Playing With Fire (Glasgow Lads Book 3) (15 page)

“Aye, you will.” Marianne lowered her voice. “It’s either that or freeze to death at the end of every month.”

He turned to her. “How did you know—”

“I guessed.” She crossed her arms and gave him a smug look. “Working four nights a week at a dive pub, with no savings? Fat chance you can afford both electric and gas. Not this time of year.”

Liam glanced toward the living room, where his mother was entertaining Dylan with what sounded like his pull-along xylophone. “Does she know?”

“Nah, she’d make you come home, and I don’t want that. There’s no room for me, much less you.” She opened her palm and admired Liam’s key. “My prrrrrecioussss…”

“Remember, you phone or text before you pop in,” he said. “I cannae have you cramping my social life.”

The front door boomed open again, this time to Aidan and Callum. Liam’s brothers thundered into the kitchen with cries of “God, I’m hungry!” and “Late for practice!”, grabbed handfuls of food, then swept out in less than thirty seconds.

“Like a swarm of locusts.” Ma stood at the kitchen doorway, surveying the chaos her middle sons had just wreaked. She picked up the box of nicotine gum from the table. “Cherry flavored? What happened to mint?”

“Cherry was on sale.” Liam held out his hand. “Now gie’s your cigarettes.”

She pouted. “I’ve only ten left.” When he just wiggled his fingers, she relented, pulling the packet from her dressing-gown pocket. “Fine. But gonnae no smoke them yourself.” She slapped them into his palm.

“I won’t.” He was tempted to break all ten cigarettes in half right now. But they were valuable currency in these parts, tradable for favors or information. So he tucked them into his back pocket for safekeeping.

Throughout the evening, as he helped his ma with dinner and putting the littlest ones to bed, then later gave Callum and Aidan football advice, Liam felt Robert’s absence more than ever. If he was honest with himself, it was the main reason he’d followed through on his impulse to give Marianne a key to his flat. Suddenly independence no longer seemed the most important thing in his life. Suddenly he was lonely.

Why can’t we be more?

Liam had searched every corner of his mind for an answer as good as Robert’s question. Why
couldn’t
they be more? They loved each other. They trusted each other. They’d be the perfect couple.

Until they weren’t. Then they’d be nothing at all.

= = =

“I’d heard the film had a few inaccuracies,” said Robert’s uni mate Stephen, “but this was tragic. Naming the computer Christopher after the boy Alan Turing had a crush on at school?” He made a dismissive noise in his throat. “The real computer’s name was Victory.”

Sitting at one end of a table in his favorite West End pub, Robert quietly drained his second pint, hoping the beer would blot out his friend’s pedantic slagging of
Imitation Game
. With luck, it would also dowse the flames of rage that had been devouring his gut all week.

He’d replied to Liam’s brief, infrequent texts—all variations of
We cool, mate?
—with terse reassurances. As each day passed, it was harder and harder to pretend he wasn’t still angry about Liam wanting to palm him off on other lads, or hurt that this eagerness meant Liam was desperate to be rid of him.

Robert’s mood wasn’t helped by the fact he’d had to watch the final cut of their
Back-to-Back
quiz show video before uploading it to the Warriors’ YouTube channel tonight. Or by the fact that the movie Robert had just seen with his friends had touched a raw nerve about keeping his sexuality secret all these years.

“Turing wasn’t the only one trying to crack the Enigma code,” added Charlie, an aspiring video game designer like Robert. “It was a collaborative effort. And he wasn’t reviled and misunderstood. He had plenty of friends and was apparently a funny guy.”

Sitting next to Robert, Dani said, “That’s how Hollywood sees mathematicians. We’re socially inept.”

“And apparently we’ve all got Asperger’s,” added their friend Sofia, “so we can’t begin to comprehend humor.” She turned to Robert. “What do your friends on the team think of
Imitation Game
? I heard some in the gay community aren’t best pleased about the straight-washing of Turing’s life.”

Robert cleared his throat. “I think they’ve missed the point. And so have youse.”

His mates gaped at him, all but Dani, whose face turned thoughtful. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“The whole point of the film is that it’s okay not to be normal. So Turing had to seem an outsider. That’s why he’s sympathetic. We’re meant to relate to him because everyone feels abnormal sometimes.”

“But what about the stuff they got flat wrong?” Charlie asked. “You can forgive the lies?”

“Aye, cos it’s a story, not a documentary. If the film had shown actual events in the correct order, it would have been a total fucking bore. Which means no one would see it, which means no one would be touched by it.” Robert jabbed his finger against the polished wooden tabletop. “And
that
would be a much bigger tragedy than changing the name of a computer.”

There was a slight pause before Sofia said, “For a quiet guy, you really can bang on about things when you want.”

“I save my words for emergencies such as this.” Robert took another sip, then continued his rant. “Would you really rob us of those heartbreaking scenes near the end, just because we don’t know if they happened that way in real life? Fuck real life.” He flipped off the pub’s outer walls—and by extension, the world at large.

“Spoken like a true video game designer,” Stephen said with a smirk.

“But that makes sense,” Charlie said, “cos games are fictional, just like films.”

“So if it’s fiction, then truth doesn’t matter?” Sofia asked. “We just throw all the facts out the window?”

“There’s more to truth than facts,” Robert said. “The truth the film showed was that this man was forced to live a lie—not just because he was gay, but because he was doing this secret war project.” He paused for a moment, thinking of his own secrets. “Funny thing is, Turing was told Enigma was an unsolvable problem. But it wasn’t. The unsolvable problem was his life.”

No one spoke then, as if they were holding a minute of silence in memoriam. Finally Charlie raised his glass and said, “I do know one thing. If it weren’t for that man, none of us computer geeks would be doing what we do.”

“Aye,” Stephen said, “cos the Germans would’ve killed our great-grandparents and we’d never have been born.”

They all drank to both sentiments. The waiter brought them another round, and the conversation soon drifted into chit-chat, breaking down into smaller groups. Dani turned to Robert. “Talking of unsolvable problems, I’ve found a new data source for our Glasgow Effect project. I’ll forward you the email from the researchers so you can discuss formats with them.”

“Thanks.” He put his finger on one corner of the cardboard coaster in front of him and began to spin it. “I bet when computers were first invented, people thought they’d solve every problem. That you could end war or world hunger if you just developed the right algorithm.”

“Computers can find solutions, but then humans have to implement them. That’s where it all goes to shit.”

“Stupid humans,” he joked, then stopped spinning the coaster as his mind tripped over what she’d just said. “Or not.”

“Huh?”

He spoke haltingly. “It’s always tiny groups of experts trying to solve big problems like the Glasgow Effect. Maybe what we need is more people.”

“More researchers?”

“No, more
people
. The ones who
are
the numbers.”

“You mean Glaswegians themselves.” She frowned. “The scholars I’ve talked to say they try to hold focus groups in the community, but no one comes unless there’s free food.”

“It’s just all so ivory tower,” he growled. “Makes me sick sometimes.”

“What’s got you so crabbit this week? Still missing cigarettes?”

“That’s not it—though I do miss them.” He rubbed his face. “That film’s just left me a bit…in bits.”

“Why?”

“Cos it’s sad, how Turing never found anyone to love.” He drew circles in his pint glass’s condensation with his thumb. “I mean, the last man he had an affair with tried to rob him, then got him arrested, which got him chemically castrated just for being gay. Fast forward to the present and we have Grindr, where someone can find a free and legal hookup at the touch of a button, literally.”

“That’s progress, right?” Dani said, then poked his elbow. “When you say, ‘
we
have Grindr…’”

Robert nearly choked on his beer. “Erm…” He wiped his face with his sleeve. “Well—”

“Do you mean the abstract, societal
we
?” Dani grinned. “Or perhaps the royal
we
?”

Robert swallowed, clearing his windpipe of Tennent’s, then took a deep breath. If he couldn’t open up to this woman who knew nearly every part of him, then he’d never be able to tell his teammates, much less the world.

“Once people know, they can never
un
know.”
Liam was right. Coming out was tough even under the best of circumstances.

“I mean the literal
we
.” Robert grabbed a paper napkin and wiped his mouth again. “Including myself.”

Dani’s brows rose into the low fringe of red hair sweeping her forehead. “Whoa. Are you saying—”

“Yes.” He braced himself for her freakout. “Sorry for not telling you sooner.”

“How many others have you told?”

“Just Liam. And three guys from Grindr.”

“Then don’t be sorry,” she said. “It’s not like I was last to know. And it’s not like I never wondered.”

It was his turn to be floored. “Because I play for Warriors?”

“Of course not.” She looked offended. “I know being gay’s not contagious. Though obviously you’re bi, not gay.”

Robert nodded and drew another deep breath, the air flowing much easier now. “It’s nice having one person who doesn’t need convincing.”

She smirked and tapped the side of her head. “I’ve loads of good memories as evidence.”

His face warmed at the thought of those memories. Once again he resolved to come out as he truly was. Pretending he was gay would not only be a lie—it would dishonor Dani and all his previous girlfriends. They deserved better than to be portrayed as mistakes or false starts.

“I was never with any lads while we were together,” he told Dani. “Or any other girls, for that matter.”

“I know. You were a good boyfriend.” She thought for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Though this does explain why you weren’t terribly gutted when we broke up.”

Robert smiled at her. “Maybe a bit.”
Especially since by that time I had a crush on my best friend.

He finished his pint in a long series of gulps, wishing he could drink enough to erase Liam from his mind. But Robert had never shared his father’s capacity for booze or forgetting. Maybe he was missing that alcoholic gene, or maybe he was simply sickened by memories of the years between his parents’ deaths, of Big Bob passing out each night on the sofa, the living room a sea of empty vodka bottles and crisp packets. Either way, Robert always stopped, nauseated, after three or four drinks, which was like a thimbleful to a Scotsman his size.

But he wished
something
could ease his dread of walking onto that pitch tomorrow, pretending he didn’t want to rip off Liam’s head or his clothes, pretending to their teammates that nothing was amiss—because God forbid anyone should know Liam had sucked off yet another Warrior.

After Dani’s warm reaction to his confession, Robert was beginning to see Liam’s caution about coming out for what it was—fear. Not fear for Robert’s well-being, but for Liam’s own reputation. He probably didn’t want to deal with the hassle of a bisexual best friend, to hear the whispers and wonderings of his gay mates.

What a fucking coward.

Robert set down his empty glass, wishing he could drain five more. After simmering all week, he was fast coming to a boil.

L
IAM
ARRIVED
AT
Saturday afternoon’s match earlier than usual. The Warriors were playing at the home of the Shettleston Star, a team whose park he could walk to from his flat. But it wasn’t just the lack of distance that made him early. He hoped to speak to Robert alone before they stepped onto the pitch, to mend things before their conflict hurt the team.

He was so early, in fact, only one Warrior had arrived before him—left fullback Katie Heath. She was a uni mate of John, who’d introduced the American defender to the team through Fergus. Coming from a country where women dominated football—or soccer, rather—Katie responded to sexist taunts from opponents and their fans with calm but aggressive play. Like their fierce forward Shona, Katie routinely left her adversaries rubbing their bruises and wondering what hit them.

“Hey there!” Katie beamed up at Liam as he entered the decrepit dugout. “Beautiful day, huh?”

He glanced behind him at the steady drizzle outside. “What’s got you so happy? Or is this just your natural Yank high?”

Katie’s smile widened. “My new girlfriend’s coming to the match today.” She held up her phone. “Also, I’m watching your game show with Robert, which is freaking hi
lar
ious.”

“Thanks.” He tried to return her smile as he sat on the bench to change into his football boots. The
Back-to-Back
video was the last thing he needed to hear right now.

John’s voice came from the speaker. “Liam, what is Robert’s biggest guilty pleasure?”

Katie guffawed. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

“Well, we’re both Irish Catholic,” Liam heard himself say, “so every pleasure is a guilty one.”

“Ha!” Katie said, echoing the reaction from the live audience. Liam tried not to remember how Robert had laughed too, eyes sparkling in the studio lights.

“Rab’s biggest guilty pleasure?” continued Liam within the quiz show. “Not video games, since that’s his career. I’ll say…adult coloring books.”