part0016

N ot surprisingly we didn’t stay for dinner after I landed on the table; it sort of killed the evening. Jonathan couldn’t stop laughing and he was so loud. Two waiters hurried over and quickly set about picking up the debris from the floor while Flynn helped me off the table and gently sat me down in the chair. Only I could manage to actually land on a table, I wouldn’t imagine it’s very easy to do even if you were trying really hard. Flynn was very concerned that I hadn’t hurt myself and I said I was fine – although my ribs did hurt like hell and I headbutted the wine bottle - but I didn’t want to make a fuss.

I sat there in a bit of a daze, vaguely aware that everyone in the restaurant was looking at us and the ones that weren’t openly laughing had very disapproving expressions on their faces – they obviously thought I was drunk.

I wasn’t; I’d felt a bit tipsy before I went to the loo and I definitely knew that I’d had a couple of glasses of wine but the shock of the table crash sobered me up pretty quickly. Unlike Jonathan, who, it soon became apparent, was absolutely wasted. After he’d finally stopped laughing at me he then proceeded to start bellowing at the waiters demanding to know where our meals were and why we’d been waiting for so long and was generally showing off and being obnoxious. The waiter that I knocked over tried to calm him down by having a quiet word with him but it just seemed to make him worse. He shouted right into the poor man’s face and demanded that the manager be brought over so he could speak to the organ grinder and not the monkey. I was shocked that he could be so rude and I’m surprised they never threw him out.

It was truly horrific and I’m sure I saw a few of the other diners using mobile phones to film us so it’s probably going to be all over Facebook and YouTube but I most definitely will not be looking to find out. I think I would have just sat there in a daze for the rest of the night but for Flynn, who took decisive action because I think he’d had enough of Jonathan as well. He stood up and took hold of my hands and pulled me gently to my feet and put a protective arm around me as if I were an elderly relative in need of assistance. I liked it though; I felt so cared for and protected even though I knew it was an act for Jonathan’s benefit. Jonathan sat watching us with a smirk on his face until Flynn told him unsmilingly that we were going home and if he wanted to stay and make a fool of himself, he was welcome to. I thought Jonathan’s head was going to explode because his complexion darkened until it was beetroot coloured. He can dish it out but he cannot take it and he didn’t like being spoken to in the same way that he spoke to the waiters.

He stood up and puffed his chest out and then stumbled around the table and planted himself in front of me and Flynn. For a horrible moment I thought there was going to be a punch up because he squared up to Flynn, although he was swaying on his feet – but Flynn coolly put his hand on his shoulder and drew him away from me so that I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Their heads were very close together and it looked a heated conversation but thankfully it ended with Jonathan giving Flynn a murderous look before going back to his seat and sitting down again. Flynn had a strange look on his face when he came back to me, I don’t think I’d ever seen him look so serious.

Flynn then took out his wallet and walked away with the waiter while I put my coat on and when he came back minutes later we left with every diner in the restaurant pretending that they weren’t watching us. My last sighting of Jonathan was of him glowering in the chair as he watched us leave.

We came outside and Flynn had parked his car in the car park just around the corner – which is what I should have done because if I’d driven to the restaurant I wouldn’t have been able to have any wine. And then I wouldn’t have ended the evening spread over the table like a dying fly.

Yeah, snapped the Beccabird, but you never learn, do you?

I don’t. You don’t have to tell me; I know it was all my own fault.

So. Here we are. I’m sitting in the car while Flynn gets us something to eat from the kebab van parked in the lay-by outside Atkinsons, of all places. We haven’t spoken on the short drive from the restaurant other than Flynn asking me if I was okay and did I want a kebab and me saying yes to both.

‘They smell good,’ I say as Flynn gets back into the car with a bulging white plastic bag. I take it off of him and put it in the footwell by my feet.

‘They sure do, I’m starving.’ He starts the engine.

‘Sorry about…’ I wave my hands around in an attempt to describe the debacle of the evening. ‘…all that .’

‘No need to be sorry, it’s not your fault he’s a prick.’ We zoom off towards home.

‘It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t destroyed the table.’ I look at Flynn as he drives and I see the corners of his mouth twitch.

‘You did us a favour – at least we didn’t have to put up with an entire evening of him.’

‘I take it you didn’t like him then?’

Flynn snorts. ‘No. Not much.’

‘I thought he was going to swing a punch when he squared up to you.’

‘So what did you say to him?’

‘Yep.’ Flynn’s mouth is set in a straight line and it’s obviously a sore point so I’m not going to ask anymore. But I don’t believe Flynn; I don’t believe that’s what he said because Jonathan definitely would have hit him if he’d really said that to him. But I don’t understand why he’s lying.

‘So,’ I say, changing the subject, ‘Let me know how much I owe you for the meal and I’ll ping you the money. Shame that we missed our steaks.’ It was more than a shame; one of the most expensive steaks that I’ve ever ordered and I never even got to eat one mouthful of it. Maybe we should have asked for a doggy bag.

Yeah , sneers the Beccabird, because that wouldn’t have been the slightest bit humiliating would it?

‘You don’t owe me anything,’ Flynn says as we pull up outside the house.

‘I definitely do, the steaks cost a fortune not to mention the bottles of wine that Jonathan was throwing down his neck. You can bet your life he wouldn’t have ordered cheap ones.’

‘Nope. You definitely don’t.’ Flynn leans over and grabs the bag of kebabs from the floor and we clamber out of the car. ‘I didn’t pay.’ He grins. ‘Jonathan’s going to be paying.’

‘But you paid.’ I look at him in confusion. ‘I saw you take your wallet with you and the waiter took you up to the bar to pay.’

‘Oh, I intended paying.’ He unlocks the front door and we go into the house. ‘But the waiter wouldn’t let me, he was mightily pissed off with Jono – didn’t like the way he spoke to him and belittled him. He wouldn’t take my card, said he’d make sure that the other gentleman – as he put it – settled the bill before he left.’

I follow Flynn into the kitchen and watch as he clatters around opening cupboards and taking plates out and unwrapping the food. Sausage’s feet click on the tiles as he follows him, ever hopeful of a morsel coming his way. I bend down and tickle his ears and wish that I’d stayed at home and spent the evening watching telly with him snuggled on my lap. Much safer.

‘Jonathan’s not going to be happy about that.’ He won’t, not because he has to pay but because we won’t be there to see him do it and be impressed by him.

‘No, he won’t. I had my card out ready but the waiter just wouldn’t let me, I think he was intent on having his revenge for the organ grinder remark. So I thought, you know what, serves the prick right, let him pay for it, he was the one guzzling the wine and showing off.’

‘I cringed when he said the organ grinder thing, I’m surprised they didn’t throw him out there and then he was so bloody rude.’

‘He’s lucky the waiter didn’t deck him; I would’ve, job or no job.’ Flynn looks at me and grins. ‘With a bit of luck he’ll have forgotten his wallet and they’ll make him do the washing up or clean the toilets.’

A vision of Jonathan cleaning the toilets pops into my head and I giggle; he wouldn’t have the first idea where to start because he never did any sort of housework when we were together, he couldn’t even hang a towel up.

Flynn hands me a plate heaped with kebab and I follow him into the lounge and collapse onto the sofa. I ease my feet out of the traitorous heels and wiggle my toes. Bliss. Flynn flips his shoes off and manages to take his jacket off and fling it over the back of the chair all whilst juggling his plate of food from hand to hand. He flops down next to me on the sofa.

‘Of course…’ I chew a mouthful of the most delicious kebab that I’ve ever tasted. ‘…the fact that the waiter fancied the pants off you obviously helped.’

Flynn looks at me in surprise. ‘Me? It wasn’t me he fancied it was you – why do you think he followed you to the toilets? I thought he was going to muscle his way in there with you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.’

I laugh and nearly choke on my kebab. ‘No, it was definitely you, how could you not have noticed? Honestly Flynn, you can’t be that unaware.’

How can he not know how gorgeous he is? I say this from a purely platonic point of view, obviously.

Flynn shrugs. ‘Nope, it was you he was drooling over, not me. He most definitely wasn’t gay.’

Really? Well, you should know, I think to myself. My gaydar is completely broken and beyond repair because I was sure it was Flynn he had the hots for. What does that say about me that I don’t even notice when someone finds me attractive? Am I so socially unaware that I don’t pick up on other people’s signals? Well, if he did fancy me, I’m sure he didn’t after I’d knocked him over outside the toilet. And if that didn’t put him off then the table landing most definitely would.

We eat in companionable silence and when Flynn has finished wolfing down his food he disappears into the kitchen and reappears with two tall glasses of a bright red liquid which he places carefully on the coffee table.

I finish my last mouthful of kebab and stare at the drinks.

‘I’m almost afraid to ask what that is…some sort of homemade wine you’ve made out of berries you’ve picked?’

‘Cherryade,’ he states as he picks it up. I watch as he drinks the whole glass down and then licks his lips. ‘Best thing ever after a kebab.’

I pick mine up and take a slurp. ‘Mmm…I’d forgotten how tasty it is.’ I take another mouthful. ‘Really nice and refreshing.’

‘Tis. We used to live on it as kids, that and dandelion and burdock.’

‘I remember, do they even sell that anymore?’

‘Not sure, this was my favourite, I was never too sure what a burdock was and dandelions never looked that tasty to me. Although it was better than water which was the only other option.’’

The cherryade reminds me.

‘So, what happened to your hair, Flynn?’

He rubs his hand over his stubbly head.

‘It needed to go, I only let it get that long ‘cos it kept my head warm for the winter, it was always going to come off but after that burst sewer pipe I couldn’t be arsed with washing it all so I whizzed it off. Which wasn’t as easy as I thought it’d be.’

A vision of Flynn trying to get a pair of clippers through all that hair pops into my head and I start to giggle.

‘You can laugh,’ he says ruefully. ‘I had to hack at it with scissors first and then whizz it off with the clippers, made a right bloody mess, hair all over the place. Had to sweep it all up into a carrier bag and shove it in the dustbin there was so much of it. Sausage was going mental, running around barking like he’d seen a rat or something. That’s why I was so late getting to the restaurant.’

‘I quite liked the red, it suited you.’ I try to keep a straight face but I can’t.

‘I only dyed it for charity, one of my customers was raising money and I got sponsored to have it dyed red. Raised over five hundred quid.’

‘Wow, that’s amazing, and so sweet of you.’ So much for my drag queen theory.

Flynn looks uncomfortable. ‘Don’t know about that, it wasn’t any effort on my part was it, having it dyed? I just had to sit there while they did it.’

‘What was the charity?’

‘A dementia one. The wife of one of my customers has it and she had to go into a home. Really sad, they’ve been married nearly sixty years and she doesn’t remember who he is anymore.’

‘God, that is sad.’

‘It is. He doesn’t really need me to do his garden because he does it himself. I think he’s just lonely and wants a bit of company.’

Flynn seems lost in thought but after a while he shrugs. ‘Anyway, back to tonight. Do you think we fooled Jono, as a couple? Do you think he’ll leave you alone now?’

I think back over the events of the evening before it turned into a circus.

‘Yes, I think we fooled him; you were very convincing.’

Flynn laughs, pleased with himself.

‘Yeah, I thought I was too. I could tell he didn’t like me pretty much straight away. Can’t say the feeling wasn’t mutual.’

‘No, he wouldn’t like you – you’re too much of a threat to him.’

‘Me, a threat? Why would I be a threat to him?’

‘You’re way better looking than him, not to mention successful with your own business and too well-mannered to bang on about it the way he brags about himself.’

‘Yeah, well, I did lie about that a bit, didn’t I? I sort of gave him the impression that I had loads of people working for me and didn’t get my hands dirty. He wouldn’t have been impressed if he knew that really I’m a one-man band who does all of the labouring myself.’

‘You’re worth ten of him, I must have been wearing blinkers when I was with him all of those years ago.’

Yes of course , the Beccabird reminds me, that’d be why you were letting him hold your hand and starting to feel sorry for deceiving him, wouldn’t it? Face facts, if Flynn hadn’t been there, you’d have ended up going home with him.

No I wouldn’t. Would I?

‘Well you’re definitely way too good for him and he must have put a spell on you when you were together. Just don’t fall for it again.’

‘I won’t.’ He must have seen Jonathan stroking my hand when he got there. God, he must think I’m a completely pathetic pushover.

You are! squawks you-know-who .

‘You need someone who’s going to appreciate you.’

‘I do,’ I agree.

‘Someone who’ll look after you and treat you how you should be treated.’

‘I most definitely do,’ I say, warming to the theme. ‘Someone who’ll look after me and put me first and not cheat on me.’

‘That’s right.’ Flynn takes my cherryade off me and takes a slurp. ‘Someone who appreciates how lovely you are.’

‘Aw, thank you.’ He’s so lovely. ‘What I need, Flynn,’ I announce in a decisive tone as I take the cherryade back from him and finish it, ‘Is someone just like you.’

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I could shoot myself. Oh my God I sound as if I’m coming onto my gay best friend! The Beccabird is falling about laughing and I desperately try to think of something to say to retrieve the situation. I see the shock on Flynn’s face and hurriedly start blabbering and hope that I’m not digging an even bigger hole to fall into.

‘Someone just like you, but not you, obviously,’ I gabble, ‘Because that would just be weird, wouldn’t it.’ I laugh. ‘So someone like you, but not you, obviously,’ I say again to emphasise the point.

The shock on Flynn’s face changes to an expression that I can’t read but he seems okay; he’s not jumping up off the sofa to get away from me and giving me the I’m gay so it can never happen talk so I think I’ve averted disaster. God, imagine if he thought I fancied him – how mortifying would that be?