Bill tried to call Anthony three times on the way over to his place, but Anthony didn’t pick up. He’d never been to his place before. Anthony was only twenty and still lived with his mum and dad, and while they knew he was gay, he said that they wouldn’t approve of him being in a relationship with a man more than ten years older than him, especially one who was married. Bill had never met them. When he walked Anthony home, they’d say goodbye around the corner, and then he’d watch Anthony walk away, feeling agreeably heartbroken each time, as well as appreciative of Anthony’s great backside.
Bill rang the doorbell, running through plausible cover stories in his head, should one of Anthony’s parents answer the door. Simply saying he was a ‘friend of Anthony’, he feared, would reveal too much, as well as be far too boring. He was a fellow traffic warden, wanting to swap shifts. He was a local business owner to whom Anthony owed money. He was an angry driver, here for revenge over an unfair parking ticket. Bill was almost disappointed when the door opened and Anthony himself was on the other side, now out of his uniform and looking adorably tousled in shorts and a strikingly ugly Buddha T-shirt. He was, however, stony-faced.
‘I’d thought you’d get the message when I didn’t pick up,’ said Anthony. ‘Obviously not.’
‘Why? What’s the matter? Are your parents at home?’
‘No. Just me. Mum’ll be back from work soon, though.’
‘So, can I come in? If I’m still here when your mum gets back, we can tell her I’m a Jehovah’s Witness.’
‘She’ll never believe that. You’re wearing shorts. Jehovah’s Witnesses never show their knees.’
But Anthony led the way into the flat all the same.
‘I thought someone nicked your phone, anyway,’ he said.
‘What made you think that?’ Bill asked.
Anthony didn’t reply. Yet another thing Bill couldn’t remember. But he definitely still had his phone. He gripped it in his hand like a talisman.
It was even hotter inside than it was out of doors, and the flat was decorated in bright, clashing colours that seemed to pulsate in the heat. It reminded Bill of something, but he couldn’t quite think what.
‘Is there maybe a garden or a patio, or something? Somewhere cooler and more … monochrome? Where we can talk?’
‘Nope,’ said Anthony. He took Bill into an open-plan kitchen–living room. The walls were purple, the curtains were yellow, and the kitchen tiles were designed to look like sweets. The whole place throbbed like a migraine. It occurred to Bill that it might be even easier to persuade Anthony to move in with him than he had thought. Not that Anthony was looking particularly amenable to persuasion right now, perched on the edge of a pink armchair and refusing to sink back into the cushions. Bill settled on a green sofa opposite him.
‘Is everything all right?’ Bill said. ‘You seem a little furious.’
‘I see you haven’t left town – yet,’ said Anthony.
‘I’ve got no intention of leaving town.’ Bill thought of his conversation with Sal, her insistence that he had told her to buy train tickets. Once again the threads of reality seemed to be slipping from his fingers. ‘Did I tell you that I was leaving town?’
‘Yes. You did. Or wait, it wasn’t “you”. You were very clear about that. You said that you were a completely different person.’
My God, thought Bill, maybe I have multiple personality disorder?
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t remember …’
‘At first, I was worried about you,’ said Anthony. ‘I was so worried that I spoke to Thandie—’
‘You spoke to my wife?’
‘—And she said that you had seemed strange to her too, at lunch—’
‘But I didn’t have lunch with Thandie—’
‘—And it was only later that I really thought back over it, over what you said, that you don’t love me, you don’t want to be with me, you’re leaving and never coming back, so, yeah, excuse me if I’m, what’s the word you used? Furious.’
Multiple personality disorder for sure! How prescient of his other personality to have kept notebooks – he could hardly wait to get back to the B&B and read them properly. Or he supposed it could be early-onset Alzheimer’s. He really hoped not, although that would be fascinating to write about, if you caught it right on the cusp. Or you could have an older character who at the start still seems lucid, with maybe signs of bad judgement, nothing more, and gradually follow his descent. Actually, it would be interesting to do it from the point of view of his family, and whether they support him or abuse his vulnerability, and maybe he trusts the wrong ones – and is that because of the disease, or is it just that he’s always been too blind to see what they are doing to him – wait, had this already been done …
‘Bill,’ said Anthony. ‘Are you listening?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Bill. ‘I don’t remember any of this. And even if I did say those things, I promise you, I didn’t mean them. Or this personality didn’t mean them … You know, I think I should probably go and see a doctor.’
‘Yes, I think you should.’ A shard of concern cracked through Anthony’s angry demeanour.
‘Wait, though. First …’ Bill leapt forward and took Anthony’s hand. Because he’d emerged from the squishiness of the green sofa, he landed awkwardly on his knee, which gave his back a twinge, and also, he realised, put him into the classic proposal position, which was not what he wanted at all, although, maybe, one day? Marriage, kids – a man as beautiful as Anthony should have loads of kids. But first, hauling himself to his feet, the question he’d meant to ask, not so romantic sounding, but crucial nonetheless: ‘Will you move in with me?’
‘Really?’ said Anthony. Bill couldn’t help but notice him glance at the yellow curtains which, he now observed, were covered in a pattern of seashells in a contrasting peach.
Just then they heard the turn of the key in the lock of the front door.
‘My mum!’ said Anthony.
‘If we’re going to move in together,’ said Bill, keeping hold of Anthony’s hand, ‘you’re going to have to tell her about us. So why not do it now?’
‘You home, love?’ called Anthony’s mother.
‘Come on,’ said Bill. ‘I love you. It’s time.’
They were still holding hands when Anthony’s mother walked into the room. She stopped, confused, taking in the scene.
‘The vegan,’ she said.
‘The eccentric landlady!’ said Bill.
‘You know each other?’ said Anthony.
‘He’s staying at Shady Palms,’ said Violet. ‘Checked in today.’
‘Is that right?’ Anthony asked Bill.
‘Sal booked the room after Thandie …’ Too late, Bill realised the implications of what he was saying.
‘Found out about me and threw you out,’ Anthony finished the sentence. ‘And now suddenly you want to move in together. What a coincidence.’
‘It’s not like that,’ said Bill. ‘And I thought you said your mother was a hotelier?’
‘She is!’
‘I was imagining …’ … something a lot more salubrious than Shady Palms. From the look on Violet’s face, Bill needed to stop starting sentences that it was so easy for other people to finish.
‘Move in? With that old creep?’ said Violet.
‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ said Anthony, dropping Bill’s hand. ‘It’s not going to happen.’
‘I never imagined you with a vegan,’ said Violet.
‘That was actually a misunderstanding about a chair,’ said Bill.
‘I think you should go,’ said Anthony.
‘I’m not giving up on you,’ said Bill.
‘But I’m giving up on you.’
Anthony turned away.
‘Anthony – please …’
‘Just go.’
Violet was tapping her foot. It made soft whumping sounds on the shaggy turquoise carpet. Bill realised, reluctantly, that no matter what he had just said, he was going to have to give up on this battle, though not, he swore to himself, the war.
Violet escorted him out. ‘See you tomorrow morning,’ she said. ‘There’s a continental breakfast buffet from seven ’til nine, only one mini-cereal box per guest, and the milk’s UHT but you won’t be needing that.’
She shut the door behind him, leaving him alone in the street. Suddenly being mad didn’t seem quite so fascinating any more. With a sinking heart, Bill decided that he had to talk to a doctor. As if this day could get any worse.
With any luck I’ll forget this ever happened, he thought. He didn’t think he could ever forget Anthony, though.