Page 12 of Out of the Shadows
But I can’t look away.
The guy cups his hands over Cosmo’s arse, tugging him closer, deepening the kiss. The air in my lungs is hard and heavy and it’s difficult to breathe. I shouldn’t be seeing this, I don’t want to see this, it’s not my business, this isn’t work time… but before I can drag my gaze away, they break the kiss. The guy looks up and catches me staring. He bends his head and whispers to Cosmo but whether Cosmo looks over or not, I don’t know, because Fiona’s suddenly blocking the way, shielding me from those green eyes I know would narrow if I let them meet mine. She’s beaming and her eyes are bright with alcohol and birthday wishes. Her wide smile morphs into a slight frown.
“Are you okay? You’ve gone pale.”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
I don’t feel it. My skin’s pulsing with heat and my heart’s thumping hard. The pub suddenly feels too crowded, too noisy, too hemmed in, and all I want to do is to get outside into the fresh early evening air. Fiona doubts my words, as her frown deepens. I force myself to relax and give her my best smile. Too late, I realise my mistake as she moves in a little closer.
“A group of us are going to Verdi’s. The Italian place around the corner? I’ve just booked a table. It’d be lovely if you could join us.”
Oh, no. I’m not being roped into dinner. I shake my head.
“I’m sorry Fiona but I have to get going. I’m meeting somebody a little later, and I promised her I wouldn’t be late.”
I can’t help feeling a little guilty about the white lie, but to be honest I don’t think I can withstand much more overt flirting. I need to put a stop to it without her losing face.
“Oh. I see. Please, don’t be late on my account. I hope you have a nice evening and thank you again for coming.”
“Thanks for inviting me. Enjoy the rest of your birthday.” I leave it at that. She nods, her smile fixed on her face, as she turns away to let me make my escape.
Cosmo and the guy he was with are nowhere to be seen. I don’t want to think about where they are and what they might be doing and, dipping my head, I push my way through the crowd thinking only to get away as quickly as I can.
* * *
The southbound Northern line platform on the underground isn’t too busy and I lean up against the wall. It’s not even seven-thirty and the rest of the evening stretches in front of me, and I think about what I’m going to do when I get home. I come up with a blank. There’s plenty of work I could do, god alone knows there’s always plenty, but sticking my nose to the grindstone on a Friday night when the world is out and having fun is not an appealing prospect. But I have to face the fact I don’t have many alternative options.
It’s not as though I don’t have friends. I do, but I certainly don’t want to be considered some sort of social charity case. I suppose I could get in touch with Geraldine. My ex-fiancée’s also my best friend, but I jettison the idea. I’m feeling edgy and I don’t think I’d make good company — plus she’d pick up on that in the blink of an eye. She’d want to know the reason and I’m not sure I can, or want, to tell her why. So it’s another Friday night in an empty house. Or not quite empty. Wallace will be waiting, and I can always rely on him to be happy to see me.
The train thunders into the platform, disgorging many more than get on. Settling into one of the seats, I pick up one of the many discarded copies of the Metro, the free London newspaper, as a late passenger leaps on to the train just as the doors close. I barely glance up because it’s a common enough occurrence on the London underground. I scan the front page of the newspaper, half aware their coat’s caught between the two doors. They clatter open, he pulls it clear, and throws himself into the seat opposite me. This time I do look up and for the third time today, I find myself staring into Cosmo’s eyes.
Other than a brief nod of acknowledgement, he’s totally impassive. His face, and his green feline eyes, give nothing away of what he’s thinking, and that’s… disquieting. I return my attention to the newspaper but I can’t make out a word of what I’m looking at because all I’m aware of is the man sitting just inches away from me. And the image is back, in lurid, neon bright colour, of Cosmo wrapped around the guy in the pub, kissing hard and deep as all I could do was watch with mounting fascination.
My hands tighten on the edges of the paper, scrunching it hard, and I force myself to relax before I end up tearing it to shreds. The train pulls into the next station, and the carriage empties further, leaving Cosmo and me all but alone. This is ridiculous, I can’t not talk to him, and I lower the paper I’ve long stopped pretending to read.
“Which stop are you travelling to?”
“Clapham Common.”
“Oh, same as me.”
He doesn’t say anything in response, and I’m unreasonably disappointed as I go back to pretending to read the paper.
“I didn’t know you lived down that way, but then I suppose there’s no reason for me to have known.”
“I’m fairly new to the area.” I put aside the paper. “I used to live in Islington, but I needed a change.”
His brow quirks in question, his eyes still on me. Yes, I needed a change on so many levels but that’s something for me and me alone, and I’m not about to divulge. I shift in my seat, feeling like I’ve already said too much.
Cosmo shrugs. “I like it, been there for a few years. There are some decent pubs. The Highlander’s always good for a night out. You must know it? Big old Victorian place on the corner of…” He mentions the name of a couple of streets. I don’t recognise them, but I do the pub. Lots of posters for cabaret nights, and drag acts. PRIDE stickers in the windows. Music pumping out. Always lots of guys spilling out onto the pavement, mostly younger than me, but not all. More than a few could be my age.
“I might have seen it, I’m not sure.” The lie slips off my tongue as smooth as oil, but there’s something vaguely rancid about it.
Cosmo snorts. He doesn’t believe me, and he’s right not to. The pub’s not only hard to miss, but impossible.
“I’m going there later, then onto one of the clubs in Vauxhall.”
My throat tightens. Vauxhall. Grimy and grubby, spread out along the southern bank of the Thames. Twisting, narrow back streets, and railway arches converted to clubs, bars, saunas and gyms. Along with Soho in the West End, it’s a famous — or infamous — centre of gay nightlife, and no more than a couple or so stops on the tube from Clapham.
