Lost in Manchester - 2. The Loom Inn. September 2009. Ali.

Two floors down from the dinner party, Ali was pacing the flat, preparing agendas, pens and papers for an emergency meeting of the University environmental group, and at the same time desperately trying to remember the name of the guy her flatmate Daniel was dating.

Daniel was lounging on the L-shaped sofa, half-watching some documentary about the Italian Renaissance. Their flat was almost identical to every other flat in the block, populated with the same generic modern furniture. It was located on the rear side of the building, so their view was of old industrial buildings instead of a city vista. But where newly tenanted flats looked sterile and soulless, Ali and Daniel had been there long enough now for theirs to look homely: art prints and photo montages adorning the walls, an overburdened hat-stand loitering in the hall, and bright cushions and blankets covering the sofa, ready for long nights in watching box sets.

Ali darted in to the kitchen-lounge, grabbed a glass of water, and took a gulp. She registered Daniel rapidly closing the screen showing Gayzer, a gay chat site, on his laptop. He always guarded his online conversations closely.

“So how are things going with Callum?” she asked.

Daniel looked up. “Callum?”

“Alright, Charlie.”

“He’s not called Charlie”

“Kyle?”

“Carl” Daniel said smiling.

“Carl, yes. I was pretty close with Kyle. How is that sexy piece of ass then? I remember big biceps”.

He gave her a look. “I’m amazed you remember anything at all from the other night.”

“What? I’d had like two drinks.”

“Ok. It’s just, when we found you, you were trying to unlock the door by putting your key in the spyhole”

Ali shrugged. “I often do that”.

“He’s fine”.

“Well good. Is he coming round again?”

Daniel looked coy. “We’re having a third date tomorrow, so you never know. He might end up dropping back here.”

Ali laughed. “I’d put money on it. Well tell him not to look so blurry this time”.

She checked her watch.

“Shit, I need to run. I’ve got an airport extension to stop.”

Overall, the meeting went well. Obviously, once everyone had found a seat that was comfortable, had averted catastrophe by getting some new soya milk for the tea, when they realised the old stuff was out of date and there was only dairy left, and then got through ten minutes of grammar-based changes to the minutes of the last meeting. The fact that a new airport runway in Manchester would do thousands of times more damage to the environment than all the positive work the group had ever done, was obviously of secondary importance to the grammatical correctness of the groups minutes.

They drove her a bit crazy, but they were generally good people, and a small number of them were incredible people. Sparked into action by the meeting, Carys at about 9pm, went home and designed up a flyer, got up at 6am the following morning, and printed 1,000 copies off, delivering them to Ali’s door by 8am. They had agreed at the meeting that they needed to let people know the harm this runway would do, and flyering her own block seemed a good starting point.

Ali was slipping a flyer under one of the doors on Floor 14, just at the point that somebody started to open it. A young, bespectacled Harry Potter lookalike was behind it, apparently ready to head out. He stooped to pick up the flyer and smirked, before standing and looking at her, then smiling patronisingly.

“Wasting your time with this love” he said.

She didn’t like the look he gave her. Another guy came to the door and the first guy passed him the flyer, raised his eyebrows and said “see you later”, before turning and brushing straight past Ali and away down the stairs.

Ali knew the look he had given her. The look he would probably give to every Afro-Caribbean person he ever saw. She had met enough rich white boys to know that some of them still struggled to see past that ridiculous sense of racial superiority that was genetic in their family lines. She knew these people were still around; it was just irritating when you had the misfortune to bump into one.

“Sorry if my flatmate was a bit short, he’s just hungover. We just moved in actually, linked up on a website so I don’t really know him that well. He seems nice enough though. When he’s less hungover. Sorry, what am I… I’m Adam” he said holding his hand out.

Ali watched doubt cross his eyes and he pulled his hand back a little.

“Oh, sorry, do you live in this block, or…?”

As annoyed as she was, she couldn’t help smiling at this idiot”.

“I’m Ali” she said, shaking his hand. “I’m on Floor 12”.

He broke into a more relaxed smile. “Cool, you want some tea or something?”

Ali spotted a Queer as Folk DVD pack sitting on top of one of the boxes in the hallway.

“Oh man, you’re on that team are you?”

He followed her gaze to the DVDs. “Yeah” he said, hesitantly, like she might be about to denounce him.

“I’m kidding, I live with a gay guy, that’s all. Actually I think there’s plenty in this block”.

“Oh really?” he asked, a little too keen.

She caught his eye and smiled at the quick response. “You’re looking too then?” she asked, and Adam returned the smile.

“Cup of tea?”

“I’d love one, but not now”. She held up the flyers. “I have to flyer the rest of our unwitting neighbours. How about a beer later though, 5pm? I know a good local.”

He happily agreed and she returned to her work.

Ali headed down to the foyer just before 5pm, as planned. She needed new people in her life, and despite his flatmate, she had a good feeling about Adam.

At 28, Ali was already feeling old. In the last year she’d had a succession of so-called friends calling over on innocent Saturday mornings to break the happy news that they were pregnant and moving out to the suburbs, never to get blind drunk or have any sort of fun ever again. It was getting beyond a joke.

She had a big family, but wasn’t hugely close to any of them, and they were miles away back down in Essex. Her main hobby – the environmental campaigning – didn’t exactly attract the most normal, well-rounded individuals to befriend either.

Daniel, her flatmate, was her closest friend, but she worried about them becoming one of those dysfunctional gay-straight couples. And besides, he was bound to find a guy sooner or later. Maybe it would be this Carl. Well no, probably not Carl, he seemed like a moron. But some day Daniel would settle down. So this drink was a good plan.

Adam arrived on time and they headed off. They turned a corner and Ali pointed to a pub a hundred metres along the road.

“You’re gonna love this place. It’s not a ‘gay’ pub” she said, gesturing the inverted commas, “but it’s basically a gay pub. The guy who owns it is a total homo.”

“Oh really?” Adam said, raising an eyebrow again. “Truth be told, it has been a while”.

She laughed. “Oh seriously, every second guy in this town is on your team. But I don’t think this guy is going to be your type”.

They approached the beautiful Victorian corner-building fronted with sandy brown coloured ceramic bricks which reflected the early evening sunlight. Halfway up, a bold black strip ran around the front carrying the white carved-in name, The Loom Inn. Thick pillars stood like guardsmen either side of the entrance porch and dark stained glass panels ran all the way up the thick wooden entrance doors, keeping a secret of those within.

Ali led the way in to the large square room. The ceiling was high and the ceramic bricks continued inside. At the ground they met with a mosaic stone floor, almost giving it the feel of a roman bathhouse. At the end of the room was a towering dark wooden bar which overlooked matching circular wooden tables and chairs around the room. The lighting was low and intimate, and spotlights around the room picked out the building’s original wood and stone features.

The pub was about half full with five tables taken, and there was a good hum of chatter so that you didn’t notice there was no music playing. Ali grabbed an empty table while Adam went to get drinks.

She sat and watched a table of twenty-something guys on the opposite side of the room, all cotton shirts and ironed haircuts. A gang of public schoolboys, only all grown-up. They were taking turns telling animated stories that would get louder and louder and then climax with a punch-line that the rest of the room could hear. Ali watched the current storyteller pause, lean in and look up over his glasses to the other rapt faces.

“...I said, look, if I had my way, people like you would be neutered...then you wouldn’t be able to bring your children into first class.”

The others fell back laughing, and when the shortest of the group started to laugh an uncontrollable squealing snigger, it made the others fall about laughing even more.

They were weirdly captivating. She imagined David Attenborough’s voice cutting in across footage of the interactions of a chimpanzee community in the African rainforest.

And as you can see the dominant male captivates the group with a dance to assert his authority. The weaker males in the group have to stand back and admire.

Adam arrived back with the drinks, just as the next storyline reached its peak

“...and I’m the one that’s paying 50% tax for this!”

She saw Adam look across at the group.

“Man, wankers like that are the downside of living in the city” she concluded.

He smiled. “Yeah. That one with the squealing laugh – he’s a friend of my flatmate. In fact, they probably all are”.

“Wow. That is not a surprise” she said, shaking her head. The case against Adam’s flatmate was growing.

“So anyway” Ali began, “how about the cute barman?” She could see him from where she was sitting currently pulling a pint, with his tight white shirt and blue jeans.

Adam’s eyes lit up. “I know. I thought you said he wouldn’t be my type?”

“No, that’s not the owner. He just works here. I think he’s gay though.”

“He’s definitely gay”.

Ali laughed. “So is he the top target for tonight?”

Adam shook his head. “I mean, for one thing, he’ll be working late. But also, there’s a guy in the corner, we passed him on the way in. Well, there’s two of them. But the guy in the tight superman t-shirt. I’m sure he checked me out when we walked in”.

“Ok. Although he does seem to be here with his boyfriend.”

Adam laughed. “They’re probably just friends.”

“Sure” she said nodding supportively.

Adam got on to talking about his ex and their break-up. They’d been together for four years, but basically just stopped having sex completely for the last year. It had never been all that mind blowing he told her, and then since they broke up, he still hadn’t been with anyone.

She really struggled with Adam’s predicament. Fine, he really needed a meaningless shag after his break up. She could relate to needing a meaningless shag. Jesus, he must have been almost exploding. But how had he got himself to this stage? How had he been in such a long relationship with a guy who he wasn’t having good sex with? For her, sex was never the reason relationships didn’t last. They broke down over intelligence, or honesty, or practicality. But never sex. Sex was way too important. Nothing would have started in the first place if the sex wasn’t good. Maybe it was a lesson he’d learn.

At some point during their second pint, Cameron, the owner of the bar emerged from the back and Ali took the opportunity to drag Adam up to the bar so she could make the introduction. Cameron had taken over this place about six months ago and she had been a regular from the start of his tenure. They pulled out stools from in front of the bar and took a seat.

“So Cam, where’s your latest twink boy tonight then?” she asked, leaning over the bar.

A smile crept across his face and he came across.

“Now then, young Alisha” he said. “That really depends on whether you’re referring to former twink Darryl, who now has a full-on beard and has moved out to Sitges to work as a coastguard, or the beautiful, newly toned and still very twinkish Martin, who’s serving people wine somewhere down in DIdsbury. I can’t remember when I last saw you.”

She waved a hand. “I lose track.”

Cameron’s face creased into a grin. “Me too. Who’s your friend?”

“Shit, yes, sorry. Adam, this is Cameron, the crazy queer who owns this place. Cam, this is Adam, he’s the latest gay to move into my block and he’s desperate to get laid.”

“Thanks” Adam replied.

Cameron laughed and held out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you”.

Cameron launched into a story about his latest lover, and Ali watched as he got into his full flow. He was a man who was born to own a bar.

“...so there we are, he’s drunk as tits, and asking for some sort of weird speciality sausage in this dodgy chippie off Canal Street, and I’m shouting at him in front of everyone, telling him, if he’ll just come back home wi’ me, I’ll give him some of my own speciality sausage...”

It was coming up to 7pm and Ali checked her watch. Cameron had left them for a while and they’d got back on to talking about the airport plans. She was meeting a few people at 7.30pm to develop plans for a protest event so started making her excuses to Adam.

“Listen, you should totally stay on here though. Cameron is great company and he’s bound to introduce you to others. I’m sorry to be shit and run off, but this airport thing is important”.

Adam nodded. “It’s fine, really”.

She started to put on her coat.

“Hey” Adam continued, “I don’t know exactly, but I think Paul, my flatmate, is supporting the developers with the airport thing somehow. I’ll let you know if I hear anything, yeah?”

She went in for a hug as her brain registered what he’d said. The image of Adam’s flatmate and the hateful look he gave her came back into her mind.

“Thanks, and you have a good night man, it’s been cool, I’ll drop you a text soon. That flatmate of yours though…I’d watch out for him”.