Page 15 of The Price of Love
‘Well, I hear the Archbishop of Canterbury’s spoken for.’
Ash looked taken aback for a second. ‘Weeellll, I’ve stayed over a few times — c’mon Will, you know that whole bourgeois settling down to a house, job and two point four isn’t ever going to be for me. Like to keep my options open, here! But, fuck me, he’s gorgeous though, isn’t he? And cute with it. I mean, don’t you just love the way his hair is all kinda over his face and he’sgot those huge eyes? He’s a bit thin though, needs feeding up. Some tender loving care.’
‘And you’re the man to give it to him?’
Ash just gave me a wink. ‘Look, I didn’t come over here to tart about, are you coming?’
‘I suppose.’
* * *
Cal’s flat was not what I’d expected. He lived over two shops in a select, pedestrian area of York, in what at first appeared to be an open-plan room. The parts of the floor not occupied by computer things were piled high with books and magazines, all science fiction. It looked like Nerd Ground Zero.
I stood awkwardly behind Ash as we came in. There was something relentlessly male about this flat in a utilitarian, everything-has-a-function way. Although it looked untidy, I bet Cal could put his hand on a memory card or a modem without a second thought.
‘Cal!’ Ash bellowed. He’d let himself in with his own key, I noted. Cal might be good with computers, but he was obviously a sucker for a blond. ‘Callum!’
‘Hey.’ Cal emerged from another doorway. ‘I’m here. Do you want something to eat?’ Then he noticed me standing just behind Ash, and I received a dazzling smile. It lit up his eyes and creased his cheeks into an almost mischievous expression.
‘Hi, Willow. I was in the darkroom. Do you want to have a look?’ In his own environment, Cal’s limp was less noticeable. Though maybe it was the reason for all the empty space. As he led us inside, I could see that he didn’t use a stick here.
Through another door we entered a tiny room, windowless and illuminated only by a dim red bulb overhead. It looked like the bedroom of a light-sensitive prostitute. ‘Right. I don’t usually go into small, dark rooms with women I’ve not beenformally introduced to, so you’ll have to forgive me if I get a bit overexcited.’ Cal rummaged around among some papers. ‘Now, what do you think of these?’ He handed me a sheaf of glossy photographic paper. ‘I just developed them. What do you think they are?’
‘You mean you took photos of something without knowing what it is?’
‘Well, duh. Of courseIknow what it is — I want to know if you do.’
‘If this is pornography, I warn you, my brother has a black belt in karate and will defend my honour with his dying breath.’
Cal chuckled. ‘Willow, your brother couldn’t get a black belt in sushi, I don’t think he gives a stuff about your honour, and why thehelldo you think I’d bring you in here to show you porn?’
‘Um, I don’t know. Maybe you got a bit overexcited?’
Cal gave me a huge grin. It lit up his glorious eyes again, made him look a bit like a schoolboy who’s been caught out putting a whoopee cushion on his teacher’s chair. ‘Aha!Nowyou’re getting the hang of humour. What do you make of it?’ He indicated the paper in my hand.
The photographs seemed to be images of a cityscape. Tiny beads of light shone out in complicated patterns scattered randomly across an otherwise dark surface. Smudged streaks of glow could have been the lights of cars captured in motion. ‘Is it New York? From a helicopter?’
‘It’s a motherboard.’ Cal took the pictures from me.
‘A . . . ?’
‘Motherboard. The thing that makes a computer a computer. Lots of chips, all stuck together on a board. I take pictures of computer parts from unfamiliar angles, close-ups, that kind of thing. I’ve got a great one of a USB port, looks exactly like the Channel Tunnel.’
‘Why?’
‘Just a hobby. I don’t . . .’ he hesitated. ‘I spend a lot of time at home, what with . . .’ he stopped speaking, dropped his eyes, then his head.
‘Yes, I imagine the old war wound must make life a bit awkward,’ I supplied.
A grateful smile crinkled his eyes and the corners of his mouth. ‘Precisely. I’ve had to resign myself to never dancing salsa again.’
‘Bet mountaineering’s a bit tricky, too.’
‘Ah, dear Everest. How I miss her cloudy heights.’
I decided that I rather liked this odd man. ‘Please, tell me that none of these pictures feature intimate portraits of my laptop.’
‘Not at all. I have special machines to pose for me. Yours is in the living room, the coy little thing. I think you might have a problem with your fan. It could be overheating that’s making it cut out.’
