Oscar - 28. Part 28

I wish I could say I saw it coming.

That, as my shoes crunched the gravel of Tim’s path, the ominous, sickening feeling wriggling around my gut became clear. That, before I crossed the point of no return, I realised what was waiting for me inside, and I turned and ran and cut my losses no matter how much I knew I would lose.

But I didn’t. I did exactly what I’d told myself to do.

I swallowed it down. Pushed the dread somewhere so deep and dark I lost it. Replaced it with starry-eyed, teenage fantasies.

Will he kiss me on the doorstep? Or wait until we’re away from prying eyes? Will he sweep me off my feet and into his car? Cruise us far away from town to the city somewhere big and shiny and exciting.

Or will he invite me in? Play coy or shy or standoffish to make me want him more? Or will he be all over me? Kiss me, hold me. Tie me up, use me and abuse me. Feed me a shot of his load with a beer chaser.

And what will he be wearing? I’d only ever seen him in his rugby shorts and sports tops. Not that his fashion choices had ever been bad, but I could only imagine how smart and handsome and irresistible he was going to look in a pair of jeans or chinos and a fitted shirt or sweater.

A real man. A gentleman.

As I took the single, moss-speckled stone step up to his front door and lifted my hand, a wave of sickness rolled through me.

It didn’t even occur to me, when my knuckles collided against the dark navy, polished wood, pushing the unlocked door open an inch with a low creak, that something might be wrong.

I thought it was a game. A tease. Sir leaving the door open so I, the young, blue-eyed boy could find him waiting inside. Sat ready to bend me over his knee and peal my jeans down. Hungrily pull at my cheeks.

Closing the door gently behind me, I tiptoed through the hallway as quietly as I could. Past the empty living room and the stairway. Past an array of framed photos recently hung, now gently gleaming in the low afternoon light trickling through the frosted-glass window of the front door behind me.

The dining room door was closed but he was in there. I could sense him. Placing my ear against the smooth, cool wood I waited for the initial muffled sounds of contact to smooth away. Then I heard him: the faintest in-and-out of a large, muscled chest rising and falling.

Standing up straight, I stretched out my back. Cracked my neck. Took a deep breath and ran a finger around the waistband of my jockstrap to make sure it wasn’t twisted. Decided, that if he was sat on a chair, I would straddle him. Kiss his mouth and neck while I grinded my arse against his crotch and squeezed his muscled flanks between my thighs.

But, if he was standing, I would drop to my knees. Take him in my mouth and down my throat before anything else. I wanted him to know I liked his games.

Finally his star pupil.

Then, I wasn’t. I went from nervous and excited to terrified. Desperate for his arms and chest and legs and back and load to weak and unprepared and vulnerable.

To the right, no more than five inches from my eyes, was Tim. Framed in full colour and hidden among a group of ten other smiling faces. A family shot taken on holiday. He was beaming, wide and toothy, and he had his arm around someone. A young blonde woman. The young, blonde woman. From my nightmare.

His ex-wife.

I knew I’d seen her before. At school, when she’d dropped Tim off a long time ago. Back when he’d been a teacher. I’d seen her behind the wheel. Beautiful but sad.

Then her haunting scream echoed in my mind.

‘GET OUT!’

That was when I knew I needed to leave. I didn’t know why but something animal and primal was telling me to turn and run. There was no rational reason, but the squirming sense of foreboding was back from the depths and stabbing furiously inside my gut. Incubated just long enough to burst through my chest.

I’d made a mistake. My quest to claim Tim Price was fundamentally flawed. It had been all along. I’d known it was based on lies and founded on dishonesty, but I hadn’t cared. I’d wanted it to work so badly that I’d ignored the truth. Acted like everything would be fine because I’d needed it to be.

Because I need him.

He was going to make my life better. He was going to give it meaning. I’d thought that he could even be the one to convince me that I was going to be ok. That I wouldn’t be alone anymore.

But it was too late to run.

‘I know you’re out there,’ he said.

I said nothing. Held my breath and didn’t move a muscle.

‘Please. I can hear you,’ he said.

His voice was calm and void of emotion. Neither friendly nor hostile. An instruction.

Pushing the door open slowly, I slinked through the crack and closed it. Leaning with my back against the door and arms folded, I looked over.

He was sat in the same chair he’d picked the first time I’d been over. Far left corner of the table. On his upper half was a woollen grey jumper, clinging to his body. His legs were open but I could only see his right one – the other obscured by the table top. He was wearing midnight blue jeans.

One of his hands was rested below the table line in his lap and the other gripped a half-full bottle of beer. His posture was slumped and closed off. His shaved head hung slightly; his eyes fixed on the dark green glass in front of him. His feet bare.

‘Hey,’ I said.

No reply.

Taking a step forward, I ignored the alarm bells ringing in my head and chest and stomach. Cocked my head to the side and coughed. He looked up and saw me for the first time.

For the briefest of moments, he smiled. Kind and genuine. Maybe he liked how well I’d scrubbed up. Or maybe he was just happy to see me. I didn’t find out. The look on his face vanished and his eyes turned cold and away.

‘You ok?’ I said, walking closer.

‘Take a seat,’ he said, his voice gruff and cracking like he’d been silent all day.

‘Ok,’ I said, pulling out the chair opposite him and obeying like a submissive puppy.

For ten seconds neither of us spoke. For all ten he didn’t look at me. All he did was take a swig from his bottle and place it back slowly and soundlessly.

‘Bit early for that?’ I said trying to catch his eye.

No use. He simply raised and lowered his eyebrows, his stare on the bottle. Then he spoke.

‘We need to talk.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘What about?’

There was still a chance. A chance that this had nothing to do with me.

Maybe he’d had a bad day. Bumped into an old friend or colleague. Maybe his past mistakes had come back to haunt him and he needed me. Needed me to hold him and make him feel better and tell him everything was going to be ok.

Wrong again.

‘You lied to me,’ he said.

My head shook by itself. Five words came out of my mouth on their own accord. My auto-piloted, self-defence mechanism already deployed.

‘What are you talking about?’ I said.

‘Oscar. Stop.’

‘Stop what?’

‘Stop lying to me.’

‘I’m not.’

He scoffed.

‘I had a visitor last night,’ he said.

‘And?’

‘And he told me everything.’

‘Who?’

Not that I didn’t know the answer.

‘Adam Stanmore,’ he said.

I looked away. To hide the anger spilling across my face. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have underestimated him?

I knew he was pathetic enough to try and tear Tim and me apart, but I hadn’t expected him to act so soon. I thought I’d had more time.

More time to outsmart that brainless slab of useless muscle.

‘Let me guess,’ I said.

‘No. You don’t get to speak.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘Not fair? You have no right to come into my home and tell me what’s fair.’

I said nothing and he took another swig.

‘He woke me up in the middle of the night by throwing fucking gravel at my window. I told him to leave but he wouldn’t listen. He said he needed to warn me.’

‘Warn you? What about?’

‘You.’

I said nothing. Shook my head and made a face. A face that asked how he could even consider such an absurd possibility.

It’s Adam’s word against mine and Adam isn’t here.

‘That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?’ I said.

‘Dramatic?’ he said. ‘He was in tears, Oscar. I’ve never seen him like that.’

‘So? He got the shit kicked out of him by his dad. I doubt things are sunshine and lollipops for him.’

He shook his head. Said, ‘You lied to me. You said he’s been going around telling people I’m his boyfriend.’

‘He has!’

‘Not according to him. He says you coerced him into telling you where I lived.’

‘Why the fuck would I do that?

‘So you could find me. Stalk me in the park and throw yourself at me.’

‘Bullshit. You know why I did that.’

‘You manipulated him. You made him feel like you were on his side and then you tossed him away.’

I laughed. Half at the glorious memory of sticking it to the King of School. The other because I had nothing to worry about.

True though it was, it was hearsay. Unsubstantiated rumour and gossip. It didn’t paint me in the best picture, but unlike Adam, I was in the room. And while he may have outsmarted me by a day, I had more acting talent in my little finger than he had in all six feet and six inches of his body.

Standing up and out of my chair, its feet screeching across the floorboards, I put on my finest sneer.

‘So, that’s it. You’re going to listen to him over me? The boy who ruined your marriage and your career?’

He shook his head. Once and then twice. Looked up at me from his chair with pleading eyes.

‘Oscar,’ he said. ‘I don’t know who to believe.’

‘Believe me!’

‘How can I?’

‘Why can’t you?’ I said, sitting back down to his level and making my face warm and caring and friendly. ‘You said you wanted me. That you couldn’t wait to see me.’

‘I couldn’t. Honestly, matey, I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all week. So much so I couldn’t believe what he was telling me. I listened to him and then I told him to go.’

‘So why the accusations? Why the change of heart?’

‘I thought about it. I’ve been thinking about it all day … You did lie to me, Oscar. You pretended you didn’t know me.’

‘I explained that,’ I said, reaching out and stroking his arm.

‘I know. But why would he make up something like this?’

‘He’s having a hard time. You know how it can be.’

Neither of us spoke for almost ten seconds.

‘I want to believe you. I really do,’ he said.

‘You can, Tim, you can. Trust me,’ I said, getting out of my seat and sitting in the empty chair next to him.

Placing my hand on his leg, I squeezed his thigh. Reaching out I kissed his neck and cheek. For two seconds, he let me. Then he pulled away and looked at me, his piercing brown eyes almost black.

Searching my soul.

‘Prove it,’ he said.

‘Prove it?’

‘Prove to me you’re telling the truth.’

I laughed. Said, ‘How?’

‘Get out your wallet.’

Silence.

‘What? Why?’

‘Show me your ID.’

‘My ID?’

‘Yes. Your ID. You told me you’re nineteen.’

‘I am nineteen.’

‘Adam said you’re at school together. You’re in the same year. You can’t be nineteen.’

Silence.

‘I repeated a year.’

He shook his head like he could smell the lies.

‘In my car, when I dropped you home, you looked me in the face and you told me you had no more secrets.’

‘I don’t. He’s lying!’

‘So, prove him wrong,’ he said. ‘Please.’

I said nothing. Like in my nightmare, I couldn’t speak.