Page 49 of Don't Point at the Moon

“Of course. No, of course. We should keep this thing between us professional.”

“Go and shower,” said Tommy. “Before I relent and do something we both regret.”

Mitchell didn’t move for a moment, staring at Tommy, and for a second he thought Mitchell might be bold enough to take the initiative. And Tommy’s resolve, which had never been steadfast, would have evaporated. After all, how often of late did he have a half naked, aroused and bluntly attractive man standing in front of him. Tommy could worry about the consequences later. But Mitchell, the gentleman, could not. Instead he smiled sadly, shook his head and headed into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

“You are going to have one dreadful hangover in the morning,” called Tommy, above the sound of the shower water and having no idea whether Mitchell could hear him. “Take it from one who knows.”

For a moment, he considered quietly making his escape. Mitchell would understand. The more time he spent in Mitchell’s presence, the closer he came to overstepping the boundaries of their friendship. But even in the short time they’d known each other, Tommy knew something had rattled Mitchell badly today. Maybe he just needed company and someone to listen.

Heading to Mitchell’s kitchen, Tommy stopped at the sofa to reach down and pick up the red card with the Chinese characters that Mitchell had discarded. Tommy had seen similar slogans in his time, sometimes created on scrolls with auspicious sayings gifted to friends and family on special occasions. Some were hard to translate into English, but this one he knew well. Four words.Adversity. Come. Follow. Receive. When adversity comes along, receive it favourably. Or maybe a better translation would be to accept hardship with grace. But why would someone have sent Mitchell that particular idiom? Did they know he was going through a rough patch?

The kitchen had been modernised with black floor tiles, plush grey kitchen units, a large multifunctional microwave and a large, expensive-looking fridge in stainless steel. After filling and switching on the white jug kettle, he noticed other red cards stuck to the fridge door.

Opening cupboard after cupboard to orderly piles of chinaware and glasses, Tommy eventually found large mugs in shades of grey and smiled when he discovered a collection of teas, including a dusty glass jar of loose-leaf chrysanthemum. His grandmother swore the flower had medicinal qualities for those who had overindulged in spirits, Chinese wine or other potent alcoholic drinks. He remembered her telling him that finishing four full cups before bed would help lessen or even avoid a nasty headache and upset stomach in the morning. A cafetière sat drying on the draining board, so Tommy used thatto brew the tea before bringing everything on a tray into the living room.

Mitchell eventually appeared, towel drying his wild mop of dark hair. At first glance he looked better, typically untrendy but comfortable in his baggy casuals. Only when he glanced over at the tea and mugs did Tommy notice his bloodshot eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

“Marginally better. Do you want to get back to your friends?”

“No, but I’ll head off soon," said Tommy. "By the way, Zane wanted me to ask you if it’s okay for him to attend rehearsals and hang out with members the theatre group.”

“For heaven’s sake. Of course it’s fine. It was our idea.”

“I know, but I couldn’t tell him that. I think he needs to hear the words from you at some point.”

“Lord knows what he’s telling his mother—my sister. She’s bound to call him today.”

“Don’t sweat it. I told him you probably had an upset stomach. Here. Drink this tea,” said Tommy, holding up one of the mugs of freshly poured tea. “My grandmother swears by it to minimise hangovers.”

Mitchell took the mug and sniffed the steam appreciatively before taking a sip.

“Do you know what this means?” asked Tommy, holding up the red card he had found on the settee.

“That one? No idea. My landlady keeps sending them to me.”

“It’s an older generation thing, little idioms, something my grandmother likes to send. Bumper sticker philosophy. This one translates as accepting hardship with grace.”

Mitchell snorted sadly. “Yes, that sound about right.”

Tommy put his mug down.

“Okay, Mitchell Baxter. Are you going to tell me what happened today?”

Mitchell heaved out a sigh and sat down heavily in a chair opposite.

“What do you need to know? I polished off an almost-full bottle of whisky—”

“And vomited. Yes, I know all that. My question was more aroundwhy.”

Mitchell stared out of the window.

“It’s a work thing.”

“And you can’t talk about it?”

“I’m afraid not.”

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