Page 56 of Taste

“You’re good in bed,” I said, and I meant it. I loved sex like this. Wordless, mindless sensations where I could just get lost in my head and end up in a pile of boneless bliss.

“Sore?” He stroked my cheek. I guess I must have grimaced.

“Yeah.”

“I—”

“You don’t have to say it. We don’t have to put everything into words, at least not right now. Can we just lie here and be happy for a little while?”

He didn’t reply, but we stayed like that, lying there in silence, and I wondered if this was it. Was this where people found their true state of happiness? I was warm and content, and the butterflies were having a field day in my stomach and perhaps I should listen to my own advice and shut the hell up in my head as well. He was right here beside me, and I was tired and maybe…

Maybe it didn’t need to be so damn complicated. Maybe just having someone to be with was enough. Someone who understood when to be silent and when to say all the words. Someone who knew how to look after you when the world became too much. Whatever my thoughts in the heat of the moment, he wasn’t perfect, and I certainly never would be.

But this, right now, with his head on my chest, his breathing steady as I stroked his back and other people’s lives happened all around us while ours was perfectly still, quiet, calm and comforting in its simple way? This was everything my happiness needed to be.

FINN

The Clouds Hotel management boardroom looked the same as it always did, but today, it felt like I’d stepped into an alternate universe. Because here I was, with a cup of tea in my hand, and I was eating a damn biscuit. I never ate biscuits, ever. I couldn’t stand the crumbly texture and greasy dryness in my mouth reminding me of the stale scraps of my youth. But Mark had popped one between my teeth and smiled, and dumb fool that I was, I’d taken a bite, and now I was spilling crumbs all over my tie.

I was wearing a light grey tie today, a small but significant step away from my usual choice of jet black. I felt foolish wearing it, but I’d done this before, made huge, irrevocable changes to my life, and there was nothing standing in my way, nothing to stop this final transformation. I had once been a badly dressed teen, full of crazy ideas, childish ambition and immature drive. Then I’d become a young, confident adult, handsomely preened and dressed to impress. I’d married Mabel wearing a neon-green suit. Mabel had worn sequins.

My divorce had morphed me into the man I was today. Someone who had been so ashamed of himself that he’d even changed his name in a deluded attempt to forget his past mistakes. It hadn’t worked, because Fintan Hornchurch was alive and well and fighting to break out of his cage. I was going to do this, come hell or high water. Strive to become a better man. Find the good parts in my past and let them mesh with my future. I was going to try. For Mark. Try to be a little more colourful. A bit more adventurous. Bring more laughter into his life.

It wasn’t easy. I’d been this caricature version of myself for so long, I’d forgotten how to live. I had no friends I could invite round for dinner to meet my new boyfriend. No one to congratulate me on my newly found couple status. No social media where I could flaunt my relationship to the world. But I had him, laughing at me and brushing the crumbs from my front with an easy flick of his hand.

“Good, yes?” he mouthed, his own crumbs tumbling into the stubble on his chin.

“Yummy,” I lied. “Fuck, I hate biscuits. Dry horrid little things.”

“I’m going to make you biscuits that will melt in your mouth. I’ll teach you to love them, because there is nothing better than a good dunk of a biscuit in a cup of tea. We’ll bake over the weekend. Remind me. If we can get out of bed.”

“Us? Bake?” I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m a terrible baker. But we can try?” He still laughed, then turned to air-kiss Natalie, showering her with compliments and superfluous words.

He was looking much brighter today, well, more upbeat than yesterday, I thought, as I nervously tried to read his every little movement. The shade of his skin. The way his eyes were glittering.

It had come as no surprise, not really, that he’d fallen straight into a bout of lows, not after the full-on trauma of the two of us finally getting our shit together. It had been exhausting, and I was nowhere near firing on all cylinders myself. My mind and body were in a strange place. I was unusually anxious and jumpy, and I was struggling to get back into the swing of things at work. Yet the sheer fact that Mark had been able to get out of bed for the last couple of days, and had even made it into work yesterday, was a milestone I wanted to celebrate and shout about. But I wasn’t that kind of guy, so I settled for reaching out and plucking a stray hair from his shoulder.

He was wearing black skinny jeans and a red silk shirt open at the neck to reveal the small lizard tattooed over his collarbone, a throwback to his teenaged years when he’d been heavily inspired by some heavy metal rockers. He’d finished off today’s outfit with a leather jacket that made him look like a member of a pop entourage, a dude who’d got lost in our corridors and accidentally found his way into our Friday morning management meeting. I had to admit, he looked amazing and bright and full of life and a million miles away from the man who’d slept in my arms over the last week.

We’d taken more time off than we’d initially agreed to, because neither of us had been in any shape or form ready to return to the world after those first forty-eight hours. Instead, we’d spent the last week and a half getting to know each other and slowly piecing ourselves together again. I smiled to myself, thinking back to a few days ago when I’d woken up thinking Mark’s place was getting burgled, only to find Ben the chef in the kitchenette, loading small Tupperware boxes into Mark’s freezer.

“What?” I’d blurted out, staring at him like I’d just caught him stealing Mark’s crown jewels. Or whatever.

“Sorry, mate. Didn’t realise…you were here. Fuck. I have my own key, okay? Mark never has anyone stay over…usually. You stayed over?”

“Yeah,” I’d said. Wasn’t it obvious?

“Food,” he’d said, gesturing to the myriad of food boxes he was unpacking from a cool box with an embarrassed blush on his cheeks. “Because, well, you know.”

“What?” I’d grunted. Because I hadn’t known, but I did now, thanks to Ben. I had so much to learn about the human race. About care and kindness and love and compassion.

“When Mark is down he doesn’t eat,” Ben had explained. “He can lose enough weight in just a few days to make him randomly pass out if you don’t make him stuff nutrition in his gob. I usually stock his freezer with these really small meals. Two minutes in the microwave, and you sometimes have to spoon-feed him. He’ll fight you probably, but he doesn’t fight me. A few threats of serving him cold stewed spinach and he’ll usually eat whatever I plate up.”

“Oh.” I really was a fool. I’d sat there eating my meals and quietly accepting Mark’s excuses of not having much of an appetite.

“I don’t know how well you cook, but if this is going to be a regular thing…you know, you being here, then—”

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