Page 34 of The Price of Love
‘Friend of Ash’s. You met him a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Oh, yes. Dark guy, awful clothes, ate all the bread and I had to run up to Morrisons in my pyjamas.’
‘That’s him.’
‘I didn’t tell you he was gay.’ But I could always tell when Ash was toying with the truth. He sort of blushed, although not completely. The tips of his ears went pink and he developed a nervous swallow. He was doing it now.
‘You let me think it. You told me you were living with him.’
‘All right, all right, but look’ — Ash lowered his voice — ‘not here. Come on.’ Flicking both the joint and the bottle top back into the saucer, he slithered off the table and headed for the stairs. I followed, and we ended up in his old room, sitting on the bed staring at a poster of David Boreanaz as Angel, a formative influence on Ash throughout his youth, peeling off one purple wall. It was just like the old days. ‘I didn’t want Flint to know,’ Ash explained, draping himself across the bed. ‘He already thinks I’m a complete wanker.’
I shrugged and began picking at the Blu-Tack remnants on the wall beside the bed, where, until fairly recently, RobbieWilliams had resided. ‘At the moment I’m not far behind him,’ I said. ‘I felt a complete idiot when I found out Cal was straight.’ Carefully not mentioning the definitive kiss.
‘Okay.’ Ash took a deep breath. ‘Here it goes. I met Cal—’
‘Three years ago when you were both in therapy, yeah, I know.’
Ash bounced a bit and took a sudden interest in a split in the laminate on his bedside table. ‘Okay, what else do you know?’ There was a cautious note to his voice.
‘Cal told me why you were there.’ I looked at my twin properly now. He’d always just been Ash to me, just my brother, but now I could see the lines forming alongside his eyes, the raise of stubble along his chin. He was aperson. A person who hurt. ‘I’m sorry you felt all left out and everything, Ash.’
A dismissive shrug. ‘Not your fault. Iain and Sophie’s, if anyone. All that “be who you are, be free” bullshit, when they’d already put us in their little niches.’
‘I don’t think they did it deliberately.’
Another shrug. ‘So, when you were on about meeting people, I thought, hey, Will and Cal are both a couple of weirdos, they might get on, so I asked him if he’d like to meet you.’
I rolled the Blu-Tack between my fingers. ‘And what did he say to that?’
‘He said, “no way, man, she’s a weirdo.”’ Ash laughed and swung himself up to sit on the bed. ‘But I took you over anyway. Has he told you why he was in therapy?’
The Blu-Tack was sticky now, warm and pliable under my fingers. I pinched it into shape. ‘He just said he was mad.’
‘Oh. Okay. It’ll come, I guess. Look, I hold my hands up to wishing he wasn’t straight, I mean, there were a couple of times when I thought my gaydar might be on the blink, but it was all wishful thinking on my part. It’s not fair, and it’s not right, but he’s definitely hetero.’ Ash had his back against the headboardnow, and was running his finger over the cracked laminate. ‘So, yeah, bit jealous. You get to be the responsible one,andyou get the hot boys, what the fuck has a guy got to do round here?’ But he was laughing. There was a tiny hint of a bitter edge to his laughter, but he seemed genuine. ‘You bitch.’ Ash got up off the bed. ‘So, you and Cal?’
‘No. Like I said, I’m going out with Luke. Cal, he’s a friend. Kind of. He’s bloody odd though, isn’t he?’
‘Oh,yeah.’ Ash and I gave each other a slightly ashamed smile. ‘Fucking sex-on-legs though. Wasted on girls.’ He stretched himself out in the doorway. ‘Right. I’m off out.’
‘Slapper.’
‘Hey, I could be digging old ladies’ gardens, all you know.’
‘That’s what you call it now, is it? Well, don’t forget to put your Marigolds on before you plant anything.’
‘I never forget.’ Ash began to make his exit, but turned back. ‘Oh. FYI.’
‘Mmmm?’
‘Cal. Be gentle with him, guy’s had a rough time.’
‘I told you, we’re just friends.’
Ash just tapped the side of his nose and winked, then spiral-jumped down the stairs. Seconds later I heard the bike engine fire up, a few moments of door-slamming as he came in and out, fetching helmets and gear, then the punctuating roar of the 750cc engine being kept, more or less, to the speed limit as far as the end of the road. I went to my own room to start packing, hoping that my eyebrows would begin to come down to their normal level before I had to leave for Cornwall.
Chapter Sixteen
Cornwall in late May, and the tourists were starting to pack into the tiny county, filling the beaches with flabby bellies. Bodmin Moor, isolated and, despite the general sunshine everywhere else, draped in torn shrouds of mist, was where we ended up, in a gothic hotel. The place looked not so much built as extruded, a huge pile of grey granite, towered, turreted and moated. The rooms were all high-ceilinged with room for half the Addams family under the beds.
