Page 78 of Famous Last

“Fuck, Spence. Where is he then? Why didn’t you bring him with you?”

“He’s out of the country right now, on location in Kryszytonia, in Eastern Europe,” said Spencer as a tray of drinks appeared in front of them. “Not sure you’d know him, he works as a news correspondent. Marshall High—”

“Shut the front door!” said Nile, his mouth dropping open. “Marshall Highlander is your fella?”

“Oh,” said Spencer, sliding a bright blue cocktail in front of Nile. “You know who he is, then?”

“Marshall frigging Highlander? Hottest daddy in the northern hemisphere? Do I know who he is?” said Nile, before slapping a palm on the tabletop. “Whoa, Spence, man, you are one dark horse. What’s he like? I bet he’s really sexy, isn’t he? Have you two done the deed? Wait, what am I saying? Of course you have. It’s plastered all over your boat race.”

“Yes, we’re intimate and, yes, he’s amazing,” said Spencer, who couldn’t do anything about the grin that had steadfastly fixed itself onto his face. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

Spencer paid for the drinks then took a swig from his bottle of Pilsner. Openly talking about Marshall with Nile had left him feeling light and giddy.

“You know what?” said Nile, smirking curiously. “I’m beyond impressed, but strangely not surprised. Good on you, mate. Bet your ex, that brother-sucker Blake, is beside himself knowing you’ve moved on.”

“I’m not sure he knows. And honestly, I don’t really care.”

Nile lifted his glass in the air in a toast with Spencer, who clinked his bottle against the cocktail glass.

“Here’s to us both, Spence,” said Nile. “Next year is already looking promising.”

Spencer couldn’t agree more. Not only would he see in the new year looking forward to starting a new job, but he would have Marshall in his life. When Prince and Bev returned from the toilet, Bev looked distinctly pissed off. Spencer handed over her pint of cider, and while she downed a good half, a smirking Prince explained what had happened.

“While she was waiting outside the loo for me—they’re really modern and clean, by the way—some bloke came up and asked her if she was my fag hag.”

“Do people still use that term?” asked a disgusted Nile. “It’s a bit last millennium, isn’t it? I thought it had gone out with cargo pants.”

“And Crocs,” said Spencer, joining in.

“Well, this drunken idiot did. I almost slapped him,” said Bev, glaring at Prince. “No offence, darling, but if I was going to be anyone’s fag hag—which I am not—then Squirrel would have first refusal.”

After laughing together, they sat around chatting amiably. Spencer could almost believe the world outside had returned to normal. He only regretted not having Marshall with them, wondering if his friends would be relaxed around him, but then remembering Bev meeting him and being completely at ease. At some point, he wanted them all to meet.

Eventually, as they decided on their last round, Spencer excused himself to use the restroom. Prince had been right. Unlike other gay bars he had been to in the past, the toilets were mercifully plush, clean and well-tended. He noted that one upside to the virus was that public places had increasedthe thoroughness and regularity of cleaning and disinfecting communal areas.

Washing up and pushing his way out of the toilet, he found Blake leaning against a wall outside, the remains of a pint of something amber cradled against his chest. Unusual for him, he appeared a little dishevelled, his gaze as dark as ever but very slightly unhinged.

“There you are,” he said, as Spencer approached.

For a moment, Spencer considered walking past and ignoring him. But to do so might seem petty. Besides, Blake had lost any power he previously held over him.

“Here I am. Have you been waiting for me?”

“Maybe.” Blake’s shoulder slipped slightly on the smooth wall surface.

“Are you drunk?”

“On the contrary. I’m perfectly fine. Better than ever.”

If he had been drinking, Blake’s speech betrayed no hint of slurring. However, at odds with his words, his usually immaculate hair appeared ruffled, and he had left a collar tip of his blue cotton shirt turned up.

“You look a mess, Blake. I hope someone’s taking you home.”

“You offering?”

“We’ve been there and done that, remember? Why don’t you call Ambika?”

Blake’s face screwed up into a scowl.

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