Apart from being a genuinely decent bloke, Mikey had a nice body. He made up in his physique what he lacked in looks. Far more toned than Nathan. Polly had once likened Mikey to having the body of a stallion and the head of a donkey.
“Reckon my missus will love the idea. Might even get me a shag.”
“Nice. Although we’ll need more volunteers if this is going to happen. Work on a few for me, will you?”
“No problem. Benny Cheung might come around. If only we could convince him that your teacher friend wants to see him in the calendar.”
“Polly? Does Benny fancy—?”
“He won’t say anything to you. He knows you and Polly are best friends. But the man would give his left testicle for a date with her.”
“Really?” Nathan always thought the lads shared everything with him, but Mikey’s reasoning made perfect sense. “I think Benny might be a bit young for her.”
“He’s twenty-five. How old is she?”
“Same age as me,” said Nathan, glancing sidelong at Mikey. “But she usually likes them a fair bit older. Tell him I’ll promise to put in a good word for him if he agrees to do the calendar?”
“You sly bastard?” said Mikey after laughing at the sky. “Love it. Are you going to this shindig at The Arms to meet this photographer friend of Arlene’s?”
“Of course.”
“Come on. I’ll give you a lift. The wife’s meeting me there. I lucked out today. Her mum offered to make a Sunday roast and take care of the kids. We can have a few drinks together.”
Nathan thanked his lucky stars that Mikey had the family car with him and not his butcher’s van. Not that he minded advertising his friend’s business, but the odours of old carcasses tended to permeate the seats and upholstery. On the drive to the pub, Nathan brought Mikey up to speed with other revelations from the committee meeting.
“Blimey. Bit of a shake-up, then? What do you make of this Arlene Killroy?” asked Mikey.
“She’s no Father Mulligan. But maybe that’s a good thing. Only time will tell.”
“If her goal is to ramp up attendance and draw attention to local businesses, then she has my vote.”
“I suppose so.”
“And as much as I hate to say it, Nathan, she’s right about one thing,” said Mikey, steering his car into the small lane leading to the back of the pub. “The event has become a bit tired of late. Even my kids say so.”
On Sunday lunchtime, the pub car park was crammed. Mikey parked up his Volvo estate between a beaten-up Toyota and a sleek Tesla, which just about summed up Crumbington.
Nathan trailed Mikey into the crowded private bar. A thick cluster of people, none Nathan recognised, chattered excitedly at one end of the long room. Arlene had clearly invited out-of-towners, and somebody held court there. At the emptier end, Mikey’s wife chatted with Polly and, annoyingly, joker Jaymes. As they already had drinks, Nathan offered to get a round for him and Mikey. He had barely returned and placed them down when Arlene grabbed him by the upper arm and led him away. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. When he looked back, Mikey rolled his eyes in sympathy, but Polly’s face registered concern, and she beckoned him back. He held up his index finger in what he considered the universal signal for being back in a moment. He was not about to let Arlene and her cronies monopolise him on his one day off.
“Nathan. Finally,” she said before he could speak. No word of apology for hauling him off, no polite explanation or rueful smile. “There’s somebody I insist you meet.”
Without another word, she led the way through the room of bodies to the far corner, where the larger crowd still hemmed in the poor guest. Nathan guessed the attraction to be Arlene’s photographer friend, who would be considered a celebrity by their parochial villagers.
“And here’s me thinking you wanted to know how it went with the team.”
“Later,” she said dismissively. “There are more important things right now.”
Without consideration, Arlene jostled people out of her path like a professional bodyguard until only the front row stood in her way. With a loud cough, she got the attention of the two women in front of her, who parted to let her through to meet the focus of attention.
Clifton O’Keefe.
Nathan had no time to prepare himself before paralysis set in. Clifton looked even better in the flesh, better than Nathan remembered. Not that he hadn’t always been handsome, but somewhere in his recent past someone had taken him in hand, accentuated all his many good features—the sweeping black fringe, those thick, perfect eyebrows and piercing brown eyes, the full lips and immaculate teeth—and invented this new and alluring personal image. Effortlessly drawing attention to himself, he had the kind of charisma that seemed to come naturally with stardom or maybe something taught at acting school—Magnetism 101. Nathan had only seen one film starring Clifton, a Christmas story Mikey’s kids had demanded to watch at the cinema complex in the nearby town. Knowing nothing about the film, Nathan had been stunned to silence when he recognised the face on the screen, especially the familiar voice coming from the very familiar mouth. Once upon a time, those lips had happily sucked Nathan’s cock.
“Clifton. This is Nathan—” began Arlene.
“I know exactly who this is.”
Clifton—clearly used to being the centre of attention—gave Nathan a sympathetic smile before coming over and giving him a gentle but somewhat theatrical embrace. Nathan tensed up, allowing himself to be hugged like a scarecrow being repositioned by a farmer. Over Clifton’s shoulder, Arlene appeared equally startled.
