The Beard (20 page)

“After you, Tom,” said Sam, holding the door. The two men smiled politely at one another but both of them were thinking the same thing: I’m not sure about you.

As the waiter showed Tom, Amy and Sam to the table for four, Tom and Sam sat down opposite each other with Amy in between them. Smiling at each other, there was a sense of mistrust between them both. One, Amy’s past and the other, potentially, her future.

Tom set about putting his napkin on his lap and pouring water into Amy’s glass, as he had many times before. “Water?” he asked Sam.

“Please,” Sam replied with yet another smile.

There was a sense that two stags were about to embark upon a rather quaint and British form of horn-jutting. The prize: a woman. The battleground: a restaurant table. Who’d pass the salt? Who’d help Amy choose whether or not to have a dessert?

In truth, Tom had home advantage, but to rule out the challenger could be fatal and Tom knew it.

In many senses, they were both after different things. Tom wanted Amy to stay as his friend, whereas Sam wanted her to build a new reality with him. Amy, largely unaware of all of this, just wanted everyone to get on.

“This is nice,” she said nervously. Both men nodded as the waiter came with menus.

“Can I get you any drinks?” he asked. Sam replied first, asking for a pint of lager – not a drink that Tom had ever associated with sound and solid people. The waiter looked at Tom.

“Ladies first,” he said without looking up. In the back of his head, he heard a Battleships-style explosion. Round one to me, he thought. Amy then proceeded to “um” and “arr” about her drink in her usual restaurant ritual. She was similarly indecisive with her food. She’d express an interest in something from the menu and then discuss, out loud, whether to have that or something more worthy. Ultimately, she’d plump for the original dish but not before she’d canvassed everyone’s opinion and fulfilled the necessary role of “figure-conscious” diner. Which she really wasn’t.

“Ooh… Erm… I’ll have…” she said, glancing at the menu.

“A large white wine,” Tom said without looking up.

“I always have that,” she replied.

“Try something different,” said Sam.

The battleground had moved to the drinks menu. The new vs old conundrum was now in play. Tom kept looking at his menu
, without reading it as Sam smiled at Amy.

Round one had gone to Tom, but this could so easily be a draw within seconds
, Tom had to remain on guard, but casually so. The art now was not to make it look as if one was trying to win. That would look obvious and desperate, and demonstrate a perceived threat. To wit, some counter-intuitive techniques needed to be employed.

“Then again,” said Sam, trying to look even-handed, “I’m sure Tom knows what you like!”

Amy nodded. Tom glanced up to see Sam smiling at him. He was beginning to loathe that smile and they hadn’t been in each other’s company for more than five minutes.

Tom put his menu down and looked at Amy. “Well, my sweet,” he said, “you could try something new. However, every time you do, it ends in tears. So, how about have a wine now and then if you fancy a change later on, it won’t matter, will it?”

Amy put her menu down, thankful that the two men
either side of her were being so helpful.

“Yes, I’ll do that. A large Sauvignon Blanc, please,” she said, smiling at both of them. Sam’s smile was stretched.

1-0.

The waiter looked at Tom. “Can I have a pint of ale, please? The lager’s a bit gassy, I find,” he said, returning the fake smile.

2-0.

“So, tell us about your date the other night,” opened Sam. “It sounded hysterically disastrous!” Tom knew that he was a sitting duck. He may have had home advantage but Sam knew considerably more about him than he did of Sam. “I’m glad I don’t have to go through failed dates and disappointments to meet the perfect person,” he said, staring at Amy and stretching his hand out to clasp hers.

Missing the obvious dig, she smiled and melted into his affectionate gaze.

2-1.

Tom resisted the urge to take offence. That would be too easy. “Oh, don’t remind me,” he said casually, his tone betraying no hint of the irritation he felt. “It was sheer comedy, really it was. Then again, I always look upon these things as the exciting fabric of life. I can settle down and be dull when I’m much, much older.”

Sam scowled momentarily. “Well…” he started, before being cut off by Amy.

“Enough of this,” said Amy, pausing long enough for Tom to award himself a score.

3-1.

“What’s your big news?” asked Amy excitedly. Sam seemed taken aback that it had been made public, and looked increasingly uncomfortable as both Amy and Tom looked at him. Sensing that this was a sensitive subject, Tom smiled and bore down on Sam.

“Good news?” questioned Tom. “Oh, do tell, Samuel.”

Tom had no idea if Sam was in fact called Samuel, but he knew that as a technique to unnerve people, it always worked well.

Sam spluttered: “Well, it’s not that big, actually.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin, as if brushing an imaginary crumb away from his lips. “We can talk about it later.”

Amy was excited, like a child being promised ice cream if she behaved. “Oh, come on, Sam,” she protested. “I tell Tom everything anyway.”

Sam threw an immediate glance up to Tom, who was now leaning back in his chair. Tom shot a deliberately insincere smile back at Sam, who was looking increasing flustered.

4-1.

“Well, it’s just about this trip away,” Sam said finally. “I just heard that the people involved are, erm, going to upgrade you – if you come, that is, darling – to a luxury penthouse suite.”

4-4.

“There’ll be views over the city and out to the ocean.”

4-5

“I’ve seen pictures and it looks
absolutely marvellous. They’ve said that you can have your own driver and butler for three months.”

4-50

“If you come, we’ll be living in the lap of ultimate luxury. That was all, really. Nothing much.”

4-100

Amy’s face lit up like a child looking at a Christmas tree. She turned to Tom. “Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

Tom smiled and nodded. “Almost too good to be true,” he offered. However, ultimately, he was resigned to defeat. Although he and Sam were competing for different levels of affection, they were still competing. His two-up, two-down terraced house, her house share and work every day weren’t exactly a match for an all-expenses-paid, luxury trip to the Far East.

“Mind you,” added Sam, “I have so many legal journals to take out – I hope you have a good set of shoulders on you. I’ll need some help carrying them all!”

Amy giggled. “Is that why you’re asking me out there?”

Sam leant in and kissed her. “Yes,” he said. “Of course, my sweet. I’m taking you out there as a porter! What else?”

Tom realised that if he was beginning to s
eem jealous, it was because he was. On some level, he wanted a guy to come along and do this for him. Well, maybe not that exactly, but some kind of grand romantic gesture. Something that said in big, bright letters, “I love you.” He’d wanted it for so long (and not got anywhere close) that he’d convinced himself it was only the stuff of dreams. So, seeing it up close and personal made him realise just what he was missing out on. And it hurt – bad.

As Sam and Amy tingled with excitement, Tom felt increasingly lonely, a fact that wasn’t lost on Sam. “They enjoy their horse racing out there,” he said. “We’ll see if we can bag you a jockey!” His laughter was so immediate that it suggested playfulness but, in reality, it was meant to be the final nail in Tom’s coffin. Looking back at the earlier battle, Tom felt childish, petty and hopelessly outgunned. He and Amy were memories. She and Sam were memories to be made. Tom hadn’t lost ground, because the ground was already gone.

Attempting to put a spin on his misery, he reached for the pint that had just been delivered and said, “Well, here’s to you both. I hope you have a wonderful, wonderful time in Thailand.”

Amy let out a love-sick, “Ahhhhh,” as Sam tried to strengthen his position further by adding, “Don’t jinx it yet, Tom. She’s yet to agree!” Then, looking at Amy, he added, “But I know it would make my year if she did say yes.” Tom wanted to vomit, but knew that his distaste went deeper even than that. Amy looked as if she was about to cry.

The waiter reappeared. “Are you ready?” he asked them all.

“I think she is,” said Tom, looking down once again.

Tom had taken Friday off to travel down with Amy to the family wedding. A whole day’s holiday…

It seemed peculiar to even be going through with it all still. What was the point? He’d have just admitted what was going on and got on with it, but honesty had never been one of Amy’s strong points.

To her mind, the best (and, coincidentally, the easiest) path was to present Tom, keep her family happy, tell them that she was going abroad for three months with work and then reveal her new lover, having declared that she and Tom had split.

Her last hurrah in the UK would be easy and peaceful, and everyone would be happy. Then again, one of Amy’s greatest failings was to assume that everything would work out. She didn’t consider that Tom wasn’t happy with the set-up or that he was taking time from work to help with a charade that simply wasn’t necessary any more.

He was beginning to feel a sense of irritation building. If Amy hadn’t met Sam, he would’ve been happy to fulfil his obligation and promise, but now? Was he really going to subject himself to a weekend pretending to be her boyfriend JUST so that she could have an easy weekend before slipping out of the country?

Amy had said that she planned to tell her family she was leaving for the Far East before they went to the wedding. However, her track record in this department gave Tom no reason to believe her. Amy had always wanted someone else to do her dirty work. Tom had lost count
of the times it was he who’d met men outside of cinemas, restaurants and the like to tell them that Amy wasn’t coming. Ever. So he was well aware of the fact that not only would he have to dance his way through the wedding like he was some kind of functional but worthless spare part, but he’d have to break the news AND fake upset.

At the rate it was going, he’d tell everyone and then perform a jig!

Yesterday had been his last day in the office. He’d only been in charge a short time and already he was stressed about what everyone would do in his absence. No wonder Derek had put on weight, he thought. Derek, being Derek, had sent a postcard:
Glad you aren’t here. Sun amazing, sister dull, beer palatable. Enjoy weekend!

Fat chance.

Tom turned around and turned the shower off. He stood there. The water ceased and the inevitably instant cold that throws itself onto a wet body clung to him like icy magnets. Water dripped onto the slatted wooden shower tray that he’d bought and regretted. It was meant to be non-slip but it simply made his feet hurt. Every long shower resulted in a bevelled sole. During every shower, he told himself to get rid of it, but then he got out and forgot.

He stood facing the wall-mounted
plastic electric shower with its jumbo hot/cold dial. “Like life,” he mused as he stood there dripping.

Tom wasn’t looking forward to the weekend. Not because he was bored of playing Amy’s fake boyfriend, but because he wanted to start playing himself. He wanted to start living life for real, not in some pseudo-alternate reality.

He was gay. He wasn’t straight.

No amount of play-acting with a fake girl would change that. It didn’t change anything at school and it wouldn’t now. So, at what point was he going to put himself first? It was a thought that had him racked with a profound and bone-chilling sense of guilt. How could he do that to the people who loved him?
Much easier to do it to himself and continue to do it to himself.

On the upside, he thought as he started to shiver, I’ll be single on Monday.

As he stood there, pondering how long it would take to dry off if he remained in the shower, the house phone started ringing.

Tom, who’d normally hurdle a bus to answer a phone, lest it be important, just sank his shoulders and sighed. They’ll call back, he thought, and on cue they rang off. In the far distance, he could hear the vibrations of his mobile phone. Same person? Different? Coincidence?

Tom remained in situ until the vibrations stopped. Then the main phone rang again. This time, Ash, who was too busy making toast to do anything like answer the phone, stomped down the hall.

There was a muffled exchange of words, before Ash bellowed up to Tom, “It’s Amy! Crisis!”

Tom rolled his eyes. What now? he thought. Then, thinking something tragic might’ve happened to Sam, he threw a towel around his waist and headed for the door. As he barrelled down the stairs to the phone, Ash looked him up and down. “No wonder you’re single,” he quipped before sashaying off down the hall.

Tom was in no mood for small talk. “What?” he said, picking up the receiver.