Tea, page 20
“That’ll make them even warier. They’ll think there’s some horrible reason you won’t introduce me to them all at once, and—”
“There is. You have a real bastard of an ex.”
“You can’t tell them that.”
“No?”
“God, no. Come on, Chris.” John shifted a little. “Who’d believe he was lying? Doesn’t it sound like a convenient excuse to you? I got arrested for ra—for that, but it’s okay, the guy was lying. Even I wouldn’t believe it if my sisters brought home boyfriends saying that.”
“Mm, good point…”
A soft silence fell. John returned his nose to the mess of curls and simply breathed.
Then: “Mum.”
“What?”
“We’ll start with Mum instead.”
“What? Why?”
“Because she’ll not be too keen, but there’s only one of her. Jack won’t care. And you can talk rugby with Jack; he’s a huge fan.”
“League or union?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Oh, God,” John groaned.
“All right, all right,” came the snotty reply, and a kiss landed on John’s cheek, clumsy and off-centre as usual. “Hey. No more planning tonight, yeah? Let’s cudd—”
“Snuggle.”
“Fine. Let’s snuggle up, watch the film, eat the Chinese, and then go to bed. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” John said, wiping his face one last time and taking a ragged breath. “What hurts?”
“What?”
“After your seizure. What hurts?”
“Shoulders ache.”
“Okay, shuffle ’round, and I’ll give you a shoulder rub.”
“Ohh, okay.”
John pressed a kiss to the nape of the presented neck and felt the anxiety balloon slowly deflating inside his chest. This was—this was fine. They were both a bit shook up in the head, but it was okay. They’d talked. They were being honest. They could do this.
Chris’s deep groan at the first roll of John’s thumbs down his knotted spine was louder than his just-came groan, and John found a smile flickering into place.
“Chris?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“For wha—ohh, yes, that’s it.”
John rubbed the released knot until it faded away. “For listening to me.”
“Only way we’re going to make this work. You with your screwed up ex and me with my health crap.”
John kissed the back of his head.
“John?”
“Mm?”
“We can make it work, you know.”
Oddly—despite the nasty turn of the evening, despite the scowl at the door, despite the ache in John’s chest and the lingering burn in his eyes—
“Yeah. I think you’re right.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“JOHN!”
John tossed the steak and shouted, “What?” as he narrowly avoided oil burns.
“Your phone’s ringing!”
“So?”
“So it’s bloody annoying; come and get it!”
John eyeing the smoking steak. “Bit busy here, Noz!”
“Jesus, fine, you useless—ooh!”
He did not like that noise.
“Hello, Chris!”
“Shit!” John yelped. He switched the burner off and lunged for the living room. Nora was perched on the arm of the sofa, his phone to her ear and grinning widely.
“He’s just comi—hey!”
“Tart,” John snapped at her, before slamming back into the kitchen with the rescued phone. “Hi. Sorry. Sorry.”
“Something I should know?” Chris laughed.
“My older sister is an annoying, conniving tart, and I obviously didn’t bully her enough as a kid?”
“Oh, I gathered that. So that was…Nora?”
“Yeah. Soon to be my late sister.”
“Aw, she seemed nice.”
“You’ve not met her,” John said pointedly.
“Yeah, but I’m sure she’s—”
The phone beeped. John lifted it from his ear and frowned at the private caller icon flashing.
“Sorry, Chris, hang on. I have another call coming in.”
“Customer?”
“Maybe.”
“All right. Ring me back, just going to get dressed.”
John ruthlessly squashed the mental image of Chris naked and hung up before answering the incoming call.
“Hello?”
“Mr Halliday?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Mx Simmons’s office. We have a cancellation next Monday at ten o’clock, if you’d like to move your assessment forward.”
John’s throat went dry.
Move it forward? That would be—
“Yes. Please.”
His stomach clenched as she rattled away, and talked to him about parking, about arriving on time, about bringing notes if it would help him remember everything he wanted to discuss. Monday. It was already Wednesday. That was less than a week. In less than a week, he could maybe start—
Start what—treatment? Was counselling really treatment? It wasn’t like drugs or physio or anything, so it wasn’t really. Was it? If it could stop him having panic attacks because his boyfriend’s stepmother waved from across the street, it was treatment.
Whatever, he decided. Start whatever. Start sorting it out.
So when the secretary finally hung up, John shut the kitchen door on Nora’s blatantly eavesdropping ears and picked Chris out of the recently called list.
“Hey!”
“Hey, ba—beautiful.”
“I heard that.”
“I didn’t say it!”
“You nearly said it.”
“So I nearly get punished, but not actually, right?”
Chris snorted. “Sure. So? Customer?”
“Er. No. Counsellor.”
“Your counsellor?”
“Well, her office. I managed to get my appointment with the counsellor moved to Monday.”
“As in, next week?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s great!” Chris enthused. “I’m free Monday night if you want to come over after, you know.”
“Um. Maybe. See how I feel.” His stomach squirmed, and the idea spilled out. “So—so I thought, seeing as how it’s going to be sooner rather than later, um…”
“Um?” Chris echoed.
John blew upwards into his hair. “Do you, er. Do you want to come to Sunday dinner?”
“This weekend?”
“Yeah.”
“As in…meet your family?”
“Yeah.” His throat was getting scratchy and awkward. “I just—I know I’m going to completely brick it meeting yours, but there’s no reason you shouldn’t meet mine, and I—I don’t want you to feel like you’re some dirty little secret, or I’m keeping you away from them, or—”
“I get it.” Chris’s voice was very gentle. “But I can’t this weekend. I’m really sorry, but I’m away. My cousin’s getting married.”
“Oh.”
There was a sharp pause, and then John glanced at the closed door.
“Are you free now?”
“Er. Yes?”
“You could come over for dinner. Meet Nora. I’m sure Fran would be round like a shot if she heard you were coming.”
“Oh, that kind of visit—”
The sobriety broke. John groaned, and Chris cackled in his ear.
“Oh, trust you.”
“You do!” Followed by a kissing noise.
“Do you want to though?”
“If I can stay the night.”
John bit his lip to avoid the grin. “Always.”
“Okay. Are you going to come and pick me up?”
“Can do. Give me half an hour. No, forty minutes,” he decided, glancing at the clock. “Traffic won’t be great, because of the football. Forty minutes.”
“Okay. See you.”
“Love you,” John said, almost automatically, before hanging up and taking the steak off the heat. He could chop it up into a salad or a wrap or something for lunch tomorrow. “Nora!”
“What?”
“You’re a tart!”
“I’m a queen amongst women, and you know it!”
“Whatever,” John said, opening the door again. “Chris is coming over.”
She pulled a face at him. “I just did my toes!”
John pulled a face right back. Nothing like an older sister to turn someone into a five-year-old again. “And he’s coming over so he can meet you.”
Her face went white under the mud mask. “Are you kidding me? I just did my toes, John!”
And the rest of her. She was wearing mud on her face, something weird holding all her toes out, and polish on every nail. Her hair was wrapped in a towel that smelled like a mummified body. And because apparently it was a beauty night in, bras were banned, and baby brothers could see everything they never wanted to, as she was wearing nothing but a massive pair of granny knickers.
“Oh my God, you suck!” she shouted and launched off the sofa to waddle awkwardly into her room. “Don’t you dare open that front door for an hour!”
“You have forty minutes,” John lied, fishing his car keys out of the pocket of his discarded jacket. She swore at him as he closed the front door behind him, and loped leisurely down the stairs. He texted Fran as he got into the car—nothing about Chris, simply fancy beer and curry night at ours? Can pick you up in 45—before shifting the beast into gear and peeling out of the parking area.
The city was intolerable—the match had just started—but John cruised out to Parson Cross. He felt…calm. Surprisingly. His sisters were reasonably good with boyfriends, despite their teasing. It was just Mum and Nan that would immediately start demanding bank statements and opinions on marriage. The girls would be more interested in his opinions on food and football. And he had a feeling Chris would get on well with Fran. They had a similar sort of humour. Hell, they’d probably gang up on him.
And next week…
Next week, after he saw Nadia, John had decided he was going to meet at least one set of Chris’s parents. He was going to take the plunge. He was determined not to let Daniel ruin the best thing he’d ever had. Even if it was just meeting Chris’s mum for a cup of tea and a chat in some coffee shop somewhere, he was going to do something.
It was raining when he pulled up to the flats. A couple of teenagers were smoking by the communal door, and eyed him. One grunt and a tightened bicep, and they shifted aside. John hit the button, heard the door catch release, and bashed through into the hall like he owned the joint. It’d make them think twice about touching his car, that was for sure.
The flat door was on the latch, and John let himself in to find Chris putting on his shoes. His hair was damp, his skin hot from the shower, and John cupped the back of his neck and kissed him, catching the surprised noise against his lips.
“Hello,” John said and grinned. “Ready?”
“Just about. Is this okay?” Chris tugged at the neck of his T-shirt as he stood up from the sofa. “I didn’t know—I mean—”
“You look great,” John said, sliding a propriety hand around Chris’s arse. “It’s nothing formal. Just a few drinks and a takeaway with the girls.”
Chris stretched up on his toes, kissing John’s chin and looping both arms around his neck.
“And then later, you’ll peel me back out of these jeans, right?”
John squeezed the caught cheek. “Yup. Got your overnight bag?”
“By the door.”
John kissed his ear and let go. He hefted the bag over one shoulder, waiting patiently while Chris unfolded the cane and locked up the flat, then paced a few steps ahead the whole way down the stairs. He didn’t fancy letting those shitty kids know a gay guy lived round here.
Then he felt a little guilty as one of them held the door and said, “Evening, Chris,” like Chris played darts down the pub with them every night.
“Evening, Craig,” Chris said genially. The cane tapped lightly on the paving stones, and John took his arm to guide him to the car.
“I thought they looked right dodgy,” John muttered as he opened the passenger door and shielded the lip of the roof with his hand.
“They are,” Chris said as he sat and folded up the cane again. “But Craig is Luke’s little brother. And Luke’s a right vicious git if Craig starts getting shitty with his mates.”
“Ah.”
Fran had texted back—a couple of emojis that John translated as she’d like to join them and could he possibly come and collect her from her flat.
“I might not have told Fran you’re coming,” he confessed, phone poised to correct the error, but Chris smiled.
“Okay. We’ll surprise her. Will she hate me?”
“To be honest, I think she might adopt you.”
“Oh?”
“You’re her type.”
“Do I need a gay badge to ward her off?”
“Won’t work. She’ll like you even more if you tell her you’re gay.” John cocked his head. “Are you?”
“Gay?”
“Yeah.”
“Dunno.”
The casual ease of it was surprising. John said as much.
“I tend to say I’m queer more than anything,” Chris said, shrugging. “I don’t really know yet. It’s all tangled up with how I feel about me.”
“How d’you mean?”
“Well…I like girl’s voices a lot more now mine’s dropped. Before, I hated them.”
“Oh, I see.”
“I think maybe after surgery, things will shift a bit. I like girls enough I’m not gay, but not enough that I’m comfortable saying I’m bi. And I have no idea how other trans people fit into that, whether I’m attracted to them or not. So I’m queer.”
“Not bi?”
“Well, I’ve never liked a girl more than in theory.”
“In theory?”
“Dad’s a massive Stargate fan, and I’ve had a crush on Amanda Tapping since the dawn of time,” Chris confessed. “I literally remember what blonde hair looks like because of hers.”
John made a mental note to binge-watch Stargate and find out who Amanda Tapping was.
“But I’ve never met a real-life girl I like.”
“So you’re…theoretically bisexual?”
“I’m queer,” Chris repeated.
“Huh,” John said. “Queer was still, you know, stop being such a faggot—that kind of territory—when I was a kid. And I don’t think I’ve ever had a bisexual bloke. Just other gayer-than-gay lads.”
“Yeah, well, you’re old.”
“Hey!”
Chris grinned as John shoved his knee.
“Old man!”
“Naff off, we can’t all look like nineteen-year-old supermodels.”
“That’s the hormones.”
“Bollocks it is. I’ve been doped up on testosterone since I was twelve, and I look forty.”
“And the rest…”
“Oi!”
Chris quieted a little as John slowed down and took the turning into Fran’s road.
“I am queer though. If you don’t like that—”
John winced. “Oh, hey, no, I didn’t mean that. I was just a bit surprised. Just not heard someone use it before.”
Chris hummed.
John reached over to squeeze his knee. “Okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I get prickly.”
“Don’t be. I’m kind of crap at this. It was just—you know, bisexual was barely a word when I came out. Well. When Mum told me I was gay.”
Chris snorted with laughter.
“She did,” John whined as he pulled over into a free space. He hit the horn and sat back. “Now to wait for the hurricane to arrive.”
“Fran?”
“Yeah.”
“Is she like you?”
“How d’you mean?”
“Big and sweet.”
John coughed a little. “Uh. No. Tiny and demonic.”
“Tiny?”
“All my sisters are tiny.”
“What are you, the milkman’s boy?”
John laughed.
“Or did your mum plant you in a tub of soil and water you with Miracle-Gro?”
“The latter, I reckon,” John admitted.
A door banged. The hair was green this week, and the car dipped as Fran launched herself into the back seat, seized John’s head and headrest in a hug—and stopped dead.
“Hello!”
Chris grinned, turning vaguely to wave in her direction. “Hi.”
“Who’re you, then?” came the blunt, blank question. And then she squealed. “Oh my God! Are you Chris?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God, hello!” she shrieked. She let go of John only to shove her entire upper body into the front and squash Chris up in a tight, awkward hug. “John’s been keeping you a secret! I’m Fran; I’m his little sister.”
Chris managed to extract himself. “Yeah, he said.”
“At least he told you something! He told us nothing! So, so, so, how did you meet? Is he a total great clumsy berk? Are you coming to Sunday dinner this weekend? Have you done the nasty yet—he keeps saying he’s classy, but I bet he’s not, I bet you shagged on the first date, did you?”
“Fran,” John said in a measured voice, “if you don’t shut up, sit down, and put your seatbelt on, I’m going to tow you instead.”
“Oh, whatever.”
“Watch me!”
“You’re cute when you try to be manly,” Fran said, but she did sit back and belt up. “So, Chris—stories, tell me all the stories.”
“He spilled my coffee on me, so I asked him out,” Chris said, and John knew he was screwed.
“Please don’t gang up on me with my sister,” he implored.
“Why not?”
“I’ll lose!”
“You lose anyway,” Fran said. “So, what are you into, what do you do—oh, do you like Chinese, there’s an amazing Chinese place that’s opening next month in town that I want to try. Come with me, and I’ll tell you all about John—”
She talked a mile a minute all the way back to Kelham Island, barely pausing to breathe, never mind letting Chris actually answer her. John was horrified. But amidst the horror was a slice of relief, for Chris kept laughing into his hand and seemed weirdly charmed by the energy.
