part0015

A nother place has been set and a chair has been brought over for Flynn. The three of us sit awkwardly around the small table as the waiter gives each of us a menu before gliding away and reluctantly tearing his eyes away from Flynn, who has definitely made a conquest.

I should have told Jonathan straight away that Flynn was joining us; I missed the opportunity to pretend it was a misunderstanding on my part and when Flynn appeared, I was so shocked that it took me several minutes to remember the little speech that I’d prepared.

Luckily, Flynn has obviously been practising his lines and he smoothly took charge and gave the impression that he thought he’d been invited all along. He was so good that he almost convinced me that Jonathan had asked both of us. Jonathan knew that I didn’t really think that he’d asked both of us but he went along with it; I didn’t like the look on his face, the knowing smirk. I have the feeling that he thinks I was trying to make him jealous by not telling him straight away that Flynn was coming.

And you let him hold your hand , mocks you know who. And stroke it.

Thank God Flynn is here or who knows where it would have ended.

And what an arrival - I can’t believe how different he looks. The Ronald McDonald hair has completely gone; whizzed off and replaced with very short, dark brown stubble. When he first appeared at our table I was stunned and for a moment I couldn’t think who he was, he completely took my breath away. I always knew he was good looking underneath that red hair but tonight he looks absolutely amazing, like a film star or a model, and I could see heads turning in our direction as he bent down and kissed me tenderly on the lips after he apologised for being late. Even though he’s gay and I knew it was only play acting I enjoyed every moment of it – who wouldn’t enjoy being the envy of every woman in the room? The kiss was wonderful too; his lips were soft and dry with none of that awful slobbering that some men go in for. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and pull him closer and keep on kissing him, he could definitely give Jonathan a run for his money in the kissing department.

What is wrong with you? demands the Beccabird, wings on hips. One minute you’re drooling over an ex-boyfriend and the next you’re dreaming about snogging your gay landlord.

I know, I’m just a mess.

Jonathan’s face was an absolute picture; I wanted to take my mobile out and snap a photo of him so I could look at it and laugh in my lowest moments. His mouth didn’t quite drop open but it wasn’t far off, he was stunned into silence for once and he didn’t see the wink that Flynn gave me as he straightened up.

Typically, after a few minutes he’d soon recovered himself and as he stood up to shake Flynn’s hand the practised, confident Jonathan took over. But I’d seen it, I’d seen that moment of doubt and the flash of jealousy as he took in Flynn’s appearance and realised he was being upstaged and put in the shade and that actually maybe I wasn’t lying after all.

Jonathan is an imposing figure and a handsome man but stand him next to Flynn and he pales into insignificance. Actually, I think any man standing next to Flynn would fade away; I have to admit that I have a major crush on my gay best friend (well, soon to be best friend).

Another bottle of wine was ordered and three glasses swiftly poured and I couldn’t help but notice that Jonathan betrayed his discomfort by draining half of his glass in the first swallow.

‘Sorry, I got the wrong end of the stick Jonathan, I honestly thought you’d invited both of us.’ I look across the table at him and give him a sheepish smile. ‘I should have realised that you hadn’t when I arrived as the table was only laid for two people.’ We both know that I’m lying but for once I don’t care.

‘Totally my mistake,’ Jonathan lies in his most pompous tone. ‘Of course I should have asked both of you. So glad for the misunderstanding otherwise I’d never have the pleasure of meeting your better half.’

He gives Flynn a smile that never reaches his eyes and I wonder if he believes Flynn and I are together. I wonder if we’re doing a good job of fooling him or if he’s not fooled for a minute because yet again, I’m punching way above my weight.

When we were together he always let me know in careless remarks and unfunny jokes that I was lucky to have him and that he was way out of my league and he could do far better if he wanted to. Pathetically, I totally agreed with him. Or he could have been joking – because you could never tell with Jonathan - and my rock bottom self-esteem put two and two together and made five.

‘Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ Flynn answers in an accent that sounds very like Jonathan’s own because he can’t help picking it up and copying it. ‘Becca’s told me all about you.’ He stares unsmilingly at Jonathan for a moment too long before slipping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close. I lay my head on his shoulder and snuggle up to him for a moment and wonder if I’m overdoing it.

Yes, you are! barks the Beccabird. Overacting as usual!

I don’t care, it’s very nice being in Flynn’s arms and the look of confusion on Jonathan’s face is priceless. His smile never falters but I know him too well and can see his brain working overtime; calculating how much Flynn really knows about him, did I tell him everything and does he have anything to fear from him? He’s not to know that I haven’t told him all of the sordid, tacky details to spare myself the humiliation, not him .

‘So, Flynn, what business are you in? I’m afraid Bex has been a bit light with the details.’ Bastard. He’s making it sound as if I’ve told him nothing about Flynn – which I haven’t – but only because I haven’t had the chance. It’s a typical Jonathan tactic; belittle and make you feel unimportant whilst appearing to be nice. And he’s still calling me Bex as if he has some prior claim on me, as if he knows me better than anyone else.

‘House renovations,’ Flynn looks at me and smiles. ‘I have a company that does it all, houses, gardens the lot. I have to confess that it pretty well runs itself these days, leaves more time for me and Becca to enjoy ourselves.’ He looks at me and I gaze lovingly into his eyes. Jonathan coughs and we reluctantly tear our eyes away from each other. I can sense that Jonathan is waiting for Flynn to ask him what he does so he can show off but Flynn doesn’t oblige. After a few minutes of silence Jonathan can’t contain himself.

‘I expect Bex has told you that I’m head of marketing at Atkinsons. We’re currently going through an expansion into the US so I’ll probably move up to director level. Big merger in the offing, although strictly hush hush until the announcement.’ Jonathan almost puffs his chest out with self-importance. He picks his glass up and points it at Flynn. ‘Although between you and me,’ he lowers his voice slightly, ‘I may not be there by then as the head hunters are circling.’ He gives a conceited smile and sits back in the chair and I realise that he’s slightly drunk.

‘How interesting,’ Flynn says in a totally uninterested voice.

‘Just have to name my price,’ Jonathan announces as he swallows the rest of his wine and then empties the remainder of the bottle into his glass.

‘Good for you.’ Flynn turns and catches the waiter’s attention and he’s over at our table in seconds and the empty bottle is whisked away.

‘I have a couple of houses that I rent out,’ Jonathan goes on, ‘They’ll need a tidy up when the current tenants move out. You must give me your card, give me an estimate.’

‘Sure,’ Flynn says smoothly, ‘But I don’t have any on me at the moment, I tend not to tout for business when I’m socialising.’

A flash of annoyance crosses Jonathan’s face and I silently applaud Flynn; he’s beaten him at his own game and managed to make Jonathan sound pompous and conceited. We study our menus while Jonathan tells us about all of the top restaurants that he’s eaten in and the fantastic dishes that he’s sampled. I can’t concentrate and opt for the easiest option – steak – which when I ask for it well done, Jonathan butts in and informs me that I must have it rare because no chef worth his salt will cook it well done. The waiter informs me dryly that madam may have her steak however she wishes. I don’t think the waiter likes Jonathan very much. When I stick to my guns and ask for well done he snorts and tells me that I might as well ask for a burger.

Flynn also orders steak – medium for him and Jonathan, of course asks for his blue. Apart from the odd comment from Flynn and I Jonathan monopolises the conversation until the starters arrive and he finally shuts up and we watch in silence as the plates are arranged in front of us.

I’m not hungry at all but I scrape the thinly toasted bread with pate and attempt to eat it without dropping crumbs all over me. This is an expensive restaurant and I know that the bill is going to set me back half a week’s wages so I intend to enjoy the food. I’ve told Flynn that if he gets the bill I’ll reimburse him because obviously I don’t expect him to pay when he’s only here to do me a favour. I don’t want Jonathan paying; I don’t want to owe him anything.

I munch my toast and take a slurp of wine to wash it down. Flynn has opted for prawns complete with shells – I love them but they’re a definite no no for me as they’ll end up all over me and the table. Jonathan has some sort of soup thing with something that looks suspiciously like crab claws poking out of it.

‘Prawn, sweetheart?’ Flynn is holding a peeled prawn speared on his fork in front me.

I stifle a giggle; oh my God he’s actually going to do the food sharing, feed me thing, he’s really getting into this role play.

I don’t speak but open my mouth in what I hope is a seductive way and not like a baby bird waiting to be fed. I also hope that I haven’t got toast and pate all over my teeth.

He gently pushes the prawn into my mouth and I close my lips and chew.

‘Mmm, delicious.’ I close my eyes and make appreciative noises.

When I’ve completely swallowed it I open my eyes and gaze at Flynn lovingly. Jonathan clears his throat from across the table and I look up to see him pouring yet more wine into his glass from the new bottle that’s appeared on the table.

‘Hey, wait.’ Flynn gently catches hold of my chin and dabs my lips with his napkin. ‘There, that’s better.’

I smile at him. ‘Thank you, darling.’

Normally, if I was watching this public show of affection I’d be cringing and if it was real I’d be pushing Flynn away.

Or maybe I wouldn’t.

But today I’m lapping it up because I know that Jonathan will be absolutely hating it; mostly because he’s not the centre of attention.

An uneasy silence descends over the table and we finish our starters and drink more wine and I wish the evening would hurry up and be over because I think we’ve convinced Jonathan already. When our plates are whisked away Jonathan orders another bottle of wine – I can’t remember if it’s the third or fourth bottle – and I start to feel uneasy; too much wine and things could be said that shouldn’t be although I notice that Flynn isn’t drinking very much. Jonathan’s face has turned slightly pink and his speech isn’t quite so precise; the merest hint of a Frogham accent is coming through. He must be rattled and I start to feel a bit rotten for our play acting and I start to feel a bit sorry for him. He asked me out for a meal and look how I behave, it all seemed like a bit of a lark at first but now I don’t feel so good about it, or myself.

Stop! barks the Beccabird. Are you mad, woman? Have you forgotten what he did to you?

Of course not but that was in the past, a long time ago – am I going to hold it against him forever? Maybe he’s right, maybe I am money obsessed.

No, I’m not drunk but I have had too much and this is what happens; I start not thinking straight and who knows where it ends. Too much wine makes me forget that Jonathan is a cheat and a liar and it seems possible that he could have changed and I forget that leopards don’t change their spots. Too much wine makes me forget that Flynn is gay because he’s looking sexier by the minute and I’m almost believing that we are a couple, almost wishing it so. Get a grip, for God’s sake! Maybe I could dilute the wine with some water and then when I eat my steak that’ll negate the effects a bit as well.

‘Darling,’ I tap Flynn on the arm, ‘Could you ask the waiter for a jug of water please? The wine has given me a raging thirst.’

Ask him yourself! bellows you know who. Have you lost your tongue as well as your senses?

‘Of course, darling.’ He summons the waiter who blatantly has a massive crush on him because he can’t take his eyes off him. The waiter disappears and then reappears within minutes with a jug of water and three glasses. Jonathan imperiously waves the proffered water glass away and the waiter snatches it up off the table and marches off.

I watch as Jonathan fills his wine glass to the brim, spilling some on the pristine white tablecloth in the process and then puts the bottle back down the table without offering any to me or Flynn. He’s definitely had too much.

I fill my water glass to the top and glug it down and swiftly follow it with another glass, hoping that it’ll somehow dilute the effects of the wine. All it does is go straight to my bladder which means that I have to now navigate my way to the toilets. I stand up on unsteady legs and excuse myself and weave my way through the tables in an attempt to find the ladies. I have no idea where they are but make an educated guess and totter over to the bar area thinking that they must be around there somewhere. I spot two doors side by side in a dark corner alongside the bar. They have swirly arty type engravings on each door which I assume depict male and female figures but the closer I get to them the more I realise that I have no idea which is which. Feeling as if the entire restaurant is watching I curse myself for drinking all that water. And wine. I slow my steps and hope that someone will come out of one of the doors so I’ll know which one to choose.

I stride purposefully toward the one with the fanciest arty squiggle calculating that this must be the ladies and anyway, no one has come out so they’re empty and it won’t matter. I open the door and go in to find myself immediately in the toilet – no cubicles here, just one toilet and a hand basin - and attempt to shut the door but it seems to be stuck. I don’t know, you’d think these posh places would at least have toilet doors that close properly, how hard is it to shave a bit off the door so that it actually fits?

I push a bit harder but it still won’t budge so I put all of my bodyweight behind the door and give it a good shove and it suddenly gives and slams shut and at the same time I hear an almighty crash from outside. I open the door quickly to see the waiter from our table sprawled on the floor clutching a tray to his chest and surrounded by broken glasses.

‘Madam,’ he says smoothly as he nimbly picks himself up off the floor and brushes imaginary dust from his jacket and trousers. ‘The ladies’ are over here.’ He points to the other door with a flourish and I realise that he was trying to stop me from going into the men’s toilet. Oh God, he was the resistance behind the door and I’ve just sent him flying. Why did he even bother – it’s not as if there was anyone in the toilet.

‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise you were holding the door.’

‘No problem, madam.’ he says without smiling.

He bends down and picks up the shards of glass and starts putting them onto the tray and I stand like an idiot and watch him.

It seems very quiet in the restaurant and I look around to see lots of faces turned in my direction.

I edge past the waiter and wince as I crunch over broken glass on my way into the ladies. I close the door behind me and stand with my back to it; I won’t be able to bring myself to use the toilet until the waiter has gone from outside the door. I hope he hurries up – I don’t want another wet knickers incident. I snort and clap my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing; maybe wetting myself and being in Flynn’s company go together.

Stop it! instructs the Beccabird. Control yourself or you definitely will have an accident the way you’re behaving.

I hear another voice speaking in low tones to the waiter and then the sound of glass being swept into something. After what seems like forever, I listen intently with my ear pressed to the door but I can’t hear anything so thankfully I think the waiter has gone. I quickly have a wee and then wash my hands and try to compose my face into a don’t care expression. I open the door and walk carefully back to the table.

As I approach the table I’m greeted by an extremely loud guffaw of laughter followed by Jonathan’s booming, drunken voice.

‘HERE SHE IS! She hasn’t changed a bit, Flynn, still the same old Bex. Still a clumsy klutz.’

I hear a few sniggers from surrounding tables but decide that I’m not going to let it bother me and I tilt my head back regally and put my nose in the air. I decide that I’ll ignore them completely and continue in this dignified manner across the restaurant to my seat to prove that I’m not bothered in the slightest. Just as I reach our table my ankle twists and the traitorous heel slips from under me and I feel myself propelled forward and unable to stop. I throw my hands out in front of me to break my fall and sprawl inelegantly across the top of our table, managing to sweep the entire contents onto the floor in the process.