When Rory got home after he’d finished his round, he got a weird, bittersweet feeling on seeing the clear signs of the kids having been there overnight—blankets and pillows still on the sofa, and books and games on the coffee table. David’s duvet and teddy bear were on the sofa too, for some reason. Rory set about tidying up with a bit of a pang, cos wouldn’t it be great if he could have them over after school to mess it all up again?
God, he hoped Evie said yes to them staying with him. Maybe he should talk to his solicitor, in case she wanted to fight him on it—but he’d wait and see what she said first. No sense making it official before he needed to.
But if he had to, he would.
It wasn’t right, them having to live with Lewis when he didn’t get on with them. It wasn’t good for anyone.
“Kids get off to school okay?” Rory asked when David came in from work.
David smiled and flopped onto the sofa. “Absolument.”
“Ate their breakfast?”
“Mais oui.”
“Cos I found this bowl of terminally soggy cereal in one of the kitchen cupboards . . .”
“Ah. That would be mine. Sorry.”
Rory laughed. “I won’t ask. So it went okay, did it?”
“Perfectly. I even got an introduction to Mr. Enemy. I mean Emeny.” David yawned.
“Yeah? Leo worships that bloke. He can’t wait till next year when he’ll be in his class.” Rory gave David a fond look. Probably wasn’t all that surprising Leo got on with him too, was it? “Thanks for taking them.”
“Anytime.” David yawned again. “I think I may have to join you in the land of early nights tonight, though.”
He was silent after that, which wasn’t like him.
Still, Rory knew what’d cheer him up. “Are you doing anything tomorrow night?” he asked. That ought to get him a fun reaction, like David wanting to know if Rory was asking him out, and fluttering his eyelashes and stuff.
But all he got was a sigh and a no.
What was up with David lately? He’d been moody for days. It wasn’t helping Rory pluck up the courage to tell the bloke he did want to ask him out.
Rory had even had one or two dark moments of his own where he’d wondered if it was because David had guessed what he was planning to say, and wasn’t looking forward to having to let him down gently.
He took a deep breath. “See, it’s my birthday tomorrow, and—”
At least that got him a reaction. “Oh em gee, and you didn’t tell me? I’d have bought you a present. Baked a cake. Blown up balloons. Put up one of those hideously embarrassing signs you see on roundabouts, with an unflattering picture of you and your exact age in really big numbers—come to that, what is your exact age?”
“And that’s why I didn’t tell you.” Okay, it wasn’t exactly true. It hadn’t occurred to him to tell David. Partly because he hadn’t thought he’d be interested but also, if he was honest, cos he hadn’t wanted to rub in how much older he was. “Forty-two.”
“Ooh, the ultimate answer. So where are we going tomorrow? Romantic dîner à deux?”
And, okay, yeah, that’d been the sort of reaction he’d been going for, but it was all wrong, somehow. Like David was trying too hard to be himself. “Um. No. The pub. Three Lions.” He cleared his throat. “There’s a Spartans meeting first, so we’d end up there anyway, but seeing as it’s my birthday, I’m taking the Saturday off work so I can stay a bit later. I thought maybe you could join us? But if you’re busy—”
“I’d be delighted. Will I be the only one there not of Greek extraction?”
“Uh?”
“Non-Spartan.”
“Oh—nah. Jenni said she might pop over for a quick one.”
David’s smile dimmed at that, which was weird cos it wasn’t like he’d even met her. “Oh. Well, I’m sure we’ll have lots to talk about.”
“Oi, no swapping stories about my terrible cooking.”
David frowned. “Your cooking’s fine. Has either of us died yet?” His tone was weirdly defensive.
“Uh, cheers, mate,” Rory said, touched by the way David was getting the hump on his behalf. “Yours ain’t bad, neither.”
And then they got into a discussion about what they were going to have for tea, and David seemed almost all right for a while.
But he didn’t want to watch telly afterwards, just said he had a headache and disappeared to his room, and when Rory went up to go to bed, David’s light was already off.
Well, he had said he wanted to get an early night. But Rory still went to bed feeling flatter than a bloke had any right to on the eve of his birthday, and it wasn’t the age thing that was getting him down.
He didn’t lie awake for hours, because having walked the best part of ten miles in a day, and knowing you’ve got to get up at four thirty and walk another ten miles meant you got down to the z’s pretty quickly.
But his dreams, what he could remember of them the next morning, were strange and sad.
Rory got a few birthday wishes at the delivery office that morning, but mostly it was all low-key. His round went okay, no problems with the cats, dogs, and ferrets on his route, and he got home around half past one. Because he was going out in the evening, Rory put his head down for a couple of hours kip, and woke up just in time to have a coffee before Evie brought the kids over on their way home from school.
“Daddy!” Lucy’s voice was shrill with excitement when he opened the door to them. “We’ve got your presents, and Mummy let us get doughnuts as well!”
Leo held up a sticky-looking paper bag with pride.
“Doughnuts too, eh? In that case you can definitely come in.” Rory waved them all in, but Evie hung back. “Coming in for a cuppa?”
“No, I’d better get on home. Things to do. When do you want me to pick them up? You’re having them for tea, aren’t you?”
Rory hadn’t been sure if he was or not, but he wasn’t going to grumble. “Half seven? Spartans is at eight,” he added, so she’d know he needed her to be on time. He almost asked her if she’d thought about him having the kids every week—but she’d most likely spent all yesterday doing damage limitation with Lewis. Best not to pester her too soon.
“Fine. Bye, you two. Be good. Oh, and happy birthday, Rory.” She gave him a brief smile that didn’t unkink the line in her forehead, and didn’t immediately turn to go.
“Cheers, love. Um. Everything okay with the, uh . . .?” He gestured at her belly.
“Fine, yes. Fine.” She took a breath, as if about to say more.
“Daddy!” Lucy tugged on his arm. “You’ve got to open your presents.”
Evie made a face. “I’d better leave you to it. See you later.” This time she did go, and Rory let the kids pull him back into the house.
“Where’s David?” Lucy asked when they got into the living room.
“He’s at work, sweet pea. He doesn’t finish till five.”
She frowned. “But he won’t see you open your presents.”
Bless her heart. “We can wait, if you like.”
She glanced at Leo and bit her lip. “Will he be long?”
“About long enough to have a doughnut and play a few games.”
“All right.”
David turned up bang on time at ten past five, which was just as well as they’d all been eyeing up the fourth doughnut, left on its lonesome in the paper bag. Rory was pretty touched Evie had thought to include David.
He was also pretty hungry.
“We’re in the living room,” Rory shouted out so he’d know they had company.
David’s head appeared around the side of the door. “Ooh, small people. Where did they spring from? Rory, did you leave the back door open again? I told you we’d have all sorts of wildlife wandering in.”
Leo scrambled off Rory’s knee and went to give David a hug. David ruffled his hair, smiling. “Here to help the birthday boy celebrate?”
Lucy frowned. “Daddy’s not a boy. He’s old.”
“Cheers, love,” Rory said with a laugh.
“But it’s true. You’re . . .” her little forehead crinkled as the cogs went round “. . . seven years older than Mummy and eight years older than Lewis. David, how old are you?”
David struck a girly pose. “Oh, a lady doesn’t like to say.”
“You’re not a lady.”
“So I’m often told.” David gave her a wicked smile. “Still, I’m fairly sure most people mean it as a compliment. So, is there cake?”
Leo held up the doughnut bag. David took it, had a quick peek inside, then closed it up again. “Later. I wouldn’t want to ruin my tea. But thank you.”
“Can we do presents now?” Lucy demanded.
“Course you can.”
“Mine first, Daddy!” Lucy was practically jumping up and down, Leo hovering shyly at her elbow, as David took a seat on the sofa.
Rory gave her a look. “All right, hold your little horses. How about we do youngest first? That’s fair, innit?”
“I suppose.”
Leo handed over a crumpled parcel half as big as he was with a quiet but clear, “Happy birthday, Daddy.”
Rory took the present and pulled him into a hug. “Thank you. Shall I open it?”
His tousled head nodded against Rory’s side.
“Let’s see what we got here . . .” Rory had a job getting in to the parcel, cos it looked like Leo had used a whole roll of Sellotape, but he finally found a tearable bit and managed to get inside.
“Ooh, what is it?” David was literally on the edge of his seat.
Rory grinned, and held up a funny-shaped brown cushion. “I think I know what this is, but . . .”
David laughed. “Oh em gee, poop emoji! Excellent choice, mon lapinou.”
Leo was smiling like Christmas had come early.
“He chose it himself,” Lucy said. “Mummy didn’t want to buy it, but I made her. Now mine.”
Her parcel was a lot better wrapped than Leo’s, and way easier to get into. She’d given him a Man of the Match mug with a pair of football-themed socks inside. Perched on top was a little net bag of chocolate footballs. “That’s smashing, love. Thank you.”
“Now David.” Lucy fixed the poor bloke with a look that promised really bad things if he didn’t come up with the goods.
“Oi, come on. David doesn’t have to get me anything. It ain’t like he’s family or nothing.” Rory’s guilt-muscles flexed. He wished he’d come up with a better way to put that. One that didn’t . . .What was the word people used? Exclude, that was it. One that didn’t exclude David, make him feel like he didn’t belong.
David frowned. “Of course I had to get you something. I’m sure there’s a law about it. Now, as somebody didn’t tell me it was his birthday until last night, I didn’t have a lot of time to shop. However, I think you’ll agree I rose to the challenge.” He handed over an envelope with a flourish.
Inside was a card, and inside that was a folded-up computer printout. Rory opened it out, and was genuinely touched. “A ticket to Comic Con? Cheers, mate, that’s brilliant.”
“And you’re coming with me and Fen, and she’s agreed to be on her very best behaviour. Oh, and make sure you read the small print.”
Rory looked again at the ticket. Scribbled in faint pencil was, Under 10s go free. He caught David’s eye and grinned.
“And on the other side,” David said, making turning-over gestures.
Rory turned it over. Another handwritten message, this one in cramped, grumpy biro, read, I promise to be nice to you at Comic Con. David made me write this. Fen. :-( He had to laugh.
“What’s a Comic Con?” Lucy asked.
“It’s where grown-ups go to wear fancy dress and talk about superheroes,” David said seriously.
Lucy sat there for a moment, wide-eyed and silent. Rory wasn’t sure if it was the grown-ups dressing up bit she was having trouble with, or the idea of having to go somewhere special to do it. “Can we go too?”
Rory counted on his fingers. “It ain’t my weekend, sweet pea, but I’ll have a word with your mum, all right?”
“Today?”
“If she ain’t in a hurry. Or a bad mood. Now, we need to get tea on. You want cheese on toast or beans on toast?”
Leo tugged on his sleeve.
Rory smiled fondly. “Yeah, you can have both if you want. Seeing as it’s my birthday. But we need to get it sorted now, cos Daddy’s got a meeting later.”
Evie was a few minutes late picking up the kids—she didn’t say why, and her face didn’t encourage asking, neither. Rory had to practically run down the hill to get to the Spartans meeting on time.
David had told him to just go, and let him wait for Evie with the kids, but Rory didn’t reckon that’d help persuade Evie to let him have them full-time. The Spartans could wait for once. The kids were more important.
Maybe I should have explained that to David, Rory thought as he jogged up the stairs in the Three Lions. He’d looked a bit hurt at the refusal.
The upstairs room at the Three Lions, where the Spartans always met, was a big old-fashioned room that was draughty in the winter but had proper old beams, posh chairs, and a good, solid table that made a cracking thunk when Barry rapped it with his gavel. The meeting was mainly about organisation for the next big charity fundraising event, which was going to be at the end of November when the village Christmas lights got turned on. Shamwell wasn’t big enough to attract a celebrity, even a local one, to flick the switch, but the village organisations still made a night of it, with fairground attractions, carol singing, and all that. Rory volunteered to man the kiddies’ teacup ride, while as usual Barry appointed himself head of mince pies and mulled wine, which meant he’d get to stay in the nice warm local café they’d be taking over for the evening. And knowing Barry, do his bit to make sure none of the food and drink went to waste.
Across the table, Patrick kept giving Rory funny looks, but he didn’t say anything to him. Maybe Jenni had been talking. Or perhaps she’d mentioned she was coming to the pub tonight, and Patrick had realised Rory hadn’t broken her heart, after all.
Rory hoped it was that. He was getting fed up with people thinking he was a git.
Si was there too, sitting next to his mate Alasdair like an advert for Beards Reunited. When Rory caught his eye, Si made an embarrassed face. Rory shrugged in a That’s life, mate, innit? sort of way so Si would know he wasn’t upset or nothing. Wasn’t Jenni he was pining over, was it? Christ, Rory hoped he could pluck up the nerve to finally say something tonight.
At the end of the meeting, Barry stood up. “Right, lads, as usual it’s downstairs to the pub, and tonight we’ve got even more reason to go, as it’s our man Rory here’s birthday.”
There was the familiar round of backslapping and gentle ribbing: “Big five-oh, is it? Swear you don’t look a day over forty-nine” and “Blimey, how many candles is that gonna be?”
Rory ducked his head, chuffed to bits Barry had clearly got over his huff from the weekend. Maybe he wouldn’t be as bothered about David and Rory getting together—if it happened—as Rory had thought? He went downstairs with a big grin on his face to get the drinks in for them all.
David wasn’t there yet, but that wasn’t surprising. Rory had told him ten o’clock, and they’d finished the meeting—Rory checked his watch—whoa, half an hour early. Barry really had been keen to get the beers in.
Rory could get behind that plan. He sloshed down his pint of Brock Bitter a fair bit quicker than he usually would.
As he put his empty glass back on the bar, Barry slapped his shoulder. “Rory, my man. ’Nother pint?”
“Cheers, mate.” Thank God things were back to normal between him and his best mate. “Good week?”
“Not bad, not bad at all. See you went ahead and had the surgery, then.”
“You what?”
“Got that lodger of yours removed from your hip.” Barry barked a laugh, but his eyes were sharp and fixed on Rory.
Uneasily, Rory joined in the laughter. “David? He’s coming along later. Uh, how’s the missus?”
“Mine, you mean? She’s good. Doing the no-carbs diet now, but it ain’t too bad as long as I remember to get a bag of chips on me way home from work.”
“Right.” Rory took a big gulp from his pint and braced himself. “I gotta tell you something. Come outside a mo.”
“You what? It ain’t bleedin’ summer, you know.”
Rory huffed. “It’s September. You ain’t gonna freeze your nads off. Come on.”
Barry gave him a suspicious look, but he followed Rory out to the pub car park. Even though it was pitch-dark outside, they were sheltered from the wind, so it wasn’t too cold to be out without a jacket—for a while, anyhow.
“So what’s this you gotta tell me?” Barry laughed again. It still didn’t sound right. “Better not be that that p—David’s turned you gay.”
Rory swallowed. “Uh. Funny you should say that . . .” He tried to smile.
“No. You’re cranking my handle, right? Tell me you’re cranking my handle.” Barry backed off a couple of paces, staring at Rory.
“Mate, it ain’t like it’s such a big deal these days.”
“‘Not a big deal,’ he says? Not a big deal?” Barry threw his arms wide and didn’t seem to notice the beer sloshing out of his pint glass. “Don’t do this to me. Christ, it’s bad enough Patrick and Mark are going at it, but at least, well, Patrick’s always been a bit suss, and Mark, I s’pose I shoulda known what he was like when he turned up for his Spartans induction looking way too bloody good in that outfit. I mean, honestly, what normal bloke his age hasn’t got a bit of a beer gut? But don’t you go turning into a bloody ponce on me too. I can’t handle it.”
Rory winced. The name-calling, that was out of order. “You don’t have to handle it. I’m the one what’s handling it. That’s the point.”
“No handling, all right?” Barry’s voice came out high and squeaky. “No fucking handling. Not while I’m around. Not ever. I’m serious. You and me, we was like . . . Shit. I thought you was my bro. And none of that poncey mance stuff.”
“‘Mance’? Sorry, mate, I’m a bit new to all this gay stuff, you’re gonna have to—”
“Jesus. It’s not a bloody sex act. ’S what they call it, innit? Bromance. But you and me, we was above all that. Shit, I cried on you.”
“I know. Took me two washes to get the snot out of my shirt.” Course, he’d returned the favour when Evie left him, hadn’t he? “But that’s what mates do. Look after each other.”
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about, see? You do this, and . . . and it’ll all be over.”
“What?” Rory took a step forward.
“I mean it. Bros before homos, yeah?”
Rory couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That’s bollocks, that is. And if you think you and me being mates means you get to spout all that shite about gay blokes and lay down the law about who I’m allowed to ask out . . . well, we ain’t mates, then, mate.” He walked away from Barry and headed for the pub without looking back.
He almost walked straight into David in the main bar.
Rory blinked. David was in full Sherlock getup—not the deerstalker, but he had on the purple shirt and the swishy coat. With his pale skin and dark hair, and yeah, that tall, lean figure, he looked flippin’ amazing. Not exactly like Sherlock, but more . . . more like he ought to be on the cover of a magazine or something.
“David?” Rory’s voice came out all croaky. He cleared his throat, his face hot. “You made it.”
“Of course I made it. Gregory didn’t want to come out so late—that’s teddy bears for you, always preferring to stay in bed—so I thought as it’s your birthday I’d dress up instead. Do you like?” He flicked the collar of his coat up in a gesture that was pure Sherlock.
“It’s great. You look really good.” Rory took a deep breath. David turning up like this, straight after that conversation with Barry . . . It was all seriously doing his head in. “Lemme buy you a drink.”
“No, let me—it’s your birthday, after all.”
“You can buy the next one.” Rory was grimly determined. He’d bought all the Spartans drinks. He’d bought Barry a drink. He was bloody well buying one for the bloke he—for David.
“Well, if you insist. Thank you. Glass of pinot grigio, please. I’m not a fan of beer, and that Lagavulin has ruined me for pub whisky. Well, anything that’s actually affordable by the glass, anyway.”
Rory got him a large one, and another pint for himself, which meant tossing back the last third of his current pint a bit quicker than he usually would. What the hell. He still didn’t reckon he was getting drunk fast enough.
David hopped up on a barstool and raised his glass. “Cheers, and many happy returns. How was the meeting of minds? Or was it more like a banging of heads?”
For a horrible moment Rory thought David was talking about him and Barry. Then he realised. “Oh—the Spartans? Uh, yeah. Good.”
David frowned. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you seem a little distracted. Is anything wrong?”
Rory opened his mouth, wondering what the hell he was going to tell him. Then, of all people, Patrick interrupted them.
“David, glad you could make it.” He clapped a hand on David’s shoulder.
David froze, then slid off the barstool and onto his feet. “Patrick. Um. Yes. Oh look, there’s Mark. I must go and say hi.”
Rory stared at him as he swished away with his wineglass to the other end of the bar, where Mark was joking with the barmaid.
Then he stared at Patrick, who’d parked his bum on David’s barstool.
“All right, mate?” Patrick’s voice was the kind of fake cheery tone most people used when talking to the terminally ill. “Listen, I wanted a word with you.” His eyes narrowed.
Okay, Rory had got that wrong. It was the tone of someone talking to a bloke who wasn’t terminal enough for their liking. He seriously couldn’t handle this right now. “Uh . . .”
“Mark reckons I should mind my own business, and you’re probably going to agree with him, but . . . Shit. I hope you know what you’re doing, that’s all.”
“Uh . . .” Rory’s brain was actually starting to ache.
“I mean . . . for God’s sake, people get hurt, you know? And not just the people you think are gonna get hurt.” Patrick’s face twisted up. “There’s always more than two people in a relationship.”
Oh God. Patrick knew. He knew—how the hell did he know?—about Rory being totally gone on David. Shit, he must have been talking to Barry.
Christ, was Barry going round telling everyone?
Already?
At least Rory wouldn’t be short of a shoulder to cry on if David let him down gently and said they’d always be friends. Or did he mean when that happened? No, if, for crying out loud, seeing as how the bloke had dressed up for him tonight. That had to count for something, didn’t it?— “So, what, this is you telling me you don’t approve?” Anger rose in his chest, spilling into his throat. “Bloody hell, that’s rich, coming from you.”
Patrick stood up. “You may think it’s none of my business. You may even be right. But there’s stuff you don’t know—”
“Ah, Rory,” Mark said heartily over Patrick’s shoulder. “Thought I’d come over and wish the birthday boy a happy birthday. Having a good time?”
“Uh . . .”
Patrick gave Mark a long look, then took himself and his pint over to where David was sitting all on his lonesome. Patrick clapped him on the shoulder again, and sat down with him, and it was really messing with Rory’s head cos since when did Patrick like David any more than he liked Rory?
Mark gave a nervous laugh. “Um. Sorry. Bit of a difference of opinion there. I thought I’d better come and rescue you. He thinks . . . Oh, you know what he thinks. I hope you realise it’s nothing personal. He’s just worried.”
“Yeah, well, he ain’t the only one.” Rory glanced over to David.
Mark seemed to follow his gaze. “He’s settled in okay, hasn’t he? David, I mean. I’m amazed he’s stuck it out so long. I honestly expected him to go running back to London after a couple of days. Apparently the novelty of village life hasn’t quite worn off yet.”
That . . . didn’t sound right. “What, you gave him a job even though you weren’t expecting him to stick it?”
Mark made a weird face, half a smile and half not. “Between you and me, I’m sure I’d have found it a lot harder to talk Patrick round to the idea if we hadn’t both been convinced it wouldn’t last. David’s a terrible flirt. But he’s always been flighty. Something, or more likely some man, turns his head and he’s off, but it never lasts.”
Rory’s gut felt hollow. A hefty swig of beer didn’t help, either—just made him feel even further adrift without an anchor. “So you reckon he’s just gonna up and go anytime?”
“Well, yes. And, well . . . for God’s sake don’t say anything to him, but I have to confess, I’m not sure I’m going to have enough work for him after the end of January—you know, when all the tax returns go in.” Mark put down his pint glass and leaned forward, frowning. “God, I should have made all this clear at the start, shouldn’t I? This is going to impact on your financial situation. I’m sorry. I really should have said—”
“’S okay,” Rory muttered. Except it wasn’t. It wasn’t anything like okay. He stood up. “I gotta . . . I gotta go.”
He stumbled out of the pub, his head buzzing so loud he could hear it. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. How could Mark give David a job, knowing it wasn’t going to last?
How could he have sent him to live with Rory knowing that wasn’t going to last neither?
“Rory? Rory!” He turned to see David running along the street after him, coat tails flying like a superhero’s cape. “Rory? Are you okay? Only Jenni just turned up and sat on Si’s lap and, well . . .”
Rory stopped. “Oh? Good on her.” It came out flat, but Rory didn’t give a monkey’s because that was how he felt. Squashed flat, like a bug under someone’s shoe.
“Patrick was looking very confused. He, ah, he seemed to think Jenni and you were back together . . .?”
Right. So that was what all that was about, Rory thought dully. Not about him and David after all, which was good, because there was never going to be a him and David.
He’d been stupid to ever think there could be. David was way too young for him, and young people, they didn’t stick to things, did they? It was like Mark said. Even if by some miracle David wanted to be more than friends now, it wasn’t going to last. David would move back to London and get a job there, and that’d be the last Rory would ever see of him.
It hurt. Fuck, it hurt. All that talk about him and David caring for the kids together, too—that was all it was, wasn’t it? Just talk. Yeah, maybe he meant it right now, but sooner or later, he’d get bored, and that’d be it. Rory would be left on his own.
Again. Except worse this time, because he wouldn’t even have Barry.
Shit. He’d told his best mate to sod off, and for what? For a bloke who was going to up and leave as soon as it suited him.
“Rory?”
“Uh. Yeah. Sorry. Just tired. Gonna call it a night.”
“Um. Patrick didn’t say anything, did he? That upset you?”
Christ, who hadn’t? David himself, maybe, but that was only cos Rory hadn’t got around to asking him out and now never would. “’M just tired.” It was true enough. Rory felt the sort of bone-deep weariness you got from pulling overtime at Christmas, lugging a bag twice as far with ten times as much stuff to deliver. And no festive spirit to lighten the load.
“I’ll walk you home,” David said, sounding worried. “Um, it wasn’t the outfit, was it? Was it too much for the pub?”
Rory had to laugh, even though it hurt his chest. “Nah. The outfit’s great. It ain’t you, mate.”
And maybe that wasn’t exactly gospel, but it wasn’t David’s fault, was it?
It was Rory’s for ever kidding himself that him and David had a chance in hell.