Page 92 of For Real

I don’t really notice until I’ve done it, but I’ve gone and stuck my hand in Laurie’s, like an idiot. I’m totally expecting him to pull away, but he doesn’t. Just closes his fingers tightly round me like he’s never letting me go. It’s only his universe I really want to be part of, and I think he’s telling me it’s okay. He’s not going to leave me floating in the cosmos of someone else’s random charm.

Jasper leans forward. He’s really pretty. Not hot like Laurie is hot, but if he walked past me in the street, my head would totally turn. The truth is, I love Laurie to bits, and I can’t imagine wanting to look at anybody more than I want to look at him, but he’s not a head-turner. He’s a magnet to me, but I think if I wasn’t me, I wouldn’t give him a second glance. Not that he’s a minger or anything, but Jasper is…something else.

He’s younger too, but I’m not good at guessing that stuff, so I don’t know by how much. Kind of this English rose of a man, all porcelain and soft pinks, greeny-brown eyes and shiny brown hair, like something out of an old portrait. I get an impression of height from him, but he’s not muscular at all. He’s just bone and skin and elegance. And now I’m taking in the view, I see there are nail marks and bite marks and red blotches fading all over him.

And my not-gaydar suddenly does its little ping.

“May I call you Tobermory?” he asks.

Of course I say yes. Because he’s made it seem so special, like it’s this secret we share. And Laurie gives my hand another squeeze, like he’s telling me it’s still okay. And because I trust Laurie, I relax a bit. Maybe it’s safe to be just a little bit charmed by this drunk, naked…enticingly vulnerable guy.

Laurie reaches for the decanter thingy and pulls it away. Jasper makes this soft protesty noise but doesn’t actually try to stop him. “You know, J, you should probably think about putting some clothes on.”

“Oh, what’s the point?”

“Social custom? Personal dignity? For heaven’s sake, we’ll be late for dinner. Where’s your gown?”

“I don’t know.” Jasper gestures in his languid way. “Somewhere.”

And Laurie makes this little growl at the back of his throat. Sexy.

Then I think…wait, gown?

“I was dressed earlier,” Jasper offers. “It can’t have gone far.”

“For fuck’s sake. Toby, help me find his clothes.”

Laurie lets me go, steps back, and something crunches under his foot. He jerks away, and there’s a few pieces of blue china strewn on the rug.3

Now I’m paying attention, the place is kind of trashed. It’s an amazing room, vaulted ceiling, wood panelling, huge windows with velvet curtains. And books, so many fucking books, though lots of them are on the floor. There’s a lot of stuff on the floor.

It looks like something seriously violent happened in here.

“Um,” I ask, “did you get robbed?”

Jasper stares straight at me. “In a manner of speaking.” I don’t know if it’s his glasses or the light or being pissed or what, but his eyes are really vivid, gold in the green and grey in the brown, all these pieces of colour.

Laurie’s found some trousers and a shirt, both pretty crumpled, and he flings them over. “Where’s Sherry?”

“He’s gone.”

“Isn’t he coming tonight?”

“Not with me, he isn’t. Ignorant colonial cunt.”

I gasp. “Ohmygod, you don’t use the c-word as an insult.”

“Colonial? What else do you call Yanks with delusions of grandeur?”

“No, the other one… It’s misogynistic because, like”—I try to remember what Mum says—“there’s nothing inherently unpleasant, threatening, or offensive about female genitalia.”

Jasper has sneery brows. They’re very thin and arched, like they’re designed for making you feel bad. Right now he’s got one tilted at this really fucking devastating angle. “Have you actually seen one, my little eromenos? A cunt?”

I’m so cross with him I say without thinking, “Yeah, I’ve seen my mum’s.”4

Whoa. Welcome to Silence: population everyone.

“Not like personally,” I add quickly. “But she paints it a lot. She’s an artist.”

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