“Why do you leap to the conclusion that it would bemedoing that?” Max says indignantly.
Felix rolls his eyes. “Exposure to many of your conquests.”
“Can’t be all of them,” I say idly, taking a sip of my drink. “You’d never have had time to live your life if you were meeting all of them.”
“Harsh,” Max says and laughs. “But probably true.”
“It was actually me who instigated the booty call,” I say. “I picked him up at the graveside.”
My smile drops away as the memory sharpens. I remember the cold wind, the men and women in black, the sound of a bell tolling and muffled weeping, and always the sight of Reuben. I’d felt as if I’d come out of my skin. And then I’d seen Max. I’d watched him talk to Reuben, the friendship between them very obvious, and I’d moved in. I recall Reuben’s eyes, sad and yet accepting in his pale face, and I feel a pain in my heart.
Becoming aware that they’re both looking at me, I make myself smile again. “It’s not the most unusual place I’ve ever picked up a man.” I mean to say more, but my thought is broken by a huge yawn that makes my jaw creak and my eyes water.
“Okay,” Felix says. “Go and have a shower. I’ll make up the sofa bed.”
Felix is good at this. He often distracts Max when Max has become lost in the past. He’ll allow him to walk a few yards down memory lane and then call him back with humour.
I smile gratefully at him and disappear into the bathroom. The water is warm on my body, and I pinch some of Max’s shower gel, feeling it surround me like a hug. When I come out dressed in my boxers and drying my hair with a towel, I find Felix alone in the lounge. The sofa bed is out, and he’s just smoothing down the duvet.
“I’m sorry for crashing your night,” I say, putting the towel on the radiator.
He smiles at me, and it’s kind and warm. “You don’teverneed to apologise for that. You’re a mate.”
I slide between the sheets, and he sits next to me cross-legged. He puts a pillow on his lap, pats it, and I slide over, setting my head in his lap. His hands come down, and he starts to comb my hair with his fingers. My eyes slide closed. I love having my hair played with, and he knows it. It feels comforting and familiar because we’ve done this a thousand times. When I’m down, I always head here like a dissolute homing pigeon. They’re my family. And infinitely better than the ones I was gifted at birth.
Footsteps sound, and Max appears. He grins at us. “Would it make things better if I got into bed with the two of you? You know what they say. ‘A threesome a day keeps the doctor at bay.’”
I roll my eyes because we all know that this will never happen in a million years. He’s far too possessive of Felix to ever share him.
“No oneeversaid that,” I reply, tapping Felix to carry on stroking my hair.
Felix snorts. “I prefer the old proverb that says he who suggests a threesome with his ex gets his testicles clamped.”
Max laughs and bends to kiss him, his face alight with so much love I feel almost shy in its presence. “You sure? The offer will remain forever on the table.”
Felix grins at him. “Only if we wanted comic relief rather than hand relief.”
I laugh, and Max tuts. “How did you two ever become friends? Some malignant fairy must have been interfering in my life again.”
I consider that, and Felix laughs. “It was at the showing of Ivo’s artwork at that art gallery in Kensington when we met for the second time.”
“God, I remember that,” I say.
Felix nods. “You insulted Max’s sexual prowess. We were obviously meant to be.”
I roll my eyes. “I still say calling out another man’s name when you come won’tevermake it into a good sex guide.”
“Going to bed,” Max says quickly, and we laugh.
Later, I lie listening to the slap of the water against the boat. I’m so tired, but I’m sure I won’t sleep. The coke will have seen to that. I roll to my back, staring up at the ceiling and consider the memories we’d conjured earlier. How is it that I can be such good friends with Max and his new partner, and not with Reuben? How is it that just the thought of Reuben with a permanent boyfriend makes my fists clench, and my stomach turn over like I’m going to vomit? And that now, even after so much time has passed, I still can’t be polite to Reuben?
The reluctant answer to that question is that Reuben means something more to me. He always has, and he probably always will. And tomorrow I’m going to be in the same room as him again.
I groan, push my head under the pillow, and hope for sleep.
three
. . .
