you,” said Josh as the last fin of salmon vanished into the bread hole that was his mouth. “You’re cute.” At that point, Tom felt a foot make contact with his thigh under the table. Jolting visibly, he looked up at Josh, his eyes wide with trepidation. Josh smiled at Tom, tilting his head coquettishly but revealing a sunflower seed in between two teeth.

Tom stared back at Josh. He was sure that to dismiss him readily
could set his recovery back years, but he found the prospect of any kind of intimacy with this man genuinely abhorrent.

“What say we skip dinner?” said Josh, his foot rising up Tom’s inner leg.

Tom jumped up. “Erm, argh, erm,” he mumbled. “Hahaha. Yes… I… Erm… Would you excuse me? Need to pee!”

Josh watched Tom leave. Then he walked to the stove and turned all the hobs off.

Tom sat on the toilet seat, rocking back and forth in unreserved social terror. He weighed up his options. Going through with some kind of sexual activity might, if the curtains were drawn, be the easiest way out. Then again, what if Josh wanted to stay? Gay etiquette usually dictates that you leave after the deed, but what if he wanted to hang around? To cuddle? To spoon? Tom was close to tears of nervousness. Worse still, what if Josh took that as a sign of attraction? He could be forgiven for thinking that, for sure. Tom shuddered. The only way out was to man up and explain to Josh’s face that he wasn’t interested and that it would be better if he left. Tom rose and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. “You a man or a mouse?” he asked himself. Then, not hearing an answer, he splashed his face with cold water. Burying it deep in a towel, he imagined what was waiting for him downstairs. He contemplated not removing his head from the comfortable fluffy towel and hoping that the problem would eventually go away. If he stayed locked in the bathroom long enough, maybe Josh would get the message. Then again, he might get the message and grab the DVD player on the way out…

Tom threw the towel to the floor and slowly opened the creaking wooden door. He glanced down the stairs and listened carefully for a minute.

“Tom!” he heard. The voice was far closer than it should’ve been. The two upstairs bedrooms were arranged off a thin, long landing area. Ash’s bedroom was next to the bathroom, Tom’s at the front of the house. Ash’s bedroom door was closed, whereas his was open. It hadn’t been when he’d left it earlier. Gingerly, he walked towards his bedroom. Pushing the door open, he turned his head around the door, holding onto the frame for support.

Sure enough, there, illuminated by the bedside lamp, was a naked Josh, tucked under Tom’s bed sheets. Tom’s eyes widened noticeably. As he leant forward, clutching the door, he resembled a chad. The only things missing were the words, “Wot, no dignity?” scrawled indelibly under his nose.

“I thought we could skip the main course and go straight for dessert,” said Josh expectantly. The expanse of lily-white flesh popping up from the royal-blue sheets made Tom weepy. Josh sensed that the sight of him in bed wasn’t having the desired effect, but mistakenly put this down to Tom’s nerves. “I’ll show you the ropes,” he said in a misguided attempt to reassure. Tom took a step back and stumbled over his occasional chair.

“Ah, yes, erm, look, Josh. Erm, the thing is… Erm, I’m not really up for a relationship right now,” Tom said, look
ing at a spot above Josh’s head and mentally laundering the sheets.

Josh collapsed back into the mound of pillows and smiled. “Neither am I!” With that, he whipped the quilt cover back to unveil the side of his body, like a blinding white flash of light against the night sky.

“And to be honest,” Tom added, “you aren’t my type. Sorry.”

This caused more of a reaction. Josh sat bolt upright. “Well, what
is
your type, TOM?” The question wasn’t genuine; Josh wasn’t actually interested in who attracted Tom. The exposed emotions, however, were very real.

Tom stuttered, standing on the spot. “Erm, sorry, did you turn the cooker off?” he asked, suddenly aware that a kitchen fire might be his best chance to get out of the situation.

“Of course I turned the bloody cooker off! So what is it then, TOM?” Josh said again with deliberate and forceful pronunciation of Tom’s name. “Ash said you liked horses, I like horses. He said you liked food, I love food. I mean, what is it – am I just ugly or something? Is it because I was a junkie, Tom? Is that it?”

Of all the situations Tom had expected to deal with upon his return home from doing the groceries, this wasn’t one of them. He realised that this would demand some tact, possibly beyond even his usual capacity.

“Of course it’s not that!” he exclaimed in faux disgust. The anger drained from Josh’s face. “It’s just… well…”

“YES?” Josh demanded.

“You’re just not my type.”

Josh rolled his eyes and lifted the quilt over his exposed shoulders. “Oh, that old chestnut.”

Tom walked further into the room. “No, it’s true. You see, Ash got a bit mixed up. I like horses… ’cos I like the jockeys. I kind of like smaller guys, whereas you’re very masculine. A mountain of a man.” He
sensed that he was onto something. “You’re basically too much man for me. Sorry.”

Josh looked at Tom with complete incredulity. “You fancy jockeys?” he said. It was a stretch of the imagination. 

“Yip,” said Tom, rocking on his heels. “I like smaller men. Diddy, wee men.”

Josh stared at Tom as if he was deranged. “If you don’t like me, just say. You don’t have to insult my intelligence.”

Tom had heard this before and knew only too well that it was a trap. “No, no, I’m telling you the truth. Look, you seem like a great guy but I’m not really looking for anything or anyone right now. And if I were, they’d have to be about 5ft. I like to tower over my men!” Then, in an act that he’d regret for the rest of his life, he lifted up both hands in a clutching gesture and roared like a bear.

It was Josh who now stared at Tom in complete horror. “OK,” he said, standing up, the duvet still wrapped around his waist. “I’m going.”

Tom, not wanting to upset the moment, stepped back and said, “OK, OK, I understand.” He looked away and allowed Josh to get dressed. Josh did so in silence as Tom took special interest in the floorboards under his feet.

“You know,” Josh started as he tied his laces, “I only did this as a favour. Ash said you were desperate.” Tom was happy to be insulted so long as Josh left without breaking or taking anything. “I just thought I’d help him and you out, you know? A spot of charity.”

Tom nodded. He knew that it was Josh’s right as the spurned party to insult him. “I know that Ash said you were a bit staid, but I should’ve realised he meant boring and weird. I mean, jockeys?”

Tom nodded again, trying to expedite Josh’s departure.

“Let me show you out,” Tom said with far too much energy. Josh looked hurt.

They walked down the stairs in silence. Josh grabbed his coat from the coat rack, while Tom opened the door. “Well, take care,” he said, all but closing
it hurriedly.

Josh, who was barely out on the street before the door started to close, turned and looked back at Tom: “I’ve done some serious drugs, mate, and there’s no way I’d do anything as screwed up as fancy a jockey.”

Tom smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “It takes all sorts,” he said as the cold evening air swirled around their collective embarrassment.

“Whatever,” Josh managed before walking off. Tom slammed the door shut and slid down it to the floor. He sat on the cold tiles and grappled for his phone.

Don’t kill me,
said the text message waiting from Ash.
I just had a text from Josh. He said he doesn’t really fancy you but he’ll do it as a favour for me. Your dice, big guy – you roll them.

Tom seethed until he screamed at the very top of his voice, “Assshhhlleeeyyy!” Then the hall fell silent and the evening faded into a bad memory.

When Tom stepped out of the cab, he was surprised to see Amy standing at the door of the restaurant, waiting for him.

“Hello,” he said.

Amy looked behind him, as if expecting someone to get out of the cab with him. She looked puzzled. “Where’s Josh? I thought we could go through the
Racing Post
together.”

Tom didn’t react but merely replied, “God, you’ve piled on the weight recently.” Then, touching her immaculate hair, he added, “Wow… let’s hope lover man doesn’t mind loose ends.” Amy ignored this latest sarcastic salvo. “So why you outside?” said Tom, looking up and down the street. “Has he already got you earning a wage?”

This did, however, attract a reaction as Amy took a swipe at Tom and hit the well-padded arm of his coat.

“He’s running late, actually,” she said tartly. “He called to say that he has some big news and will tell me when he gets here.”

The two of them stood blocking the doorway to the restaurant. “So?” said Tom, staring at Amy, who was busily keeping a watchful eye up and down the street. “Are we going in?”

Amy looked unnerved. “You go in. The table’s in my name. I’ll be in soon.”

Tom grabbed the door handle and started to swing it open before letting go.

“Hold on,” he said, rolling his eyes in anticipation, “does he know I’m coming?” Amy looked at him and squinted her eyes as she thought of an appropriate way to say no. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Amy. You can’t just bump the poor guy into meeting me. I don’t want to feel like I’m part of a bloody ambush. Sorry, Amy, but you really need to stop doing things like this. It’s bloody irritating. I’m going.”

Amy swung her hand out and grabbed Tom’s sleeve. “No, stay,” she implored.

“No, Amy. We talked about this and I told you that if you want me to meet him, he has to want it, too. You can’t just drop me in and expect everything to go well. It’s too contrived. No, I’m off.”

“Amy!” a voice boomed. They both turned around to see Sam standing there. He was quite imposing. Tom gave him an instant up and down and was smitten. He was over six foot tall, slim but well built, and had startling green eyes and foppish blond hair. He was styled but still rugged. Seeing him standing in jeans and an open-neck shirt, Tom and Amy were plunged into silence. “Everything OK, Amy?” asked Sam.

“I was just going,” said Tom, smiling.

“Sam, this is my friend, Tom. The one I’ve told you about.”

Sam’s eyes brightened and a smile crept across his face. Tom knew immediately that his jockey story had already done the rounds. “Yes, I’m Tom – the jockey lover!”

Sam laughed. “Sorry, was it that obvious?”

Tom nodded. “Anyway, I was just leaving.”

Amy grabbed his arm. “And I was trying to persuade him to stay. I just bumped into Tom. I was out here waiting for you and, well, I thought it would be nice for you to meet. Tom doesn’t want to be a gooseberry but I told him he won’t be. That’s OK, Sam, isn’t it? Dinner – the three of us?”

Sam continued smiling. “Sure!” he said.

Tom knew that Sam didn’t want him there. What man would? He also knew that they were now in an awkward situation that was almost impossible to get out of. “I really don’t want to crowd you guys out,” he said. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of chances for us to meet up soon. Won’t there, Sam?”

Tom thought that if he and Sam teamed up, they could out-manoeuvre Amy. The two men exchanged a knowing glance, communicating a
ll that was relevant about Tom’s plan.

“Ohhh, Saaammm,” Amy said in long, drawn-out tones.

“Amy, how about we arrange a meeting for next week? Maybe Monday – after the wedding?” Tom offered helpfully.

Sam looked at his feet and shuffled a bit. Surely, the idea of a meeting some time in the future wasn’t an issue. Diners departed the restaurant and ambled past the trio into the evening’s street scene.

Sam looked up at Tom and then at Amy. “Come on, Tom. I’m sure that tonight’s as good a time as any. I don’t know about you but I’m starving. Not had a chance to eat all day. Why not come in and join us for dinner tonight? We can arrange future meetings at a later date. After all, we’re all here now and I’m guessing the table is booked for three?” He sent a sideways glance at Amy, who just said, “Yippeee!”, opened the restaurant door and vanished inside.