Chapter Ten

 

 

It didn’t take much persuading to get Dee-Dee to make use of my shower and plentiful hot water while I prepared dinner. I defrosted a pack of lean minced beef in the microwave and then put it in a pan to brown along with some diced onions, grinning and grimacing in equal measure at the sounds emanating from the bathroom. He was singing Abba’s ‘Mama Mia’ and doing a good job of murdering it.

I added chilli spices, cornflour, water, a can of chopped tomatoes and a can of drained red kidney beans to the mince and set it simmering before measuring rice into a pan and covering it with cold water, putting it on to boil.

“Dee-Dee!” I knocked on the bathroom door. “I’m putting a load of washing in. I might as well put your top and shorts in while I’m at it. They could do with a spruce up. May I come in and get them?”

The water turned down a little and he shouted back. “I haven’t got anything else to wear. I can’t sit naked at your dinner table.”

“There’s a bathrobe hanging on the back of the bathroom door you can use. It’s no good putting dirty clothes back on after you’ve showered. I’ll get them dry for you to go home in.”

“Okay, thanks, Si.” The water volume increased again and he resumed singing Abba.

Pushing open the door I retrieved his discarded clothing and left him to it. He sounded as if he was enjoying himself. Warm water was obviously a treat after showering in cold water. Cold bathing is no fun, not even in summer.

He didn’t have a lot of laundry, a few pairs of jeans, a collection of t-shirts, a pair of pyjamas, some dingy briefs and socks, a couple of bath towels, some paint stained hand towels and two shabby bedding sets. I smiled. He obviously hadn’t bought any new bedding in some time. Both duvet sets were washed out, one was a candy stripe and the other was printed with Gothic skull and snake images, the type of thing you’d find in a teenagers room. Time and detergent had faded it to something less garish than it would originally have been. I had a hard time picturing him as a Goth or Emo.

I set my walnut dining table (rescued from a junk shop and renovated) with mats and cutlery, pondering on how I’d cope if my mother sent me pictures of herself in explicit pornographic poses. It was a mind-boggling thought. I could see why he called his parent Anne rather than mum or mother. There appeared nothing maternal about her at all. She was a hedonist who seemed to have no connection to anything other than her own core desires. There was nothing wrong with being self-attuned, but she seemed to take it to a level where it excluded all else.

Maybe it was her way of breaking free from the restraints of her Catholic upbringing, swapping one set of bonds for another at the opposite end of the sexual scale. I was suddenly grateful for what had been a relatively ordinary upbringing. Okay my dad hadn’t been around, but mum had always been there, steadfast, loving, and fully clothed.

I was opening a bottle of wine when he entered the kitchen wearing my bathrobe. The mid blue colour suited him. His feet were bare and his hair was towel dried and ruffled making him look sweet and clean, and about eighteen. I marvelled afresh about him being older than me.

“This is comfy, Simon.” He pushed his hands into the robe pockets. “I’ll have to get me one.”

I held up the bottle of wine I’d just opened. “Red okay?”

“I love red wine.” He glanced around the kitchen, taking in the table I’d set and the pans bubbling on the hob. “This is nice. You’re being incredibly generous.” He looked down at his feet, wiggling his toes, which were long and slender. “Are you sure I’m not imposing on you? I’d hate to think I was putting you out. I shouldn’t have said about the bins. It wasn’t a way of emotionally blackmailing a free meal out of you.”

“You’re not imposing. It’s nice to have company. Here,” I held out the bottle, “put this on the table and get out a couple of glasses. You’ll find some in the small cupboard over there. Dinner won’t be long. I hope you’re not a veggie and you like chilli con carne.”

“Never had it, but I’m sure I will. It smells good.” He walked over to the cupboard I’d indicated to get out the glasses.

“Never had chilli! Where have you been, man? What sort of thing do you eat when you’re not eating other people’s rubbish?”

“Pizza, salad, sandwiches, fruit, cereal, tinned soup, that kind of thing.” He set the glasses on the table. “My uncle didn’t have much of an appetite. He lived on tea and cakes interspersed with an omelette from time to time, so I never really got the cooking bug. Do you want me to do anything?”

“Everything’s in hand, so why don’t you sit down.” I took the lid off the rice pan. “This needs a few more minutes and then we can eat.” I glanced over my shoulder at him and winked. “There’ll be plenty for you to do afterwards. You’re washing up.”

“Least I can do.” Instead of sitting he began to wander around the kitchen. “When I get my boiler and washer fixed and the power back on you can come and use my shower and do your laundry to make up for me using yours, and I’ll make you a meal, pizza, salad and red wine. Then we’ll be quits.”

“There’s no need, you don’t owe me anything. I’m just being a good neighbour.”

“Who are they, Si?” He stopped in his meandering to point at a photograph in a magnetic frame on the fridge.

“My mother with my sister Joanne.”

“They look nice. Do you have any more brothers or sisters?”

“No, just Jo. She got engaged last month.”

“To a man?”

“Yeah,” I laughed, “to a man. I’m the only gay in the family.”

“Is this her boyfriend?” He pointed at another photo. “He looks a bit older than her. What’s his name?”

“Pete, but that isn’t him. You have to pin Pete down to get a picture of him. He hates having his photo taken. That’s James, a friend of mine.”

“He looks smart, like he’s at a wedding. He’s wearing one of those caveat things.”

“I think you mean a cravat.” I cringed as my teacher’s correctional instincts escaped. “A caveat is a legal term for a warning. It comes from the Latin word for beware.”

“Oops.” He gave one of his rich throaty laughs. “Having a beware notice around your neck wouldn’t go down well at a wedding would it, people would think you were trying to put the mockers on things. Whose wedding was it?”

“His own. He and his boyfriend Kye tied the civil knot earlier this year after a whirlwind romance.”

“Really?” His dreamy swam came into view. “Was it love at first sight?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged, “something like that.”

“Why isn’t Kye on the photo?”

“I have a stack of photos I haven’t had time to sort and frame yet. I’ll get around to it eventually.”

“Was the wedding nice, was it romantic, did they have a cake, champagne and flowers?”

“You are such a girl,” I teased.

He responded with a grin and a camp and very TOWIE “Shuuuuut uuup!”

“I can’t believe you watch that Essex dramality rubbish.”

“You must watch the programme too, if you know the catch phrases.”

“I only know because I’ve been told about them.”

“Do I detect a note of snobbish disdain?”

“Absolutely.” I lifted the lid on the rice pan. All the water had been absorbed. “The rice is ready. Sit down, Dee. Pour the wine while I dish up.”

After glugging wine into both glasses he picked one up and took a sip. “Mmm, haven’t had a drink in ages and this is lovely stuff. I usually buy the cheap plonk variety. It’s okay, but not as nice as this. Bet it cost a bit.”

“I’m a member of a wine club. You get good discounts for buying by the case.” I set a plate of chilli and rice in front of him. “Enjoy.”

“Bon appétit.” He ate a mouthful and then gave me a thumb up by way of approval. “I like it, spicy, but not too hot.”

He tucked in, clearing half his plate before speaking again.

“You know a lot about me, probably too much, but I know next to nothing about you apart from your age and the fact you’re gay.”

“You know I have a mother and a sister who’s engaged to be married. There’s not much else to know. I’m a teacher by profession.”

“A teacher.” He looked interested. “So you’ll know something about the importance of discipline. How do you keep your students in order?”

“My students are at an age where they pretty much keep themselves in order. I teach maths as a main subject and also a bit of design technology to sixth formers, sixteen to nineteen year olds in the main.”

“I’ve never been good at maths. What do you mean by design technology?”

“It’s a fancy modern umbrella term for a variety of practical subjects, in my case, woodwork. I teach kids how to use design programmes. We don’t do as much actual hands on woodwork as I’d like, but I still enjoy it. I’m hoping to persuade the college powers to let me run proper old-fashioned woodwork classes out of term time using the college facilities.”

“What about your dad?” He made a swift turn of subject.

“What about him?”

“Where is he? You have a picture of your mother and sister on your fridge, but not of your dad.”

“Walked when I was eight. Never seen him since, not even a birthday card, so I get what you said about your mother not sending you one.”

“Sorry. It must have been tough, him leaving.”

“It was a long time ago. I’m over it now.”

“At least you had a dad for a while. His name will be on your birth certificate. My birth certificate says father unknown. It makes me feel lost sometimes, like I only half exist.”

“Your mother must have an idea who it is surely? She must have known those involved in the scene, their names.”

“She said she didn’t want to burden any of the candidates with the knowledge they might be a father. She said it would have spoiled things for them and compromised her standing in the community, made her appear careless, so she chose to get on with it alone.”

“Didn’t she think you had a right to know who fathered you?”

“She said it didn’t matter to her so why should it matter to me. She had no interest in singling out one person. What was done was done. I was made and that was it.”

“I suppose it’s one way to look at it.”

“What about your mum, Si, did she re-marry after your dad left?”

“No. I think she was too crushed by his leaving to even want to risk a relationship again. She claims he was the love of her life.”

“But she wasn’t his. How sad. Maybe she’ll find someone again, the right one this time, or they’ll find her.” He paused talking and resumed eating, clearing his plate. “That was delicious, Si, thank you.”

“There’s some left, do you want to finish it?”

“Love to, but I’m full. My stomach must have shrunk with all the lean pickings I’ve had lately.” He grinned, “chuck it in the bin and I’ll get it later.”

“Not funny, Dee-Dee.” I finished my own portion and set my fork down. “What you need is a plan of action.”

“What for?” Picking up his glass he drained the contents.

“To get you through to September.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You have no money, no food, no electricity, no anything, so how can you be fine?”

“I have a good roof over my head, which is more than some poor folk have. I can always pawn my computer and Xbox if I get really desperate. I’ll get them out of hock again when I get paid.”

“Why don’t you try to sell some of your art work?”

“I don’t want to. It would be like giving parts of my soul away for people to pick over.”

“Then go to your solicitor, ask for payment to be brought forward or for them to give you a sum to tide you over. It’s your money.”

“The payment dates are set in stone. I think it was uncle’s way of making me learn to manage my income. I might be able to do what you said and negotiate a fair cost of living rise, but nothing else.”

“Then let me help you out. I don’t charge interest, unlike a pawn shop.”

“You’ve already helped me out.”

“I’ve shared one meal, and it isn’t going to take you a month to digest it. I can’t in good conscience munch my way through three square meals a day while knowing you’re living off the shit other people throw away. It isn’t right, Dee-Dee, apart from anything else you’ll go down with something.”

“I have the constitution of a sewer rat.”

“No matter what, you have to pay your outstanding electricity bill and get reconnected. You have to get your boiler fixed and your washing machine. They’re essentials and they need sorting sooner rather than later.”

He stayed stum, reaching across for my plate, placing it on top of his own along with the cutlery.

“Let me lend you some money. I have plenty of savings so it won’t leave me short. My gramps left me a few grand when he died last year. I squirreled it away. I’ll lend you enough to get your jobs done and for you to be able to buy food and other basics. That way you’ll remain independent and won’t be tied to my meal times. I know you’ll pay me back.”

“Sorry about your gramps. Was he nice? Did you love him?”

“Yes, very much. I miss him. Dee, about the money?”

“Do you have a grandma, maybe more than one?”

I sighed and decided to give him the info he wanted, besides it was sweet of him to ask. James had never shown any interest in my family. “Gran died a few years back, she was a sweetheart. I don’t see my father’s parents, haven’t for a long time. They gradually cut contact after dad left. It was too painful for all of us. I think they were embarrassed by the way he behaved.”

“I would have liked to be a grandson. I suppose I am, only one set of grandparents didn’t want to know me and the other set, if they’re still alive, don’t even know I exist. If they did maybe they’d want to know me. Maybe my father would have liked to know me, given the chance.” He looked sad.

“I’m sorry, Dee-Dee. All I can say is it’s their loss. You’d have been a lovely grandson, now stop procrastinating and answer me regarding a loan.”

Pushing back his chair he stood up. “I’ll wash up. Where’s your washing up liquid?”

“Under the sink.” I got up and followed him across the kitchen. “What do you say?”

“How do you know I’ll pay you back?” He got the liquid from the cupboard under the sink and squirted a generous measure into the basin. “I might be a ruthless con artist who preys on unsuspecting victims and then disappears.”

“Somehow I don’t think so. Instinct tells me you’re honest. You’re one of the most open people I’ve ever met. Besides I know where you live.”

“Okay then, if you’re sure, thanks. I accept. I’m pretty sick of cold water and scraps.” Tears filled his eyes. “You’re the nicest man I’ve ever met.”

“Then you definitely need to get out more.” I pointed at the sink. “Get on with the washing up.”

He grinned and made a mock salute. “Yes, mister teacher sir.” Turning on the hot tap he swished the liquid into frothy bubbles with his hand. He washed up in silence, as if mulling something over.

I put the leftover chilli and rice in a Tupperware container for him to take home and then dried the pots as he washed. He broke the silence as he put the last plate on the draining board. “Si, may I ask you something?”

“Ask away.” I handed him a tea towel on which to dry his hands.

“Is it all right if I say you’re my friend, you know, round and about if people ask about you? Do you mind? I don’t want to assume anything or take liberties.”

I was touched. “Of course I don’t mind. I think we are friends even though we haven’t known each other long.”

“Thanks.” He looked pleased. “I should go now.” He shoved his hands into the robe pockets, hunching his shoulders. “Get out of your hair. You’ve probably had enough of me. Anne always said a little of me goes a long way.”

I was beginning not to like Anne. “You can’t go anywhere without clothes. They haven’t gone through the tumble dry cycle yet. Besides, the wine is open now, so you might as well help me finish it. How about we watch a film while we wait for your laundry?”

“I’d love to.” He beamed a smile.

“Good. I need to pay a visit. Take the wine and glasses through to the living room and pick a DVD. I won’t be a mo.”

I did the bathroom business, washed my hands and went into the living room where he was seated on the couch. “Have you decided what you want to watch?”

He nodded, a look of glee on his face. “You have one of my fave films of all times, but I can see it isn’t yours. It’s still sealed. Why haven’t you watched it?”

I groaned and gave a mock shudder as he held up a DVD case with a flourish. “No, please, anything but that.”

“It’s brilliant. I love it. Why did you buy it if you don’t want to watch it?”

“I didn’t. It was a Christmas present from my sister. Her idea of a joke.”

“It’s wonderful. It’s one of those bucket list films that have to be viewed at least once before you die.” He held it out. “Please, it’s been ages since I’ve had a ‘Mama Mia’ fix. I watch it at least once a week when I have the means. It cheers me up.”

“I’ll have to introduce you to Jo, you’ll get along well.”

“Live dangerously, watch a musical.” He waggled the box with a roguish grin.

I sighed and took the box from him, tearing off the cellophane. Jo would grin like a Cheshire if she could see me.

“You’ll love it, Si, I promise.” He settled himself deeper into the sofa cushions. “Everyone loves Abba.”

“Not everyone.” I slipped the disc into the player.

“You will after watching the film. You’ll be singing along before the end of it.”

I very much doubted it. I wasn’t extrovert in such a way. Sitting down I stole a glance at him as the film got underway. Light stubble shadowed his jaw accentuating its contours, highlighting a hint of a dimple in his chin, which I hadn’t noticed before. His eyes were shining with anticipatory pleasure, like a kid about to view a favourite Disney film. The bathrobe had fallen open a little, revealing a portion of lean thigh. I shifted position and forced my eyes back on the television screen.

The film wasn’t really my cup of tea, but I thoroughly enjoyed the experience of watching it with him, or rather watching him watching it. His unselfconscious enthusiasm was engaging. He sang along word perfect to every song, admittedly more with gusto than tunefulness. It was comparison time again. James had never been a fan of ‘popular’ culture preferring highbrow to lowbrow entertainment, scorning musicals in favour of opera. I had never actually heard him sing though. Did he sing in front of Kye, I wondered.

Dee gave a happy sigh as the closing credits rolled, his dreamy look in place. “Wasn’t it great, Simon, isn’t it a good film? They all get a happy ever after. It doesn’t get much better.”

“It was fun,” I admitted, “absolutely no basis in reality, but fun. What you call a feel good film.”

“Some people have to get a happy ever after in real life. I want one.”

“With a stern strong handsome man who wallops you when you step out of line?” I winked and paraphrased some of the sentiments from his uncle’s novel.

He wasn’t in the least offended. “You can tease, but I don’t care. Don’t you want a happy ever after, Si, with someone special? Don’t you want to find love?”

I reached for my wine glass, drinking off the contents. “Long term relationships aren’t my thing. I don’t get the obsession with romance and love. It isn’t something I need.”

“Surely you don’t want to be alone all your life?”

“I won’t be alone. I have work, good friends and family.”

“But what about companionship, sex, affection, cuddles?”

“You can have sex without being in a relationship.”

“True. So when was the last time you had sex with someone?”

“You do ask some questions, Dee-Dee. When was the last time you had sex for that matter?”

He replied with honesty. “I do the self-service variety on a regular basis, almost daily, but I haven’t had sex with anyone in almost two years.”

“Were you in a relationship?”

He shook his head. “I’ve never had a proper relationship, maybe because I don’t move in regular circles and so don’t meet people on a frequent get to know basis. The last time was a one-night stand with a man who picked me up in a gay bar in Newcastle.”

He gave an embarrassed little smile. “To be honest all my experiences of sex have been one night stands originating in city bars. The first time was when I was twenty. I was terrified, but determined to experience sex. I must have stood out like a virgin in a brothel. I had men vying to buy me a drink. I opted for a little bald guy who called me sweetheart. He wasn’t as considerate as I would have liked, but it wasn’t too horrible a first time. The last time like I said was almost two years ago. I decided not to bother again. The sex was good in itself, but when it was over it was over. It left me feeling abandoned. I’d sooner masturbate, at least when it’s over you don’t walk away from yourself.”

“Was spanking part of the sex?”

“I told you. I’m not interested in sexual spanking.”

“Have you ever been spanked as an adult?”

“No.”

“How do you know you’ll like it, if you haven’t tried it?”

“I don’t want to like it. I keep telling you I’m not into sex spanking.”

“The thought of being spanked has to excite you in some respect. It has to turn you on, give you a buzz.”

“No it doesn’t have to. Sex spanking and spanking as discipline are different things.”

“If spanking doesn’t turn you on, what does? What’s your interest in a relationship where someone has the power to discipline you? Is it the element of power exchange that turns you on?”

“Possibly. I like the thought of someone being in charge.”

“If being dominated is your thing then why don’t you find a gay BDSM dungeon to play out your fantasies? I’m sure some professional Top will be willing to take you on as a sub.”

“BDSM stuff is all about sexual foreplay. It’s a game, a prelude to someone getting their cock up your arse and once they’ve had it up your arse they force it in your mouth and make you clean it with your tongue. Then they bog off leaving you with rope burns and a stomach upset and you never see them again, well not until the Conservative Club hosts another whip a dick event.”

I burst out laughing at his lurid description.

He grinned and then continued. “It isn’t the kind of fake domination I want, Si. I want the genuine article, not the pretend kind such as Anne practices with her men. I want someone real, a man who will take me in hand without me having to ask him to, without it being prearranged. I want someone who is naturally authoritarian, but not a bully and not someone who acts out a sadistic role for sex kicks.”

“Maybe what Anne and her men do is authentic for them?”

“I have no doubt it is. I’m not dissing the BDSM lifestyle, but it isn’t what I want.”

I shook my head. “The kind of relationship you’re talking about sounds like a game too, even if the so called discipline done for your so called own good isn’t immediately followed by sexual gratification.”

“Just because punishment, or the potential for punishment can be connected in some way to sexuality doesn’t mean the discipline is any less real or any less effective, so there,” he said, poking out his tongue as a post script.

“Naughty,” I shook my finger at him, “but at least you admit there is a sexual connection.”

“I didn’t say there was a sexual connection. I said there might be a link to sexuality. They’re different things. One is physical the other is metaphysical.”

“Listen, Dee, you can define it any way you like, but if it’s consensual then it’s a game with a motive. The motive being the creation of a perpetual sexual undercurrent to fuel the libido of the people concerned, and that’s fine if it’s what both people want and one isn’t spanking the other against their wishes, in which case it wouldn’t be a game it would be abuse.”

“It wouldn’t be abuse if the person getting the spanking accepted it as deserved, even if it wasn’t consensual to begin with.”

“I’m not sure if consent after the event makes the event any less abusive, not in law anyway. It seems to me what you want is a form of power exchange in a domestic setting. If that’s the case then it’s something you do have to arrange, something you have to agree upon with your chosen partner. You can’t just allow someone to randomly impose discipline on you because they think you deserve it at any given time. It’s too risky.”

“Not with the right person,” he said stubbornly.

He concluded the argument by turning the conversation back to its starting point.

“Anyway, what about you, when was the last time you had sex with someone?”

“A while ago.” I reached for the empty wine bottle and stood up. “I’m going to make a coffee, do you fancy one?”

“Please.” He got to his feet. Picking up the glasses he followed me into the kitchen. “Have you been spanked or ever spanked anyone else?”

“I’m not wired that way at all. I hate the thought of hitting someone. The fetish scene does nothing for me. Sex is enough in itself. I don’t need embellishments. I don’t need games or toys, well, other than the toys I was born with.”

“Who was it then, the man you had sex with a while ago? Was it a proper boyfriend or a one nighter?”

My eyes involuntarily strayed over to the fridge. “I suppose you might say it was a fuck buddy. We met up for regular sex, no ties, no complications.” I picked the kettle up and walked across to the sink to fill it. “It suited us both.”

“What happened to him?”

“He moved on and I moved here.” I switched on the kettle and then went to the cupboard to gather mugs and the coffee jar, sensing him watching me.

“It was him, wasn’t it, him on the fridge, your friend James. That’s why you moved here, to get away, because it hurt you to see him with Kye.”

“I really must introduce you to my sister and my friend Vicky. They love a good conspiracy theory too. James didn’t hurt me. I always knew how things were between us, the lay of the land.”

“But you wanted it to be different, I can tell, maybe you still do?”

“Subject closed, okay, Dee-Dee?”

“Sorry, Si. I didn’t mean to pry. I tend to say whatever comes into my head. I meant no offence.”

“And I didn’t take any, honestly,” I smiled. “It’s just everyone assumes I’m suffering from a broken heart and nothing could be further from the truth. It gets wearing, being cast as the abandoned boyfriend when I’m no such thing. I had an arrangement with James, not a relationship, an arrangement and it came to a natural conclusion, okay?”

“Okay. I promise I won’t mention it again and if I do you can spank me.”

“I certainly could not. I was brought up to believe it’s wrong to strike another person.” I spooned coffee into the mugs, waiting for the water in the kettle to cool slightly before pouring it into the granules, while inwardly questioning why I’d put James’s photo on the fridge in the first place? I’d done it the evening after Jo and mum had left for home, when I was gathering stuff together for my visit to Vicky and Ian. I’d found it in my chest of drawers along with a stack of other photos. I’d chosen it because it was the only one that fitted the magnetic frame I had.

Yeah right, my sister’s voice overlaid with that of Vicky’s sounded in my mind. I mentally told the pair of them to shut up.

Dee-Dee’s promise proved short lived. Before I’d even poured milk into his coffee he was back on subject. “You weren’t his one, Simon, just like your mum wasn’t your dad’s one. It doesn’t mean there won’t be someone for each of you.”

Picking up the coffee mug I handed it to him and pointed in the direction of the living room. “Take it in there and use your mouth to drink it with.”

“Will do.” He gave his throaty chuckle and taking the mug trotted off with it.

As we drank our coffee, I insisted on working out a sum of money to get him back in the game of living everyday life in a manner not involving raking through bins. It was pointless writing a cheque. It would take too long to clear. I told him I would withdraw the cash from my building society next morning. He could deposit it straight into his bank account and then go about the business of putting his life back on track.

When he left my apartment to go home he was wearing clean clothes and carrying a bag of fresh laundry, along with the tin of shortbread and the leftover chilli, and of course his tiger eye lenses.

“Thank you, Simon Putney. I’m glad to have found you for a friend.” He gazed at me solemnly after I’d seen him to the door. “I’ve had the best evening ever.”

“I enjoyed it too. I’ll see you in the morning, around nineish. Come up for breakfast.”

“I don’t eat breakfast.”

“You should. It’s good for you.”

“I’ve eaten enough to keep me going for days. I’ll survive without breakfast. I’ll have a shortbread if I wake up hungry.”

“I’ll meet you in the downstairs lobby then, half past nine, and we’ll drive straight into town.”

“Goodnight, Si.”

I watched him walk down the corridor towards the stairwell. The view of his rear brought an idea. I called. “Wait, Dee-Dee, just a sec.”

Dashing into the bathroom I grabbed a new loo roll from the supply in the airing cupboard and ran down the corridor with it. “Here, give your arse a treat. It would be a shame to cover it in newsprint after you’ve scrubbed up so well.”

His husky laugh echoed back at me as he walked down the stairs to his own place.