Blowing It (7 page)

Max grimaced sympathetically. “Not in public,
kiddo. You’re smarter than that.”

I grinned. “It would have been an awful lot of
effort to dress like that to stay in.”

“Where did you get that top, anyway? I thought I
cleared everything out.”

“A year ago. I do buy new clothes occasionally.”

“Well, stop it. No more of your gender-bending
shit.”

“It’s who I am, Max.”

“No it isn’t, it’s what you wear.” He pinched the
bridge of his nose. “I’m not saying change. I’m just saying help me do my job,
okay? I thought you were savvier.”

“I only wanted to be sure he liked me for who I
was, not what you’d turned me into.”

“So he’s new, is he?”

I nodded.

“Seeing him again?”

“I hope so.”

“Well, do it in private, okay? Keep the pictures
off the internet.”

“Yeah, sure. Shall I tell him I’m ashamed of him
now and get it over with?”

Max refused to be baited. “Do whatever you have to
do, Owen. Just don’t put me in this position again.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The journey home seemed to last days. I studied my
fellow passengers on the tube, wondering what their lives were like. The young
punk couple sitting opposite, did they tie their hair back and remove their
piercings for work? Forsake leather and silver studs for corporate severity?
Then again, it was midday on a Monday, and if they weren’t at work now, they
probably waited tables or lived off student loans, unbeholden to a boss who
cared about company image.

Was that what I was now, a corporate entity? A
product in my own right? I’d always known, sort of, that when people bought my
books, they were buying a little piece of me, too. I had a part to play in the
grubby business of parting consumers from their cash. And really, what had I
been doing on Friday? Acting out like a spoilt child, testing the limits of
what I could get away with?

I pulled my coat closer around myself. The truth
was, I liked Magnus. Liked him enough I wanted him to see who I really was
before I let myself get attached. I needed to know I could trust him. But who
was he, really? I’d known him barely three weeks, only been on a couple of
dates. Why was I jeopardising everything I’d worked so hard to achieve? Say
that picture had made the papers. Say Squire decided it was a problem. Then say
Magnus and I broke up or drifted apart, or for one of a hundred other reasons,
we stopped seeing each other. What would I do then? Wouldn’t I feel like an
idiot, having thrown it all away for a man I barely knew?

Magnus was brand new, and maybe I’d let the shiny
distract me. Or maybe… maybe he was something different, something special. Maybe
that little flutter I felt in my belly whenever I thought about him, whenever
my phone lit up with a new text message, was an instinct I should trust.

I snorted. My instincts had long proved themselves
untrustworthy, and I’d had gonorrhoea to prove it. I’d been blind to Carl
playing around behind my back when we’d been together six months—what made me
think Magnus was trustworthy after three dates?

This was why I hadn’t dated in so long, why I’d
agreed to Max’s terms with barely a grumble. The truth was, I didn’t trust
myself to trust a man again. I was too keen, too eager to believe their lies.
Not that I thought Magnus had lied to me, but I couldn’t tell. That was the
point.

For someone who made a living portraying people,
getting into their heads and exposing what made them tick, I was hopelessly
inadequate when it came to reading the motivations of the real people in my
life.

My phone chimed, and I pulled it out of my pocket,
an involuntary smile spreading across my face as I saw Magnus’s name on the
screen.
Well?
it said, no preamble. I’d told him first thing I was going
to hand in the manuscript, and promised to let him know when I was done.

The eagle has landed.
I sniggered as I
typed.

It only took a moment before I got a reply.
Roger.
Wilco and out. This message will now self-destruct.

My snigger turned to an outright laugh.
Goof
,
I shot back, adding a smiley face so he knew I was being affectionate.

Does this mean the book will be out soon?
Magnus asked.

I wish! Editing next. Out next year(?). If
Squire doesn’t hate it
.

They’ll love it.

I smiled, a warm feeling rising in my chest.
From
your lips…
. I slipped the phone back into my pocket and nodded to the young
punks when I noticed them staring. Making noise on the tube broke about fifty
unspoken rules, but I didn’t care. Being punks, neither should they.

҉҉҉

Ryan called me Wednesday to invite me for dinner on
Saturday night. With the manuscript finished, he and a couple of friends wanted
to take me out to celebrate. He’d booked the restaurant already and let me know
my attendance was compulsory. “None of your ‘I’m a lowly slave to my muse’
shit,” he warned.

I laughed. “I’m not that arrogant.”

“You’re not doing anything with Magnus that night?”

“No.” I tried to keep my sigh inaudible.

“What’s wrong?” Ryan asked. I should have known
better than to try keeping anything from my best friend.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I protested.

“But it isn’t right, either.”

Damn him. “I’ve not really spoken to him much this
week.”

“Why not? What happened? You two seemed to be
getting along great on Friday.”

“We were.”

“So what’s changed?”

I looked at my computer screen, where the cursor
blinked at the start of a page shaming me with its glaring white. I’d written
nothing in two days despite all my good intentions. Holding my mobile more
securely against my ear, I rose from the sofa and began pacing. “It’s
complicated.”

“What’s complicated?” Ryan demanded. “You don’t get
‘complicated’ after three dates, Owen. Did something happen on Friday?”

I smiled, remembering exactly what had happened
after we’d left The Drake. That, I had no regrets about.

“Oh my god, it did, didn’t it? Did you sleep with
him?”

“Maybe.”

“You filthy whore. Details, now! Was he hung? He
looks hung.”

“I’m not telling you! Besides, you’re married now.
You’re supposed to be over sex.”

“Exactly. I’ve got to get my kicks somewhere.” I
heard the amusement in his voice. “Is he some kind of pervert? Did he tie you
up and do depraved things to you, and now you’re freaking out because you liked
it?”

“No!”

“Did he spit in your face and tell you to call him
Daddy?”

“Fuck, Ryan! Stop!” I laughed through the
involuntary cringe.

“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“Gross. There’s no way Sameer is into that shit.”

“I had a life before Sameer,” Ryan said. “I got
around.”

“I heard.” I grinned wryly.

“We all know you had a glass pressed against the
wall. Pervert.” The word was softly spoken, his tone affectionate. “Seriously,
what happened? You seemed really keen on each other. Was it the underwear?”

I didn’t ask how Ryan knew what I’d been wearing
beneath my jeans. He was my best friend; he knew me better than I knew myself.

“It’s nothing to do with that.”

“So there
is
something. Tell me. Please?”

I sighed. “It’s Max.”

“Who, your agent? What’s he said? Is there
something wrong with the book?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the book. It’s Magnus.
Someone took a picture of us and put it online. Tweeted my bloody publicist.”

“Fuck.” Ryan released a slow breath. “What did Max
say?”

I stood before the French doors, looking out across
a green patch of wasteland to the gleaming towers of the City, as drab and grey
as the gloomy sky. I longed for summer. My reflection gave me a doleful look. “No
being seen in public doing any ‘gender-bending queer shit’.”

“He can’t do that,” Ryan protested. “There are
laws
.”

“There’s also a contract,” I pointed out. “Sameer’s
solicitor warned me it was watertight before I signed it. And Max is right, I
know he is. We’re still trying to break America, and they just announced the
Carnegie shortlist. Max said people have noticed. They’re all fucking watching
me. I knew what I was getting into.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Ryan said
sympathetically.

“You wouldn’t take Sameer to work with you,” I
said, trying to rationalise it. “Whenever I leave the flat, I’m at work. I
forget that.”

“At least my colleagues know he exists,” Ryan
protested.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the one
who talked me into this?” I asked, letting my voice rise with indignation.

“I didn’t think they’d be this strict!”

“What, I had to hide my sexuality while I was
single, but the moment I had a boyfriend,
Hello
would come knocking to
do a front page spread?”

Ryan sighed. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It kinda is.”

I laughed. “Okay, it’s only half your fault. How’s
that? I still agreed to their terms. I knew what that meant. It just didn’t
seem so important then, you know?”

Ryan made a small sound of agreement. “Have you
spoken to Magnus about it?”

“No.” I placed my hand on the glass, letting the
cold seep into my skin. “He’s texted, but I haven’t said much.”

“Why don’t you tell him?” Ryan asked. “He’ll
understand.”

I grimaced. “Maybe it’s just easier to call it
quits.”

“What, break up with him?”

“It would get Max out of my hair.”

“You can’t be serious. Owen, this is the first guy
you’ve shown
any
interest in since Carl. And Magnus is nice. I won’t let
you break up with him!”

I smiled despite my misery. “I don’t want to,” I
admitted. “But let’s face it, it probably isn’t going to work. Wouldn’t it make
more sense to get out now?”

“Owen.” He sounded like he was reprimanding a five-year-old.
“Remember what people said when I met Sameer? We were from different
backgrounds, different cultures. He’s a bloody Muslim!
Nobody
thought it
would work, remember? Did we listen to them?”

The connection muffled, and I heard Sameer in the
background.

“What did he say?” I asked when Ryan finished
saying something in response.

Ryan was laughing. “He says his family hated me,
too. They thought I was a flighty alcoholic.”

“Fair assessment,” I said, grinning.

“Fuck off!” Ryan chuckled. “Ira adored me from day
one.”

“Heh. That’s the only reason you made it past the
second date.”

“Are you calling my husband a mummy’s boy?”

“If the cap fits.”

We shared a short silence, warm with affection.

“Don’t give up on this one, Owen. He’s not Carl.”

“I know.”

“Love you. See you Saturday, yeah?”

“Yeah. Love you, too.”

“Seven thirty. Don’t be late!”

I smiled. “I’ll be there.”

CHAPTER NINE

Ryan had booked a table at Almeida, one of my
favourite restaurants. Housed in a low, yellow brick building on a small side
street in North London, its unassuming frontage hid a light, airy dining room
with modern abstract art on the walls; great swirls of bright colour, oranges
and blues contrasted prettily with the dark furniture. A wall of wine bottles
separated the bar from the busy kitchen, where the chefs were already hard at
work, preparing food which, upon arrival, resembled works of art itself.

I walked in at 7:45 on the dot, glanced around the
room, and saw Ryan waving to me from a round table near the back.

“Better late than never,” he said with a grin,
rising to envelop me in a warm hug.

“I’m hardly late,” I protested, taking the seat next
to him and nodding to the rest of the group.

Sameer was seated to Ryan’s left, and next to him were
Shane and Kieran, a couple of Irish lads we’d met at uni. Shane had been in
Ryan’s form first year, and he’d been with Kieran since they were seventeen.
The relationship had crashed and burnt a couple of years ago for reasons they declined
to discuss, but they’d remained close friends, and Ryan refused to take me on
with a bet they’d yet end up old and married.

Beside Kieran sat Leanne, a friend from the days
when I’d waited tables for a living, deep in conversation with Natasha, her
current girlfriend. Leanne sold bespoke clothing to boutique stores, a sideline
she had dreams of turning into a viable business. She’d met Natasha almost a
year earlier, when they’d almost got into a fistfight over a vintage dress in a
thrift store in the East End. In the end, Leanne had won the dress in exchange
for buying Natasha’s lunch. It made a great story, although it became more and
more embellished with every retelling.

Between me and Natasha was an empty chair, and I
nudged Ryan. “Who are we missing?”

“What?” He looked at the seat. “Oh, don’t worry
about it. What are you drinking?”

I frowned but let myself be distracted when he
shoved a cocktail menu under my nose. The barman made an apple and cucumber
martini to die for, and Ryan knew I had a taste for the stuff.

Orders placed, we relaxed in our seats as we perused
the menu and caught up with what everyone had been up to. Natasha worked in an
art gallery and was soon lost in conversation with Kieran, who studied fine art
at uni, a degree he put to absolutely no use in his career as an estate agent. Leanne
caught my eye and gave a long-suffering sigh. I grinned and sipped my drink.

 Shane was a teacher, the same as Ryan, although he
taught at a secondary comprehensive in East London. The stories he told could
turn the most hardened soul’s hair grey, yet he swore he loved it, and I had no
reason to doubt his word. “The boys are fine,” he always said. “You know where
you are with boys. It’s the girls you’ve got to watch out for.” Listening to his
latest tale of bitching and backstabbing, which had ended up with a locker
being set on fire and someone losing their ponytail to a pair of pinking shears
during a textiles class, I well believed him.

“Here’s to Owen, anyway,” Shane said, raising his
margarita to me. “Bestselling author, future Carnegie winner, and another book
in the bag.”

“Stop,” I said, blushing coyly as the table saluted
me with a clink of glasses and sipped their drinks.

“Is it an actual medal?” Kieran asked.

Leanne rolled her eyes. “Of course not! Why, were
you expecting him to walk around wearing it?”

“Well, what did they give it such a stupid name for,
then?”

“There is a medal, actually,” I said quietly.

“What, an
actual
medal?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god, you
have
to wear it!” Ryan
exclaimed.

“Fuck off! I haven’t even won—I’m not going to
win!”

“I’ll buy you a chocolate one if you don’t,” Ryan
said magnanimously.

I glared at him. “If I get a bloody chocolate medal
off you for Christmas—”

“I’m sorry. I’m not late, am I?”

I turned in my seat so fast, I think I gave myself
whiplash.

Magnus stood at the table, looking gorgeous in a
blue and white pinstripe shirt under a navy suit and matching tie.

“You said eight, right?” he asked, looking at Ryan.

For the second time in thirty seconds, my head whipped
around. “What did you do?” I hissed.

Ryan’s lip twitched. “I did,” he said, answering
Magnus and ignoring me. “You’re right on time.”

“Wait, you spoke to him?”

Magnus’s face fell. “I can leave, if you like.”

“No. No! Sit, sit.” I pushed out the chair beside
me. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.” I turned to Ryan. “How did you even get
his number?”

Ryan smirked. “How many building surveyors called
Magnus are there in London?”

“You went through the phonebook?”

Magnus touched my arm, leaning in and pitching his
voice low. “I don’t want to intrude. I’ll just go.”

“Sit!” I modified my tone and plastered a smile
across my face. “Please. I’m thrilled you’re here.”

Magnus sat, although he still looked uncertain.
Ryan took charge, introducing him to my friends, who were all staring avidly at
the two of us.

“Who do you work for?” Kieran asked, leaning
forward to look past the girls.

Leanne rolled her eyes. “No shoptalk.”

“I’m just asking!”

Magnus smiled. “AMB Construction.”

Kieran nodded. “I think we’ve worked with you
before.”

“Kieran’s an estate agent,” I explained.

“Yeah, we had an insurance claim on a property.
Pipe burst while we were in the middle of trying to let it. I’m sure it was AMB
who did the job.”

Magnus nodded. “That’s our line of work. Who was
the house insured with?”

“Shoptalk!” Leanne said, rapping the table.

Magnus and Kieran looked suitably abashed.

“What are you drinking?” Magnus asked me, changing
the subject.

“Martini. Apple and cucumber.” I picked up the
glass. “Want to try it?”

Magnus held the glass carefully in his large hands
and took a surprisingly delicate sip. “The apple’s too sweet,” he declared,
pulling a face.

I laughed. “I never said I didn’t have a sweet tooth.”

The waiter returned, and Magnus asked for a beer at
the same time we ordered our food. “Boring,” I teased, giving him a gentle
nudge.

“I know what I like,” he said mildly. “Besides, I’m
driving. One of those”—he nodded at my cocktail—“would probably put me over the
limit.”

“You live far, Magnus?” Shane asked.

“Couple of miles up the road.”

“So how did you two meet?” Leanne asked, looking
expectantly at me.

“He brought his niece to one of my readings.”

“
What
?” she exclaimed, her voice loud enough
the people at the next table glared in our direction.

“What?” I said mildly.

“Owen Barnes, you picked up a man at a children’s
book reading?”

I had the grace to blush.

“Pervert,” she said with a grin.

“Wait, I thought your surname was Black?” Magnus
asked.

“His publisher didn’t like it,” Ryan said.

“Publicist, actually.”

“Hark at him, a publisher
and
a publicist,”
Shane said with a grin.

“What’s the difference?” Kieran asked.

“One prints my books, the other makes sure people
buy them,” I explained.

“And they wouldn’t buy them if your name was Owen
Barnes?” Magnus looked confused.

I sighed and sipped my drink. “Apparently not.”

 Kieran leant forward and whispered
conspiratorially, “This is why I never became an author.”

“That, and you couldn’t string two sentences together
if you tried,” Shane quipped.

We all laughed at Kieran’s affronted expression.

“Spoken like a true teacher,” I said, raising my
glass in salute.

I turned to Ryan, ignoring Kieran and Shane’s
playful shoving. The pair could happily play the clowns all night, and I’d long
learnt how to tune them out. “Sameer’s quiet,” I said in an undertone.

“Long week,” Ryan explained. “Work….” He waved his
hand loosely. “You know what it’s like.”

I didn’t, not really, but I nodded. I understood
Sameer worked long hours in a stressful environment for little thanks. I could
say I’d had similar experience as a waiter, but there weren’t million- or even
billion-pound banking transactions depending on me to get an order right.
Sameer might not work on the trading floor, but he was responsible for the IT
infrastructure of a corporation which was entirely computer-dependent and
needed their machines to be the fastest and most reliable they could get. Even a
single computer offline was a disaster, and I’d spoken to Ryan on more than one
occasion when Sameer was late home because something had gone wrong and he
couldn’t work out why.

I gave Ryan a small smile and squeezed his knee,
silently offering my support.

The food arrived, accompanied by more drinks, and
the conversation flowed easily as we ate. Natasha commandeered Magnus through
the first course, the two of them deep in discussion which sounded like it was
lifted straight from the pages of
Architectural Digest
. They lost me
somewhere around the Baroque period. Leanne, Kieran, and Shane were trying to
outdo each other with stories of disasters at work which, being a teacher,
Shane appeared to be winning. No surly customer or nightmare tenant could match
a host of kids for causing drama and chaos. As the evening went on, Sameer
joined in, sharing a couple of anecdotes from the City which had everyone rapt
with attention, mesmerised by the incomprehensible sums of money made and lost
in the space of a heartbeat.

“You okay?” Magnus asked quietly, under cover of
the women’s cooing as our desserts arrived.

“Good.” I smiled at him. “What is it with women and
chocolate?”

Magnus shrugged. “I’m not keen on it.”

“All the more for us,” Leanne said, wielding her
spoon like she was about to do battle. Watching her attack her dessert, I didn’t
think the analogy was far off.

“Did Ryan really call you?” I asked, picking up a
fork and prodding at my crème brûlée, which wobbled delicately.

“Yes.” Magnus huffed with amusement.

“I told you I did,” Ryan said.

“Don’t eavesdrop.”

“It’s not eavesdropping if you’re talking about
me.”

“How many places did you call?” I asked.

“Not that many.” He swallowed a mouthful of sorbet.
“You said he worked in insurance. That narrowed it down.”

“What did you do, just phone up and ask to speak to
Magnus?”

“What else was I going to say?”

Magnus chuckled. “At least I don’t have a common
name. He could have ended up embarrassing himself.”

“Or me!” I protested.

“I was very discreet,” Ryan said with a sniff.
“Nobody got outed to anyone and look, here we all are. Mission accomplished.”

“And I’m very grateful,” I said with a conciliatory
smile, kissing his cheek.

Shane and Kieran begged off coffee once dessert was
done, and I didn’t protest, assuming they’d be going on to a club, it being a
Saturday night. Ryan didn’t let them off so easily, teasing them about being
the oldest swingers in town. “You’re not chickens anymore,” he said, leering
across the table as Shane flipped him off.

After a moment’s discussion, Leanne and Natasha
agreed to share a cab with them, and with some friendly joking about “lesbo
bars,” which the girls took in their stride, they left.

“I’m going to get this one home,” Ryan said,
clapping Sameer on the shoulder. “Someone could do with an early night.”

Sameer smiled and nodded sleepily, cutting off my
bawdy joke before I made it.

“Dinner is on us,” Ryan continued, collecting the
money the others had thrown on the table while Sameer donned his jacket. “Get a
coffee or another drink. I’ll settle up at the bar.”

I started to protest, but he cut me off. “We’re
celebrating your book,” he said firmly. “When I win Teacher of the Year, or Sameer
finally goes postal on that damn office, you can buy us dinner.”

I grinned. “Deal.”

I hugged and kissed them goodbye, and noted with
pleasure Magnus also got a hug from Ryan. “Love you,” I said, giving my bestie
a final squeeze.

“Love you, too. Now stop being stupid about that
man and talk to him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Narrowing his eyes at me, Ryan took Sameer’s hand
and led him from the table.

Magnus watched them leave. “Not very subtle, your
friends, are they?”

I squirmed. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t
want. Give them a minute, and we can leave.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No! That’s not what I meant. Just, you don’t have
to feel obligated to stay. I know Ryan can be pushy.”

“I like him,” Magnus said mildly. “And I like you.
I’ll have a coffee, if you want one.”

The waiter came, and we placed our orders.

“I’m sorry I didn’t invite you,” I said in a rush
once we were alone again.

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t expect you
to.”

“I mean, it’s not that I didn’t want you here—”

“That’s good to know.”

“It’s just….” I made a frustrated sound. “What did
Ryan tell you?”

“Only that they were throwing you a dinner, and he
thought you’d like me here. Why, is there something I should know?”

I fiddled with the edge of my napkin, picking at
the seam with my thumbnail. “It’s work, my agent. Do you have Twitter?”

If Magnus was surprised by the apparent change of
direction, he didn’t show it. “No,” he said slowly.

“No, of course not. Why would you, right? It’s full
of brainless teenagers.”

“Owen.” He covered my hand with his, calming me.
“What’s happened?”

“Someone photographed us,” I said, hanging my head.

“When?”