Alexander

The usual undertone of desolation is absent as I make the drive across to Hampshire on Sunday afternoon. Even Brutus seems to grin at me, his overbite looking especially slobbery as he pants in the passenger seat.

I think he liked having Amy in our house again last night.

Having a new cleaner in the house first thing this morning, not so much.

“You’ve got to stop doing that shit,” I tell him, as though he stands a hope in hell of understanding. “You’ll get us into trouble one day, boy.”

Having to rescue a damsel in distress from behind your kitchen doorway at seven a.m. – dressed in nothing but your bathrobe – raises the heartrate somewhat.

Brutus still looks thoroughly pleased with himself.

At least our sweet Amy slept through the fracas.

My sweet Amy slept like an angel. An angel with a sore fucking asshole. I can’t fight the smirk.

I’m enjoying the sensation of waking up in my own bed with her tight little body next to mine. I’m enjoying her gentle laughter. I’m enjoying the way she wants me.

I’m enjoying everything.

And I’m going to enjoy seeing my boys, too.

They’re already waiting when I pull up on Claire’s driveway. They rush though the front door as their mother paces out after them, but even the scowl on her miserable face can’t dent my mood.

I give the boys a hug and tell them to pile on in to see Brutus, and Claire waits until they’re safely in the Merc before she launches into her monologue about state school being the right option for the boys, and have I thought any more about my silly position on the whole thing.

I tell her no – in no uncertain terms – and she shakes her head.

“You’re unbelievable, Alex. You need to think of the boys.”

My response is instant. I am thinking of the fucking boys.

“They are moving schools!” she blusters.

I hold my ground. They’re not moving fucking schools without my say so and she fucking knows it.

I’d strip her of her lavish lifestyle in a heartbeat, fight her through the courts with a legal prowess far more intimidating than she’ll ever have access to.

She’d be a fool to fight me head-on and she knows that, too.

“You’re a stubborn bastard,” she says, and I nod.

“Think what you want, Claire. The boys need a decent education.”

“Like you had? So they can turn out like you?!”

I don’t grace her with an answer to that one. I’m already heading back to the car, fighting to keep hold of my sunny disposition long enough to smile through crappy burgers and too much football lingo.

“Ask them what they want!” she calls after me. “At least ask the boys what they want!”

So I do.

I ask them as soon as we’ve taken a seat with our offal-based meat products.

“Your mother tells me you want to change schools,” I say. “Is that true?”

Matthew nods his head with a smile, blissfully oblivious of any potential tension.

Thomas not so much.

His eyes leave mine and stare at the table top, burger discarded.

“Well, Thomas? Is it true? Do you want to change schools?”

He shrugs.

It isn’t like him to avoid a direct question, and since he is avoiding the question this really isn’t the right place to push it, not amongst the screaming toddlers and the families out for a cheap bite to eat.

I change the topic of conversation, focusing instead on Portsmouth’s goal-scoring record this season, and that works well to lighten the mood.

“I’m going to play for Portsmouth,” Thomas tells me. “Terry says I’m really good.”

“He does, does he?” My boy nods, and even though Terry’s fucking name makes my insides grimace, I’m undeniably proud. “That’s good,” I say. “Well done.”

It’s Matthew who drops the next shitty bombshell. The poor kid has no idea.

“We’re going training!” he gushes. “Terry’s going to put us in kids’ club!”

“Excellent,” I lie. “And what does kids’ club involve?”

Thomas tells him to shut his stupid little mouth, and I’m taken aback by the venom in his tone.

“Enough of that,” I snap. “Let your brother speak.”

But Matthew doesn’t want to speak. Not now. His lip trembles as he holds back tears, and he looks so young sitting there. I’d forgotten how young he is.

Thomas folds his arms. “It’s on a Sunday. You won’t let us go anyway.”

“Won’t let you go?”

He shakes his head. “Mum said there’s no point even asking. She said you’ll never say yes.”

My throat dries. “Never say yes to you training on a Sunday afternoon?”

They both nod, and it smacks me right in the gut. I could retch my fucking French fries all over the fucking table.

“That’s what you want, is it? You want to go training?”

Thomas shrugs, but Matthew is still too young to understand etiquette. He nods so innocently, and I really do think I’m going to vomit up my fucking dinner.

“We won’t go,” Thomas says. “We see you on a Sunday afternoon.”

But they want to. I can see it all over them.

I wrap up my burger and clear my throat. “If you want to go training with Terry on a Sunday afternoon, you should go.”

Their eyes widen.

“But that’s your day…” Thomas tells me, like I’m not perfectly fucking aware of that.

Forcing a smile is so fucking hard. “We’ll make other time,” I say, even though I know it’s probably a fucking lie. “Maybe Saturdays, or holidays. Maybe even weeknights when the evenings get longer again.”

Matthew punches the air. He hollers out a YES that gets the family to our right turning their heads, and I know it’s signed and sealed already.

“What about you?” Thomas asks, and I have to pretend I’m choking on a gherkin.

“I’ll be around,” I say. “I’m your dad, right?”

They nod.

That’s right, I’m their fucking dad. Even if they have a new one now. Even if Terry steals my Sundays, and takes them out of the school I chose for them, and gives them another cool sibling to add to their dinner table.

Even if it doesn’t fucking feel like I’m their dad.

Even if it never feels like it again.

I still am.

I still am their fucking dad.

“Drink up,” I say. “We’ll take Brutus for a walk.”

They drink up.

My fingers are shaking as I pick up my uneaten burger for the dog. My throat is scratchy as I dump the empty wrappers in the bin on the way out.

I park up at the meadow a couple of streets down from Claire’s, and Brutus piles out happily, wagging his tail as Thomas clips on his leash.

We walk in silence, lapping that meadow three times before I can bring myself to speak.

“Tell me about school,” I say. “What do you want to do?”

Thomas looks up at me, and I keep my expression as neutral as I can.

“You can tell me,” I say.

So he does.

My boy tells me how he hates the school I picked for him. How he hates the other kids, and thinks the teachers are stuck up and boring.

He tells me how he feels sick to his stomach every time he has to go there.

How the other boys call him a common little freak because he likes football now and not rugby.

He tells me how they call him a little gay boy because he doesn’t scrum like he used to.

I’m sure there’s no blood left in my face as I land a hand on his shoulder and ask him why the hell he didn’t tell me this before.

And now it’s Thomas who has the trembling lip, wiping tears away on the back of his sleeve before they have chance to spill.

“Because… because I didn’t want…”

“Didn’t want what?”

It breaks my heart when his face crumples, and in some deep part of me I’m relieved to find I still have one.

“I didn’t want you to be ashamed of me.”

And now Matthew is crying too. My two boys stand and cry in front of me and I feel nothing but a cunt.

It’s so easy to pull them into my arms, so easy to breathe into their hair so they don’t see I’m right on the fucking edge myself.

“I’ll never be ashamed of you,” I tell them. “Not ever. No matter what. Do you understand me?”

I have to pull away long enough to check their faces.

“Boys, do you understand me?”

They nod.

I can’t believe I’m saying this. I can’t believe I have to say this.

Most of all I can’t believe Claire is going to get her fucking way, but that doesn’t matter now.

Only the boys matter.

“I’ll let the school know in the morning,” I say. “You can switch over next term.”

I have to pull over into a layby off the A3 to vomit on the way home.

* * *

Melissa

Dean and I have finished up half a bottle of wine before I’m brave enough to broach the subject.

He shifts in his seat as I turn to face him, knowing full well I’m about to rope him into something shady.

“No,” he says, just like that. “Whatever it is, no.”

“You don’t even…”

He shakes his head. “It involves Henley, right? Some crazy plan? Another crazy plan?”

“Well, maybe… but it’s not…”

“Forget it, Lissa.”

We sit in silence. He tops up our wine and takes a forkful of noodles from his takeout tub.

“You want him, right?” I ask, and he stops chewing. “You said you’d do him for free. I’m saying you don’t need to. I’m saying fifty-fifty, maybe just once if you want… but just think about it…”

“Are you fucking nuts?”

I shake my head. “I’m serious, Dean. He wants men. He told me.”

“He fucking told you?”

“Yes.”

He swallows. “No.”

“No?”

“No, Lissa. This shit is way too fucking much.”

“He wants men. And if I give it to him… if I like it too…”

“If you give it to him then what?” he snaps. “Have you even listened to yourself? Crystals and music, whatever, but this is…”

“Crazy, right?” I finish. “Maybe it’s crazy, yeah. But maybe it’ll be the ace in my deck, maybe it’ll be the thing that makes him really fall in love with me.”

He looks at me as though I’ve suddenly grown an extra head. “Jesus wept, Lissa. Have you heard yourself?”

My stomach is in knots as I look at him.

“I don’t want it to be some random,” I tell him. “I don’t want to hook up with some random guy who doesn’t know what he’ll be… getting into…”

“Being choked half to death you mean? Sure, it might be a tough fucking sell, Lissa. No shit.”

I sip my wine. “Forget it, then.”

“I already have,” he says, but he’s lying. His eyes are wide and angry, but he shifts in his seat and crosses his legs, and I know. I just know.

“You want him. I know you do.”

“Not like that, I don’t.”

“But you do, don’t you? You can’t stop thinking about him either.”

“That’s bullshit!” he snaps, but it’s not.

I remember his face when I told him all the gory details. The way he swallowed when I told him how Alexander chokes me to the brink. How it made me feel. How Alexander makes me feel…

“The guy’s fucked up,” he says.

“But you want him.”

“I want a lot of things…”

“Fifty-fifty,” I say. “One night. You get to have him.”

“And what the fuck will you be doing?” His jaw is so tight.

“Watching,” I say. “Just watching, Dean. It’s not like we… I won’t be…”

He shakes his head. “Don’t even talk about it. I’m gay, Lissa, I just can’t even.”

It’s the first time he’s said it out loud. His words hang in the air as I take a breath.

“You already knew.” He shrugs. “It’s not news.”

“No,” I say. “It’s not news.” I swirl the wine in my glass. “I mean it. I wouldn’t be… involved. It’s about Alexander, and you.”

“There is no Alexander and me,” he snaps. “I’ve never even met the guy.”

“But you could…”

He gets to his feet. I know he’s considering it when he begins pacing. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is.

I give him space.

I’m finding that works pretty well lately.

“How would you even swing it? What you gonna say? Hey, Mr Henley, this is Dean, my best fucking friend. He looks after my brother for me while I’m out playing hooker.”

His words cut, but I don’t say a thing.

“Hey, Mr Henley, this is Dean. He’s a sad little virgin guy who jerks off to your picture every fucking night and thinks about taking it in the ass. Is that what you’re gonna fucking say, Lissa?”

I can’t keep my silence. “You’re a virgin?!”

He groans. “Don’t act so surprised. You were a fucking virgin a few weeks ago.”

I feel my shot. It’s a whisper on the wind. A glimmer of a chance.

“I was a virgin until him. And he was the best experience of my life. He was everything.” I’m being honest. My smile is all real as I remember how he took me, how he made it feel so good. “Fine, if you don’t want to do it for me, do it for yourself.”

“For me?!”

“Yeah,” I say. “For you. Do it because you want him. Do it because he’s everything. Do it because he’ll be the most amazing experience you’ll ever have.”

“With you there cheerleading from the sidelines?”

“You’ll forget I’m even there, I promise.”

“You promise?!” His laugh sounds as crazy as I feel.

I finish up my wine. “I need to go to bed. I have work tomorrow.”

“I’m not doing it,” he says.

His voice sounds a lot more certain than he looks, but I’ve said my piece. I’ve said it all.

“I’ll find someone else,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about it. If you don’t want him, I’ll find someone who does.”

“Some fucking random?!”

“I guess so.”

He shakes his head. “Just quit your job. Tell him you got off on the wrong foot, he may never know, not if you give him your real name and pretend it was a false alias.”

“He knows Amy is a real person. He looked her up.”

I hate the way his eyes bore into me. “He looked her up?!”

“Yeah. I had no idea he would.”

He rubs his temples. “She knows me. She knows you. What the hell if he turns up at her door? What the fuck do we do then?”

It’s nothing I haven’t thought about myself. Nothing that hasn’t niggled me at night before I fall asleep.

“I’ll tell him,” I say. “I’ll quit cleaning and I’ll tell him my real name, just as soon as he’s fucked another man. I’ll tell him the very next week.”

He laughs a cynical laugh.

“I will!” I insist. “I’ll tell him. I just need this final piece of the puzzle! This one last thing!”

“Gay sex?!”

I nod. “So he knows I’m all in. With everything.”

“Fucking hell,” he hisses. “This is so fucking fucked up!”

I don’t argue with him.

I squeeze his arm as I head for bed. My fingers link his and tug before I reach the door.

“Forget I said anything,” I tell him. “It’s cool.”

He doesn’t say a word as I close the door behind me.

I hear him pace around the place as I climb into bed. I hear him clear up the wine glasses a few minutes later.

And then nothing.

Silence.

I’m half asleep when the tap on my door comes.

The clock says half three a.m.

He eases the door open, and I feel the weight of him on the bottom of my bed.

I’m reaching for my nightlight when he tells me to stop.

“What is it?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

I can’t see him nod. I can only hear him breathe.

“You’ll just be watching? No like… touching or…”

“Of course no touching. This is just… him… with a guy…”

“Fifty-fifty?”

“You can have the whole three grand if you want it.”

I’m not tired at all as I wait in the darkness.

Sleep has well and truly given up the ghost as I wait for Dean to spit out whatever he’s thinking.

“I’ll do it,” he whispers. “Just once. So you don’t need to… find someone.”

I lunge for him, but he holds me back before I can hug him.

“Wait!” he snaps. “There are conditions!”

My heart pounds as I wait for them.

“If I let him fuck me, you quit cleaning afterwards. No fucking about, Lissa. If the guy fucks my ass to make your crazy fucking plan work out for you, you quit and you tell him your real name. You make this real, or you walk away.”

My mouth is so dry. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yeah, that’s a deal. He fucks you, I quit my cleaning job.”

“And you tell him your real name?”

I pause for just a heartbeat. “Yeah.”

He sighs. “I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this.”

And neither can I.

He gets to his feet, and heads for the door, and I still can’t believe it. I still have to hear the words.

“You’re saying you’ll let him fuck you? You’re saying you’ll do it? For me?”

“No,” he says before he closes the door. “I’m saying I’ll do it for me.”