CHAPTER
TWENTY

“I come to say sorry,” Pierre said, leaning against the door frame.

Noah crossed his arms and shrugged. “Fine.”

“You have been crying.”

“No,” Noah lied. “That’s not true, it’s just my early-onset hay fever.”

“I say a thing that upset you, I am sorry for that.”

“Fine.” Noah shrugged.

“We got off together …”

“What?!”

“… on a bad start. So, let us go out to the park.”

“Why, but it’s nearly four o’ clock! It’s getting dark, and I have to do homework.”

“No. We go to the park and I apologize.”

“Did Harry put you up to this?”

Pierre shook his head. “I told him, and he thinks it is a good idea.”

“I see.”

“I have treats!” Pierre said, indicating a large wicker picnic basket on the ground next to him. “We should be friends. Come.”

Noah hesitated, painfully aware that even if the picnic basket contained dog shit and barbed wire, it would still be more palatable than whatever his mother was planning on cooking tonight.

Noah grabbed his coat. “Yeah, come on, let’s go.”

The park was deserted. Why wouldn’t it be? It was a chilly, and increasingly dark, January weekday afternoon. Noah was beginning to wish he’d worn his thermal vest. He could only hope that Pierre had the foresight to bring a thermos of tea – or anything, really, just to stave off hypothermia.

“Here looks good,” Pierre said, setting the picnic hamper down on a patch of grass near one of the larger oak trees.

Noah patted the ground with his hand. “Bit damp.”

“I have a travel rug!” Pierre said, snapping the clasps of the picnic hamper open and pulling it out.

Noah watched, possibly semi-impressed, as Pierre unfurled the rug and put it on the ground. It was lambswool in some sort of tartan design, with a waterproof liner. A quality rug, anyway.

“Sit!” Pierre said, patting the rug. “I just set things up here.”

Noah did as he was told, but remained silent. He wanted Pierre to know that it was going to take more than a trip to the park and a sit on a posh travel rug to win him over.

Pierre struck a match and lit a candle nestled inside a lantern, which he placed in the middle of the rug. “And there was light!” Pierre smiled.

Noah twitched his mouth. “Is the rug fire retardant?”

“Yes, of course,” Pierre said.

Noah nodded. “Fine.”

Pierre returned to his basket, from which he pulled a disposable barbecue. Noah watched in horror as Pierre pulled the plastic wrapping off and set the thing up a short distance from them. “Er! No!” Noah said. “Barbecues are against park by-laws! They’re forbidden! You can’t light that!”

“No one knows!”

“They will!” Noah pleaded. “No, Pierre! You cannot light it!”

Pierre struck another match and lit the barbecue.

“Pierre!”

“Is fine.”

Noah watched, wide-eyed, as the flames started licking at the charcoal. His recent dinner party catastrophe had reminded him how hazardous barbecues could be – you were literally one step away from death with a barbecue – but death would be nothing compared to incurring the wrath of the park warden if he caught them with this PROHIBITED GRILLING APPLIANCE.

“Relax,” Pierre said, producing a bottle of red wine from the basket, pulling out the cork and pouring two glasses. “Here we have a lovely French Merlot.”

Pierre handed a glass to Noah. “Um … I’m not sure about this, haven’t you just got an Orangina? That’s French, isn’t it? Couldn’t we just have that?”

“Try some. A little sip.”

Noah did so. It was OK … quite smooth … buttery, almost, Noah considered. He took another sip, feeling the silky warmth in his throat. Was this what wine was meant to taste like? The wine he’d always tried before, stuff that his mother had purchased for Christmas and the like, was akin to drinking a glass of battery acid. But this wine… This was very special. Noah took another sip, the blackberry sweetness exploding in his mouth, sliding down the back of his throat like silk and enveloping his whole body in a sort of velvety warmth against the bitter winter air.

“Good, huh?” Pierre chuckled, placing a small bowl of olives and a plate of cured meats in the middle of the rug.

“Not at all bad,” Noah admitted.

“These are Nocellara olives,” Pierre said. “They are actually Italian, not French, but I like them. You will like them too. Some antipasti, and I cut some bread,” he continued, pulling a baguette from the basket, a bread knife and wooden chopping board.

Much as he was battling against it, all of these things pleased Noah. Finally, he was enjoying the high life! Olives from Italy! An antipasti platter! This was how people from London, Paris and Milton Keynes lived!

Also, there was little doubt that Pierre had gone to a lot of effort. He hadn’t just turned up with a vague apology and a small box of Nestlé Quality Street.

Pierre handed him a piece of buttered bread with a very thin slice of meat on top of it. “Jambon de Bayonne,” Pierre explained. “The most famous of French hams – air dried and salted near the Pyrenees.”

“Thank you,” Noah said, popping it in his mouth. This was like nothing he’d ever experienced. The meat was fabulous. The bread was fabulous. Even the butter, which was presumably also French, was fabulous. Noah took another sip of wine. The wine, meat, olives, they all worked perfectly together, the flavours balancing in harmony. Noah was in clover. Pierre was ace.

But then he checked himself: Pierre was also a snake in the grass! He clearly had designs on Harry, had maybe already even carried those designs out! Pierre also had a secret rendezvous at the shed later this evening.

Noah had to be on his guard. This was nice, but Noah wouldn’t be tricked into thinking Pierre was a friend.

“To friendship,” Pierre said, offering Noah his glass to clink.

“Um, yes,” Noah said, clinking glasses, supposing it was OK to lie. Keep your enemies close, that sort of thing.

They both took a sip of SUPER DELICIOUS AND FABULOUS wine.

“So,” Pierre said, “I am sorry if you got the impression I don’t like quizzes. The truth is, in fact, very different. I love quizzes.”

“You love quizzes?”

“Noah, I fucking love quizzes!”

Noah laughed. “Oh, well, that’s … that’s a surprise, Pierre. But a nice surprise. I love quizzes too.”

“I know. I know you do. And that is why, both me and Harry, we will be coming to your Great British Quiz Off.”

“Oh!” Noah said, clasping his hands together and nearly spilling his wine.

“I am looking forward to it.”

“But then why did you say you wanted to go clubbing in the first place?” Noah asked.

Pierre shook his head. “Sometimes, I say the wrong thing. It comes out wrong, I don’t know. Sometimes, everyone else is saying they want to do a thing, and I say I do too, even though I do not.”

Noah nodded. “Peer pressure. Very dangerous.”

“Sometimes, you may not think it, but I get nervous and everything gets mixed up.”

“Well, I understand that,” Noah said.

“Yes?”

“Sometimes, I’m the same.”

Pierre smiled and looked down at his glass shyly. “You’re so sweet.”

Noah shrugged it off. “Oh now, that’s very kind of you, but really. It’s just true. And you’ve no reason to be nervous, Pierre. You’re a very … you know, you’re a very nice guy and you’ve got a lot going for you, in all sorts of ways, so you should be confident, you know?”

“You’re a very nice guy too, Noah,” Pierre said, flicking his eyes up from his glass.

“Oh, phooey!” Noah giggled.

Pierre giggled back and glanced behind him. “Ah, now the flames have died down, I warm this cheese on the barbecue.”

“Barbecued cheese?” Noah said, lifting an eyebrow.

“More baked, really. Just for a few minutes, you will enjoy.”

“Mais oui,” Noah said, having another sip of wine.

Noah watched as Pierre busied himself placing a boxed Camembert, studded with rosemary and garlic and wrapped in foil, on top of the barbecue. This was shaping up to be an excellent little evening of sophistication and glamour. If, and it was still a fairly big if, but if Pierre turned out not to be trying it on with Harry, and if Pierre turned out not to be up to no good with his secret shed meeting later that evening, and if, when Noah had had a chance to think about all the events and weigh things up, and on balance Pierre was in positive friendship figures, then maybe things could be nice between them. Maybe Pierre could become Noah’s pen pal, and they would write to one another from their respective far-off lands: tales of exotic places and unfamiliar foods.

Pierre turned back towards him. “So, Noah, now you tell me more about you.”

“Hmm – what like?”

“Like anything!” Pierre said. “What do you do for fun?”

Noah blew out a breath. “I like reading, especially mystery novels. And I watch TV – especially mystery shows. And now I’m also a fishkeeper – poisson,” Noah clarified.

“A geeky boy!” Pierre grinned.

“Well, maybe…”

Pierre waved his hand. “Ah, it was not a criticism. Geeky is good!”

“R-really?”

“Really. I like geeky boys. Geeky boys are cute.”

Noah laughed. “If you say so.”

“Sexy.”

“Now you’re just being –” Noah swallowed “– silly.”

“Ask me what I like about geeky boys,” Pierre said.

Noah moistened his lips. “What … um, what do you like about … geeky boys?”

Pierre shifted slightly so he was a little closer to Noah, drawing little circles with his finger on the travel rug. “I like their gentle nature, their innocent little ways. I like their intelligence.” He looked up, directly into Noah’s eyes. “I like them. I want to do things with them. I want to take the balloon of their virginity, and burst it. Pop!”

Noah jumped. There was a sizzling from the barbecue. Noah swallowed, hard. “I think the cheese has bubbled over.”

“Oops,” Pierre said, turning to the barbecue to sort it out. “I hate it when it bubbles over before you want it to.”

“Huh. Yeah,” Noah said, breathless. He swallowed again. Shifted his position on the travel rug. This was intense. But fine. It was fine because Pierre was talking about geeky boys in general, not specifically Noah. He was making generalized comments, in a general way, generally about geeky boys. It was just chance that Noah had a gentle nature, innocent little ways, and swollen virginity.

“Open your mouth,” Pierre said, now coming at him with a dripping piece of baguette, oozing unctuous molten cheese.

Noah just did as he was told; it was only polite. He parted his lips as Pierre slid it in. The warm gooeyness filled Noah’s mouth. The cheese was out of this world. “Oh … oh God,” Noah muttered.

“Mmmm,” Pierre cooed.

“That’s so good.”

“It is unpasteurized.”

“Is that … bad?”

“It could be. Are you pregnant?”

“No,” Noah giggled, blushing. “I couldn’t possibly be…”

“Then … more?”

“Uh-huh,” Noah said as he swallowed down the first mouthful. Yes, more. More, more, more. He could eat this all night long.

Pierre fed him another slither of crusty baguette, topped with more meltingly creamy cheese, which dripped on to Noah’s lips and down his chin. Pierre caught the trickle of warm, thick goodness with his little finger, scooping it back into Noah’s mouth. “Too good to waste,” Pierre said.

“Uhhhh,” Noah groaned, sucking it off Pierre’s finger.

“This cheese is fantastique, huh?”

“Yeeeeahhhh…”

“I get you more cheese?”

“Just a little more,” Noah said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Noah leaned forward as Pierre presented another piece of baguette, piled extra high with a bubbling mound of molten cheese.

“Open wide. Take it all at once,” Pierre suggested.

“Ug,” Noah muttered, as he greedily gobbled the lot.

“Look at you!” Pierre laughed.

“I love your cheese!” Noah said, swallowing and taking a sip of the red wine. “I love it.”

Pierre nodded. There was a brief moment of silence between them. “And I love you,” Pierre said.

And Pierre leaned forward, put his hand behind Noah’s head, and kissed him full on the lips.