540

“When I came here, after Brent …. killed himself, I decided not to use my money, because in the end it was money and fussing about money that killed Brent.  And my selfishness.  So I decided to work for my living and not use any of my inheritance.  But money is like any other weapon—or tool.  It can be used for good.  And if you have money and … um … high birth you have power, power to do good.  And I thought, you know, there’s Keith who was thrown out of home because he was gay, or bi, anyway, and Bart who was driven to his death”—his voice faltered for a moment—“and then Brent, who wasn’t driven out of his home by his parents and was accepted by all the blokes in the cricket club but wasn’t accepted by my … by who I used to think were my friends.  So I’m going to make a difference.  Something to change the world, something to help gay and bisexual and lesbian and trans young people so that they can come to terms with themselves and be happy.”

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530

I could do something about prejudice, Jason thought at last.  I have the money.  My own money.  So much money.  I wouldn’t be using it for myself.  It would be something for Bart and Brent.  Why didn’t I think of that before?  I’ll start a foundation.  Something for homeless gay kids.  I saw a news report about that.  More than half of all kids on the streets have been thrown out by their parents.  

Comforted by this resolve, he slipped into sleep and when he dreamt it was a happy dream, one where he and Brent were together, picnicking next to an English river in the rare perfection of a beautiful English summer’s day.

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460

Esmé and Keith met again that night, after the café and the bar had closed.  They went back to his flat and made love.  And again the night after.  But the night after that, Esmé wasn’t working.  She wished she worked every night at the café, so that she could meet Keith every night.  She knew she shouldn’t monopolise him but she couldn’t help herself.  He made her happy.  She knew somewhere inside that he was gay.  But he was so loving to her that she thought he’d changed, that he loved her so much that he’d set aside his gayness to be with her.  That he was no longer interested in men. 

Even though she wasn’t working, she decided she’d go down to the bar and surprise him.   She normally cycled to work, but she decided to take the tram.  It took her a little longer than she’d thought.  As she stepped down from the tram at the stop just before The Lord Grey, she caught sight of Keith.  He had his back to her.  He was pressed up against another man, kissing him, his hands gripping the other bloke’s buttocks, his groin grinding against the other man’s. 

She turned quickly and walked away from the bar.  She didn’t want Keith to see her shame.  Her humiliation was complete.

She caught the tram home and let herself in as quietly as she could.  She did not want Luke to see her like this.  In the privacy of her room, she took the razor and cut deeply into her arms.  Stupid!  she said to herself, angry, as she did it.  Stupid!  You knew you could never be happy.  You knew that it would all be taken from you.  You knew that.  But still you hoped.  Fool!  Cretin!  Idiot!

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416

He waited for her to answer.  At last he said, “I know I haven’t had a man.”  He waved down at his body.  “Who would look at me?”  Without waiting for a polite contradiction, he went on, “but I have talked and read and listened.  I know so many blokes who’ve been fucked over by bisexuals who give them the spiel about everlasting love and all that stuff and then dump them for a girlfriend.”

Esmé was touched.  And also a little peeved off.  “Lukie bibbots, he hasn’t made any vows, he hasn’t said he loves me, he’s behaved impeccably.”  Except for the stiffie, she added silently to herself.

“But you love him.”  It wasn’t really a question. 

“Of course I don’t.”

Luke just grinned at her.

“Then there’s the other problem,” he said.

He stared at her maddeningly until she was forced to say, tetchily, “What?”

“Falling in love with a straight guy.  I’ve done it often enough.  Some cute bloke.  He just has to smile at nicely at you, and you construct a whole happy-ever-after story, visions of breakfast in bed, picnics on the beach, holidays in Paris.”

Esmé coloured.  These were exactly the sort of things she’d been thinking.

“And then it turns out he doesn’t even want to have sex with you.  His obsession is the girls he sees getting on the tram.  The girls he lusts after in pubs.  The pretties he ogles in the street.  You are less than nothing to him.  And you’ve invested all your time and emotions in him.  And in the end you do have your stories.  Only it’s just you on the beach at the picnic.  Not you and him.  And it’s not breakfast in bed.  It’s a bowl of muesli with going-off milk.  By yourself in the kitchen.  With last night’s washing up staring malevolently at you from the sink.”

This made Esmé laugh but she was saddened too, for Luke and for herself.  For the world.  For all the lonely people. 

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Majorca Flats -- 313

Cody sat on the kerb, his head in his hands. His life was over. Maybe it would have been better if he had died. He'd lost his wife and his children. Probably his job. And Luigi … Lou had been so cold! He knew that he loved Luigi as much as he loved his wife. He hadn't realised that until Luigi had left him, until Luigi had been so angry with him. When he'd seen Luigi, that first time in the bar, he'd been entranced by his beauty. Luigi had seemed like a model, an androgynous beauty which perfectly chimed with his inner desires. The first time they'd fucked, and he watched Luigi's sweat-sheened face as he himself came inside him, he'd known that this was it. That he was in love. This wasn't just a random pick-up, some trick who could be forgotten the next day. This was it. And when Luigi had left him, it had felt as if part of his heart had been torn out.

And now Philippa also hated him. And he loved her. He stared at an ant struggling with a burden twice its own size, toiling along in the gutter; at a leaf from the plane tree, about a thousand times the size of the ant. He lifted the leaf out of the way of the tiny creature.

And then he heard the unmistakable sound of a Volkswagen Kombi engine, only a little way away. He ducked down behind the parked car he was sitting next to and waited for the Kombi to pass. Maybe it was the killer, maybe not. But he didn't want to look and see. He found in himself the desire to live again. Or at least to choose his own method of dying.

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