“Men … well … wai’re a bit
sluttish, ya knaow. We loik a lot of
sex, and wai aren’t always too pa’ticular about how we get it. Some men prefer it without ties, with
strangers. I dunno. Oi had that when Oi was on the straits. Oi got enough fuckin’ with paiple who didn’t care about mai. Paiple who despised me. They thought that because Oi naided the money
Oi was a nothin’. But sex is noice. Very noice.” He smiled suddenly, quickly and
endearingly. “ And if ya can do it with someone you loike … someone you love …
then it’s seriously
good. Aiven a nice blaoke ya pick up in
the pub. Long as he doesn’t look down on
ya. Long as there’s somethin’
there. Some spark. Though Oi’m getting’s a bit sick of that too,
if ya wanna knaow. Oi love Tom. And Oi reckon Oi’m getting’ half in love with
you, Esmé. But Oi naid … fuck it, Ezz,
Oi naid men in moi loife. Oi daon’t
wanna hurt ya, and Oi’m sorry Oi have.
But Oi could never be one hundred per cent straight. Never.
No matter how much you main to me.
If Oi promised ya Oi would, Oi would be lyin’.”
Esmé looked at him for many
heartbeats. “I don’t know, Keith. I can’t.
I … I need time to think.”
Keith looked bleak.
Esmé reached down and slapped his
cheek lightly.
“Stop it.” She felt much happier than she had
before. I’m getting half in love with you.
But the more rational part of herself argued forcibly for normality—a boyfriend
who was straight, who loved only her, who wouldn’t pick up men in pubs. Like they’re all queuing up, she thought cynically. “I said I’d think about it.”
“Can wai go on bein’
friends?” Keith looked so anxious she
almost gave in right there.
“Maybe. We’ll see.
Now drink up your coffee and go away!”
“Oi haven’t got any! Honestly, the service in this place!”
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