Pressure Head (23 page)

“I… What?”

“You brought him there, to, to denounce me. To expose me.” Merry gave a sickly smile. His hair was plastered to his forehead in thick, greasy strands, and his top lip glistened. “I’ll do anything you want, you know that, don’t you. Anything.”

“What? No!” I leaned forward. Christ, had he meant…? I hoped he hadn’t meant what I thought he’d meant. I folded my arms, trying to hide a shudder. “You’ve got it all wrong. You don’t have to do anything. Darren was there for Gary. They’re an item. No one’s going to expose you.” I thought about it a bit. “Although, you know, you could save yourself an awful lot of grief if you just came out. What is it the Good Book says?
Christians aren’t perfect, they’re just forgiven
?”

Merry was obviously relieved enough to give a pedantic little frown. “That was a car bumper sticker, actually.”

“Ah. Sorry. But wouldn’t Jesus approve, you know, of the sentiment?” I stood up and rubbed my hip. Then I realised Merry’s eyes had fixed a bit manically on my pelvic area, and I sat down again hurriedly.

“I can’t come out,” Merry muttered, his hands wringing one another damply. “You don’t understand. I did terrible things when I was younger.”

I stood up again. “Crimes?” I asked, my voice a bit high.

“Against God, yes.”

I wished I hadn’t turned the dimmer switch down. In the low lighting, his face was marred by sinister shadows. “But…would they be things you’d go to prison for?” I prodded, moving so the armchair was between me and him. Darren’s party hadn’t got
that
wild, had it?

“The conscience…the conscience is its own prison,” he mumbled vaguely.

Did I have my phone in my pocket? Maybe I could call Phil. Or Dave.

I cursed under my breath as I realised I’d left it charging in the kitchen. “But you don’t do that kind of thing anymore, do you?” I said as soothingly as I could manage.

“But I want to!” he said so fiercely I jumped. His eyes glittered darkly.

Maybe some straight talking was called for. “Have you ever considered that maybe, just maybe, you’re not really cut out to be a vicar?” I asked.

“Leave the priesthood?” Merry sounded like the idea had never even occurred to him. But at least it seemed to have got him thinking of something other than his dark, forbidden lusts.

“Well, yeah. Because you don’t seem all that happy right now. Maybe you’re just asking too much of yourself. Maybe,” I added, inspired, “God doesn’t want you to suffer so much. He’s supposed to be loving, isn’t he?”

“But my vocation…”

“There’s other stuff you could do, isn’t there? And still be, you know, serving God and all that? There’s…charity work. Or missionaries,” I added eagerly, because somewhere like Africa would be nicely far away from Regal Road, St Albans.

Merry stood. I edged away a little bit. “You…you’ve given me much to think about. Thank you.”

“You’re going to do it?” I asked, now worried I’d gone a bit too far with the careers advice to a bloke I hardly knew and didn’t want to.

“There are things… I need to put things straight. Yes. The path is clear now. Thank you.” He smiled, his face transformed. I’d never seen anyone look at one and the same time so innocent and so bloody scary. “God truly works in mysterious ways.” He carried on smiling and muttering to himself as he walked out of the house.

Once he’d gone, I bolted the door, put on the chain and took a deep, shuddering breath.

Then I grabbed my phone from the kitchen and called Phil.

He didn’t bother with hello. “What is it, Tom?”

“I—uh, can you come round? Sorry.”

“Tom? Has something happened?”

“Yeah, kind of…” Now I had to explain it, I felt stupid. “No, I’m just being daft. Forget I called.”

“I’ll see you in five minutes.” He hung up.

This time when the knock came on the door, I didn’t take the chain off until I was sure it was Phil.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said ominously.

“Either that, or just narrowly missed becoming one,” I muttered. Phil didn’t laugh—if anything, his frown deepened—so I hurried on. “I just had a visit from the Rev. It freaked me out a bit, that’s all. I shouldn’t have bothered you about it, though. Sorry.”

“Stop fucking apologising. What happened? And how did he know where you live, anyhow?”

I stood back so Phil could get his broad shoulders inside and wipe his size-eleven feet on my doormat. “From the phone book, maybe?” I tried to rein in the sarcasm. “I do have a business to run here. Are you telling me you’re ex directory? Do your clients have to hire someone just to find you?”

“I’ve got an office on Hatfield Road.” Phil stayed put, just inside the house, so I had to sidle past his reassuring bulk to shut the front door. I wasn’t complaining.

“With a sexy secretary in six-inch heels and bright red lipstick?” I quipped, feeling better already for his presence.

He folded his arms, but it didn’t come across as a defensive gesture. It came across more as a
just
in case you’ve forgotten the size of my biceps
gesture. I hadn’t forgotten, but the reminder didn’t hurt one bit. “No, as it happens. Why? You want to apply for the job?”

“Heels, with my hip? And red’s really not my colour. No, ta. Look, come in properly.” I shepherded him through to the living room. “Do you want a drink?”

He nodded. “I’ll have a beer, if you’ve got some.”

I got us a bottle each; opened them up. Nearly dropped them when I looked up and realised Phil had followed me into the kitchen in those stealth moccasins of his. I flushed and waited for the sarcastic comment. It didn’t come, so I handed him his beer.

“That’s better,” he said after a long swallow. “Want to tell me all about it, now?”

Somehow it was easier to talk to him in the kitchen, leaning against the counters opposite one another while the cats milled around our legs. Where had they been when Merry was here? Staying out of the way due to some sixth sense of their own? Thanks, guys. Trading them in for a pair of Rottweilers was looking more appealing all the time. “You know what I said about Darren recognising him? Well, he came round in a right paddy. The Rev, I mean, not Darren. He thought I’d set it up, thought I was after something.”

“And?”

“I told him I wasn’t, obviously. Then he went on and on about the terrible things he’d done when he was younger—that was his words,
terrible things
—and how he still wanted to do them. And that he knew what he had to do now.” I shook my head, not looking at Phil. “Go on, rub it in about how bloody certain I was this morning he hadn’t done it.”

There was a
clunk
as he put down his beer, and then the dark, cashmere-clad bulk of him intruded in my vision. I looked up to find him only inches away from me, and took a sharp breath. Phil smelled warm and solid, with a hint of spice. “Why did you call me?” he rumbled. “Why not DI Southgate?”

My smile was as weak as the rest of me felt right now. “Call the police? Christ, I don’t know. If I sic them on the Rev, they’ll dig up all the stuff he wants buried, but if I don’t… Do you really think he’s a danger?”

“I think it wouldn’t hurt to give your mate Dave a call. You don’t need to go into details. Just tell him the vicar’s been acting a bit odd, and you’re worried.”

“Yeah. I guess.” I grabbed my phone from my pocket, and dialled Dave’s number. It went straight to voice mail, so I left a long, garbled message and hung up. “Great. Now he’ll probably call me for details at three a.m.”

Phil had an odd expression on his face. I couldn’t quite work it out, and then it hit me—he didn’t look stony in the slightest. He looked younger, less cynical—almost fond. My chest felt warm and tight, and I had to take a deep breath, which I managed to turn into a yawn.

“Need your beauty sleep, do you?” Phil asked. “Guess I’d better be going, then.” There was a definite hint of disappointment in his voice.

“No—don’t go.” I swallowed. “I mean, if you’d like to stay…” My heart raced.

He froze. “Just what are you offering, here? Because I think we ought to be clear on this.”

He was probably right—but the band around my chest tightened at the thought of laying myself bare. “Do you want me to be offering anything?”

“Let’s not play games, Tom. You know I want you.”

I did? “Then…that’s what I’m offering,” I heard myself say.

There was a moment of absolute stillness. I swear my heart stopped beating. Any minute now he’d say something like,
Are you sure?
And then I’d bottle it, tell him
nah, daft idea
, and that’d be it.

He didn’t. His warm hands slid around my waist, and he pulled me close. I felt his hardness grow against my belly and shivered. He didn’t ask if I was all right, thank God. He just bent his head and kissed me.

Phil tasted of beer, and bitterness, and regret. But as our tongues moved together, the bitterness faded away, leaving a new taste of want and need. I still had my beer bottle in one hand, and I fumbled blindly behind me for the counter, setting my beer down heedless of whether it stayed upright or spilled its contents onto the floor. Phil’s hands dropped to my arse and cupped it, lifting me up against him. God, that felt good. My hands now free, I slung them around his neck, pressing his mouth into mine. Lips and teeth clashed bruisingly. Despite my efforts, he broke the kiss. “Are we going to do this here?” he asked roughly.

“Wherever you want,” I mumbled into his neck, his stubble scratching my lips, my face.

He chuckled, his hand still kneading my arse. “Can’t help noticing you haven’t got any blinds. Don’t want to frighten the neighbours, do we?”

“Well, maybe Mrs. F. at number ten. She’s a right miserable old cow.” I bit at his neck, just above his collar.

Phil gasped. “Come on—upstairs. Or do I have to carry you?”

He would too, I didn’t doubt. “Can’t take the caveman out of the boy, eh?”

“Something like that.” He gave my arse one last squeeze.

We stumbled out of the kitchen, still half-entwined, and up the stairs, Arthur doing his best to trip us up on the way. “First door on the right,” I told Phil, because my hands were a bit busy right then to open the door. So were his, but he shouldered it open anyway. “Sorry about the mess,” I muttered, trying not to think about how many days’ worth of old socks were littered around the floor.

“Forgotten what my place looks like already, have you?” Phil countered.

I didn’t want to think about Phil’s place, with its guilty secrets and its photo of the man he’d loved, so I pushed Phil down onto the bed and landed on top of him. He laughed, and twisted somehow, and suddenly he was on top, his weight crushing the breath out of me and making me dizzy. “This all right?” he asked sharply, lifting up on his arms.

“Fuck, yeah,” I breathed, wondering what he was on about.

“I mean, for your hip.”

“Oh—yeah, it’s fine.” It wasn’t aching any worse than usual, and my cock was being a bloody sight more insistent about wanting attention. “Don’t worry about it.”

He gave me a look like he didn’t believe me, and knelt up over me, straddling my legs. I was about to complain until I realised he’d done it so he could get his kit off. The cashmere sweater hit the floor to hobnob with my manky old socks, and half a second later, his shirt joined the party. I was struggling to follow Phil’s example, but then he undid his trousers and completely robbed me of the ability to think straight.

Yeah, of course I’d seen his cock before. School changing rooms. Showers. But it had been a bloody long time ago, and back then, it hadn’t been stiff and erect and pointing straight at me. He was big—bigger than I remembered. God, I wanted to taste him. I could smell him from here, musky and male, with a strong hint of salt from the wetness that glistened on his exposed head.

I didn’t even realise I’d licked my lips until Phil smiled. “Want a taste of that, do you?”

“Oh, God, yes.”

“Lie down. Put a couple of pillows under your head.”

I did what he said, my cock now screaming at me for a touch, or at least to be let out of my jeans. I ignored it and waited, breathing hard, for Phil to get his trousers off properly and get himself into position to fuck my face.

He was a bloody tease about it, holding his cock in one hand and rubbing the end of it all over my face and neck before he finally touched it to my lips. Good thing I’d had a shave today. Or maybe he liked a little pain, anyway. I bucked up, trying to get my mouth around him. “Greedy, aren’t you?” he said, sounding fond. “Say please.”

“Please,” I said, making a rude gesture at him at the same time.

“I ought to spank your arse for that,” he muttered, but he lowered himself down on me anyway.

I opened wide for him, shielding my teeth with my lips. Salt exploded across my tongue as I flicked it over the head of him, and he moaned. He pushed in, and I circled him with my tongue, the circles getting smaller and smaller until I poked the tip of my tongue into his slit, because I bloody love it when blokes do that to me.

Phil swore. Looked like we had something in common. I brought a hand up to fondle his balls, rolling them around in their soft, hairy sac. Phil made tiny thrusting motions into my mouth, obviously holding himself back. His arms, as he gripped onto the headboard, were tense and shaking. “Bloody hell,” he said and pulled out of my mouth.