Page 72 of Companion Required

Chapter Thirty

Kieran

Ever since Kieran had returned to England and come out to Cole with a confession about his first time with Kennedy, peppered with enough detail to convince his friend of the authenticity—almost two months ago to the day—Cole had been comfortable enough to strut around his apartment in only his Armani underwear. Through an extensively used gym membership, Cole had cultivated a sculpted body and had acquired more than his fair share of admirers, if the number of weekends he returned home in the early hours was anything to go by. And although objectively Kieran appreciated his flatmate’s smooth, muscular form, he definitely preferred the carved lines and hairiness of Kennedy’s body

“So listen up, Q1,” said Cole, thumping his mug of coffee onto the table. Ever since Kieran had mentioned Pete’s nickname for him on the cruise—Queer One—Cole had been hooked, calling him either Q1 or plain Q. “Gay friends of mine are coming over from Tokyo to stay with me at the beginning of December—Jon and Takamori—on their way up to Scotland to spend Christmas with like-minded folk. Apparently a whole bunch of them get together each year and they missed out last year. Staying at some kind of castle owned by friends of theirs. Sounds like a perfect antidote to Christmas. Anyway, can you stay with your sister for a couple of weeks while they’re here?”

Kieran lowered the screen of his laptop and forced a smile.

“Of course I can. Sorry, I should’ve had my own place by now.”

“Not your fault, Q. Our female brethren are famous for their fussiness. Besides, it’s been nice having you here.”

Two days ago, the promise of a flat share with a lesbian couple had fallen through when the two had finally decided they wanted another woman sharing their space, and especially their bathroom and kitchen. Kieran’s holiday money from Kennedy hadn’t stretched to him being able to put down a deposit to rent his own apartment, although now the second month’s salary from Leonard had hit his bank account, he was in a better position. But the whole process took so much time. Now he’d need to call on his sister’s goodwill again after finally giving her and her boyfriend back their space.

“I’ll call Jules later.”

“What are you doing on your laptop? Better be gay porn, or pervy chat rooms, and definitely not study. Our next module isn’t due until after Christmas. Shit, don’t tell me you’re working? On a Saturday morning?”

Cole knew how much he loved his new job. Len had instigated a regular weekly meeting with him—usually in the morning, informally, over cappuccinos and chocolate muffins—to go through his achievements. Much of the technical detail went over Len’s head, so Kieran had learnt to show rather than tell—the redesigned antique furniture website, fast and slick, allowing browsers to view the pieces in three dimensions and rotate them on the screen, the site selling listed or character buildings, which now had a handful of three-sixty-degree tours of properties online and direct links to Len’s other complementary sites, such as the antique store and the tasteful draper and haberdashery—which included a link to Steph and Laurie’s furniture renovation service. He always saved the figures until last, knowing Len’s main concern. The most recent spreadsheet showed not only the exponential rise in hits on each of his sites, over four hundred percent, but figures indicated an initial five percentage increase in sales across all sites in the last month alone. And Kieran had only just begun.

“Nah, just browsing media sites. Nothing in particular,” he lied.

He had been checking the photograph of Kennedy and Giorgio Milletto again, the one relating to the announcement of their merger. Kennedy had maintained his amazing tan and, with him looking directly into the camera when the shot had been taken, Kieran felt as though Kennedy was staring straight at him. And he knew just what that felt like. Every time, the sight gave his heart a tiny squeeze of regret. Kieran still had Kennedy’s number plugged into his phone, and a couple of times he had even been tempted to call. But each time he’d managed to resist the urge. Kennedy needed to make the next move.

“Q, honey. Not only is it the weekend, it’s the end of the month. So not only do we have time, but we also have money. Let’s head up to London and do something fabulous. You have any plans for brunch?”

“Heck, don’t remind me. I’m meeting my mother up in Waterloo. And coming out to her.”

“Oh shit, yes, I’d forgotten. Good luck with that. Even if the weather turns shite, I’m not sitting in watching more episodes ofRuPaul’s Drag Race. So let me know if you need emergency cocktails afterwards. I’ll be at The Nipple Clamp in Soho for happy hour from four ‘til nine. Gerard, Nob and Lickme are joining.”

“Let’s see how things go.”

“It’s just a chill-out bar, Q. No deafeningly loud music, no pungent aroma of poppers, no sweaty bodies wrapped around each other, sliding down the walls—more’s the pity. I’ve learned my lesson. Say you’ll come.”

Cole had taken Kieran to Pulse, a club beneath Waterloo Bridge. From the moment he’d walked down the steep stairs and through the door, Kieran had disliked the crush and backstage darkness. Two men had stumbled up to him, clearly off their faces on either alcohol or recreational drugs, and both had spoken to him in their usual voices as though he could even hear anything. Even the next morning, his ears had rung with pain. Although he’d never openly complained, Cole knew he hadn’t enjoyed the experience.

Cole must have taken Kieran’s silence for refusal, because he continued his case.

“Look, darling. Despite the world painting us fabulous people onto one easy-to-point-to billboard, we’re different shades of gay. I am flaming pink and you are more of a darker red, like burgundy, more into Daddies—”

“I am not into Daddies.”

“With their beer bellies, man boobs, bald heads and hair on their bums.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll come and join you afterwards. Give you the Mum download.”

“Oooh, goss? Priceless. Now we’re talking.”

* * * *

At midday, Kieran met his mother at the Skyline restaurant in the Royal Festival Hall on the South Bank. Their table for two sat right next to the window, the whole space located above the walkway below, overlooking the Thames and Waterloo Bridge. Every now and again Kieran enjoyed treating his mother to a special meal, even though she would inevitably make a point of commenting on the exorbitant prices. Living in Hove on the south coast, she rarely came into London, so when she did he’d spoil her with lunch and a movie or a trip to the theatre. Unfortunately, this time she needed to get back by six o’clock for dinner at one of her friend’s houses.

A few years off sixty, she still looked good—happy and settled. She’d dyed her hair recently, a deep red that covered up the persistent grey. Not really one for makeup—something Kieran admired about his mum—she arrived fresh-faced and red-cheeked, courtesy of the chill weather. Over the past few years she’d had a number of boyfriends, but nothing she’d ever referred to as a relationship.

Over a glass of wine each, they caught each other up on their lives, Kieran enthusing about his new job, much to his mother’s delight, but never mentioning his month as a paid travel companion. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, he’d taken the month off to travel the country with his friend, Cole. Nice and general, not too much detail. Besides, he had bigger things to discuss with his mother. Two glasses of wine later and now on desserts, Kieran finally found a pause in the conversation to bring up the topic foremost in his mind.

“Mum, I’m bisexual. Actually, I’’m probably leaning more towards being gay.”

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