In Defiance - 3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

Taking two stairs at a time, with a grin, Simon continued his sprint from the village, to the school, and to the first floor of the ‘young staff’ wing. He knocked on Luce’s door the moment it was within reach. When she didn’t answer, he went in anyway. She wasn’t on the sofa, in the kitchenette; he glanced from side to side. “Where the— Luce?”

“What?”

In his room; he should have known. Simon closed her door and strolled down the hall still smiling. The first thing he saw when he opened the door was Luce’s bare arse, hardly covered by her tennis dress. He stopped for a moment and had no words. He was certain if he were Matt, he would be able to think of something appropriate - or inappropriate. He shook himself. For some reason, she was bent down beside his coffee table with a flannel in hand. The magazines and remotes now sat in neat stacks and rows; when he’d left that morning to give Alexander a tour of the grounds, the two new issues of his favourite rugby magazines had been on the sofa, along with two remotes, his laptop and a stack of DVDs.

Luce turned to look at him; he read it: well, are you going to tell me or am I going to have to ask? He didn’t want her to ask.

“Everything’s right. Test results were all negative.” He beamed.

Luce got up and flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him so tightly it hurt. The cloth in her hand hit him across the back of the head, and a squeal of delight pierced his ear. He hugged her back, feeling just as good, if not better. The weight of guilt and what-ifs no longer sat on his shoulders, and he could breathe knowing there were no infections that he could’ve given to her. She was safe.

“Made my day. We should celebrate or something.”

Luce grinned. “Excellent. I’ve got gin.”

Gin was evil. It was like living sin floating through his body when he drank too much of it. The last time he’d had gin with Luce still sat at the front of his mind like a petulant child refusing to move, and Simon’s stomach remembered clearly how much he’d abused it, too. A reflexive wobble in his throat made him think he might be sick, but nothing more came than him swallowing it down like something he could expunge the next time he went to the loo.

“Brilliant. And what exactly are you doing?” He hoped she thought he really was excited about drinking gin. The sad part was she could drink him under the table and then some.

‘Idiot’ was written over her face in giant letters.

“Cleaning. Did you know you’d got dried semen crusted on the underside of the coffee table? How did you even get it there?”

“Uh... I’ve no idea. Could’ve been Mick.” Simon shrugged. “You sure it’s semen? And why are you cleaning my room? I usually do that...”

Luce sniffed. “Not very well, if there’s that much crusted under your coffee table. And I chiselled the floor clean round the back of the toilet.”

“Thanks. I think.” Simon wasn’t sure what to make of that. He usually cleaned up his own rooms fairly well - at least the bits that were visible - and the domestics gave them an annual deep-clean, but he wasn't going to argue with her.

“We crashing in mine or yours?”

Considering, Luce chucked the cloth into the washing basket. “Mine. We’ll get high on Flash fumes in here.”

“Alright.”

This would not be like the last time they drank together, Simon promised himself. Not just for sake of James, or his friendship with Luce, but he wasn’t sure he could handle the complications the relationship was beginning to take on with that level of intimacy added to it. He could cuddle her all day and night, and kiss her forehead and temple, and all of those things felt good. Even snogging her was strangely fantastic. Sex was something else entirely.

Simon closed his own door and glanced at Alexander’s before following in Luce’s dancing footsteps. A little devil of a voice in his mind said, ‘invite him’. Though Simon knew that Alexander was a little too... proper... for the sort of party they were about to have. Once the gin started flowing, there was no telling what he may say or attempt. Liquid courage, indeed.

By the time Simon caught up to her, Luce had already produced the bottle of gin. Beads of water rolled over her fingers and dripped onto the coffee table where two glasses waited. Simon couldn’t help smiling. Hyper and happy with the world, Luce was a wonder – her own sun when clouds surrounded everything. She gave it freely to those she’d chosen to receive it; Simon did whenever he could.

Two generous measures splashed into the tumblers, and she grinned as she raised hers in a celebratory salute. Flavour exploded on his tongue at the first taste. It slid down his throat, hot, even though it’d been in the freezer.

The electronic sound of club music, some song Simon wasn’t familiar with, interrupted the film, and Luce’s mobile on the coffee table flashed. ‘James’ lit up on the screen. The song continued, the hundreds of beats per minute pouring out. Finally, Luce reached for it and answered. Telling James Simon was there with her got a request for him not to ‘be like that; Simon’s my best mate’. Something Simon couldn’t hear, but something James said made her face tighten, and body rigid. For a moment she sat, then got up and went to the bedroom. He shook his head and paused the DVD her hyper highness had managed to put on while he was getting to the room and sitting down.

Guilt stuck in his chest like a brick. James wouldn’t be giving Luce hell if he didn’t think there was competition. It wasn’t fair to Luce. Of course, now having slept with her, there was nothing he could say to convince James that an affair hadn’t been ongoing for years. Once would always equate to the last six years. Simon sighed and watched Luce pace her bedroom, phone still clutched to her ear. Simon could only imagine what idiotic thing James was saying to make her leave the room. Accusations that now weren’t untrue... and for some reason Luce was protecting him and them from the whole thing. Love, he reckoned. What mates did for one another because a misguided moment took what they were and briefly gave a dream life. Simon shoved the thoughts aside; dwelling on it went nowhere.

Not long after moments of hushed words, Luce emerged and set her mobile on the table a little too quickly.

Simon opened his arm, now that Luce had hung up. “The torrid affair continues, eh?” The one between them, that happened only once, because he’d been drunk, selfish... stupid, even.

“Shut up; it’s not funny.” Luce wrapped herself under Simon’s arm like he was a blanket and settled in. “He’s such a prat sometimes. It’s not like you’re even straight. I could understand it better if you weren’t all gay.”

Simon shrugged. “I don’t understand, either, love. And I wasn’t saying it was funny... just... I mean, we did shag, and when he finds out, he’ll think we have been all along.”

“Once, and you weren’t exactly crazy about it. Anyway, I’m not telling him.”

Once... the numbers didn’t add up in his memory. “Thought it was twice and you sucking me off...”

Luce poked him in the chest hard – it smarted still from the last time, proving her infinite ability to hit the same spot.

“One night. And you still weren’t wild about it.”

“It’s not personal, love.” But that still didn’t make Simon feel better, and it certainly couldn’t make Luce feel better. She wasn’t used to men not wanting her. And her not telling James about that one night... Simon didn’t want to think about what would happen. “Fine, I won’t bring it up again.”

Luce shrugged. “I don’t care. You can if you like. The point was that it’s not like we have an extensive history of marathon shagging sessions, which is what James seems to think, and I seriously don’t get why because you’re completely gay and I’m completely female.”

Simon nudged her gently. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

"I happen to like being female, you arse.”

“Mm. Okay, seriously, let’s just drop it.”

She sniffed, which he took as wordless assent, and cradled her empty glass, settling against him like a contented cat. It was always easy to be with Luce like this; a couple that wasn’t a couple, watching a film and enjoying each other’s company. They would make the same jokes, and laugh the same laughs, and swill gin until they were pissed and then Simon would wrap her up and they would go to sleep.

The comfortable normality of it soothed tension and worry away as gently as ice melting in a glass of water.

 

+          +          +

 

Electronic dance music blared in Simon’s ear. He reached for the bedside table, pushing things aside as he groped for the source of the racket. Vibrations met his fingertips, and he clamped his hand around the phone.

“Hello?”

“Simon. May I speak to Lucy?”

It took a moment for the voice to register and what the bloke said to make sense. James. He didn’t sound happy. He would probably have preferred his call to go unanswered than to have discovered that his fiancée was still with a man he disliked and distrusted at stupid o' clock in the morning. Simon had been there long before James, though.

Syllable by syllable, the words took shape and Simon formulated a reply that didn’t consist of ‘fuck off’.

“Yeah, sorry. Thought that was my mobile. Let me wake her up.” The tones on his mobile changed so much that he couldn’t distinguish his from hers any more. All traces of Kaiser Chiefs seemed to have disappeared with some techno-dance tune. Knowing her, she’d just incorporated the music into whatever dream she was having. At the best of times, Luce clung to sleep like a limpet; at the worst, she snapped awake and into overdrive, moving around the room like a resentful tornado, as if every moment of wakefulness was a personal insult. This time, she woke slowly. Lots of nudging and name calling later, Simon finally gave her the mobile and managed to wriggle out of bed, despite Luce’s leg wrapped around his, her heel digging into his shin.

Simon yawned and got up, leaving Luce to groan at her phone. He wanted his run, tea, and a shower; something that didn’t involve him thinking about how James was going to hurt Luce because of him. Or about how Luce hurt James because of him.

With a click, Luce’s door closed and Simon padded down the sunlit corridor to his own room, trying to stretch the kinks out of his back.

Everything seemed more complicated, now. He couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that when James did find out about him and Luce, there would be hell to pay. Simon was not a violent man by any definition; he and his brothers had been brought up knowing themselves to be big and strong, and therefore careful with others, but something about James - the way he addressed Luce, talked about her, looked at her - made Simon's hands itch. He never commented on it, and he curbed his instinctive reactions firmly. He would not let himself be tempted into lamping the git. It would distress Luce.

James. James was going to be a problem, no matter how much Simon hated to admit it.

Before going into his room, Simon looked at Alexander’s door for a long time. To ask or not to ask... Luce would be along soon to eat, and Alexander hadn’t met the other staff yet. He thought maybe he should wait until at least the food was ready, then he could invite him in. Maybe he’d even invite Jo, if she wasn’t having one of her particularly highly-strung days. Maybe he’d just wait and see what Luce wanted. He knew for certain he wanted Alexander to join them. He could make tea and some jam tarts. He had all sorts of time before anyone else woke up. Knowing Luce, she’d go back to sleep once James was off the phone.

Simon had a plan: run, get started on breakfast, then he’d have Luce ask Jo, and he’d ask Alexander... no way he could go wrong with the simplicity of it.

The day before, he hadn’t had a chance to tell Luce how much fun the tour had been. Alexander had this hidden personality that lit up when he started talking about his own subject, and even though he had stopped himself short, with one of his faintly nervous apologies for ‘droning on’ and boring Simon, Simon had been enthralled. It would have been pointless to deny his attraction; he didn't even attempt it. More than that, though, it was nice to have someone new around, someone who was happy to take him as they found him, without the need for manners and polish.

All through his run, Simon thought about Alexander. The man was interesting, unlike a lot of people; his contrasts made him even more so. There was no easy way to take the measure of a person; judging a book by its cover only gave a sample, not the whole story. Sometimes there was a summary, but Simon wanted to know the full text, to see if this bloke would make a decent mate – or lover, if it came to that – over time. Patience was something Simon had in abundance; it seemed to run bone deep, much like the need to take care of someone – cherish them.

Simon picked up his pace and went straight to his room to shower. After his usual wank, he finished cleaning himself and dressed. It was rare that other staff wanted to use the pool in the mornings. That Alexander actually did made him glad that the girls weren’t allowed out of their dorms until seven thirty.

Alexander was already waiting for Simon when he arrived.

“Eh up.”

“Good morning.” He smiled and looked like he was about to say something about putting Simon to trouble again.

“It’s no trouble, I promise. I'm up anyway, and I have to come down first thing every day to make sure nothing's gone wrong overnight. If you like, I’ll get you a key so you can come whenever you want. Not during the day, though; staff hours are before eight in the morning and after eight at night. ” Alexander looked surprised, but Simon went on. “Sleep alright and that?”

“Yes, very well, thank you.”

Simon led Alexander to the changing room.

This pleased Simon. “Good. After your swim, I’d like you to join me and Luce for breakfast. Jo might come, and all, but I haven’t had a chance to ask her yet.”

There was an inner battle, Simon could tell, but in the end, Alexander surrendered to the invitation, if only to get Simon to stop asking for now. Just in case Alexander had any questions, Simon waited. There were other things to tell him, but Alexander began to undress precisely, folding his shirt and trousers neatly, and placing them on the shelf in the changing room. Simon tried very hard to avert his gaze when Alexander reached his pants, but he couldn’t. A milky landscape stood before him in all its beauty. His clothes didn’t do his body justice. He was lithe and nicely defined. Simon looked away, out of respect, and tried to keep the conversation going. Words fell away as thoughts took over, listening to Alexander change into his trunks. When Simon did look back, he saw skin and a blue strip that didn’t leave much to his imagination.

It took his breath away.

He felt the heat on his ears and said a quick ‘see you at breakfast’. Alexander didn’t seem to notice anything off, and he continued on to the pool. He dove in, sleek and beautiful, slicing the water before coming up for air and settling into a butterfly stroke that scythed through the water in the way that Simon could imagine Alexander's mind scything through the coils of dead languages to get to the meaning behind the words. He wondered what else hid behind the mild-mannered scholarliness that seemed to be Alexander's default setting.

Simon exhaled heavily and headed back to his room to start breakfast. Luce was in there already, curled up on the sofa. She didn’t look happy, but her expression shifted as soon as Simon came in.

Already the day was looking brighter.

Luce chattered away while Simon cooked. He wished he had more work space, but he made do with what was available. Despite his curiosity, he refrained from prying into James’s phone calls. He glanced over when she started rooting under the sofa cushions, searching for one of the many bottles of nail varnish that fed the furniture on a regular basis. She still seemed quite perky, which didn't tell him much in and of itself, but she didn't seem to be straining for it, which did: in this frame of mind, probing questions wouldn't ease her into sharing her problems and easing her mind, but would actively annoy and upset her. One of the earliest rules Simon’s mum had taught him was that you didn’t make girls cry: it just wasn’t cricket. Eventually – inevitably – she would get wound up from holding things in and tell him; he just had to be patient. The good part was that she would at least feel better when she had, and that would be Simon’s opportunity to ask Luce for the hundredth time why James didn’t know the woman he’d asked to marry him better, or seem to trust her. No relationship worked without trust. No one had had to teach Simon that; he had learned it from his own experiences.

Instead of bothering her with things that neither of them wanted to think about, he broached the topic of the start-of-term assembly. Neither of them wanted to go; it had been the same every year as long as he’d been there: the Headmistress would address the families and students and talk about excellence and poise, the new staff would be introduced, and then she’d talk about something else equally boring before they actually had to greet the parents. Simon mostly hated it because he had to wear his school suit; the thing was dreadful and hot and he never could get comfortable in it no matter how well it fitted. His body was not designed for that sort of thing. Breeding and training had made him thirteen and a half stone of muscle and bone that craved exercise; wearing a suit and sitting through assemblies made him feel like a racehorse wrapped up in blankets and bandages and locked in a stable. Luce, Jo and even Dog-Leash had pointed out more than once that he looked just as uncomfortable as he felt. Alexander, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at home in a suit; Simon couldn't even imagine him in jeans or a track suit.

Alexander was tall - perhaps almost as tall as Matt. Simon, at six feet two in his socks, had to look up to both of them, though their builds were completely different. Matt, as befitted a lock forward, had bulk to go with his height, and he was even less comfortable in a suit than Simon himself; according to Jo and Luce, he looked out of place in one, as well: like a big, rough lurcher got up in the ribbons and sparkly collar and silly little jersey of some air-headed socialite's Chihuahua. Formal tailoring just didn't seem to hang right on Holroyd men.

Like the rest of the staff, Simon had originally been required to wear an academic gown over his suit for the start-of-term assembly; when Miss Makinson had retired and he had been promoted to head of department, he had dug his heels in about that, and finally been granted special dispensation to forgo it on the basis that he was not an academic. The argument that he should be allowed to wear his school-crested track suit had failed, but he had recognised that he had been pushing his luck on that point, and let it slide: the gown was enough of a victory. While he cooked, he wondered idly how well one would sit on Alexander. Probably really suit him, with those shoulders and how tall he is.

Simon’s thoughts were cut short by Jo's arrival. Although by no means a frequent visitor, she did seem to appreciate his meals. She had even been known to go so far as to acknowledge that he was a good cook – for a barbarian. Alexander was not long behind her, as primly turned out as ever but slightly damp around the hair. There was no trace of the powerful swimmer or the brilliant intellectual Simon had described to Luce: he seemed to have reverted to his default setting of polite reserve again. He ate little - even less than Jo - for all he seemed genuinely to enjoy it.

Musical French began between Jo and Alexander, the man’s voice driving like a nail into Simon’s bones. Liquid hot, the feeling erupted centrally in his groin, spreading out until he was so hard he was uncomfortable. Knowing no one could see didn’t change how embarrassing it felt to sit at breakfast with the sort of erection that felt like he hadn’t got off in years. Never in his life had he been turned on by someone speaking another language; he’d studied French at school with no problems, then Alexander started twirling his tongue and making his lips round in ways that his tone became more like listening to sex than speech. It was uncomfortable. The desire to get away but stay close weighed heavily in his lap, keeping him firmly planted in his chair. Please don’t notice. When they’d met, Simon had known he was in trouble; if he could’ve foreseen this, 'trouble' wouldn’t have been strong enough.

Even Luce joined the conversation, with him left to fend for himself and his libido. He took deep breaths and tried to shove the desire away, but it wouldn’t budge, like a mountain settled in place. Or like Matt, when he dug his heels in on something he knew he was right about and no one wanted to listen. For all he knew, they were talking about travel, or weather, or even his food. This inexplicable desire roaring up at him wasn’t going to make life easy – the man taught Latin at the school.

Simon hung on every word, even though he couldn’t understand it. He lost himself in it, wondering why attraction had to be so complicated, how this man could make him feel so far removed from himself that he wanted to grab and kiss Alexander right there, even with Jo and Luce looking on.

Simon didn’t move from his seat for a while after Alexander had excused himself to set to work on his classroom. For once, thanks to Jo's lingering, he wasn’t compelled to tell Luce immediately what he felt; she'd probably laugh herself sick anyway, at the irony of the timing. Enough breathing and concentrating on other things - the time he'd walked in on Dan and Maria getting down to business in the pantry, Matt going down on that lass when she was having her period, the sex education talk Luce and the school matron gave every year with the graphic illustrations of menstruation and STDs, the seven times table - proved enough to relieve the ache, and he distracted her with pre-term paperwork before she could start after Jo had left.

The next week was a blur. They didn’t have the same preparations to make as the classroom-based teachers for the new school year, but there was plenty to keep them busy; the list seemed almost endless. He delegated the paperwork to Luce because at least her handwriting was legible and she could spell much better than he could: the Headmistress wouldn’t appreciate their memberships and insurances being rejected because of some stupid mistake on Simon’s part. For him, that left the practical things, and the things that he couldn't delegate. The inter-school sporting events had mostly been scheduled already, because most of them didn’t change, and there were no new schools to add into the various leagues, which he appreciated. Ballet, riding lessons, archery, the girls going for A’ levels in PE, and ones with any medical problems were next on his list for timetable blocking and contingency planning. He reviewed the paperwork carefully from the school secretary regarding the inevitable handful of insect allergies, asthma, and sundry other special circumstances which meant that one or two girls might occasionally have to do some gentle indoor swimming or pilates with a teaching assistant rather than participate in the actual lesson. His last chore was to double-check Luce’s timetable: she covered the specialist sports that, for reasons lost in the mists of history, the school was bound by covenant to offer. Simon had never needed to teach them, which was just as well since he had never been as good with a shotgun as Dan, and he had turned out to be crap at fencing. Miss Makinson had taught those disciplines when Simon had joined the school, and one the several reasons for appointing Luce straight out of university rather than one of the more experienced applicants for the post had been her pedigree as a medal-winning modern pentathlete. Some parents were understandably wary of their daughters wielding firearms, but Simon had been surprised by the number who were willing to pay the extra fees for fencing and equestrianism tuition. Most of them seemed to Simon to view Daventry as a sort of holding bay for girls between birth and marriage into money, like something out of one of the Regency romance novels Maria would never admit to reading. The whole school felt like it was in a bubble, untouched by most of the modern world. Old ways of doing things were alive and well, and the girls seemed oddly content with it.

Simon saw little of Alexander during those hectic days as the school and its staff readied themselves for the coming year: no more than an exchange of quick greetings in passing, or a wave from the other side of the quad. Lacking any plausible excuses to hang around the pool every morning, waiting for him to arrive, Simon unlocked it and carried on with his days and before he knew it, the start-of-term assembly was on them.

 

+          +          +

 

Simon headed back to his room after the assembly, pulling off his jacket and loosening his tie. He opened the door to Luce lounging on his sofa, having disposed of her skirt suit and reverted to the usual tennis dress.

“You always leave me alone at those things.”

“I hate them. And you don’t pay me enough to stay for the whole thing.”

"Like they pay me enough to? My salary isn’t that much better than yours.” Simon unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the sofa when he’d slipped the cuffs.

"Better enough,” she said, returning her attention to the TV after a cursory inspection of his chest and abdomen. Given the lack of comment, he inferred that the bruise he had picked up during their self-defence demonstration practice had faded.

“Mm. James is loaded, though. And he’ll take good care of you.”

"I’m not marrying him for his money,” she said crossly.

“I know you’re not.” He was still trying to work out why she was marrying him.

“Don’t say things like that, then. I don’t want looking after, either.”

“You always say that.” She let him take care of her, though. Even if it was just cooking for her and making sure she was eating more than pizza and ready meals. Those small things counted, no matter what she said.

“I always mean it, too.”

Simon nodded, not entirely believing her. “Drink?”

“Please.”

Simon brought her a cola and had water for himself, then sat down beside her.

“So you’re leaving at the end of the year.”

“I haven’t said that.”

“If you’re getting married, he won’t want you teaching here. Especially not here with me.” Luce said something coarse, and he smiled. “Am I even invited?”

“Of course you are. You’re my best mate. You’d look stupid in a dress, so you can’t be a bridesmaid, though.”

“I don’t want to be.” He chuckled.

She sat in silence for a moment, then began to take on the brooding look that usually meant she had some James-related upset on her mind.

“He’s talking about dresses.” She seemed to take this as an affront; Simon did not follow it up, largely because she had trenchant views on his own sense of fashion.

“Have you set a date?”

“Not yet. Sometime next year, probably. I mean, it’ll be sometime next year, not we'll set the date sometime next year. That'd be stupid.”

Her apparent lack of interest in her own wedding made him want to start digging and finally get to the bottom of the mystery of her relationship with James, but it wasn’t his place: there were some decisions a person had to make on their own. As he saw it, the problem for Luce was whether or not James was worth losing her best mate over - no matter how much he hated to think of it or how quick she was to dismiss the possibility. He sighed.

“I don’t know what I did to him, Luce, but he will make you cut me out of your life as soon as he gets a chance. Same thing Ali’s husband did.”

“I do have my own mind, you know. And I am not Ali. Stop comparing me to her.”

“James hates me.”

“I hate his mother.” She shrugged. “I’ve got to put up with her, so he can put up with you.”

“You hate most mothers.” He wished that he could be more reassured by her belief that it would be so easy, but experience had taught him caution. Her point was fair, though: she was not Ali. Ali had been completely besotted with her husband, and Simon was not the only friend she had allowed to fall away after her marriage; Luce's attachment to James was very obviously something else entirely.

“True.”

“I think you’d have liked mine.”

For the first time since he’d got back to his room, she smiled. “Yeah, probably. Your family’s brilliant.”

Simon beamed back. “Thanks.” He propped his feet up on the coffee table just in time for Luce to lean against him.

“I think I’m secretly your sister, or something.”

“Don’t say that.” It took everything in him not to shudder, thinking about how odd that would be.

“I sure as fuck don’t belong in my family.” She brooded again for a moment. “I’ve got a sense of humour. I know what actual fun is.”

“And my family is full of men who like right bobby dazzlers who boss them about.”

“Exactly. I was stolen at birth.” For a while she went on about how she couldn’t be the daughter of her parents. Simon only listened with half an ear, being increasingly absorbed in his own thoughts. A holiday at the farm without Luce just wouldn't be the same. She fitted in, even though she didn’t have the same skills as Maria or Simon’s Auntie Rita: she didn’t need to be able to manage the household and produce a constant supply of good food for the shop and the men - and children - who traipsed endlessly in and out of the kitchen; she had other qualities. She was lively and enthusiastic, and it carried over to everyone: his nieces and nephews loved her because she could dance for them and join in with their games, or read stories, or help with their homework; the women liked her for her way with the children, and the men were charmed by her energy and her imperiousness - and her endless legs. She had been absorbed into the family.

Eventually she settled down and stopped claiming to be a Holroyd stolen at birth. Simon started flipping channels to see if there were any friendly pre-season matches on.

“How did Alexander cope with the afternoon?”

Simon reset his brain from the TV. “He was fantastic.”

“Had them all eating out of his hand, did he? Or is that just your dick talking?”

“Luce!”

“What?” Her air of wounded innocence had not deceived him for years, and she knew it; she snickered into his shoulder.

“Sex is brilliant, but that’s not the only thing on my mind. He’s not even gay.”

“Oh, of course he is. My arse and Jo’s chest do nothing for him.”

“He is not.”

“He is, too.”

“The man doesn’t look at anyone unless they’re talking about classics.”

Luce rolled her eyes. “No wonder you have trouble pulling. Talk to him about classics, then!”

He didn’t bother with the argument about it being the keeping, not the pulling. Luce knew; they’d been through it often enough before. Just his physique was enough to attract potential partners – the shallow ones, anyway. He never seemed to come across anyone with a mind to something more lasting. “I don’t know anything about classics. And if he’s a megastar, as you said, anything I say would just sound thick and he’d think I was a complete plank.”

“So ask him something. Ask him about Perseus, or Troy, or something.”

“To tea. I think he really likes tea.” Simon got up and dug a t-shirt out of his clean clothes and pulled it over his head. Luce immediately slunk into the warm indent he had left in the sofa, heat-seeker that she was.

“Right, fine. And talk about classics.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” He nearly saluted, but she was already looking at the TV again.

Simon’s nerves rattled for a moment, but he shook them out and knocked on Alexander's door. There was no answer, but he knocked again, just in case.

“Alexander?”

There was still no response, and he sighed. Maybe Alexander just wasn’t back yet from the assembly. Regardless, Simon wanted his intent known. He returned to his room and dug out a sheet of a paper and a biro, then wrote very carefully, “Tea? Simon”. Satisfied that he’d spelled everything correctly, Simon crossed the hall gain and slid the paper under the door.

When Simon returned, Luce had a wicked expression on her face and Super 15 was on the TV still. “I think you should make a pass at him.”

Simon laughed, planning to. “Mm. Yeah, alright. When he surfaces.”

“He’ll go mental. He’ll never accuse you of fancying me again. I mean, he’ll still hate you, but he won’t be jealous.”

Simon was confused. Who are we talking about...? “What?” Then what she said slotted into place like a child’s puzzle. “I should’ve known.” He shook his head.

“Well, obviously. What?”

“James.”

“Who were you talking about?”

“Alexander.” Duh.

She rolled her eyes. “Huh. Well, yeah. I mean, obviously you should make a pass at him, too. You fancy him.”

“I’m not making a pass at James. I’ll hit him back if he hits me.”

“He wouldn’t hit you.” Aye, that’s all he’s been framing to do since he met me.

“He’d be too busy running away.” If possible, she seemed to be just starting to warm to this idea. “But he’d get it fixed in his head that you’re after him, and he’ll stop obsessing.”

Luce knew Simon would do anything for her. He thought about it, knowing if he could make her life a touch easier, he should do it. Then again, if it backfired, hell would come knocking for a lot more than he wanted to pay. Simon disliked him too much to take it seriously. “He’s probably one of the ones who thinks we’re paedos and sick, twisted fucks.”

“No, he thinks you fancy me. That’s the problem. He thinks it’s some cunning, fiendish, long-term scheme to bring me to my knees, or something. It’s bonkers.”

Simon wasn’t even her type. James was truly an idiot, especially if he gave Simon that much credit for hatching the lunatic idea that he’d just been pretending to like cock all those years to get something he’d had already… which had been her on her knees, but not permanently and definitely not as some way to slight him. Ugh. Simon wanted to get away from that night like a starving tiger was chasing him.

“Okay, he’s mental.”

“He’s just got a blind-spot.”

“Yeah, and it’s about your height and size.”

Luce smacked his shoulder. It hurt every time she did that, but Simon couldn’t bear to tell her.

“He thinks I’m marvellous.”

“I meant that anything involving you makes the man mental.”

“Oh. Okay. I take it back.”

She patted his shoulder soothingly. He forgave her and changed the subject, before she could come up with something even madder. “I really hate Super 15. It’s like American football, and I thought you couldn’t get worse than that.”

“You’re the one who put it on.”

“You find something, then.”

The remote, once in Luce’s hand, tended to follow exactly where her thoughts were. She clicked the numbers and landed on the gay porn channel without fail.

“Luce, my door is open.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Did you think, just maybe, if I got lucky enough, Alexander might come for tea? And that he just might not like to walk in on porn?”

She wrinkled her nose. “He’s a classicist. The ancient Greeks were all at it.” To Simon’s relief she changed the channel. “I like laughing at the crapness.”

“You get off on it. As much as I do because I don’t have anyone to be with.”

“I get off on imagining you doing that stuff.”

“Me?” Simon blinked several times. He didn’t know what else to say.

“Sometimes I imagine you doing it with Matt. Does that make me twisted?”

Disgusted and a bit horrified, Simon looked at her. “Yeah, just a bit. But I love you anyway.”

She beamed, apparently pleased with Simon’s revulsion; he recognised the game, then. “I make you feel all normal and virtuous, don’t I?”

“No, not really.” There had to be something he could come up with to cap that. His mind raced to identify it.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You have something weirder than incest?”

Not in reality, he didn’t, but an idea was forming, and he grinned. “I have lots of weird thoughts.”

“Just not ones that involve you doing unspeakable things with your brother. Or brothers.”

“You’d be amazed what goes through my mind when I’m running.”

She practically glowed. “Do tell. Because if you can beat a three-way with Matt and Dan, I’ll be stunned.”

“Foursome with you, Matt, and Dan, and me being tied up.”

She laughed as if it were the best joke she'd heard in all her life.

“And then Maria comes in with a rolling pin and smacks Dan on the are and tells him to get on with it.”

“I can actually see that.” Luce snickered.

“Hugely pregnant, as usual.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her not pregnant.”

Simon told her a few more outlandish ideas that came to mind: them all dressing him up as a lass, Big Mark having Simon gag him...

“You would not be a pretty girl. Nobody would want you to do that.”

“No, I’m a gorgeous male specimen.”

“And also taking the piss.”

She’d caught him, but it had been worth it. “Come on. It’s fun.” Then he gave in. “Yes, I feel rather normal and virtuous compared to you.”

“Then my work is done.”

They laughed and Simon kissed her temple.

“I was a nice girl until I met you,” she informed him, in defiance of all plausibility.

“Don’t you blame me. I can’t help you fancy the Holroyd men. Does James even have a clue why we’re such good mates?”

“Nah, he just looks at you and sees trouble.”

“Maybe you should tell him the story sometime.”

“None of his business.”

“Alright.”

When Luce started curling up, Simon’s heart sank. He thought the friendship they’d built after her first engagement was worth the mentioning of it, but it still seemed to have the old sting. Luce was protecting herself. Simon pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s the past, love. Leave it there.”

“It’s not fair.”

“Nay, love. I’m sorry I brought it up.” He rested his cheek on her head and stroked her back. “You’re happy now, though.”

“Yeah.”

“Which is all any on us could hope for.”

She sniffed. “Doesn’t mean I want all that raking up, though. I know I can’t change it. I accept that I can’t change it. Just don’t ask me to like it.”

“I had no idea it still hurt so much.” Six years had gone by since then.

“You can’t just turn a feeling off. You can ignore it, and you can even forget about it a lot of the time, but it never actually goes away. And then someone comes and bloody pokes it.”

“I’m sorry, love.” Simon was contrite, but it wasn’t seeming to help at all. “You know I don’t like when you’re unhappy. Or hurting you.”

“I’m not unhappy. I’m not really unhappy. It just... stuff like that takes you by surprise. It’s like sciatica.” She sighed. “It's okay, really. You didn’t mean to.”

“As long as you really do know that.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“No, I am.”

She huffed. “You love me to bits, and you’d rather chew your own balls off than hurt someone you love.”

“Exactly.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into him finally. “And I’ve got James, now, anyway. I wish you liked each other.”

“I wish a lot of things, love. Doesn’t mean they’re framing to happen.”

Luce sighed.

“What?”

“What?”

“You sighed.”

“I’m allowed. You said something melancholy. Sighing in response to something melancholy is allowed.”

“Hrm, okay. Let’s do something. I don’t want to sit here thinking about what I don’t have.”

“We could eat,” Luce said hopefully. She had always been easy to distract and delight with food.

Laughing, Simon asked, “To the pub? Or am I cooking?”

“Your gravy’s miles better.”

Simon smiled and set to his task. Cooking always calmed him, made him feel he had a purpose: in this case, taking care of Luce. They ate when it was ready and went back to the sofa afterward. For a while, they watched TV, Luce tucked comfortably under his arm. James's regular call interrupted the program, and Luce bounced out of the room to answer it, apparently back to her usual perky self. At least James should be pleased that she wasn’t sitting in Simon’s arms while they talked. She would eventually treacle back, take up her station again, and stop for however long Simon let her.

While she was gone, he let his mind wander over the day. The assembly had gone well, even if it had seemed like Dog-Leash had gone, twenty minutes at least, longer than last year. Alexander had looked fantastic despite the appallingly coloured robes and hat his university had seen fit to inflict on its doctoral graduates. The inner child in Simon had wanted to laugh, since they were the most insane he’d ever seen, but somehow he had quieted it – the kick to the ankle from Luce had probably helped.

A brisk knock at the door derailed Simon's train of thought. Answering it, he beamed: Alexander stood there, with the note in his hand.

“I presume that this was an invitation rather than a request, but I should be glad if you would join me.”

He couldn't help laughing. It was nice to hear the light teasing in Alexander’s tone – a new one to catalogue in Simon’s mind to remember. It was the first time since they’d met that Alexander had been actively friendly rather than just courteous. Tingles broke out over his skin at the thought that Alexander was also inviting Simon to his room. Not that it meant anything was going to happen. “Yeah, that’d be brilliant. I wasn’t sure if you were there earlier; Luce thought you were, but you didn’t answer when I knocked, so I just left a note.”

Alexander smiled, starting for his own room. Simon followed without thought, as though attached by a string. “My apologies; I was listening to some music with headphones. I don’t share Lucy’s taste.”

Simon chuckled. “Not many do. I think she’s forgotten it’s not just us three on this wing any more.” Things made a little more sense to Simon, now: when Luce had left the assembly, she had likely gone to her own room to change, and turned up some high tempo music, singing along with it at the top of her lungs as she usually did. It wasn't thoughtlessness so much as enthusiasm; most people found the joie de vivre endearing, once they got used to it - even Dog-Leash - but it did take some getting used to. Alexander must have got back while she was in full flow, before she’d let herself into Simon’s room.

Alexander inclined his head, and ushered Simon in. It looked completely different inside; almost completely unrecognisable as the room Simon had last seen full of boxes. More bookcases lined the wall and an impressive personal library surrounded the room like a shield. The furniture wasn’t new, but the well polished wood gleamed in the lamplight: it had obviously been carefully looked after, and something about it - the deep tones, the air of academia, the traditional comfort - fitted Alexander like one of his suits.

“You’ve settled in nicely.”

“Yes, thank you. I had some of my things brought from home.” He grimaced slightly. “I just can’t seem to adjust to a modern desk.”

Simon smiled. Alexander fascinated him more and more. To him, a desk was a desk, and sometimes even a table or chair - or wall - if it had a flat enough surface for him to write whatever was needed. “How did you like the assembly?”

Alexander regarded him amusedly as he made his way across to the kitchenette. “I don’t think the idea is that one should ‘like’ these things. Though I have sat through considerably worse.”

Simon was sure he had. He watched Alexander begin to assemble the equipment for a formal tea - pot, milk jug, cups and saucers, sugar basin, sugar tongs, teaspoons, side plates - on a tray; it was like something out of a period drama. There was one ingredient missing, though. “D’you like jam tarts?”

Alexander didn’t even blink at the change of subject. “What sort of jam?”

“Strawberry. Homemade.”

“Lovely.” Alexander smiled. “My aunt’s cook used to make them with damson or gooseberry,” he added, with a droll grimace which suggested that he hadn't been impressed.

“Aye? We always use strawberry; Auntie Rita makes it. It's one of the farm shop specialities." Alexander registered interest, but Simon had already risen and started towards the door. "Hold on a tick; I did some baking yesterday, and I reckon tarts would go down a treat with the tea." Before Alexander could politely demur, Simon went to grab the tin of tarts.

Excitement and nervousness flooded him. The tart tin felt slippery, escaping his grasp the first time he picked it up. You’re not a bloody teenager, Simon; get it together! He tightened his grip and left.

“The parents seemed to like you. Can’t say I blame them, really,” Simon said when he returned, forestalling the inevitable comment on his kindness and Alexander's reluctance to impose.

The gambit worked: Alexander took on the bashfully hopeful air he'd had the first day they'd met and spoken. “Did you think so? I had a distinct sense that they thought I was too young.”

“I think maybe they thought ‘too handsome’,” Simon said, chuckling. The man really had no idea how good-looking he was. “I was watching.”

Alexander coloured slightly. “I can’t imagine that that was the problem.”

As far as Simon was concerned, there wasn’t one. “Alexander, please. You’re good-looking and very educated bloke. You can’t blame them for wondering what brings you to a little school like Daventry in the middle of nowhere when you could be doing something else. I wouldn’t worry about the parents, honestly. They seemed impressed. I can’t blame them. Dog— The Headmistress was pleased, too. It’s difficult to get that much of a smile out of her about anything.”

Alexander cleared his throat. “At any rate, it seemed to go well enough. And term begins on Monday; I’m rather looking forward to it.”

“That’s good to hear.” Alexander finished with the tea and brought it to the living area. He kindly poured a cup for Simon, and Simon opened the tin of tarts to offer them to Alexander, which he accepted.

Simon seemed to have encouraged him because Alexander began talking about his syllabus, which meant nothing to Simon on an academic level. Oh, God, now he really is going to think I’m a plank.

Simon asked, “Could you tell me a little more about that?”

“Pro Roscio?” Alexander perked up, like he was pleased that someone was taking an interest.

“I barely made it through French, come to that.” It was a bit embarrassing to admit, but Simon never promised intelligence to anyone.

“You may have found that a grounding in Latin would have facilitated it.” From there, Alexander began talking about the romance languages and how they stemmed from Latin. At one point, he even stopped speaking in English, which caught Simon off guard, but he didn’t say anything. The reaction, the way the words ran like fire in his blood, scared him a bit. No one had ever had that much... command – knowingly or otherwise – over his arousal.

“Aye, probably, but being dyslexic didn’t help much with schooling. Kind of caught it late.” Alexander seemed interested, so Simon carried on. “It’s okay, though. I’m much better at being physical.”

“I imagine that’s an advantage in a teacher of physical education.”

Simon smiled, glad that Alexander was comfortable enough with him to make an actual joke. “Yeah, I reckon. I’d been looking forward to playing rugby, but I changed my mind. I didn’t want to travel so much.”

“You had intended to play professionally?”

“I’d been given a trial with my brother’s team. He thinks it was stupid to turn it down.”

“One must make one’s own decisions.”

Questions raced through his thoughts: curiosity if Alexander had been faced with similar decisions. It was true enough that Simon got the feeling of wisdom in the statement. “Aye. How’d you get involved in classics?”

“I studied at school, and proved to be rather gifted.” He was very matter-of-fact with the response, like it wasn’t a big deal. A gift like that should be a big deal, though. Simon wondered if this was the same humility he’d seen already or something else.

“It would seem so.” Simon wondered if Alexander had ever taken the time to do anything for himself that didn’t involve academic achievement. He sipped his tea, nothing like what he made for himself, or what they drank on the farm: a chewy mass that most people couldn’t swallow. Simon watched Alexander for a moment, his manners, his movements and the nagging question about sexuality popped into his mind like an unwanted house guest. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” Out the question poured, no thinking, just feeling.

“Not at all.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

It was like someone had switched off the mains; Alexander’s expression went completely blank. Then his face went very pink. “Ah, no. No, I am not.” He cleared his throat.

“Would it be too bold to ask if you’d like to go out sometime?”

Alexander blinked several times. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’d like to take you on a date.”

It seemed like Simon had picked up Alexander’s world and shaken it. He drank his tea, but there was nothing smooth or elegant in the movement. He seemed nervous, and Simon hoped it was the question, not him, that caused the reaction.

“But we barely know one another.”

Considering that dating tended to be how people got to know one another, Simon was a slightly puzzled, but he didn’t press. Having made Alexander uncomfortable already didn’t sit well with him – he wanted to fix it even though he had none of the tools to do it.

Simon nodded. “Sorry.”

“Please don’t apologise. It’s very, ah, kind of you; I was simply—”

“No, it’s alright. You’re right. It’s too soon.” Alexander looked relieved, but Simon was disappointed. Luce had told him many times that he had the tact of a hand grenade. Cue explosion. Simon believed in going after the things he wanted or had an interest in; he had thought that he had outgrown his tendency to go after it like a bull at a gate, but it seemed not. When Alexander offered him more tea, Simon paused to debate whether it was a good idea or not.

“Okay.”

They sat in silence through the rest of the tea. Simon chose not to alarm Alexander further by not speaking and instead found that words weren’t really required. He was comfortable. He knew, though, that once he finished that cup, he should leave. Mostly out of embarrassment and disappointment, but he didn’t want to say anything else that might make Alexander uncomfortable with him.

“Please keep the rest of the tarts. If you’d like more, just let me know. I make them.”

“I shouldn’t wish to put you to any trouble.”

“It’s not any trouble. I promise.”

“You are very kind.”

At that moment, Simon disagreed. He finished his tea, then cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll leave to your evening. I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important. I know you’ve got a lot to do before Monday.”

“Not at all; I think I am well in hand.”

Simon smiled. “That’s good to hear. Shall I open the pool in the morning?”

“Yes, please.”

“Will do.” Alexander smiled. Simon didn’t want to go yet.

“See you then.”

“I can swim in the lake if it’s any trouble.”

“No, not at all. The Headmistress would have heart failure.” Simon imagined comments about negligence and liability. The pool temperature was regulated, unlike the lake, which was anywhere between frozen and freezing at any given time of the year. There was no way Simon would put anyone through that. Because the pool was his responsibility, he’d get reproached quite harshly for not thinking. "I only have a late lie-in on Sunday, so I’m up anyway. It’s not a problem to open it up. Please stop worrying so much about putting me to trouble. It’s my pleasure. I’m offering, so it’s not a problem.” He smiled. “I promise.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Gosh.” To Simon’s surprise, Alexander smiled shyly. “Then I shall simply thank you.”

Simon nodded. “You’re welcome. Good night, Alexander. Thank you for the tea.”

Back in his own room, Simon lay down on his sofa with the TV on, not really watching it but trying to avoid getting maudlin. Alexander hadn’t completely rejected him, that was the main thing. He hadn't been repulsed, or offended. He hadn't even denied any interest in Simon, so maybe Luce and Jo were right after all. They would be all kinds of smug about it if they were. He just had to be patient. Being that bold had been out of character for him. The pushing and trying to jump ahead in any sort of relationship would go nowhere, and fast. He didn’t know what was wrong and why he was acting this way. One man, who he barely knew, shouldn’t be able do this much to him in less than a week; it wasn’t possible. Common sense told him that, but his unfailing ability to put his arse over end didn’t help.

“Eh up,” he said in greeting when Luce sashayed in. She beamed. “Good talk with James?”

“Yeah. He apologised. And I graciously forgave him because I’m like that.”

“Nice.” Simon opened his arm, and she joined him, her body fitting snugly against his. He wondered what Alexander’s would feel like.

“Where did you disappear to?”

“Tea in Alexander’s room.”

“Yeah? Cool.”

“Mm. Apart from making an idiot of myself. At least he seems to like my jam tarts.”

“Of course he does. Your jam tarts are epic.”

“Yeah, it was going well, and then I went and asked him on a date.”

Even though he couldn’t see it, he knew Luce had rolled her eyes. “You should probably get to know him a bit first.”

“I thought that’s what dating was for, but I reckon not.”

Like there was a punch line Simon had missed, Luce laughed. “Some people like to have a platonic relationship before a romantic one.”

“Mm. He’s not seeing anyone; I did find that out. And he said the same thing, basically.” He sighed. “I just get ahead of myself sometimes.”

“It’s part of your charm.” He heard the smile in her tone.

“I doubt he agrees at the moment. He was in there earlier, by the way. He just had headphones on. Seems he’s not keen on Cascada at full volume.” Just over her shoulder, Simon watched Luce wrinkle her nose. “He doesn’t have a TV, and his furniture is probably as old as Granddad Simon, if not older.”

“Older, probably. He looks that type. I bet he’s loaded.”

“I don’t know. I think it’s just things from his Aunt’s house. Anyway, who cares if he’s loaded? He seems nice.” That was rare enough in people.

“I wasn’t saying he didn’t.”

She hummed and settled in.

“I’m glad you and James sorted things.”

“We always do.”

At what cost, he wondered, words failing to come. They always did when James was the topic in one way or another: either he said something rude about him or he said nothing at all. He commented, “You fight more than any couple I know.”

“You don’t know many couples.”

“My family.”

“They’re different.”

“How?” he asked: they all had their ups and downs like any other couples and families. \

“They’re Holroyds.”

“Are not. Not all on ’em. There’s Ramsdens, Barracloughs, Brays, Weavers, Haighs, Earnshaws and Frasers.”

“You know what I meant.” He could hear the ‘idiot’ in there, with an eye roll.

“They’re not all the same. You make us sound like clones.”

“Hardly.”

“Those are the couples I know. They Sort Things Out Quickly,” Simon said proudly.

“They’re usually no more than six feet apart.”

“Maybe the distance is part of what keeps you two arguing?” Simon suggested.

Her face squinched. “Probably.”

“Still want me to come on to him?”

“Nah, I’ll let you off.”

“Good. I do think he’d lamp me.” Though it would give Simon an excuse to hit him back… which was almost tempting.

“I don’t.”

“Hah. Let’s get pissed and I’ll snog him.”

“That would be hot.”

Simon laughed. “That’s all that matters to you, isn’t it?”

“No, but it doesn’t hurt.”

“We should do it. Maybe it’ll lighten the mood.”

“He’d have a panic attack.”

“Better not, then. I’m not a complete arse.”

“You do have a good one, though.” Simon smiled. “Oh, I owe you a hundred and twenty five quid.”

“Why?” He didn’t think she’d borrowed any money…

“Torso of the month.”

“You’re submitting photos of me again?” If it weren’t so funny, he’d make her stop.

“You keep winning.” She sounded like a proud parent – or agent.

“What’s next? Playgirl?”

“Do you think they pay better?” Excitement radiated from her tone. He wondered if perhaps he ought to be paying her to pimp him out more. It might even make him a better living than teaching. He laughed.

“I have no idea.”

“I’ll find out.”

“This is your idea…”

“You suggested it.”

“I’m just wondering how far you’re willing to go.”

“I’m not the one with the collection of photos of you wanking.”

Oh, bugger. She always brings that up like it’s something I’d planned. “Uh, I didn’t take those. And I was pissed.”

“No, but you didn’t burn them, either.”

No, he hadn’t burned them; he hadn’t done anything with them, actually. They sat in a box under his bed. “Have fun with them,” he said. He had no use for them and no reason to keep them. It was just something Mick had done once before he had shown his true colours about the man he was.

Luce beamed. “See, I love that about you. You’re totally fine with being a sex object.”

He shrugged. “It’s not like it’s actually me. It’s just a photo.” To him, there wasn’t really anything funny about what he’d said, but Luce burst out laughing anyway. “Anyway, do whatever you want with them. You know where they are. It’s nice having a little extra money. Keep your half for doing all the work.”

“If I got that boob job, you could flog pictures of me, too.”

Simon didn’t sigh. “Luce, don’t get a boob job. You’re perfect the way you are.”

She radiated happiness like all her birthdays had come at once. He wondered if James had ever told her that.

“Just not very soft porn-worthy.”

“No; hardcore, definitely.” Judging from her reaction, this was the finest compliment Luce had ever received. He smiled. “It’s the blowjobs, and you’ll do anal.”

She snorted.

“No, you give better head than most blokes do.”

“I should hope so.”

“You could be a porn star. You’re the Lolita type – your body and that. All sorts of blokes would want to watch you fuck some sod.”

“I’m not a Lolita.”

“You kind of are.”

“I’m five foot eleven.” Yeah, in the same way that I’m only six feet tall to you. He shook his head amusedly, and she shook hers back indignantly. “You can’t be a Lolita if you have to look down to see your partner’s face.”

“Yeah, but they can make you look shorter on film.”

“I don’t want to look shorter.”

“And they’d get the big blokes for you: units like Matt and Rob.” She shook her head again. We talk about sex like we’re virgins or something. He laughed. “Why the hell do we talk about sex so much? I’m not getting any. You’re not either, but at least you have a fiancé.”

“That’s why we talk about it.” Her tone suggested that this should have been obvious.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know about you, but I get tired of wanking. I want to touch someone. I get to touch you, but it’s not the same.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know if I’m turning you on or something, and then you’re engaged. It’s all fucked up.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Sorry. Just thinking about weird stuff.”

“Again?”

“You know I was just taking the piss earlier.”

“Which bit?”

“All of it – my brothers and that.”

She was warm under his hands. Soft, too. He liked that she let him touch her skin, just for that brief feeling of connection with someone, someone he loved. He closed his eyes and let his hand wander from her abs, across her ribs and across to her sternum in slow strokes.

“See, if I had that boob job, you’d notice when you were touching them.”

He stopped immediately. “Sorry. And you don’t need a bloody boob job.”

“I’m not talking about massive great airbags.”

“You still don’t need one.” If she carried on arguing, he'd trot out the thing about being a role model for the girls and not encouraging them to develop body image issues. Not that he thought she was actually completely serious anyway.

There was a lull as she settled down again, warm and drowsy as a contented cat. His mind wandered back over the turns the conversation had taken and the evening's events, and he found himself dwelling on a question that he wasn't sure he could answer on his own.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You don’t normally ask that.”

“’Cause it’s a serious question.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I reserve the right to give you a silly answer.”

“You always do.” He paused for a moment. He felt like a complete knob even asking, but he needed to hear it from someone, and his Mum wasn’t alive to talk to about these things. “Do you think I want too much in a relationship?”

“No.” She said it promptly and as firm as a rock.

“What’s wrong with me that I can’t find a decent bloke, then?”

“You’re living in a girls’ school at the arse end of the back of beyond. It isn’t exactly a wide social circle. So in terms of what’s wrong with you, basically, your idea of a good place to pull is crap.”

“Yeah. I know I’m not the only gay man in Yorkshire. I go home often enough.”

“And you had boyfriends at university. But you’ve been here since you were twenty one. Most people don’t look for a long-distance relationship. You pull someone in Yorkshire, they’re going to be thinking of a one-ff shag.” It was a fair point.

“And I don’t want that.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m not saying you do want that. That’s a really bad habit.”

“Yeah, and stupid. I’d drive to the city to do it, if that’s what I wanted.”

She tutted. “No, responding to the bit that is so not the point is the bad habit.”

“Oh. I’m trying.”

She sniffed imperiously. “At the best of times.”

She was teasing him again, and directing ‘serious’ away from ‘likely to become maudlin’ before the despondency could actually set in. “You stopping with me tonight?”

“Yeah. You’re warm.”

“Maybe I should give James some tips.”

“He’s in Zurich.”

“That’s okay.”

She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, the point was that there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just in a really stupid place to be trying to find The One.”

Simon hummed. There were other options; the only thing really keeping him at Daventry was Luce. When she was gone, it’d be a little less lively – just not the same in a way he couldn't articulate. “A bit depressing. Makes me wonder if I should leave and find another post in London, when you’ve gone. Or Cardiff, or Leeds, or Edinburgh, or anywhere with a population of more than six hundred, including dogs and horses.”

“But you like it here.”

“Only ’cause of you, love. But at least Matt’s in London.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, and it’s a pretty active scene.

“I’m not going to Manchester.”

“I don’t blame you.” Like a cat who’d made her bed, she nestled against him. “It’s not like he actually turned you down. I mean, he didn’t use the words ‘I’m not interested’.”

“Nay. Not putting all of my eggs in one basket, though.”

She smiled. “Don’t dismiss it just because you startled him.”

“I’m not. When we know each other a bit better, I’ll ask again.”