“You wantmeto come?”
“It’s Friday night, Spence. And it’s a mixed club, so they’ll—you know—have some of your tribe there, too,” he said, by way of explanation.
“Why do you always rope me in? You know I’m too old for all that shit. I’d rather stay home and watchThe Chasewith Mum and Dad,” said Spencer, trying hard not to sound whingy. The Halloween party had taught him that he had long passed the age of endurance for hot, noisy and sweaty parties. Moreover, he knew Garrett would try to get him drunk.
“Tough. You’re coming.”
“We’ll see. I’m going to dump my bag. And then I need a shower,” said Spencer, jumping up but then stopping. “And why exactly do you need two motorcycles? I saw the new Triumph in the driveway.”
Garrett sat upright then, his eyes widening dramatically and his voice lowering, his full attention on Spencer.
“That’s not mine,” he said. “It’s Dad’s. Mum’s furious. Whatever you do, don’t mention it in front of her.”
“Is Dad okay in the head?”
“Of course he is. Just not used to sitting around doing nothing.”
Garrett had a point. Their father had spent most of his forty years working for the Metropolitan Police out in the field. On the rare occasion when he talked about his experiences, Spencer saw him get truly animated and learnt just how much of the grim side of society his father had witnessed.
“Maybe you should be takinghimto Propaganda.”
“Go and get showered.”
Spencer had never gotten used to the bungalow, the fact that all the bedrooms led off from the main hallway. All of his time living at home with his parents in Merton Park, he had ‘gone up to bed’ using stairs, something this single-storey home didn’t have or need. Even in his Morden flat, he had to go up a flight of stairs to get to the open living room-cum-kitchen.
One of the modifications his father had made in the bungalow was to add a second bathroom—a shower room, to be more precise—and link the original bathroom exclusively to the master bedroom. That way his mother and father had all their own facilities on one side of the hallway when guests came to stay, something that had been lacking in their one-family-bathroom home back in London.
After taking his shower and dressing in a pair of comfortable denims, a white tee and a navy woollen jumper, he found the family at the dining table. An interesting young woman sat at the end of the table, facing him, as he entered. She wore a tight white V-neck sweater with her ample cleavage showing and the distinct beginnings of a tattoo on her left boob. With a nose stud and multiple ear piercings, she was definitely Garrett’s wild-child type.
Interestingly, to her right, there sat a guy around Spencer’s age with shaggy, boy-band blond hair and the rosy, flawless complexion of a twelve-year-old. More worryingly for Spencer, he had on a few layers of long-sleeved T-shirts to ward against the weather, but the bright yellow one he chose to wear on top had the words ‘Gay As F**k’ sitting inside a rainbow across the front.
“Come on, bromo. We’re all waiting to start eating,” said Garrett, opening up a tub of noodles. Across the tabletop sat around ten assorted containers of food. Their father always over-ordered.
“Shall we do paper plates and plastic cutlery?” said his mother, opening a cupboard in the kitchen. “Save on the washing up?”
“No,” said Spencer adamantly, heading to another cupboard and pulling out china plates. “Since when have we become the Gallaghers fromShameless? And what about saving the planet? Don’t worry, I’ll wash up, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not that,” she said, hands on hips now. “I’ve got all these paper plates left over from the house-warming barbecue we had in the back garden two years ago, that only a couple of our neighbours bothered to attend. You don’t need to wash up, I can put the plates in the dishwasher easily enough, if that’s what you want.”
“I’ll help. Save the paper and plastic pollution for your next barbecue.”
Spencer threw down a handful of stainless steel cutlery then passed the plates around before plonking himself down next to his father, who sat checking through the invoice from the shop.
“As my brother is too rude to introduce me,” said Spencer, “I’m his younger brother, Spencer.”
“Garrett,” growled their father, without looking up from the receipt. “Manners.”
“And I’m Peony,” said the girl, after giggling silently as Garrett gave Spencer the middle finger. “And this is my cousin, Lyle.”
“Charmed,” said Lyle, with a pout and tiny royal wave from across the table. Spencer hoped the smile he returned seemed authentic. But if Garrett had been thinking the two of them might be compatible, he could not have been more mistaken. Lyle was painfully thin, pale skinned, and had a preciousness about him, one of thene-me-touche-pasgays Spencer had met in the past, even in the way he stabbed at the plate then glared with disgust at the food on his fork, as though he found the prawns or noodles personally offensive and not worthy of his digestive system.
“Hope you don’t mind, Mum,” said Garrett, as everyone slowed to grazing at the end of the meal, “but I’m dragging Spencer out tonight. To Propaganda with me and Peony. Lyle’s planned to meet up with his boyfriend, and I thought you and Dad could have the house to yourselves.”
Spencer wondered if anyone heard the barely restrained sigh of relief issuing from him at hearing that Lyle already had a boyfriend.
“Poor Spencer’s only just got here,” said his mother, hands on hips, and Spencer almost agreed with her. “Give him a chance to relax.”
“You’ll have him all day tomorrow, Mum. Tonight he’s free, single and he’s ours.”
