Chapter Eight

“The poor bloke. It must have been dreadful for him.” Sandy flicked his cigarette out of Evan’s window. “And poor you. Knowing how he feels about you, and you can’t do a thing about it.”

“Honestly, Sandy, when we were dancing and kissing, it was so perfect. And now, I’ll never kiss him again. I can’t believe it.”

Sandy pulled down the window and joined him on the bed, and Evan was once again thankful for his patience and friendship. Milo was busy that evening, and Evan would have gone off his head worrying about him if Sandy hadn’t been home.

“What are you going to do? Are you going to carry on seeing him, when you know there’s no chance of anything physical?”

“I have to. I can’t stand the thought of not seeing him again. Maybe we’ll hold hands sometimes, or give each other a cuddle.”

“Evan, you know that’s not enough for two grown men. You’ll have to find your release somewhere. How will you feel if Milo finds someone else to take care of his needs?”

“Don’t, Sandy.” Evan felt sick at the thought of a nameless man’s fingers and lips caressing Milo’s skin. “I’ll deal with it if and when it happens. I can’t expect him to stay celibate just because he won’t do it with me, and with a bit of luck, I’ll never find out. It won’t be so bad if I never know.”

“I suppose that’s the best you can hope for.” Sandy lay down and rested his feet on Evan’s lap. “I can’t imagine what it would be like, knowing the person you love is having it with someone else when they really want to be with you.”

Evan absently stroked the soles of Sandy’s feet. “I’ll be miserable knowing he’s with someone else, but it’s better than breaking off with him altogether. I’ll still be able to see him and talk to him.”

“And you can find someone else too. For your physical needs, I mean.”

“I couldn’t do that. It’s not like I was having a wild time anyway. I’ve been chaste as a monk since I met Milo.”

“Blimey, Evan. It’s been months since you met him.” Sandy sat up with a look of true surprise. “You haven’t visited one of your old haunts in all that time? Not even for a sly—”

“Not for anything. It wouldn’t have seemed right. And that side of things doesn’t seem so important anymore. Not if I can’t do it with Milo.”

“You have got it bad, haven’t you? I hope Milo realizes how much he means to you.”

“I think so… I don’t know. Maybe it’s all for the best. It’s not like we could ever have a proper relationship. I might have been able to spend the odd night with him, but we could never live together. It’s not like I could marry him and iron his shirts or make his dinner.”

“Maybe it’s not such a bad thing.” Sandy chuckled, then his voice grew more serious. “You’re such a good man, Evan. Don’t let him make you unhappy.”

“Milo wouldn’t do that.”

“Not intentionally, I’m sure, but you’ve no idea what might happen. Be careful, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Don’t worry, I will be.” Evan pulled Sandy’s feet back onto his lap. “You’re a good man too, Sandy Wallace. A very good man indeed.”

 

* * * *

 

Evan might have stayed at home the next day for all the use he was at work. He’d undercharged several customers and only hoped Mr. Bailey wouldn’t notice when they did the weekly books. Evan couldn’t stop thinking about Milo from one minute to the next, and although they hadn’t arranged to meet, he decided to visit him after work. There was every chance Milo wouldn’t be in, but Evan supposed the walk would do him good and the journey wouldn’t be wasted.

When Evan turned onto Ponden Street, however, he knew he couldn’t go home without seeing Milo, as he’d only spend the whole night fretting about him. Evan thought he might go for a pint and come back later if Milo was out, but he soon saw he wouldn’t need to find a nearby pub, as Milo was standing in his doorway dressed in his best blue suit. He was obviously on his way out, but at least Evan could say a quick hello.

“Milo! How are—”

Evan’s words of greeting froze in his throat, and he thanked heaven Milo hadn’t heard him. Following Milo through the door was a man in his thirties, tall, good-looking and elegantly attired in a dinner jacket and bowtie. Evan assumed he was a friend of Milo’s and that they were going out for the evening, although they didn’t seem dressed for the same destination. Milo closed the door and, without warning, drove an icy blade through Evan’s heart. He folded his arms around his companion in an intimate and undeniably sexual way, kissing him lingeringly on the cheek before they drew apart.

Evan bolted into a shop doorway, then peered out to see Milo walking down the street and the man in evening dress hailing a cab. Leaning back against the wall, Evan tried to stay calm and rational, reminding himself of his conversation with Sandy the previous night. He hadn’t expected Milo to stay celibate and wouldn’t want him to, but did he have to go in search of another man’s body so quickly? And did he have to flaunt his conquest so publicly—and dangerously—with such a very refined and attractive man?

What made Evan sick to his stomach was the affection of Milo’s embrace. The man wasn’t a stranger he’d picked up on the street, or even a vague acquaintance. There was no doubt that he was a friend like Evan, and yet it seemed Milo could take him to his bed to kiss him and make love to him. Evan hadn’t realized how distraught he would be to know Milo had been with another man, and now he’d seen that man in the flesh he pictured them together, writhing and groaning with pleasure as their bodies entwined. It was all he could do to stop himself throwing up, but he wasn’t only disgusted by the harrowing image. Evan was incensed.

How could he have been such a soppy fool to think he could let Milo do as he pleased while he lived like some kind of saint? He had his own needs and desires, so why shouldn’t they be satisfied? The more he thought about his predicament, the angrier Evan became. It had been five months since he’d last been with a man, and he was desperate for a fuck. He’d wanted that fuck to be with Milo more than anything, but if Milo could screw somebody else, then damn it, so could he.

He headed away from Milo’s flat and was soon in a less salubrious part of the city, one so rife with filth and crime that even the police steered clear. The foul-smelling lavatories at the end of the high street were popular with men of his sort, and Evan didn’t care what kind of man he found there. He could be fat or thin, rich or poor, ugly as sin or with the face of an angel. If he had a willing cock or arse, he’d fit the bill perfectly.

Evan faltered when he reached the bottom of the steps. He’d forgotten how strong the stench of piss was in such underground conveniences, and he took several deep breaths before venturing inside. A couple of blokes were undoing their flies at adjoining urinals and they looked up when Evan appeared. He gave a casual, knowing nod, and the men went back to their business of silently starting to fondle each other. Then Evan glimpsed a movement across the room. A man had appeared in the entrance to one of the stalls, an unmistakable look of invitation on his face.

The man was shorter than Evan, not bad-looking but nothing special, and his clothes, which were neat but plainly cheap, suggested he worked in a manual trade. As Evan took a determined step toward the stall, he noticed a white mark on the man’s jacket sleeve, while on the back of his hand—

Evan’s furious lust melted into the urine-steeped air as he realized the man’s profession. On his hand were tiny speckles of blue most people wouldn’t even notice. The man in the stall was a painter. He was doubtless a common dauber of ceilings and walls, but he was a painter nonetheless, and Evan suddenly saw Milo at his easel, scrutinizing the canvas and adding one final stroke to his work. Evan stepped away, his stomach churning.

“I’m sorry, mate. I can’t.”

“Sling your hook, then.” The man’s voice was an angry Irish brogue. “And don’t come back if you’re not bloody up for it.”

Evan stumbled backward. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Go screw yourself, you stupid bastard. That’s all you’re bloody well good for.”

Evan ran up the stairs and down the street, eager to get as far away as he could from the scene of his shame. When he could run no more, Evan fell against a wall, panting and heaving. He managed to avoid the humiliation of spewing his lunch into the gutter and finally made the journey home, his head swarming with the Irishman’s scornful words and loathsome visions of Milo and his lover.

Back in his room, Evan collapsed onto the bed, tears streaming down his cheeks and into his mouth. He curled into a sobbing ball, finally understanding why Milo was so afraid to fall in love again. Love was cruel and hopeless—it was absolute torture—and he knew then that he couldn’t be Milo’s friend. The loss of his companionship would tear him apart, but Evan couldn’t endure another day of heartbreak like this.