Page 27 of Off the Pitch

Since teaching had resumed, I had written zero words on my thesis, and my research time had dwindled to virtually nothing as I planned seminars, glanced over hand-in work, and helped plan assessments for various members of the faculty. Teaching while doing your PhD meant basically being a willing graduate slave to whichever members of the academic staff were willing to take you on. Yeah, I got paid, but it was minimum wage, and it didn’t cover my prep time.

My stress would only get worse if I went on to a full-time job in academia. If I could get one, that was. Post-doc positions were few and far between and ridiculously competitive; you almost had to be superhuman to get one. Not for the first time I was starting to wonder whether this was something I actually wanted to do or whether there might be something less horribly stressful out there. Y’know, something that wouldn’t lead to me killing someone.

Christian was the only thing keeping me vaguely sane throughout this whole thing, even if he did laugh at me when I threatened death and destruction numerous times a week. It was amazing how quickly we’d slipped back into our comfortable routine as friends. Sometimes, it was as if the time we’d been apart hadn’t really passed.

He was still worried, though, even if he tried not to show it. It was kind of like dealing with a nervous puppy. I still hadn’t taken him on a proper date, and I honestly wasn’t even sure how he’d react to me suggesting one. Part of me wanted to ask him, but part of me didn’t want to deal with the fallout if he said no. I needed a sounding board, someone I could bounce ideas off.

Kit was out, obviously. And I couldn’t ask Christian himself. I had a couple of gay friends I could ask, but since I’d sworn to Christian I wouldn’t tell anyone, it would be hard to talk to them because they’d want to know who it was.

That left two options: Lily and my mum.

I mused over the two, idly spinning my desk chair in the office I shared with a couple of other PhD students. The office was currently empty, which was expected given that it was a Friday afternoon. The only reason I was still on campus was because I had an advisor meeting at three, where I was expected to talk about the latest chapter I was writing. The one which currently consisted of fuck all.

Lily would be good because she already knew Christian and knew the situation. Apparently, her reaction to the fact we were dating again had been telling Christian that he’d gotten his head out of his ass a lot faster than she’d expected. She’d been expecting it to take at least another six months, if it ever happened at all.

But my mum was a complete outsider, someone who hadn’t seen Christian since he was a teenager, even if she knew we were back together. That had been an interesting phone call. She’d been the one to console me when Christian had left for Germany, but she’d also been the one dropping hints that I’d probably be happier if I did more dating and less bed-hopping. I didn’t think I’d heard her this happy since I’d gotten into university. Then again, she’d always liked Christian, and I had the sneaky feeling she’d always hoped we’d reconnect.

Still she was good with people—it came with the territory as a hairdresser—and she tended to be a lot more rational than I was. I was more passionate, as she’d always said. My dad had been the same.

I’d been fiddling with my phone while I debated, so I casually fired off a text to Lily asking if she was around for a coffee and a second to Mum to see if she was free. It took all of two minutes for Mum to call me back.

“Hey, Mama,” I said, rubbing my nose where my glasses sat.

“Davey, what’s wrong?” How did she always know? It was probably because I’d called her Mama, which was what I’d always done when I was upset or worried as a kid.

“Nothing. Does something have to be wrong for me to call you?”

“It’s two o’clock on a Friday afternoon.”

“Fine.” I sighed, trying to get my thoughts in order. “I want to take Christian on a date, something in public, rather than just going to each other’s houses.”

“Oh, and you’re worried he’ll say no.” I loved that I didn’t have to explain anything to her. She knew enough about Christian to know what the problem was.

“Yeah. I mean, he doesn’t want me to tell anyone, and I don’t think anybody at the club knows he’s gay, so it’s not like I can take him to a fancy restaurant or somewhere where it’s really just us.”

“First of all, you’re in London, so nobody would care, but I know what you mean. It’s all baby steps.” She sighed. “Maybe you could just do something fun? Something where you can just act like friends instead of boyfriends.”

That was what I’d been thinking, but I was glad that she’d voiced it too. “Yeah, that would work.” I chewed my lip, trying to figure out how to say the next sentence. The one that frightened me most of all. “Do you think… do you think he’ll ever want us to go on a date? Like a romantic one?”

“Oh, honey.” The heartbreak in her voice was evident, and somehow that made everything a million times worse. “Yes, I’m sure he will. But you just need to give him time to realise this is what he wants.”

“What if he never realises it?” I whispered, vocalising my darkest fears for the first time, bringing them into the light for me to see, even if I wanted to forget they existed and pretend, just for now, that my life with Christian would be perfect forever.

Mama sighed again. “There is nothing you can do except try. And at the end of the day, it’ll be up to you to work out whether you’re willing to be his secret. Or whether you want more.”

That was what I was afraid of.

I debated ideas for the rest of the afternoon, my brain bouncing backwards and forwards over what the best option would be. Part of me said just screw it and take the boy out already. The other, more sensible part said that I needed to take it slowly, to give Christian a chance to work out his issues and realise that nobody cared he was gay.

By the time I’d gotten home, I was no closer to having a solution. Instead, I was more frustrated than ever.

“You seem upset,” Kit said, his face appearing around the kitchen door.

“How did you guess?”

“Well for one thing, you’re making quite a racket putting those dishes away.”

I glanced down at the frying pan and spatula in my hand. Kit probably had a point. “Just frustrated, I guess,” I muttered, slotting the pan away.

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