Mike Arram
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Karen’s rage at Phil evaporated early the next week. Phil couldn’t resist the thought that she had more cause for anger with him than she knew. He felt guilty, particularly in view of his impending meeting with Ben. He was hesitant about mentioning his trip to London to her, but she accepted it well. Overwhelmed with teaching commitments, he had not taken many research trips of late. Deciding he might as well get on with some real research while he was at it, Phil pulled up his Dressner no
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‘Course, you lecturers have fucking huge fucking holidays … and they complain about schoolteachers.’ Phil wanted to beat his head against the flock wallpaper of the curry house. He had been stuck in a corner of the tandoori restaurant for ninety minutes with one of Karen’s colleagues, a jerk called Alistair who taught Year 5 in her school. Like more than a few of his colleagues, Alistair had a chip on his shoulder. Alistair was dim and insecure and, to that extent, Phil was willing to
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Ben had his head down at his desk when he became aware of a presence behind him. ‘Ben, a moment of your time, please.’ It was the head of production’s voice. Ben got up and followed into his boss’s side office, where he took the indicated chair. He was as apprehensive as he had been the last time Magnamedia downsized the Wardour operation. ‘Now, Ben, you’re working on the latest Dressner project, right?’ ‘Er … yes.’ ‘Can you give me a brief rundown of progress and pote
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Ben arrived at work on Thursday expecting a summons to see the CEO. But his inbox was empty of such a command, his desk had not been cleared and his possessions had not been boxed up. He watered his plants meditatively. Finally he shrugged and got to work. For some reason, he had regained his ability to concentrate. His paperwork was gradually diminishing when, at eleven, there was a stir at the office door. ‘Delivery for Mr Craven,’ announced a young woman carrying a large bouquet. Sh
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Be strong Buz. The AD version is revised here, so there are new scenes. Like this version takes account of the aftermath of the Eurovision Song Contest in AiD.
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Somehow the imminent arrival of Matthew White put Ben on edge. There was no real reason why it should, but it did. In part, Ben knew that it was because part of him was still starry-eyed and in love with the man. He had followed Matt around like a puppy when he was twenty, and Matt had been the first person he had confessed his gayness to. Then there was the matter of the beauty. Ben had retained his youthful good looks. His long and tangled blond hair framed a regular and fine oval face,
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The flat was empty when Ben returned. He made up the bed in the guest room, and with tears again springing in his eyes moved his personal items from the side of what had been their bed for so many years. He sat down in the lounge to run through a mental list of things he would have to do, if worse came to worst. His job would keep him in London, so somehow he’d have to find accommodation. He couldn’t stay in the Clerkenwell flat, as most of the cash to pay the mortgage came from Alex. Mayb
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When Ben thought about it later, it all seemed pretty obvious. First there was the sudden interest in the gym. ‘Well, Benny, you can laugh, but I gotta get rid of all this gut. It’s okay for you, you never put weight on, you still got the bod you had when we were students, but me, there’s nearly twice as much of me now as there was then.’ ‘That’s an exaggeration, Alex. Besides, I like you chunky.’ ‘You grunt a bit when I get on your back.’ ‘That’s not because of your weight.’
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Ben Craven’s break-up with Alex is a depth charge in the quiet pond of his life. When the debris settles, he finds himself with a new boyfriend, a new career and facing the challenge of a lifetime.
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Henry still found the absence of tobacco smoke in the White Tree a little odd, however welcome it was to a non-smoker. ‘Hey Alfons!’ he cheerily greeted the barman, receiving an affable response. It seemed that Alfons at least had now come to terms with the new regime. ‘How’s the major?’ he asked. ‘Pretty good. And Ernesto?’ ‘Oh, back visiting his parents in Belo Horizonte.’ ‘Bet you wish you were in Brazil with him.’ Alfons shuddered. ‘Not if I have to meet his witch of a m
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Henry hardly recognised the voice of Will Vincent over his ear mic, a voice which to that moment he had found invariably cool and composed. ‘Henry, get the hell up to the production box, NOW!’ He raced up the back stairs and arrived breathing heavily to find Will and the EBU team, including Director General Scavolini, in tense debate while the production crew stared. Hermina Beruskova followed him in at a more sedate pace. M. Scavolini motioned them over. ‘Henry and Hermina, mes chers
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Some things are beyond the power of an author to convey ... 😋
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As Henry walked through the Fourth District that Friday it occurred to him that something had changed in his life, and maybe not for the better. People on the other side of the road were staring at him and one or two were surreptitiously pointing. He checked his flies reflexively. From time to time over the past year or two he had been aware of being recognised in public from his news and current affairs programmes with Eastnet, but this was more intrusive. He came uneasily to the conclusion tha
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Davey gripped Henry’s arm. ‘Fuck! Wow! It’s him! The man!’ He pointed down at the floor below, where the semi-final rehearsals were under way. A portly middle-aged man in a dark blue suit was wandering through the chaos, peering around himself, bemused. ‘So that’s him. The great Wogan. I thought he’d be wearing a cardigan.’ ‘You’ve not met him yet?’ ‘He’s not that popular with Jean-Paul Scavolini and his EBU posse, which includes Strelsenermedia at the moment. They actually freez
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The buzz and vibration of Yuli’s handij under his pillow dragged him back to consciousness. He groped for it and murmured ‘Prosim!’ without opening his eyes. Where was he? In his bed at home. Alone. There was no smooth warmth of Roman cuddled beside him. ‘Yuli? Time to get up!’ It was Willem. ‘What? What day is it?’ ‘Bozh men! You’re dopy this morning. London really took it out of you. It’s Saturday and it’s seven in the morning. I have something to show you. You promised.’ ‘I d
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Yuli and Roman decided to meet up by the Salvatorskirche and take the tram together to the Martzfeld for their meeting with Davey Skipper. It was Saturday and Willem was unavailable, stuck behind the counter in Krals. They found Davey in the Hilton bar, with his laptop up and a coffee jug beside it. ‘Get you anything, kids? Wow! Do you look tanned after your adventure! Was it fun?’ Yuli laughed. ‘We had an awesome holiday, our first together.’ ‘Hmm, and here am I offering you ano
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Bolslaw Wyzinskij dumped his well-stuffed backpack on the roadside verge. He and Willem had just been left by Herr Kral at the agreed rendezvous point on the T55 Radelngrad Road out of Eisendorf. ‘Middle of nowhere,’ he grunted. ‘One and a half fucking hours from home. Sure you got this right, mate?’ ’Yep,’ Willem responded. ‘This is where my uncle Waclaw said. We go down that track there to the river, where the sign is. Brighten up, Bolo. This could be brilliant. In fact it’s gotta be
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Alfons the barman looked up from his paper as the chattering group in battledress entered the White Tree. He brightened as he saw Ed Cornish in the lead. ‘Ah, major! What’ll it be?’ Ed looked around. ‘I thought the place would be full? Where is everyone? I told my guys this place was packed for Song Contest days.’ Alfons shrugged. ‘That’s next month, isn’t it? No, it’s May of course. The crowds don’t turn out for the national final. I suppose you’ll want the TV on.’ ‘Sure en
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Della Ortolan was waiting for Yuli and Roman at the doorway to Klara’s apartment block the Thursday morning after the scandal broke. She handed a copy of the Ruritanischer Tagblatt to Roman, who struggled to read the front page as they walked to their gymno. His expression was grim when he folded the paper and passed it on to Yuli. ‘Mutta was arrested yesterday. She’s been held overnight and won’t be released immediately as she’s reckoned to be a flight risk. Vater is still at his desk. The
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Willem, Yuli and Roman decided to go and meet Davey Skipper off his afternoon flight from Heathrow, which arrived at five at the Tildemann International Airport. Yuli and Willem had good memories of the airport, which for them had been a gateway to superb holidays as kids. It brought back memories of Dalmatian beaches, Greek islands and Florida theme parks. So they were in a very good mood as they boarded the southbound express tram, which made its final city stop right outside their gymno on Kö
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All of a sudden, Henry found he had no time for anything other than the Eurovision Song Contest. He had seen the Rothenian heats coming at him well enough, but had overlooked the fact that other nations were also selecting their artists and songs and the consequences that followed. That concern had been resigned in his head to the Broadcasting Union. But there were thirty-nine other nations competing, and although their own broadcasters were organising their participation, Henry found his team h
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As Yuli, Willem and Bolo approached the front gate of their gymno the day after Roman’s flight from home, they were not entirely surprised to see the lurking figure of Alfons Hadjek scanning the crowd of incoming students, rather like a predatory hawk. He recognised Yuli and moved to confront him. His stance was aggressive. ‘Julius Lucic. I have business with you.’ But Willem moved between him and Yuli. ‘Who’re you, mister?’ He turned to Bolo. ‘Go fetch security, this guy looks like a
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Yuli and Willem did not know the English term ‘gobsmacked’ and neither Rothenian nor German had an equivalent word, but that was what they were. ‘Woof!’ Willem exclaimed eventually. ‘I like the decisiveness.’ ‘You sure, baby?’ Yuli said, squeezing his hand. ‘It’ll be hard.’ A firm nod answered him. ‘It’s the only way for me to have a life … the only way to have you in my life.’ ‘Then I’ll be there with you, in every way I can.’ ‘Hmm,’ Willem considered. ‘Your parents w
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The snow was still lingering in icy patches when Henry made his first trek of 2005 up the Domstrasse hill to his Eastnet office, making his return to work with some internal relief. It wasn’t so much that he’d not enjoyed the holidays. He was just oppressed with the sense there were things that badly needed doing. It was fine weather and the haziness of the view back over the Nuevemesten indicated that the temperature was planning to ascend well past zero Celsius for the first time in sever
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Yuli stood stunned. He looked around the lounge and observed that his mother’s laptop, which usually sat on the side table, had gone. ‘When did this happen, Willemczu?’ ‘Your mutti rang me a couple of hours ago. She’s at the police barracks where they took your tatti. She can’t get hold of his lawyers, which I’d be willing to bet is one reason why they arrested him on the New Year’s weekend.’ Yuli sat on the sofa. ‘What can I do, Willemczu?’ ‘Not a lot, but you’d better bring you
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