Page 11 of Crocodile Tears

Neil hauled himself up stiffly, then walked silently towards the door. Alex attempted to remove his jeans, but was so drunk they became tangled around his ankles, so it took him a few tries before he finally managed it. Glancing up, he saw Neil still standing by the door, hesitating.

“Did you want something, spy boy?”

“I just wanted to say… Look, you don’t have to go out and find trash to bring back home.” Neil returned to his side, reaching out to gently touch his face. “I mean, you don’t have to sleep with any bloke you find in a club.” He took a deep breath. “Because if that’s what you want – need – then I can do it for you.”

“Is that so?” Alex grinned, wetting his lips with his tongue.

“Yes. You know it is.” Neil’s gaze was fixed on his lips as he moved his head closer, and closer, and…

“Oh shit.” Rolling over, Alex heaved up a steaming pile of vomit onto Neil’s bare feet. “Sorry.” He looked up pathetically. “You were saying?”

“Never mind.” Neil picked his way gingerly towards the door, the puke sliding off his feet as he went.

“You gonna clear up my mess, indie?” Alex called after him.

Neil paused by the door. “Yes, Alex,” he said quietly. “Always.”

When Neil returned with a cloth and bucket, Alex pretended to be asleep. He was glad when the indie was done, and hoped he’d leave, but instead Neil sat down on the side of the bed and stroked his hair.

“You poor baby,” he whispered. “I wish you’d let me help.” He pressed a kiss to Alex’s head and then left.

Alex opened his eyes and gazed blankly at the ceiling, hating himself for being such a shit. He reached for the croc Neil had rescued from his jacket, took a pinch, spread it out on his hand, and inhaled.

Then he turned onto his side, clasped his knees to his chest, and zoned out as the drug kicked in. It worked its usual magic, gently wrapping him in its mellow embrace and taking the edge off his guilt.

Tears began running down his face, but he let them fall without wiping them away; they were only crocodile tears.

“Wakey wakey, birthday boy!”

Alex blinked as Neil whisked open the curtains and sunlight flooded into his bedroom.

“It’s nine. I let you sleep in for as long as I could, but we really need to get moving by nine-thirty in case the roads are bad,” Neil said, placing a steaming cup of tea on his bedside table.

“Mnnmm.” He pulled his pillow over his head to shut out the blinding light.

“Alex – come on, you have to get up,” Neil insisted. “Your father is expecting us for lunch at one.”

“Don’t wanna go,” he mumbled into the mattress.

Neil pulled the pillow off, and he opened one eye, glaring.

“It’s a birthday lunch, and you’re the birthday boy, so you have to,” Neil told him firmly. “Now get up, get in the shower, and get dressed. You have half an hour.”

“Yes, sir,” he said sarcastically.

“And don’t forget to shave,” Neil added as he left the room.

Alex emerged from his bedroom forty-five minutes later, dressed in a pair of skinny black jeans, a white shirt he couldn’t be bothered to tuck in, a maroon suede waistcoat, long thin purple scarf, and a tight brown leather jacket. He wore his trademark silver rings on both thumbs… and was sporting a thick layer of stubble on his jaw.

He ignored Neil’s tut of disapproval, shoved his sunglasses on his face, and ambled behind his flatmate towards the duck.

Neil was wearing the kind of utilitarian clothes that had been in fashion for men ever since the Rising; all Eco-Dry, water-resistant fabrics, which weren’t remotely necessary these days unless you lived in a lost zone. Eco-Dry had a slightly shiny quality, and Neil only seemed to select the dullest, drabbest colours to wear.

“One for me, one for you,” Neil announced, pulling two small cases behind him. “I packed for you while you were in the shower.”

“Well, that’s what good indies are for.” Alex made a face at Neil’s back.

After putting the cases in the back of the duck, Neil slid into the driver’s seat. Alex climbed in beside him, pushed his seat back, and put his feet up on the dashboard. He hated not being able to drive, but his ban didn’t end for another couple of years, so he was reliant on lifts until then.

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