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‘I wish he cared more for you,’ he said, speaking as plainly as he dared. ‘And if he can’t, then…I wish you cared for someone who would.’
‘So do I,’ Nicky said. ‘Oh, so do I, dear Jem, but I fear I don’t quite see how that’s to be achieved.’
‘Nicky.’ Jem shifted awkwardly, to face him, wanting to say something to stem the unhappiness with which Nicky had trusted him. If he’d had the power to compel Toby’s love on the spot, he would have; he almost hated the man at this moment for his inability to understand. He brought his other hand up so all four hands were together. He was holding Nicky’s tightly. ‘Nicky…’ he began again, and realised he had no idea what to say now. ‘Can I help? Can I do anything? If there’s anything at all…’
‘My dear little innocent,’ Nicky said through his teeth. ‘I shouldn’t offer that if I were you.’
It was the kind of remark he sometimes made when people got too close: a warning off. Jem usually scuttled like a startled rabbit. He wasn’t going to this time; he would not look away. Nicky’s eyes were very brown in the low light, and he wasn’t looking away either. Jem didn’t know what he was doing, or what was happening. His chest felt tight; the air was full ofsomething, as though it was thicker and the light somehow more saturated with colour, and he wasn’t going to pull away or run away or any of those things.
‘Jesus,’ Nicky said, so low it was almost a whisper, almost a plea. ‘Jem…’
Jem opened his mouth without knowing what he was going to say, and left it open because Nicky’s gaze had gone to his lips, and he didn’t know what to do, but he tugged again. Pulled Nicky forward, closer, just a little, and that was enough. Nicky leaned over, slowly, eyes back on Jem’s, leaned in without releasing his hands, and kissed him.
Jem had never been kissed in his life. At home, he’d been too unimpressive before Oxford; now he was too much of a known face in a small town to play the fool with girls even if any had wished to play the fool with him. He’d never dared to look at another boy; it had never been imaginable until Nicky, bright and slim and supple like a foil, had come to fill his furtive thoughts. And now Nicky was kissing him. His mouth, tasting of beer, his lips oddly soft, his skin barely bristled. Jem had no idea what to do, how one managed lips moving against lips, and even as he registered that Nicky’s mouth was more open than his, Nicky pulled away.
‘Jesus,’ he said again. ‘You really are innocent, aren’t you?’
‘I won’t be if you show me,’ Jem said, with a boldness that deserted him a fraction after the words came out. He wanted to take them back immediately, with a wild moment of terror for whatever the devil he might have just asked for. He didn’t.
Nicky contemplated him for a couple of seconds, or months, and then said, ‘Do as I do. Open your mouth.’
That sounded absurd. Jem opened his mouth—to argue, to query—and Nicky’s lips met his again, and he was right. It was different.
Nicky was kissing him, and Jem kissed him back, fumbling, nervous, wanting so much, daring to move his own tongue because surely that was right. Nicky disengaged his hands and Jem felt them on his face, on his hair. Nicky’s touch on his skin, cupping his jaw. Nicky.
It was the stuff that Jem’s dreams were made on, and he couldn’t do anything but follow. Nicky unbuttoned his shirt and Jem let him; Nicky kissed and stroked, and Jem did the same to Nicky’s bare, smooth chest with fingers that shook, but swiftly grew in confidence. Lying face to face on the rug, kissing and touching, and then Nicky’s hand roamed below Jem’s waistband, and he couldn’t help the hiss of shock. Shock and shame, too, because he was aroused to the point of fearing he might disgrace himself, and he hadn’t even dared to consider if that was acceptable.
Nicky pulled back slightly, one brow raised. ‘Tell me, dear boy, how much innocence are you hoping to lose tonight?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jem said, or whispered, because his voice wasn’t quite working. ‘Uh, what should I do?’
‘You should do precisely what you want. It would help if you knew what that was, of course, but I dare say we’ll muddle through. Suppose you tell me what you like, and mention anything you don’t, as we go.’
‘All right.’ Which wasn’t much of a way to convey what he felt, the sheer terror and gratitude and impossible joy of it as Nicky’s long fingers brushed downwards, and Jem felt the top button at his waist give way.
Much later he came to understand how gentle Nicky had been with him that night, what he might have done with Jem’s hopeless inexperience and willingness to please. He encouraged Jem to explore with fumbling touches and gave instructions in a way that made Jem laugh rather than wince, and let him sprawl over his long, pale body afterwards, feeling his warm chest rise and fall. Naked together, or mostly naked. Jem hadn’t been able to take off his stocking. He hadn’t wanted Nicky to see his foot.
They lay together in silence, Jem not knowing at all what to do but happy to let Nicky dictate, until the clocks of Broad Street struck their various tens, and Nicky shifted to sit up. ‘Curse it. I must go. Morning tutorials demand overnight essays.’
Of course he couldn’t stay, not with the landlady downstairs. ‘Oh, well, good luck,’ Jem said, trying to match his casual tone, but watching as Nicky dressed. He wanted to ask,What happens next?and didn’t dare, in case the answer was,Nothing.
Nicky pulled on his coat, hesitated at the door, then turned, a slight smile on his lips, at the door. ‘Thank you for your innocence, Jemmy,’ he said softly. ‘I shall treasure it.’
He came back to Jem’s room four more times, between the last day of February and the murder, and dealt with the remnants of Jem’s innocence very thoroughly indeed. He’d taught him words and tutored him in acts, and though he couldn’t offer more than pleasures of the body, well, at least he’d offered those in full measure. Jem had never believed he could supplant Toby in Nicky’s affections, so he didn’t let himself think thoughts to which he wasn’t entitled.
He’d let Nicky use him, that last time. Or he’d begged Nicky to fuck him, or he’d longed for Nicky to make love to him. He still didn’t know which was true; perhaps all of them. Afterwards, he’d wept in Nicky’s cradling arms for no reason he could voice, and felt his tears kissed away without shame.
He hadn’t known it would be the last time then, of course; it was just their fifth time, a Sunday night that was not yet the Sunday before Toby’s murder, and Nicky hadn’t come to him for a week. Of course he’d been busy with work, as they all had. Jem had tried not to think more of it, but he hadn’t been able to hold back his rush of pleasure and excitement when Nicky had knocked on his door. They had kissed hard and wordlessly, almost desperately, as though Nicky had been as hungry and lonely as Jem, and they’d…fucked, made love, whatever it was, and Nicky had kissed him again when he cried.
Three days later, Nicky had betrayed him utterly and cruelly, and the worst part was that Jem still cherished the memory of those Judas kisses, like deadly nightshade flowers pressed between the pages of a book.
TEN
When Jem returned to London, there was still no reply from Ella. He sat in his rooms, knowing what the next step had to be, and dreading it.
He’d calculated that he had enough put by for two months, if he lived frugally. That meant, really, a month before he ought to start searching for a new position. It didn’t allow for a great many railway fares, but he’d have to pay for one to Oxford, because he had to go back to Anselm’s.
The thought made him feel sick. He curled up in his chair, trying unsuccessfully to persuade himself it wouldn’t be so bad. Would the same porters still work in the lodge? Would they recognise him and stare? They’d all remember, everyone there would, down to the newest students. Doubtless Toby’s room would have been repainted, the floorboards sanded or carpeted to hide the stain of his blood, but they’d all know that was the murder room.
