Page 5 of For Fake's Sake and other stories

“Yes, Mother, it’s me. I got the position and will start tomorrow.”

“And?” God, why do I put up with this?

“And thank you.”

“See, that wasn’t difficult. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

I groan inwardly. The monthly Sunday lunch. The day I’m put under the microscope and all my failings exposed. Which of her friend’s sons will be forced into joining us? Her determination to find the right husband for me knows no end.

“Yes, Mother. I’ll see you then.”

God, I need a drink.

“I’ll see you tonight. I promise to rescue you from Tosspot Atkinson,” Jack calls out to me as he reaches the door.

“Okay, and don’t be late. I’m not listening to his shit for more than half an hour.” Jack gives me a salute and goes off to work.

The reunion ball is in three months’ time, close enough for Monty the tosser to call a meeting. He wants to go over his ideas of what I should talk about. It seems that there are specific topics. I’m not allowed to talk about whatever interests me. We’ll see about that. I gather my messenger bag and keys and go to work.

Eight hours later, I trudge into the bar where Monty’s laughter greets me. A shudder rolls down my spine. God, what a wanker. I’m going to need fortification in the form of a strong drink. At the bar, I order a double gin and tonic. A thick hand lands on my shoulder and turns me around.

“Blinkers, you made it. Excellent. Come on. I’ve got a table in the corner and already ordered some food.”

The bartender places my drink in front of me. I hand him a ten-pound note. “Thank you.”

Pocketing my change, I follow Monty like a dead man walking. I sit and take a fortifying gulp. Monty produces a thick folder full of whatever he thinks is important for a charity ball.

“Have you thought about your speech yet? It’s only three months now, but we have time to get you word-perfect before the big night. Weekly meetings are imperative from now on.” Does his voice have a volume control?

“I have, and I don’t need any coaching. I’m comfortable talking to large groups.”

“No can do, Blinkers. I’ve chosen your topic, which will have everyone reaching for their wallets. We, the committee, want to focus on the importance of friendship. This will give all the old boys a trip down memory lane, and they’ll willingly dig deep in their pockets to raise some cash for the school. It was such a happy time for all of us, don’t you think, old boy?”

A mixture of horror and hysteria runs through me, and I don’t know whether to laugh at him or punch him. He must be delusional. Does he really think we were friends? “You do realise we’re only twenty-eight. I’m hardly an ‘old boy’.”

A plate of roast beef sandwiches is set on the table. My stomach lets out a loud rumble, and I laugh. Monty claps me on the back. “I call you that as an old boy of the school. Such happy days.”

He’s stark raving bonkers, but I’m hungry, so I take a bite out of my sandwich and let him waffle on about the event.

“Blinkers, I thought you and your boyfriend made a lovely couple. I’ve added him as your plus-one. All I need is his name, and he’s on the list. I always thought you were playing a joke, acting gay to make us laugh, didn’t really think you meant it.”

Oh fuck, what do I say? As much as I want him to be, that tall drink of water isn’t my boyfriend. What the hell do I do? Make up a name and then say we broke up. Yes, that will do it. AsI conjure up a name that would suit a pretend boyfriend, Monty lets out another of his braying laughs. “Never mind. Here he is.”

I whip my head around. Monty was right. There, looking even more gorgeous than I remember, is the sexy-as-fuck man. And next to him stands Jack. Bloody hell, he must be the new guy at Tom Ford. God, what’s his name? Monty gives me a nudge so hard I nearly fly off the edge of the bench.

I scramble up and walk over to them. “Hey, Jack, good to see you.” I turn to sexy-hot guy. “Fancy seeing you here.” His smart suit looks tailored for him, which I guess it probably has been. The dark navy light wool blend seems to mould his body, and the crisp pale blue shirt open at the neck reveals a hint of skin at the base of his neck. I want to lick the little indent there. His dirty blond hair is tousled to perfection. Whether it’s intentional or not, it suits him. His eyes are the colour of a pale blue lagoon, and I could drown in them.

He smiles back, a full-on smile that makes a dimple appear. Oh, hell, I’m lost.

“Um, Ollie, this is Kit. He started working with me this week. Kit, this is my best friend—”

Kit holds out his hand. “Oliver Blinkhorn, the most difficult man to find in the world. It’s good to see you again.”

“Oh, he doesn’t go by that name. Yes, he’s Ollie, but his surname is Stansbury,” Jack says.

“Really? No wonder I couldn’t find you, Ollie Stansbury.” He shakes his head.

“If you hadn’t run off, I would’ve told you.”

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