‘Come on Quasimodo!’ Richard said, shouting across the carpark and slapping Jared’s car roof in impatience. ‘Stop jerking about over there, you bellend. Gotta go pack away all your grubby magazines before old mate Gabriel stops by.’

  I gritted my teeth and gave Gabriel an apologetic look. We exchanged numbers and he took down my address.

  ‘I’ll be around in the morning – let me know if you need anything picked up, all right?’ he said. Gabriel was resting his hand on the side of my shoulder, making sure I was paying attention but careful not to add any weight.

  ‘Oh no, nothing – you’re already doing more than enough.’

  ‘I’ll bring breakfast then,’ he said, treating me to that gorgeous smile again. ‘Take it easy Arthur.’

  I felt unexpectedly dejected when he removed his hand and turned to go back inside. Though watching his toned butt as he climbed the stairs went some way to lifting my spirits.

  Chapter 3 – What are you hiding from us?

  ‘Time to pick up all my grubby magazines Richard,’ I said as we arrived back at my place.

  ‘Arthur, we both know you’re too precious to leave any physical evidence lying around the house,’ Richard said. ‘I’ll bet your laptop is full of filth though, dirty prick.’

  ‘Then why did you yell it out across the bloody carpark?’ I said, not acknowledging the rest of his comment.

  ‘Calm your tits. I was just trying to hurry you up. We weren’t hitting balls anymore so no point lingering at the range.’

  I took the front steps with care – holding the handrail – and let us in as Richard blathered on. ‘You’ll have all day to natter with Nurse Gabriel tomorrow anyway. Pity Susan couldn’t hook you up. A nice lady-nurse to give you the attention you need, a healing hand to release your pent-up tension,’ he said, pumping the air as if he hadn’t already made his meaning quite clear.

  Maybe I should suggest I’d rather see what Gabriel’s hands could do. That’s one way to come out. Today’s plan had been a spectacular fail. Not only was I as closeted as ever, but I had a beautiful straight man calling in tomorrow, and my flat was a mess. It was torture.

  ‘All right, mate?’ Jared said.

  ‘What? Yep, yeah,’ I said, only then realising I’d groaned out loud again. ‘Just annoyed. Such a dumb injury.’

  Looking around, I wondered when it was I’d last given this place a proper going over. I usually headed out to meet friends, Jared and Richard being the only ones who ever came over to mine, so I’d let standards slip at home. But now I was assessing the place with fresh eyes, conscious of what Gabriel would see. Laundry which had been airing on the rack for weeks. Letters and leaflets scattered across the bench. A haphazard stack of novels on the coffee table, along with numerous cups and glasses. Not the end of the world, but not the best first impression either.

  ‘My flat is a tip,’ I said. ‘Do you guys mind helping tidy a bit?’

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ Richard said, shaking his head, amused. ‘Just because you’re in this pitiful state doesn’t mean I’m going to run around like your mother. Plus, that would be insulting to your independence, wouldn’t it?’ He started clicking his fingers, deep in thought. ‘I’m doing you a favour! If I picked up after you, how would you ever learn to keep your house in order?’

  ‘You’re throwing out anything that comes into your thick skull, aren’t you?’ Jared said.

  ‘How about this… Arthur was happy enough with the state of his place this morning when he was fit and able – why not now? What are you hiding from us?’ Richard said, asking the question that mattered.

  ‘He’s got you there buddy.’

  ‘I’m just here to make sure you, my dear friend, are safely tucked up in bed—’

  ‘It’s not even six! I’m injured, not elderly. And I’m not going to bed yet,’ I said.

  ‘Well, in that case I might hang around for a bit – seeing as my time at the driving range was so rudely cut short,’ Richard said, settling into the couch. ‘Grab me a beer, will you Arthur? I’ve been here five minutes already and you haven’t offered me any refreshment. Not only is cleanliness at an all-time low, but the hospitality is slipping around here too. Another item for me to raise with the lovely Denise when I see her next.’

  I did as he asked, if only to shut him up for a minute. There was a slight twinge in my back as I pulled the fridge door open. I dropped the beer and bottle opener in Richard’s lap – it wasn’t worth the risk of bending over to place it on the table, or trying to pop the cap myself. ‘Your refreshment, your highness.’

  ‘Enough of that cheek old man.’

  ‘I’m younger than you, Richard.’

  ‘Yes, yes. But when you go throwing your back out hitting a little ball – badly I might add – that’s something only old bastards do. You’re 25 going on 65.’

  ‘Speaking of – Arthur, your birthday’s coming up soon, isn’t it?’ Jared said, dropping onto the couch with his own beer.

  I’d really been hoping to breeze past my birthday this year. In recent years I’d organised some nice, low-key celebrations with a small bunch of friends. Pub lunch and a few pints. Comedy night. A trip to the go-cart track. Dinner and a show. You know, a good, chill night out.

  But my mates prefer to go big. Once they knew what I was planning, they’d go and organise a follow-up which always got out of hand. I understand that I shouldn’t be so ungrateful – I have friends willing to go the extra mile for me. But it starts to lose the shine when you’ve smashed your phone screen, lost your wallet and woken up in an airport coffee shop at the other end of the country with a barista tapping you on the shoulder.

  Sometimes I just wished I could get away with something less extreme – it’s my birthday.

  ‘Nah, it’s ages away,’ I said. ‘Anyway, dinner – should we order in? Thai?’

  ‘Pizza!’ Richard said.

  ‘Chinese!’ Jared said.

  ‘Burgers!’

  ‘Malaysian!’

  ‘Fish and chips!’

  After a heated debate that consisted chiefly of screaming different cuisines at each other, we compromised on Indian. It was no one’s first choice tonight, but an acceptable runner-up for all.

  Though, which takeaways won was irrelevant, because I’d won the argument – the primary purpose being to distract them from my upcoming birthday. Success.

  Once we’d put in the order, we settled into our usual shit-talking and arguing over what to watch.

  I tried to keep moving to avoid seizing up, like Susan had recommended. Fetching beers occasionally to placate the guys while I put dishes away, folded the piles of clean laundry, and stuffed unopened mail into a kitchen cupboard.

  With my place looking less like a bombsite, I eased onto the couch next to Jared with my beer. Susan had said no alcohol, but I took that to mean not excessive alcohol. My body might go into shock if I went cold turkey, and that would be bad for my recovery. I couldn’t take the risk.

  Richard was laughing like a madman at the other end of the couch. Seinfeld, again. I’ve lost count how many times we’ve been subjected to this bloody show. It wasn’t even that funny the first time – background noise at best.

  ‘Arthur,’ Jared said, as captivated by the TV as I was. ‘I’ve been scrolling through my phone. Do you know what I was doing a year ago, today?’

  I had a sneaking suspicion I knew exactly what, despite having spent the past twelve months trying to scrub it from my mind. My only option was to feign ignorance and hope I was wrong. ‘Mm? No, what?’

  ‘Videoing you. Up on stage. With a lovely pair of dancers,’ Jared said, not bothering to mask his amusement.

  ‘Hah! Yes, I volunteered our birthday boy,’ Richard said. ‘After that old geezer they’d had up there, the girls were well pleased to get their mitts onto our Arthur.’

  ‘They were getting rather intimate, weren’t they? Though, we need not rely on my patchy, drunken memory – not when we’ve got the footage right here,’ Jared said, waving his phone around with a wild grin.

  I shuddered, recalling the night with perfect, traumatic clarity.

  ‘And funny you mention volunteering our dear friend… You’re right, it was his birthday, wasn’t it?’ Jared said, as if the thought had only just occurred. ‘Birthdays, famously an annual event for all.’

  ‘Friday,’ I said, not wanting to drag this out any longer. ‘My birthday is on Friday.’

  ‘Were you trying to sneak that past us?’ Richard said in mock outrage. ‘Scoundrel. That’s – what? – five days from now? You haven’t given us much time.’

  That was the idea.

  ‘Don’t worry mate, we won’t let this slide by uncelebrated,’ Jared said.

  Again, that is all I wanted.

  ‘That’s really not necessary, I’ll organise something for us,’ I said, ever hopeful.

  ‘It’s not about us, Arthur – it’s about you on your big day,’ Richard said.

  ‘My big day? I’m not getting married.’ I regretted saying that as soon as it fell out of my mouth.

  ‘Obviously, we need to find you a girl first, and that’s not going to happen kicking around the house, is it?’ Richard said. ‘Some sweet thing to rescue you from that passionate relationship you have with your right hand.’

  ‘We’ll sort it. You rest and recover,’ Jared said, patting my knee in what I had to assume was an attempt at reassurance.

  ‘We need you on top form by Friday. Can’t have you meeting your future bride and blowing it because you couldn’t perform,’ Richard said, flashing his eyes wide.

  ‘Can’t have our dear friend leading the life of a spinster cat-lady before his thirtieth.’

  ‘Perhaps I’d prefer the company of a houseful of cats?’ I said. ‘Probably cleaner and less irritating than you idiots.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Jared said. ‘Now, we don’t need to find your till-death-do-us-part woman. Let’s not aim so high.’ Turning to Richard he continued, ‘You know, he hasn’t had a girlfriend since secondary school, it’s been years! Too picky I reckon.’

  ‘Just because I’m not shacking up with a different girl every weekend, or lining up one “love of my life” after another, doesn’t mean I’m too picky,’ I said, my patience wearing thin.

  ‘Whoa, buddy!’ Richard said, putting his hands up in surrender. ‘Put the claws away.’

  ‘You understand we have your best interests at heart, right Arthur?’

  I had to admit they did, even if they were jerks half the time.

  ‘And as your friends we are duty-bound to look out for you. To help you celebrate your birthday.’ Richard clicked his fingers and pointed at me, grinning ear to ear. ‘I’ve decided what I’m getting you.’

  ‘You really don’t have to,’ I said, which was my polite way of saying ‘Not a bloody chance, I am terrified of anything that gets you that excited.’

  ‘I insist. I think I have just what the doctor ordered, something to get some life back into that decrepit old body of yours.’

  He’s fishing, I know it. I don’t respond.

  ‘What is it?’ Jared said, taking the bait.

  ‘Well, what kind of friend would I be if I left you both in tortured suspense…’

  He can’t bloody help himself, I just know it’ll be awful.

  ‘I’m thinking – a birthday treat for our boy Arthur – a handsy lap dance from something nice and blonde to start. Then, maybe if things go well, I might even pitch in for the deluxe package – anything and everything up for grabs, literally.’

  Yep, literally the worst thing he could have come up with. But that was Richard: always enthusiastic, often misguided.

  Though, I’ve only got myself to blame if I’m being honest. They’re my mates – if I can’t tell them I’m gay, who can I tell?

  Now’s as good a time as any to come out.

  I’ve got to tell them…

  I’m going to tell them.

  Easing myself up on the couch, I’m careful not to ping my back again.

  ‘Well, guys,’ I said, trying to look my friends in the eye. ‘About my birthday… I’ve actually uh… I’ve got something I’ve been meaning to tell you guys for a while now. I… Well, I—’

  ‘Oh my god, girl. Spit it out already.’

  Taking a deep breath, I resolve to do just that. ‘Guys, I’m—’

  Ding dong.

  ‘Food’s here!’ Richard said, leaping from the couch. ‘Thank fuck, I’m starving.’

  Thank fuck indeed, I thought, pushing back into the couch. I wasn’t really going to tell them, was I? I couldn’t risk our friendship like that… No, I would tell them. Not telling them was doing my mates a disservice, they deserved to know.

  While I played this back and forth in my head for the millionth time Jared fetched fresh beers from the fridge and Richard dropped the takeaways on the coffee table.

  ‘OK!’ Richard clapped his hands and rubbed them together in anticipation – this boy loves to eat. ‘We’ve got the lamb rogan josh, chicken tikka masala, matar paneer, garlic naan, cheese naan, butter naan, biryani and some plain rice.’ He announced each dish as he removed them from the takeaway bags, with Jared following behind piling up his plate.

  ‘Art, you can fill us in on your yeast infection – or whatever it was – another time,’ Richard said as he loaded up his own plate. ‘I can’t be hearing about that while I’m tucking into my curry.’

  I wasn’t about to correct him, because that would require providing an alternative explanation. Unlike before, I hadn’t built up the head of steam I’d need to come out. Feeling as deflated as I did now didn’t lend itself to big announcements.

  Shuffling forwards on the couch, I lent over to pick up a plate for myself when Jared handed me the one he’d already loaded up. ‘Can’t have you reaching over and putting your old-man back out again.’

  ‘Thanks man’ I said, settling back into the couch, feeling guiltier than ever. These guys had my back, as I always knew they did. I just had to stop being so pathetic.

  ‘Oof! White boy, your hole will be on fire after this,’ Richard said, laughing as he swiped his naan through his curry. ‘Ishaan has outdone himself – this curry is hot.’

  ‘What? Which one?’

  ‘All of them. They know how I like my curries down there – proper hot, not wussy white-man hot.’

  ‘You know I can’t eat this! I was raised on mashed potatoes and boiled veggies. Dad gets a sweat eating mild butter chicken. Mild! I’m not that bad, but you know “medium” is about the most my stomach can handle.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Jared said, not bothering to mask his mirth. ‘We went to Nando’s once when we were kids. It was for Arthur’s birthday even – how topical. His old man ordered his chicken with “Lemon and Herb” level spice… Knocked his socks off. He went bright red and fair chugged down the ice waters after that.’

  ‘What even is “Lemon and Herb”?’ Richard, of Pakistani heritage, asked around a mouthful of curry-soaked rice.

  ‘It’s the mildest level of spice they do. Dad thought he was being adventurous getting any spice at all, and not just having it plain.’ I tore off a piece of butter naan, dipping the tip in the rogan josh. ‘Those are the genes I’m working with here guys.’

  That first bite set my taste buds alight, despite the tiny portion. So tasty. I know I’d enjoy this dinner if I got stuck in like I wanted to. But Richard was right, tomorrow it would utterly destroy me. And as unpleasant as that would be, of greater concern was the thought of me running for the toilet every two minutes while Gabriel was in the house.

  ‘Don’t worry mate, dig in. Just watch out you don’t put your back out blasting yourself off the toilet seat later,’ Richard said, laughing at his own joke.

  ‘Exactly my point.’

  ‘It’s fine. Your guts will have recovered enough by Friday night,’ Richard said, winking like a jackass. ‘You know, in case your birthday treat gets carried away while she’s down there and slips a digit—’

  I jerk back in surprise, setting off a sharp pain in my back which rips a scream from me. Though once I realise I’m still in one piece and have my breathing under control, the stabbing feeling settles down to the customary dull ache. It was probably more the fright than actual damage that made me squeal.

  I look about myself, seeing I’ve flipped my curry, naan and rice onto the rug, with the plate resting on top, as if to hide its shame.

  Probably for the best… Better on the floor than wreaking havoc in my guts. Will be a bitch to clean though.

  Looking up from the mess I’d made, Jared and Richard were staring at me, eyes wider than my overturned dinner plate.

  Richard was the first to recover. ‘All right, tight arse. I’ll make sure she stays away from back there. You don’t know what you’re missing out on though, man.’

  I admit, it was a genuine effort not to react to that one. Though, probably best for my health – physical and mental – if I don’t respond or enquire.

  ‘What was that about, mate?’ Jared said, his initial shock giving way to concern. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yeah, fine,’ I said, trying to wave away the attention. ‘Twigged my back and lost my dinner.’

  ‘We can bloody well see that. What a drama! And such a waste too,’ Richard said, shaking his head like a disappointed school teacher. ‘It will devastate Ishaan when I tell him. All that hard work – on the floor!’

  ‘Look who’s making a scene now,’ I said as I lifted myself off the couch, wary of doing myself an injury again.

  I scooped my dinner from the floor with a dustpan, then attempted to remove the stain with carpet cleaner. I was hopeful the stain would magically vanish, like they do on TV. No such luck. It was only partially successful, with a faint orange-brown blob of discolouration left behind, though the busy pattern went some way to disguising the stain.

  Meanwhile, my two fully ambulant friends were lounging on the couch, happily chowing down. To be fair, Jared had offered to help. But I preferred to keep myself busy and minimise the chance of conversation which had thus far this evening not been going my way. Richard hadn’t offered to help, instead returned to his Seinfeld, grumbling whenever I blocked his view, like he didn’t already know the show word for word. That’s fine, as long as he wasn’t focused on me.

 

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