Four

Tony Rice made random selections on the pub jukebox. The choice of music was irrelevant, since he was buying a convenient noise to cover their conversation in the near-empty pub.

‘Cheers!’ said Craig, raising his pint.

Rice nodded and came and sat opposite him. As soon as an unrecognisable track blasted from the jukebox, Rice got straight to the point.

‘The working men’s club you sussed out - I think it’s a goer.’

A sudden twinge, a cold warning, shot through Craig’s body. He took a large swig of beer before speaking.

‘I’m not...’ he began, faltering as he looked into Rice’s dead eyes. ‘I’ve decided I wanna go straight.’

‘What’s brought this on? Conscience bothering you?’

‘I’m settled at the chippie now.’

Rice sneered. ‘Yeah, an’ I can smell the fish. How much an hour does he pay you?’

‘My brother-in-law’s dead. I’m the owner now.’

For some reason Craig regretted having to give Rice this information, but the ex-convict merely shrugged.

‘Oh, so it ain’t conscience but a change of circumstances. Fair enough. But you was the one who told me how easy it is to do the club. It was your idea.’

Craig started to speak, but Rice carried on talking, while glancing furtively around the pub.

‘I’ve got someone else interested, as it happens. Someone who ain’t got any form.’

Craig fidgeted with his glass. ‘I don’t understand. Why d’you need to tell me about the job if...’

Rice interrupted him. ‘You’ve got form, my son. Soon as you do the club, filth’s gonna come knocking on your door. I’m giving you a chance to get yourself a watertight alibi. I’m doing you a favour.’

Some favour, thought Craig.

‘And another thing,’ continued Rice. ‘You was the one nominated me for membership at the club. They might just put us two and two together. So I’d like to think you ain’t going to help with their enquiries. Understood?’

***

As he lifted the drinks off the bar of the Compasses pub, Alan Watson ached with tiredness. He was shattered, having done a very long shift at Pembury hospital, and would have given anything for a quiet night indoors. But a promise is a promise, and he had already agreed to a few drinks and a meal to celebrate his partner’s new job, starting the following week.

Pran Kapoor watched him as he carried the drinks over, and saw him wince slightly as he put the drinks on the table.

‘Cheers!’ said Pran, raising his white wine. ‘Does your arm still hurt?’

‘Only when I laugh,’ Alan replied, and slumped heavily onto his seat.

‘A criminal record’s not so funny, Alan.’

Alan shrugged. ‘Obstructing a police officer?’

‘Or worse: assaulting a police officer.’

‘That’ll never stick.’

‘Don’t be too sure.’

Alan sipped his lager and slammed the glass onto the table. ‘I couldn’t give a monkeys either way. I don’t see why an innocent bloke, minding his own business, can’t walk down the street without being picked on.’

Pran sighed impatiently. This was a recent argument regurgitated.

‘They asked if they could search you. They didn’t just suddenly jump on you.’

‘That’s not the point. The reason they searched me - for the second time in three weeks, is because I’m black.’

‘I still maintain you should have complied, then put in a complaint afterwards.’

‘Oh come on. Are you naïve or what?’

‘I happen to think it’s the other way round. Own up: you were just trying to make a statement about how butch you really are.’

Pran grinned at his partner, deliberately trying to wind him up.

‘OK, let’s drop the subject, shall we?’ said Alan. ‘We’re not here to argue. This is supposed to be your celebratory drink and dinner. One of your last days as a free man. Here’s wishing you luck for Monday.’

As they clinked glasses, Pran said, ‘Yes, back to the grindstone, and all that commuting to London. I’d got used to loafing around over the last three weeks.’

‘You said you were bored shitless.’

‘I was. But I’d got used to it.’

‘Pran, listen: when you start work tomorrow...’

Pran gave his partner a lopsided smile. ‘I love it when you put on the oh-so-serious look.’

‘Don’t try and change the subject. And you know what I’m going to say, don’t you? I want it to be different this time. I want you to be honest about who you are. And about us.’

Avoiding Alan’s gaze, Pran stared into his drink.

‘I mean it, Pran.’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ chanted Pran, parodying boredom.

Alan leant forward, glaring at his partner. ‘Stop evading the issue. You can’t live in a closet all your life.’

‘Well, it’s easy for you. Your parents ... they’ve sort of accepted it, however reluctantly. Whereas I’m still getting the...’ Pran adopted an exaggerated Asian accent. ‘When-are-you going-to-find-a-nice-girl-and-settle-down routine.’ He continued in his normal English voice. ‘Given half the chance my father would arrange it for me, like he did for my sister. “A nice boy from a nice family,” he said.’

‘What’s he like?’

‘Don’t ask! My sister suffers him in silence, like the good little Asian girl she is. It really winds me up. I can’t stand him.’

‘It won’t go away, Pran. The problem’s going to remain as long as your father’s alive.’

‘I know, I know. But a gay man from a Muslim family. I hate to think what he’d do if he found out. I know he’d have nothing more to do with me. And that hurts.’

Alan sighed and shook his head. ‘I know. It’s difficult. I can see that. But look, we’re not talking about your parents finding out. We’re talking about being open at work. My colleagues at the hospital accepted it. No problem. To begin with they didn’t know how to handle it. Maybe they were embarrassed. But now...’

‘Yeah. I know you’re right,’ Pran emphasised. ‘But what do I do on my first day in the office? Make an announcement. Hey, everybody! I’m gay. Or do I send them all emails? Maybe I could pin it on the staff canteen notice board.’

‘Seriously, Pran, you know damn well what to do. Someone’s asks you about your home life - they’re bound to - and you just tell them straight. You say you live with your partner Alan. You only have to tell one person and pretty soon everyone’ll know.’

Pran shook his head disbelievingly. ‘As simple as that, huh.’

‘Yes, it is that simple,’ Alan insisted. ‘It’s about being open and honest.’

Pran frowned thoughtfully before speaking. ‘OK. I’ll do it. I promise. But just remind me: if someone asks me about my home life, I say...?’

‘That you live with your partner Alan.’

Pran took a pen out of the breast pocket of his shirt and offered it to Alan.

‘Could you write that down for me, so that I don’t forget?’

Alan looked confused, until he noticed the glint in his partner’s eye. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and eat.’