he shares with Geri. Their house is in a nice part of Chorlton, a repossession he bought at a good price and Victorian too, but nothing compared to this grandeur, albeit desecrated by the modern trend of flats. He looks at the photographs. A discerning revamp, he supposes. As Salim points out, a tasteful renovation is preferable to a tasteless one, or even worse, a fun pub.
He pictures Geri’s sunny smile. ‘Are fun pubs so bad, Dan? Child-friendly food, soft-play areas for kids? Beer gardens with swings. That might be us one day.’
He’ll be a father in just over two months. The thought is still incredible.
‘Furniture optional,’ the sales leaflet says. Would Seb need furniture? He split with his girlfriend, Claudia. They lived in France. She was beautiful, good in bed and a cunt. That’s all Dan knows. He looks again at his watch, then checks his mobile for messages. They arranged to meet at seven o’clock; it’s now seven-thirty. Could Seb already be inside?
He walks to the panelled front door, the clatter of pebbles under his work shoes sounding loud in the still dark. He has no idea whether the other apartments are already let, whether Seb could have gained access. This situation feels unreal; he has no idea why he’s here, he has no desire to view other people’s properties and he’d like to go home. Examining the keys to separate out the correct one, he turns at the crunching sound of a car approaching.
Seb dips his head to climb out of a black cab. ‘Left my car in France along with everything else,’ he says easily as he approaches the door. ‘Sorry I’m late. The first taxi didn’t come. Could’ve borrowed Mum’s car, but no insurance.’ He puts a firm hand on Dan’s shoulder. ‘Shall we go in?’
They stand apart in a small lift. Seb presses the button for the top floor, but for moments nothing happens.
‘Reminds me of that scene from a Peter Sellers’ film,’ Dan says to fill the silence. ‘The out-takes are famous.’ He glances at Seb. His expression is blank. ‘A fart scene? You must have seen it. They had to film it again and again because the actors kept laughing. Corpsing, I think they call it.’ He knows he’s babbling again. ‘Have you pressed the right button?’ He leans over Seb’s chest, takes in the aroma of coconut shampoo, notices Seb has changed his shirt, then presses the button to close the doors. ‘Maybe that’ll do the trick.’
The lift takes them to a personal entrance hall with a vaulted ceiling, which leads to the glossy white door and the intercom. Dan knows the atmosphere smells of fresh paint and polish but he can’t escape the smell of coconuts. He fumbles slightly with the keys, pleased when the heavy door opens with only one turn of the double lock. He switches on the light and they’re met with cream; a carpeted drawing room with pale walls, high ceilings and two large windows looking out to the dark Cheshire countryside. The wide room is sparsely decorated with a three-piece sofa suite at one end, a glass dining table the other.
Dan stands at the door, playing with the keys. Through his peripheral vision, he watches Seb opening doors and glancing in. ‘Furniture is optional,’ he eventually comments to fill the muffled silence. He doesn’t know what else to say.
Seb stops and stares through a window before abruptly turning. He looks as though he might speak, but heads towards the master bedroom instead.
Dan clears his throat. ‘I’ll wait in the kitchen. Give you time to have a proper look.’
Sitting at a high bar stool, he absently strokes the soft bristle on his chin and looks around. He and Geri were due to refurbish their kitchen, but now it’s on hold. On hold until after the baby is born. It’s fine and it’s good. He just wishes the words on hold weren’t quite so obscure.
Suddenly aware that minutes have passed without any word from Seb, Dan looks at his watch. He takes a deep breath before leaving his hiding place. Seb is in the drawing room, sitting on the middle sofa and gazing at an empty cream wall.
‘I guess that’s where you’d hang a flat-screen television or a mirror. Or maybe a Renoir if you have one spare in the attic,’ Dan says, trying to lighten Seb’s silence. He perches on a two-seater sofa and breathes through his nose, glad the visit is nearly over. ‘Seen everything you want to see?’
Seb doesn’t answer the question, but turns his focus to Dan. ‘If I rented this place, would you visit?’ he asks.
‘Don’t start—’
‘Don’t start what?’
The surge of heat in Dan’s chest hurtles to his face. ‘I’m not gay, Seb,’ he blurts.
Seb smiles a small smile and looks down at his hands. ‘Who said I was?’
Dan wants to remove his jacket to help him cool down, but fears it would give Seb the wrong message. ‘OK,’ he says. His throat feels constricted, but he needs to get the words out, needs to know what’s going on. ‘So, are you really interested in renting this place? Someone else from the office could’ve shown you around. Why me? What’s going on, Seb?’
Seb lifts his face. ‘I was in Morocco last week. On a work shoot.’
Dan nods; that’s why his eyes seem so blue.
‘So I would’ve got in touch with you sooner. After the wedding.’
‘Nothing happened at the wedding. Well, not to—’
Seb’s gaze doesn’t waver. ‘Didn’t it? Like nothing happened at the swimming gala?’
Beads of sweat cool his spine. ‘What gala? I don’t remember any swimming gala. It’s time to go, Seb. I’ve had a shit day. I’m knackered and hungry. Have you seen everything you want to see?’ He’s said it too harshly, he can see the recoil in Seb’s face, but he really won’t look; he doesn’t want to feel the pull, that tug of something he’s felt since the wedding. He tosses the keys in his hand and doggedly heads to the door. ‘Mustn’t forget the alarm and the lights. I’m sure there’ll be stairs if the lift’s playing up.’
The lift doors are still open, as though waiting. Dan stands to the left, keeping his eyes on the buttons as they descend, then strides out to the front door ahead of Seb. The cold breeze cools his face as he raises his car fob, then he remembers Seb came by taxi. ‘Jump in. I can drop you at your mum’s,’ he says, climbing in.
Staring grimly ahead, he inserts the keys, turns on the ignition, slips the car into gear. But then he stops. The smell of coconut still hovers.
Turning to Seb, he gazes for a moment before looking away. ‘Or how about coming to mine? Dinner with me and Geri and the bump? She usually makes pasta for a whole squadron, so I’m sure there’ll be plenty,’ he says over the hammer of his heart. ‘We can pick up some beer on the way. We do have brandy, but it might not be quite the standards you’re used to. Might have cost more than an Ayrton Senna but less than a Bobby Moore …’
Knowing he’s prattling again, Dan opens the window to release the new rush of heat. The aroma of coconut wafts away, but the tension’s still stifling as he heads towards home. Aware of Seb’s scrutiny, he chats inanely about pasta and pesto and parmesan, but the need to eat has clean gone.
The clench in his gut is no longer hunger. It’s excitement; dangerous bloody excitement, tight and tingling in his belly.
Jen
Anna’s green anorak at the far end of the damp playground catches Jen’s eye. She briefly lifts her hand to wave before dropping it again. Holly is no longer at the primary school; she’s been in high school since September, but old habits die hard. She hated having Jen there at her school. It was bad enough if your mum was a teacher, but a lowly classroom assistant! It was just so embarrassing. So Jen acknowledges her pretty red-haired daughter discreetly on lunchtime duties, even though she’s only eight and still loves her mummy.