Rory frowned and took another gulp of beer while he tried to get his head round it. “So this bloke you want to bung in my spare room, he’s your ex?”
They were in the Three Lions, which was a friendly, old-fashioned village pub, all warm colours and low, beamed ceilings. The sort of place you’d want to go and drink at even if it wasn’t your local, and that gave you a happy, smug feeling if it was. They had regular quiz nights and a weekly meat raffle, and if Rory came in on his own, there was nearly always someone he knew propping up the bar or watching sport on the wide-screen telly.
Mark put down his pint and shook his head emphatically, foam still clinging to his upper lip. “No, no. My ex-PA. And future business partner. Or, well, employee, really.”
“So he’s not gay, then?” Rory wondered if this bloke was divorced too, like him and Mark, and hoped if he was, he wouldn’t be the sort to go on about his ex all the time. Rory had used to go on about his ex all the time, Barry reckoned, and apparently it had got right on everyone’s tits.
Mark got a funny look in his eye. “Would it be a problem for you if he was?”
“Nah, course not.” Rory was offended Mark had asked, cos him and Mark were mates, and Mark was gay. And the same with Patrick, ’cept he kept saying he was bi, despite the fact Rory hadn’t seen him snog a girl once since he’d started going out with Mark.
“Good. Because he is.” Mark paused, as if he was gonna say something else about this gay PA bloke, but then he coughed and just said, “Same again?”
“My shout,” Rory said, cos it was, and got up to get the drinks in.
He had some time to think about it while he was standing at the bar. Not that it was all that busy in the Three Lions tonight, it being a Tuesday and there not being any footie on, but Trev, the landlord, had gone off to change a barrel and Trixie was on her own pulling pints, so he had to wait his turn.
Would it be weird living with a gay bloke? Gay blokes liked . . . musicals and stuff, didn’t they? That’d be okay. Long as he wasn’t into Les Mis. When Rory took his kids to see the stage show, he’d cried so much it’d been well embarrassing, and the film had been even worse. But yeah, he could cope with musicals on the telly every now and then. Happy ones, like Mamma Mia! or Billy Elliot.
It wasn’t like he’d ever tell Barry this, but sometimes, Rory reckoned you could watch a bit too much sport.
And there’d be the—what did they call it now?—grooming thing. Hair products in the bathroom and all that. Still, couldn’t be that different to living with a woman, could it? And Rory had liked that, when him and Evie had still been together, or the nights he’d stayed over at Jen’s. Which hadn’t been that often, seeing as Patrick had been living there most of the time they’d been going out. Bit of a passion-killer, that’d been, having a mate looking at him sideways when he’d been trying to snuggle up with his girl. It’d been nice, though, having someone who’d smelled good and had given him an excuse to watch rom-coms on the telly. Gay blokes were into that sort of film too, weren’t they?
Course, it probably wouldn’t be quite the same.
For one thing, there’d be no cuddling up on the sofa under a blanket with a bottle of plonk and a big bag of cheesy Wotsits. Rory missed that. Although he didn’t miss getting told off for getting orange fingerprints all over the blanket. Or the moaning when he wanted to watch Jonathan Creek or Star Trek instead of Strictly Come Prancing and EastEnders.
“Same again, love?” Trixie asked with a smile. She was great, Trixie was. A big, no-nonsense bleached blonde with a good set of biceps on her.
“Yeah, ta. Brock for me, and Ridgeway for me mate there.”
“Where’s your other half tonight?”
“What? Oh, you mean Barry?” Rory chuckled.
“That’s the one. Thought you and him was joined at the hip.”
“Nah, he’s on babysitting duty Tuesdays. The missus goes out to Pilates.”
Trixie gave him a look. “They his kids?”
“Well, yeah. Least, he hopes so.” Rory laughed.
“Then you can’t call it babysitting. Bet no one calls it babysitting when it’s her stuck indoors while he’s out on the piss with you.”
“S’pose not. Mind you, Evie always calls it babysitting when she wants me to have our kids for a night.”
“Yeah, but you don’t live with ’em. How are they, anyhow? Your Lucy still enjoying her football?”
Rory gave her a proud smile. “Yeah, they just started back after the summer. She got man of the match last weekend. Uh, player of the match. They won five nil, and she scored two and got the assist for another of ’em.” She hadn’t given away a single penalty or got even a yellow card, neither, which was what he reckoned their coach had really been rewarding. But there was no need to mention that.
“Bless. That it, then?” Trixie placed the pint of Ridgeway on the bar.
“Cheers, love.” Rory handed her a tenner. Easy come, easy go. Course, with this David bloke staying, he’d have a bit more coming in. Might be able to get Leo that telescope he had his little heart set on for Christmas.
Show him his old dad was still good for something and he didn’t have to ask flippin’ Lewis for all the fancy stuff.
Rory walked back to Mark, decision reached. “Right, then. When’s this bloke of yours want to move in?”
Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t you want to meet him first? Make sure you’ll get along?”
“Nah, that’s fine. He’s a mate of yours, in’t he? We’ll be golden.”
Mark didn’t say anything. Just took a long swig of beer.
Rory told Barry all about it when he came over for a beer the following evening.
Barry scratched his armpit thoughtfully, then gave his fingers a sniff. He made a face and wiped them on his trousers. “So he’s a woofter, this bloke?”
“Pretty sure you’re not s’posed to call ’em that these days.” Rory frowned, leaning back on the sofa. He liked his sofa. It was one of those L-shaped ones that was all cushions, so you could get proper comfy on it. The kids loved it, mostly cos it was great for building dens and stuff. And for having cushion fights, which they never got to do at their mum’s. Probably on account of it not being her place. It was that smarmy git Lewis’s house, wasn’t it? His place was down the posh end of the village, one of the new houses built three storeys high and packed in like sardines, and still managing to go for the best part of a million quid.
And yeah, maybe Lewis had married her, in that big, posh hotel with little Lucy all tricked up like a sugar-plum fairy as bridesmaid—she’d been so gorgeous Rory had nearly cried—but that still didn’t make it Evie’s place, did it?
Anyway, Rory’s sofa was the best. So what if it took up most of the floor space in his tiny living room? You didn’t have a living room so you could walk around in it, did you?
Barry rolled his eyes and put on a posh voice. “Oh, I am sorry. He’s a homosexual gentleman. That better?”
“Yeah.” There was still something off in Barry’s tone, but Rory didn’t want to argue with the bloke when he was just being, well, Barry. “And he’s a mate of Mark’s, so he’s gotta be all right.” Barry couldn’t argue with that, could he?
“Ain’t your Evie got something to say about it? I mean, you have the kids to stay every other weekend. Say he meets some bloke on Grindr and brings him back for the night, and they see all kinds of stuff they shouldn’t?”
Rory frowned. Okay, he hadn’t thought of that, but . . . “He’s not gonna be shagging them in front of the telly, is he? I mean, I might’ve had Jenni round when they was here, but we’d never of done nothing when the kids were around.”
“Yeah, but gay blokes are different, aren’t they? Gotta be all in your face about it.” Barry sniggered. “Better watch out he don’t get in your face.”
“Gonna be a bit hard to avoid, innit? Not like there’s a lot of extra room in here.” Rory waved at his living space, or lack of it, with a grin. He didn’t quite hit his hand on the opposite wall, but it wasn’t far off.
Barry groaned. “No, I meant, in your face. Like this, see?” He pursed his lips, blew out his cheeks and used his tongue to make one side bulge out even more.
Rory stared, wondering if he’d got something stuck in a tooth—then it clicked, and he laughed. “Nah, not gonna be none of that.”
Barry wasn’t laughing. “Bloody well hope not. Not that I grudge ’em their rights, nothing like that, but they’re taking over the world, the gays with their pink pound and their homosexual agenda. Your house is the only place I feel safe these days.”
Barry was a good mate, the best, but he didn’t half talk a load of bollocks sometimes. Rory took in his Barry’s appearance: beer gut spilling over his jeans, tragic fashion sense, food stains and all. He didn’t look anything like the blokes on that gay porn channel Rory had clicked on by mistake when he’d been trying to find out how to make a daisy chain for Leo.
“Don’t worry,” he said seriously. “I don’t reckon you’re in any danger wherever you go.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I can look after meself. But ain’t you worried he’s gonna be ogling you in your undies? Trying to convert you to the cause?”
Rory hadn’t thought about that, either, but now he had, he still couldn’t see why Barry was so flippin’ worried about it. He frowned. “Don’t you have to be born like it?” There’d been a song about it on the radio and everything.
“Don’t stop ’em trying, does it? You better watch out, mate. Establish some ground rules. No touching, no walking around starkers, and no offering to save water by having a bath together.”
Rory was starting to think Barry must get all his ideas about what lodgers were like from those pornos he watched some nights while his missus was out and the kids were in bed. There was no point arguing with him when he went off on one like this, though. “I’m more into showers, me.”
“That’s even worse, mate. Just keep a tight grip on the soap at all times.”
“You what?”
“You know. No bending over to pick it up?” Barry made a suggestive gesture with one arm.
Rory winced. “Ohhh. Nah, no worries. My shower’s tiny. You’d never fit two grown blokes in there. And anyway, aren’t gay blokes all into grooming and fitness and that?”
“So?”
Rory laughed. “I got dad bod, ain’t I? No way all this is driving some poor bloke into uncontrollable lust.”
Barry shook his head slowly. “Rather you than me, mate. Rather you than me.”
Rory thought about it afterwards, though, his feet up on the coffee table after Barry had gone home to the missus. Barry had been well insistent about this gay-agenda thing. Rory hadn’t wanted to admit he didn’t even know what that was. He got his laptop out and did a quick search. Okay, that all looked well confusing.
Then he tried spelling agenda with it ending in an a not an er. Yeah, those results made more sense. There were even example gay agendas shown. Although a lot of them seemed to involve buying milk.
Rory closed his laptop. He couldn’t see what all the fuss was about.