Page 16 of Famous Last

Right now, he relaxed in the passenger seat of his dad’s toasty-warm Volvo, his head lolling against the cold window as they wove their way through the lamplit streets from the station to their home near the seafront. The radio played soft American acoustic rock. What with the gentle tunes and the overheated interior, Spencer almost dropped off. Except he couldn’t help noticing that something had changed about his father, something he could not determine at first. Only when he glanced sideways at his father’s profile did he spot the diamond stud in his left ear and his long brown and grey hair—salt and pepper, his mother called it—tied back by what appeared to be a couple of black hair bands. During a phone call a few weeks ago, his mother had mentioned his father going through the male menopause.

“How’s Garrett doing?” asked Spencer, causing his father to smile.

“While the rest of the world is falling to pieces, your brother’s website development business has had a bumper year. Three hundred per cent up on last. Don’t know how he does it. He always seems to fall on his feet.”

“So can you now—finally and legitimately—kick him out of the house?” asked Spencer.

His father’s shoulders rose and fell in silent laughter. They had the same conversation every time Spencer came to visit.

“That boy knows when he’s onto a good thing.”

“Thatboyis thirty-three years old next February. You and Mum had already had both of us by that age.”

“True enough. He’s been courting a new lady. Penny. Or Jenny. Could be Jodie, I wasn’t really paying attention. She’s coming over for dinner tonight, so you’ll get to meet her. Maybe this one’ll stick around longer than summer. Although I wouldn’t, you know—”

“Hold my breath.”

“Precisely. He tends to shy away from commitment and responsibility. Talking of which, who’s looking after the mog while you’re here?”

“Gino’s wife again. She helps run the pizza shop downstairs, if you remember. They have the flat next to mine. She’s going to pop in and check up on Her Royal Highness a couple of times over the weekend.”

“That’s a nice little flat you got there.”

“Which the landlord wants back next Feb,” said Spencer, letting out a tired sigh.

“Seriously?” said his father, turning briefly to check him. “Maybe it’s time to think about buying, son. You know your mother and I are more than happy to stump up a deposit.”

Spencer’s parents constantly fretted about him living in London, and had offered the deposit for him to buy somewhere a number of times. The problem was that Spencer wanted to feel more settled before he made that kind of commitment.

“I know, Dad. And that’s really kind of you both. But I still haven’t decided what I’m doing with my life.”

Once again a comfortable calm descended.

“And on the subject of my sons’ dating lives, how about you?” said his father. “Any new fellow on the horizon? Would be nice to hear that at least one of my sons is settling down.”

When Spencer had come out at eighteen, his parentshad been totally cool about having a gay son, especially as theiroldest appeared to be on a mission to inseminate the whole fertile female population of Southern England. Even so, Spencer cringed whenever his father asked if he had a boyfriend. For a brief moment he wondered whether to mention Blake getting engaged—they knew about him and Blake, even though they’d never met him—but then decided to keep the news to himself.

“Not much going on out there right now, Dad.”

“Not even on that phone app? Grumblr, isn’t it?”

Spencer couldn’t help sniggering.

“Grindr. Not my style.”

“Really? I thought all the gay boys hooked up through those online dating apps these days. Your brother used to have a waiting list courtesy of his straight one, Tinkler.”

“Tinder!” said Spencer, horrified at the thought of an app by the name his father supplied.

“That’s the one.”

Sometimes he wondered if his father made the verbal faux pas deliberately. But his brother’s Tinder adventures had been the talk of the family. In fact, Spencer had told Bev that if his brother had not been among one of the first twenty members clambering to sign up to the launch of the dating app, he would be shocked stupid. His father had once likened Garrett’s carefully orchestrated dating life to the precision of a traffic police officer at a busy intersection when the traffic lights had failed, sometimes with two or three dates lined up back-to-back in a single evening.

“My brother is a gigolo. End of subject. How are you and Mum doing? Made any new friends down here yet?”

Long before he had taken early retirement from the police force, Spencer’s father had made clear his dream for them to retire to Bournemouth. And six months after his last day, they had sold the Merton Park home Spencer and his brother had known since childhood and moved to a bungalow on the southcoast. But, as with all things in life, the fantasy had not lived up to the reality, and, five years later, they had made very few new friends.

“Not really. We joined the Bournemouth Conservative Club briefly. Your mother found them all a bit uppity. Not really our sort of people. But your Aunt Kathleen’s only down the road in Southampton and our old neighbours, Bill and Mandy Sampson, came down to stay for a week. So we’re never short of company.”

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