“What do you care? Fuck all else to do these days.”
Adrian let out a deep sigh. Six months ago, one Friday night, he’d made a classic mistake. Usually when the need to let off sexual steam took him, he would board the two-hour express train to London and book into one of the bulk standard hotels he knew so well for the weekend. Once there, he would trawl the abundant gay scene for a random and, most importantly, anonymous hook-up. Exorcise the demons, so to speak. Best of all, he could do so and disappear in the morning, knowing he’d never have to see or hear from the person again.
Why he’d wandered into the small gay bar in Norwich—Chappies—tucked away down one of the backstreets, he couldn’t say. Rule number one in his book—never hook-up on your doorstep, because even as a city, Norwich was simply too small. But he had broken the rule and there at the bar he’d stumbled upon handsome Nick, who’d bought him a drink and chatted amiably then eagerly accepted the offer to come back to Adrian’s apartment. A voracious bottom, Nick had pushed all the right buttons for the no-strings hook-up—no foreplay, kissing or intimate touching, just a pure sexual workout—then disappeared. With hindsight, he should never have agreed to swap numbers, or to subsequent casual sex.
Two months ago, they’d bumped into each other at midday on the pedestrian crossing on the high street in Norwich. Nick had been pushing a young boy in a pushchair and had accompanied a beautiful but heavily pregnant woman. A flustered Nick had quickly introduced Adrian as an old friend from school and presented his wife, Janice, and son, Todd. Since then, Nick had turned up twice to Adrian’s flat and been told to go home in no uncertain terms. Adrian had taken only one of his calls, where Nick had repeatedly apologised until Adrian quietly accepted before telling him to have a good life. At first, he’d also blocked Nick’s number, until the man had started ringing his shared site office, leaving messages with his workmates.
“Look, I just want a chat. Don’t have anyone else. Five minutes. And looks like you got enough grub in the bag for two.”
“Nick, you’ve got to stop this.”
“I’ll just stay for a minute, I promise.”
“And you’ll get a cab home, if I call one? You’re not driving in that condition.”
“I said I promise, didn’t I?”
“Don’t mess me around, Nick. I’m not in the mood. I’ll make you some black coffee, give you a share of this food then call you a cab. That’s it. You’re not staying.”
Adrian’s flat, a former council block, sat in a tree-lined side road off Drayton high street. Nick staggered ahead of him over to the now-familiar double-glass front door and the entry system. Adrian joined him and punched in the number, and a few steps inside unlocked the front door to his apartment. Standing to one side, he let Nick in first and from the rancid breath, could tell Nick had drunk his fair share of beer and spirits that night.
Adrian closed the door behind them and followed with soft footfalls on the tiled floor. At the end of the corridor, Nick had opened another door into the compact flat with its single bedroom, separate bathroom and an open kitchen overlooking the small living area. Since moving in five years ago, Adrian had made a few improvements—replaced the windows at the front with double-glazing to cancel out the noise of traffic, added a modern kitchen and appliances to make the place more functional, even provided a lick of paint to freshen the home up. His only personal touch came in the form of black and white photographs lining the hall corridor of old houses he’d helped build or renovate. In his living room, a poster-sized picture of one of Kevin McCloud’s Grand Designs projects, one of his most ambitious projects set on the borders of Wales and England, filled his living room wall.
“Sit down and I’ll make you a coffee.”
Familiar with the layout, Nick headed straight for the settee, but perched unsteadily on the arm and watched Adrian move around the kitchen.
“Got anything stronger?”
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
“Fuck’s sake,” said Nick, scowling at the carpet. “You sound like my missus.”
Adrian stopped filling the kettle and stared at Nick. After a moment, he went to the fridge and pulled out a can of lager. For a second, he was about to toss the tin to Nick, but then thought better and brought it over.
“Thanks, mate.”
Adrian said nothing, and once he’d watched Nick snap open the ring top, he returned to the kitchen to plate the food.
“How do you do it?” Adrian asked calmly.
“How do I do what?”
“Live with yourself. Sneaking around and getting fucked by men behind your wife’s back?”
“You may find this hard to believe, but I love Jan. And I don’t know what you’re thinking, but sex between us is amazing. I have no complaints there. She just can’t give me everything I need.”
Nick took an emphatic gulp of the beer, swaying a little on the arm of the chair.
Having finished divvying up the food, and pulling out a couple of forks from the cutlery drawer, Adrian brought both plates into the living room and handed one to Nick.
“You’ve seriously never been with a woman?” asked Nick, putting his beer down and shovelling a forkful of fried rice into his mouth
“No.”
“What? Not even in high school? Good-looking bloke like you?”
“Not even in high school.”
