Chapter 8

 

Much to my surprise, Rufus let me stay the night. Maybe it was seeing me so utterly defeated. Maybe he actually had a heart in that svelte-like body of his. He didn’t say why and I didn’t ask. Most likely it was because he had broken his own phone charger and needed to use mine before I left and took it with me. His reasons didn’t matter. I was simply grateful to have a roof over my head for one more night.

I’d been relegated to the sofa, which was fair in the circumstances. Sleep eluded me until the early hours of the morning. I spent most of the night going over and over the papers I had been served. A part of me had clung fast to the hope that this was just one huge misunderstanding; that Mason wouldn’t really go as far as getting an injunction when he knew I had done nothing wrong. Seeing it in black and white made it all horribly real. I couldn’t even talk to Mason about it, because I was forbidden to approach or contact him.

Hearing Rufus up and moving about, I shrugged off my blanket and sat up. Today was the first day of the rest of my life, as the saying went. It was the day I took back control and sorted myself out. First, I would find somewhere to stay. Then I would contact the R.U.N. and see where I stood with my job now that I had been formally served with the injunction. I checked my phone, disappointed but not surprised to see none of my colleagues from the hospital had messaged me. Scrolling down my contact list, my new-found resolve quickly began to crumble. All those names and numbers and not one I could turn to for help and a place to stay. Going home to my mother would be a last resort, but it was fast becoming my only option. It would mean leaving London for a start, returning to my small hometown existence, and my mother’s I-accept-you-being-gay-so-long-as-it’s-not-under-my-roof attitude.

Rufus walked into the room, dressed in a surprisingly drab outfit, his pink hair combed and flattened into submission. He caught me looking and rolled his eyes.

“I need a job, thanks to you,” he grumbled, “and someone told me I needed to tone down my image.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” I said tiredly. “You’re image is fine, Rufus.”

“Whatever. Can you give me a lift to the job centre?”

“Sure. When do you want to go?”

It was the least I could do in the circumstances. If I hadn’t decided to finish with him on a mad whim, he wouldn’t have to change his appearance or be forced to go out job hunting.

“As soon as you’re ready.” Rufus shrugged. “I assume you’ll be taking the rest of your stuff.”

“Oh, okay.” I guessed that meant I wasn’t invited back for another night on the sofa then. “I’ll…um… be as quick as I can.”

Rufus shrugged again, but didn’t answer. He went into the kitchen to make himself coffee or breakfast, although I noticed I wasn’t offered either, and I went into the bedroom to pack another bag with my belongings. Thankfully, just before we left thirty minutes later, I remembered to unplug my phone charger from the socket in the kitchen. From the scowl on Rufus’ face, he’d been hoping I would forget it.

Opening the front door, I smelled the paint before I saw it. I stopped dead and Rufus grunted as he collided with me in the doorway. He opened his mouth to shout or swear or any of the one hundred and one other ways Rufus liked to demonstrate his displeasure with me. Before he could say anything though, his gaze fell on the hateful word daubed across the door in neon pink paint and his eyes widened in shock.

“Eric, what the fuck…?”

“What?” I said, trying to sound indifferent, although inside my heart was pounding like a sledge-hammer against my rib cage. “It’s not like we didn’t know.”

Queer. Fag. Poofter. Bender. There wasn’t a derogatory name I hadn’t been called in my time, although splashing it across my front door was a new way of getting the message across. I didn’t care. Sticks and stones and all that shit. It was different for Rufus. He’d been beaten up and put in hospital before for being the way he was. Yes, he was loud and flamboyant with his pink hair and colourful clothes, but it was all for show. Underneath the outlandish exterior, he was nowhere near as self-assured as he liked people to believe. His home was his sanctuary; his safe haven. For someone to attack us there was bound to shake him up.

“Is this because of that guy?” Rufus asked tremulously.

“No, he doesn’t even know where I live,” I said, not wanting to believe Mason had anything to do with this.

“He knew where to send the process server.”

That was his legal team, I wanted to argue, but then lawyers were not likely to run around at night, daubing homophobic graffiti on people’s doors, were they? Nor were internationally famous rock stars, I reasoned, although their jealous boyfriends might be.

“It wasn’t Mason,” I muttered, gathering up my bags.

“Oh, so you’re not stalking him, but you are defending him?” Rufus sneered. “You’re still putting the guy who took an injunction out against you over your boyfriend.”

“I’m not defending him. And you’re not –”

For the second time since leaving the flat, I stopped abruptly and Rufus cannoned into me. If I thought the door was bad, it was nothing compared to my car. All four tyres were slashed, the windscreen and hood coated with several litres of the same paint that decorated the door of the flat.  The word “cocksucker” stretched along the driver’s side of the vehicle. Someone had taken their time destroying my beloved car, yet apparently, nobody had seen or heard a thing. How could our neighbours have passed it as they left for work, took their kids to school or walked their dogs, and not one of them thought to knock and the door and tell me my car had been vandalised?

“I’ll get the bus,” Rufus said stiffly. “I’m not going to let you drag me into this, Eric. I’d rather you didn’t come back here again.”

He walked away, head bowed. I couldn’t blame him for feeling the way he did, especially when he was right. This was my problem, not his. My big problem. I had nowhere to go. Nobody to turn to. Even sleeping in my car was no longer a viable option. Wherever I went, I wouldn’t be able to carry all my stuff. I opened the boot –the only part of the car not covered in paint – and sorted through my belongings, transferring what I thought I would be most likely to need into one bag. I hated having to leave everything else behind, but I figured the car was already trashed so it would probably be safe enough.

I should have called the police, perhaps, but I doubted they would be interested, especially once they discovered I’d been served with an injunction. Nobody really cared if somebody painted a rude word on a gayboy’s car. They’d probably think I deserved it and – if I pointed the finger of blame at Mason White – they’d laugh themselves stupid. They might even think I had done it myself to get back at Mason for rejecting me.

As I walked past the local newsagent I saw, however, that Mason obviously didn’t give a damn. There were pictures of him on the front of several of the tabloids. While I had been breaking my heart and getting served legal papers to keep me away from him, he had been in Leicester Square, at the opening night of one of his famous buddies’ new films. I stopped and stared at the pictures, wondering if that counted as breaking the terms of the injunction. Mason was dressed all in black, a stylish pair of shades covering his eyes even though it was night. He looked dark and brooding, every inch the rock star. Behind him, Liam – the not-boyfriend who still got to accompany him to film premieres – gazed up at Mason adoringly.

Fresh tears stung my eyes and I brushed them away angrily. I was done crying. I’d wasted too much time weeping over Mason-bloody-White, and not because he’d hurt my feelings, but because he’d deliberately set out to ruin my relationship, my career and my life. If I cried, it was through anger. It was all a game to Mason and each tear spent was another mark on the scoreboard for him. Well, no more. He could play his sick little games with someone else from now on. I was going home to mummy, to lick my wounds, rebuild my confidence and start my life again somewhere new. Fuck Mason White. I was taking back control.

I had just enough money left in my bank account to get a train as far as Oxford and Mum, I was sure, would pick me up from the station. She didn’t like driving into the city, but she would probably be so pleased to hear I had finished with Rufus she would be willing to make the sacrifice. I pulled my phone from my pocket and jumped slightly as it started to ring before I had the chance to find Mum’s number. The screen said “Stefan”, but why on Earth would Stefan call me? I only had his number in the first place because Rufus had added it to my contacts so he could use my phone to ring Stefan when he didn’t have any credit.

“Hi, Stefan,” I answered warily, deciding he had probably called to yell at me for dumping Rufus. He had to know, being the first person Rufus would have told.

“Eric.” Stefan sounded strange, reticent almost, as though he was not too sure about what he was going to say. “I just spoke to Rufus. He told me what happened with the graffiti and your car.”

“Yes, well…” I said, pointlessly, not entirely sure whether he was offering sympathy or chastisement. Stefan had been around when Rufus was attacked by Alex’s old gang. He would know how deeply something like this would affect his friend.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m still standing.” I shrugged, also pointless as Stefan couldn’t see me. “I take it you know we split up?”

“Rufus said you’ve been cheating on him.”

I didn’t answer. What was there to say? I hadn’t cheated, but I was sure Rufus would always believe that I had in the same way he still believed Alex had been among the gang that gay-bashed him. Alex had proved his innocence beyond doubt, but Rufus refused to accept it.

“Eric, are you still there?” I heard Alex’s deep rumble in the background although I couldn’t make out his words. “Alright, I’m asking him!” Stefan said, I assumed speaking to Alex rather than me. “Listen, Eric, I don’t know what your plans are, but if you need somewhere to stay Alex said you can come here.”

“Stay with you?” Well, that was a turn up for the books. And it was Alex doing the asking. What was that all about? As far as I knew, Alex didn’t even like me. Not that Alex particularly liked anybody who wasn’t Stefan. “I don’t…I mean…you haven’t got room, have you?”

“No, you’d have to sleep on the sofa, but it’s only for a few days, right?”

“I don’t know, Stefan.” Was there any point in going all the way to Weymouth? Nothing was going to change in the course of a few days. I’d still have no home and no job at the end of it, or any money left to get the train home to Mum. “I was going home to…”

Stefan must have had me on speaker phone because the next thing I knew, Alex’s gruff tone blasted into my ear.

“Fuck going home. You’re coming here.”

“Alex, thank you, but I can’t. My car…”

“Get a train. Let me know what time you’re getting into Weymouth and I’ll pick you up from the station.”

“Alex, I…”

“Shut the fuck up and get on the damn train.”

“Alex…”

He hung up on me. That was the thing with Alex Gill. There was no arguing with him. If, for whatever reason, Alex had decided I was going to Weymouth then…I was going to Weymouth. The choice was no longer mine to make and I wouldn’t put it past Alex to hunt me down and drag me there kicking and screaming if I didn’t do as he said.

With that in mind, I found a cashpoint, withdrew the last of my meagre funds, and set off for Waterloo to catch a train to the coast.