Page 6 of Replay
“Ah, is the cute little fresher bruising your big girl ego, Becca?”he heard someone drawl as he scampered down the steps.“Could all your wiles not get him off?”
“He’s gay.”He heard her spit.“Only because he’s fucking gay.”
He didn’t go back to correct her on that point.
Outside, a cold drizzle had started.The UK weather seemed to change every time someone switched the TV channel.Collar of his jacket pulled up around his ears and his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, Spook trudged back to the halls of residence.The door to his block was locked when he got there, and he couldn’t find his blasted room key.It’d obviously gone AWOL during the struggle over his jacket.All he could do was wait it out, and hope he wasn’t the last back.
The cold started seeping into his bones.The rain soon plastered his hair to his face.An action replay of the night began inside his head, like a ginormous carousal of shit.He shouldn’t have accepted the drink.Shouldn’t have thought it would be okay.That England would be different to Sweden.
Why the hell did he imagine it would ever be okay?
Girls were trouble.
Sex was more hassle than it was worth.
The highs he got from it.They didn’t balance out the shit.
Spook wasn’t sure how long he sat in the doorway.Long enough for his extremities to turn numb.His head was nodding, when two hands reached for him and lifted him up.Whereupon, their black clad owner swaddled him in a warm embrace.Heat raced into his skin.Xane smelled of sweat, sex, and cheap perfume.
“Forget your key?”
“Lost it, I think.”
Xane let them in.“You going to bed, or do you fancy a brew?”
A brew, not a “bevvy” as every other man he’d met since landing at university had offered him.He’d stay awhile and talk.There were too many voices in his head to be alone.Also, Xane was easy company.
His friend served up something hot and smoky in a Doulton china cup complete with saucer.Xane owned a sugar bowl too, which he kept stocked with sugar cubes that were served with teeny-tiny tongs.Spook found Xane’s posh boy eccentricities oddly comforting.They tended to make him think that if he looked up fast enough he’d find hisfarmorsitting opposite crocheting some hideous piece of knitwear for him.
He missed hisfarmor.She’d been a solid presence.He liked to think that things would never have got so fucked up if he’d listened to her.He thought she’d have liked Xane, although she’d absolutely have insisted on calling him Alexander.
Xane had abandoned his own brew in order to shed his skinny body of his wet clothing.“You left with a girl, right?How’d it go?”
“South,” he said, not wanting to elaborate.“You left with two.How’d that go?”
His friend grinned, his smile lopsided, and incredibly lewd.“No complaints.”Having peeled off his skinny-fit jeans and socks, Xane left his clothing in a heap in front of the washer.He jogged along to his room and returned wearing a pair of fleecy hike socks and a pair of shorts.There was a hairbrush in his hand that he started attacking his long blond hair with.Spook watched him, hypnotised by the efficient strokes.They passed a while in silence, the smoky tea sliding down his throat and thawing his innards, before Xane pinned him with his storm-grey gaze.“You know if you want to talk…”
“I don’t.”
“But if you did… I’m here.”
Spook nodded.“I know.Hey, do you have anything stronger?I really want to get smashed.”
Xane’s lips quirked and he smiled in a way that wrinkled up his nose.“Vodka?”
“Whatever.”
He didn’t remember much else about that night.
