Page 27 of Now Comes the Dark

“Always.”

When the server returned with their drinks, Mallon ordered a potato and cheese rosti with streaky bacon, Portobello mushrooms and a fried egg. After changing his mind three times, Roman settled on sourdough toast topped with sauteed mushroom, Emmental cheese and a poached egg.

“This place is quite something,” he said. “It’s a big step up from the greasy café I sometimes visit on my way to work. Bacon or sausage butties are as extravagant as it gets.”

Mallon grimaced, making Roman smile. He was clearly a snob when it came to food and drink, but it made a nice change to the humdrum tastes of the men he usually met.

He added a heaped spoon of brown sugar to his latte. “You said you’re a project manager. What is it you manage?”

“It will be boring to you.”

“No, I’m interested…seriously, especially if you are bringing new jobs to Blyham. I could be on the market for one of those sooner than I’d like.”

“I’m overseeing the construction and start-up of the new factory. Once it’s up and running, we have contracts to produce railway carriages and coaches. Big investments. Big opportunities for Blyham.”

“It sounds like it.”

“And what is it you do?” Mallon asked.

“Now this will bore you because it bores me. I work on the customer service helpline for a domestic appliance firm, helping people when their washing machines and ovens go wrong. Boring, right? This is the first Saturday I’ve had off in weeks, too.”

“Why don’t you find something else if you hate it so much?”

“If it was that easy, I would. I have a degree in economics, and I worked for two years as a chartered accountant until the firm went bust. I’ve struggled to find another job in the same field, which is why I’m answering calls about faulty appliances. I don’t know how long I can manage that for. The money is rubbish, as well as the job being boring. There’s a threat of redundancies on the horizon, too. If the job situation doesn’t improve in the next six months, I might have to move back home.”

“And where is home?”

“A small town up the coast. It’s called Nyemouth. It’s a nice place, pretty, but unless you’re in the fishing or the hospitality sector, the job prospects there are even worse than here. At least I won’t have rent to pay, but moving in with my parents in my mid-twenties is not how I thought my life would pan out.”

“Fishermen and hotel owners need accountants, too. There are always opportunities if you look for them.”

“Not in Nyemouth. You wouldn’t say that if you knew the place.” Roman had spent the entirety of his teenage years wanting to escape the small-town life he’d been brought up with. Since moving to Blyham for university, he had not gone backfor anything other than birthday and Christmas visits. His life would be a failure if he had to return there now.

Mallon devoured his breakfast with unbridled hunger, picking up the napkin to wipe his lips once the plate was cleared. He was clearly a man of intense appetites. Roman took his time, savouring the food. This was a real treat, and he didn’t want to waste it. Mallon signalled for another coffee.

“You’re enjoying it?” he asked.

Roman nodded, still chewing.

“The first few times I came to this city, I found the food unbearable,” Mallon said, pulling a face. “All the same fast food and chain shops you find anywhere in the world… It took a while to discover the better places. There aren’t too many, but they are here, if you know where to look.”

“I’ve lived in Blyham for years, and this is the first time I’ve been in here. I’m happy with a burger, a pizza or a big bowl of pasta. I don’t go for fancy meals.”

Mallon’s lips twitched downwards. Roman suppressed a smile and continued eating. Was their attraction based on nothing but sex? They appeared to have little else in common. Despite that, Roman wanted to get to know him and learn more about the things Mallon liked.

“What else do you do here?” he asked. “When you’re not working or having fancy dinners?”

“Not a lot. I go into the office early and return late most days. Some evenings I might have dinner with colleagues or clients.”

“Which is just more work. What do you do to relax?”

“I fuck you,” he said, his grey eyes sparkling. “I find that very relaxing.”

“We’ve only spent two nights together, in what…three, four months?”

“I told you, I don’t have a lot of free time. When I do, I return to France.”

Does that mean I’m not one in a long line of casual fuckboys? Or is he just spinning me a line that he thinks I want to hear?

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