Page 22 of Hard Tail
***
Sunday found me in more positive mood, but still at a bit of a loose end. It just felt odd, waking up with no one to talk to except the cat. Wolverine was kind enough to wake me at the usual time, so I didn’t even get a lie-in. “Your breath’s getting worse,” I told him as I struggled to focus on the pink nose twitching impatiently only inches from my eyeball. Wolverine yawned. I tried not to gag.
Even though I’d been there only half a week, it felt strange, getting up and knowing I wouldn’t be going into the shop. Wouldn’t be seeing Matt’s infectious grin, or picking him up off the floor after his latest misstep. (Yesterday he’d managed to fall over a customer. Fortunately, the woman had been so embarrassed at thinking she’d tripped him up, she’d felt obliged to buy something.) My mood was curiously flat as I walked downstairs to the kitchen. There seemed to be a funny smell somewhere, but I couldn’t locate it and eventually decided it was just Wolverine’s breath hanging around, a sort of olfactory equivalent of the Cheshire Cat’s smile.
Karate wouldn’t start until eleven, so after I’d had a coffee, I decided to take my bike out for a spin. I’d been out with it every night when I got in from work, but the length of my rides had been constrained by the rumblings of my stomach. Today, I wanted to go a bit farther afield, so after passing by the sailing club and going up Eling Hill, I took a country lane down Marchwood way, avoiding the main road.
I pedalled easily past ploughed farmland interspersed with the odd, mysterious-looking spinney until I reached the cosily named Pooks Green. Unfortunately, I was disappointed in my hopes of seeing a hobbit or two ambling by. Perhaps they’d moved out when the railway was built; I had to stop at the level crossing to let a train clatter noisily past. I smiled as I had a flash of memory of doing just this as a child out with my gran—I could almost hear her voice telling me to “Look at the chuffa-train, Timmy!”
Such reminders of civilisation aside, it was hard to remember this pretty, rural scene was only a stone’s throw away from Southampton. I turned back when I realised the housing estates I was now cycling through were turning into the outskirts of Marchwood, frustrated I seemed to have run out of countryside already.
I was going to have to get out into the forest, I decided as I sped back to Jay’s. Only then would my shiny new bike be able to hold its handlebars up high next to Jay’s array of well-ridden cycling hardware in the garage.
But for now, it was time to get my stuff together for karate. Having parked my bike up against the house, intending to get straight back on it and ride to the sports centre, I went upstairs and changed into my gi—only to realise I’d look pretty daft cycling through Totton in bright white pyjamas. Faced with the prospect of having to change back, then find a rucksack to carry my gi in, I ended up abandoning my never-very-strong green credentials and taking the car after all.
The weekend class, when I got there, had a completely different feel to the Wednesday one. More school kids, with a few who hardly looked old enough for school, their brightly coloured belts wrapped several times around their skinny middles—not that I was one to talk, of course. Unfortunately, my sparring partner from Wednesday was there too. Pritchard—I was damned if I was going to think of him as “Mister” anybody.
He didn’t look any happier to see me than I was to see him—he sneered and turned his back deliberately as I approached, effectively blocking me off from the group of brown and black belts standing around having a pre-session chat.
Ye gods, how old was he? Twelve? I started doing a few stretches, and after a minute or two, John, one of the other black belts, detached himself from the group and came over to join me. He was a sandy-haired man in his forties with a cultured voice and impressively toned abs. I’d noticed those last two on Wednesday, although possibly not in that order.
“Don’t let old Pit-bull get to you,” John said in a low voice. “I think he feels he needs to defend his territory.”
I smiled at the nickname. “As long as he doesn’t try and pee on me,” I murmured, and we both laughed.
I didn’t get it, though. What the hell did the guy have against me? Was it my accent—too “posh”? My face? The way I did my hair?
Or was it the other thing? A cold chill ran through me. Could he tell? Maybe there was something in the way I looked at the other guys—without me even realising it? God, could the other guys tell too? A bead of sweat trickled uncomfortably down my back. No, that couldn’t be it. No one had noticed anything at my old club—but then, they’d all seen me with Kate at the Christmas do, hadn’t they? So if they had noticed anything, they’d have just assumed they’d been mistaken, wouldn’t they?
I’d always thought the “gaydar” thing was a bit of a myth, that you couldn’t tell just by looking at a guy—but what if I’d been wrong? What if it was just me who was rubbish at it?
“Mr. Knight! Good to see you again!” Sensei’s friendly greeting nearly ruptured an eardrum. I spun round to be treated to one of his trademark enthusiastic handshakes. It definitely made a change from the Sensei at my London club, who took his karate very seriously indeed—I think he’d totally forgotten bowing wasn’t the normal social greeting in the West, which was a little sad for a bloke called Brian from Billericay.
We all trooped into the dojo—it takes a while when you all have to stop and bow—and lined up. Sensei bounced on the balls of his feet a couple of times, then called out, “Mr. Knight—would you like to do the warm-up?”
I blinked. I hadn’t expected this on only my second session here—then again, a warm-up was a warm-up, wasn’t it? “Osu,” I replied quickly, bowing, and ran out to the front to face a long line of friendly and not-so-friendly faces. Although there was really only one in the last category: Pit-bull Pritchard looked like he’d rather swim naked through boiling lava than have me out the front telling him what to do. “Okay, let’s have you jumping on the spot,” I began.
I took them through the usual exercises, although I may have put in a few more jumps than usual when I noticed Pritchard wasn’t too light on his feet. Maybe he’d had a night on the town last night, and was feeling hungover? I probably shouldn’t have enjoyed the thought as much as I did. By the time we finished, he was looking like he thought skinny-dipping in boiling lava was an excellent idea, only it’d be me taking the plunge, not him. I was careful to meet his glare with a sunny smile, after which he looked like he’d decided lava was far too good for me.
Of course, I then had to make sure I avoided Pritchard for the rest of the class, but I’d been planning on doing that, anyway. I managed to keep at least three people between us at all times until the very end, when I had to walk past him to leave.
“Fucking poofter,” he muttered as I bowed my way out of the dojo.
I was glad my face was hidden. All I could think of was getting away. Luckily my body was on autopilot and even managed to wave good-bye to the guys as I went. My mind was paralysed, frozen with shock. He’d known. How had he known? What was it that gave me away?
I hadn’t been eyeing his tank-like form with illicit desire, that was for sure.
I wondered who else he’d told. I guessed I’d find out on Wednesday, when nobody wanted to spar with me…
Damn it.
***
I spent Sunday afternoon trying to distract myself by doing mundane but necessary tasks. I threw my dirty clothes in the washing machine, then unpacked all Gran’s pottery dragons and arranged them on Jay’s shelves. All right, perhaps not strictly speaking necessary, but it definitely cheered the place up a bit. I found the one that looked most like the picture of Puff the Magic Dragon I’d had as a kid and bunged it in the loo next to Jay’s bong. It looked right at home. I found myself whistling the song every time I went for a pee.
After that, I drove into Southampton to buy some more casual stuff to wear. It was probably a bit extravagant—I almost certainly had some stuff back in London that would have done, more or less—but I had a nasty feeling Kate and Alex might be there packing up some more of her things this weekend, which would make me turning up a bit awkward. Discretion being the better part of cowardice, I decided to stay away and hit the shops instead. It’d be good for the general economy, anyhow.
I wasn’t sure what to buy at first—I tried on some baggy jeans like Matt’s, but they just looked ridiculous. In the end, I cast my mind back to what I’d seen in Jay’s wardrobe and just bought more of the same. I ended up with two pairs of straight-cut jeans and some longish shorts—summer was coming, after all—plus some shirts that didn’t make me look quite so buttoned-up. When I looked in the changing-room mirror I hardly recognised myself. I wondered what Matt would think of the new, casual me.
