Sottopassaggio (23 page)

I turn slightly in my seat and glance at Tom from the corner of my vision.

There's something about the largesse of formal clothes, the rigid whiteness of the shirt, the silky plummeting of the suit trousers that hides, yet emphasises the presence of his body within. The desire to reach over and feel his thigh through the fabric is almost overpowering. I'm getting an erection, so I turn and look out of the side window at the countryside spinning by.

Tom reaches out and pushes a button on the CD player. Van Morrison starts to sing.

“Van the Man,” I say absently.

“Motorway music,” Tom replies.

I slump back in my seat and smile at how good it feels to be here, doing this; how right it feels to be just the two of us on our way to check up on our friend.

“I wonder what will happen when we get there,” I say.

Tom glances in the mirror and clicks on an indicator. “Probably nothing,” he says. “Probably nothing at all.”

Just before 3pm, we pull into Churchill Close.

“Jees!” Tom exclaims. “
Posh houses
!”

I look at the detached properties gliding by.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Horrible though; I mean, imagine living here!”

“Must cost a couple of million each though,” Tom says. “What does this Nick guy actually do?”

“Builder,” I say. “He has a building business.”

Tom nods.

“Jenny works too, normally,” I add. “In advertising.”

Tom pulls up in front of number seventeen. The house is surrounded by an immaculate, almost plastic looking lawn. In the middle is a pond and a statue, pissing.

“Very chic,” Tom says with a laugh. “I don't think.”

“Jenny's van's there though,” I say, nodding at the orange VW.

As I climb from the car I see Jenny appear at the lounge window. Before Tom has shut his own door, Jenny has flung the front door open and is trotting towards us.

“She looks keen,” Tom says.

“Hiya,” Jenny says frowning. “What the
fuck
are you two doing here?”

She glances down the street as if to see where we have come from. She looks flustered, pale and blotchy. And she doesn't look keen at all.

“And what's with the monkey suit?” she adds, raising an eyebrow at Tom.

Tom smiles at her and cocks his head to one side. “I thought I'd Surrey it up a little,” he laughs, then straightening his tie and putting on a posh accent, he adds, “We've come for
tea
.”

Jenny glances down the street again, a nervous
gesture I now realise. She's keeping lookout.

“You expecting someone?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah, and it's
not
you! Nick's down the pub. He'll be back in a bit. I'm afraid you can't stay.”

I glance at Tom, but his expression is blank, so I turn back to Jenny.

“Oh come on,” I push. “We've come all the way from Brighton. Give us a cuppa maam?”

She glances at the entrance to the close again, and then looks me in the eye.

“It's really not a good time,” she says with a shake of her head. “I'm
really
sorry… You should have phoned.”

“Jenny,” I say, stepping forwards.

But as I move, she takes a step back.

“I'm sorry Mark,” she says again. “But you have to go.”

I glance at Tom. He shrugs and rolls his eyes.

“Can I at least use the loo?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Jenny stares at the ground, then looks up at me. “Please?” she says. “You have to understand. Don't make this hard on me. I feel bad enough.”

I shrug and nod slowly. “OK,” I say with a sigh. “I know when I'm not wanted.”

I open my arms to hug her and she moves forward. Over her shoulder I see the curtains next door twitching, then as I hug her I notice something is wrong with her hair. It's matted and stuck to the side of her head. When I raise a hand to touch it however, she pulls away.

“What happened to your hair?” I ask, frowning and glancing back at Tom.

Jenny raises a hand and gently touches the side of her head. It reminds me of the gesture she made when she hurt her cheek.

“Oh that,” she says. “I, um, got it caught in something. Ripped a bit out. It really hurt!” she laughs falsely.

Tom steps forward. “Show me,” he says, his voice
suspicious.

“I really don't have time for this,” Jenny protests. “Nick will be back any minute.”

Tom's lips thin, his expression becomes deadly serious. He looks soulfully at Jenny, then glances at me and raises an eyebrow, asking me for permission to go ahead. I nod.

Tom places a hand on Jenny's back. “And what happens when Nick gets home?” he asks.

Jenny raises a hand to her mouth and chews a fingernail. I notice that her hand is trembling.

“He… He just has a temper,” she says. “And he's jealous, and he's been drinking. It's not a good combination.”

She steps sideways, but Tom and I move with her.

I lift her chin and look into her eyes.

“Does he hurt you?” I say. “Because if he's hurting you, you must say. You must tell us.”

Jenny opens her mouth to speak but says nothing. She stares into my eyes and chews her bottom lip. Her eyes are watery.

“No,” she says finally, her voice hard, almost metallic. “He doesn't.”

Then she raises both hands and pushes me away. “Now go,” she says.

I sigh and look at Tom who shrugs.

“Come on,” I say shaking my head. “Let's fuck off.”

Tom looks flushed. His neck above the collar is turning pink. He swallows hard. “OK,” he says.

We turn towards the Mini, but the sound of a car entering the close makes us pause. Jenny places one hand on each of our backs and gives us a little push.

“Go!” she says urgently. Then she turns and trots back down the path towards the house.

I glance at Tom, who winks sadly at me. We move towards the car.

As Tom climbs in, I glance regretfully back at Jenny, but she is already inside, already closing the door behind her.

As I pull open my door, a grey BMW swings into view, driving quickly towards us. I pause, my hand on the top of the open door.

It slows as it approaches, then starts to swing behind the Mini and into the driveway. I peer in through the window, intrigued to at least catch a glimpse of Nick, if that's who this is.

The driver looks up at me, then brakes, tyres crunching on the gravel as the car slides to a stop.

The window opens. His eyes are blue and bright. His long blond hair is pulled into a ponytail. His face is flushed and pink, good looking, if slightly swollen features.

He looks up at me. “So what are you looking at?” he asks.

Tom leans across the passenger seat and peers up at me. “Get in,” he says.

“Nothing,” I tell the man. “I'm just going.”

The guy nods. “Good, ‘cos you're parked in front of my house,” he says.

He isn't slurring, but his voice is a touch too loud, a little too crude. It lacks a certain precision. He's been drinking all right.

I turn to get into the Mini, but something makes me stall. My legs fail to obey. I turn back and frown at the man.

Tom pulls on the pocket of my jeans. “Mark, just
get in
,” he says.

“Hang on,” I snap. “Something's not right.”

As I turn back to Nick, Tom, behind me mutters, “
Something's not right
…”

“If we're parked in front of your house that's probably just because we're leaving your house,” I say with a false smile. “I wouldn't worry about it.”

The man nods and wipes a hand across his chin. It's an aggressive open-mouthed gesture.

“
Is
it now?” he says, sarcastically. “Is
that
the reason? Well, I won't worry then.”

Tom pulls on my rear pocket again. “Mark, will you
leave it?” he says.

“Wait!” I tell him. I'm not sure what I'm doing, but I'm sure it needs to be done.

“So, tell me, friend,” the man says. “Who the fuck
are
you, anyway?”

“A friend, of Jenny's,” I say. “Mark.”

I hold out my hand. Nick stares at it with distaste, as if it is some alien object. Then he looks back up at me.

“The poof?” he says. “From Brighton?”

I nod. “Yep!” I say perkily. “That'll be me. The poof. From Brighton.”

I hear Tom behind me.
“Shit!”
he mutters.

“So you're the cunt who's been keeping my wife so busy,” Nick says.

I run a hand across my head. I hear a click as Tom releases his seatbelt.

“Yep,” I say. “You've got me all worked out. I'm the cunt from Brighton.”

I glance over at the window. Beneath the sunny reflection on the pane, I can make out the silhouette of Jenny standing as before, chewing a fingernail.

Nick nods. “Good. I'm glad that's sorted. Now you can fuck off back to Queer-Town then,” he snarls.

I nod slowly. I am frozen at the point between two destinies. It's not as if I'm trying to decide what will happen, it truly is a question of destiny. I'm waiting to see what will happen. This is where the paths split. And someone has to choose.

“And you and your queer friends can stay away from my missus,” Nick says.

I nod again. For a moment no one speaks. I feel a vague, unspecified heat. A burning, rising, pulsing heat is spreading through my body, up towards my forehead. The edges of my vision are blurring slightly. I can feel blood pulsing through my temple. It seems to me that in some strange way, Nick has chosen.

“Well, I'm glad I met you,” I hear myself say. “I thought you were probably a cunt, and, well, now I know. You are.”

I hear Tom say,
“Oh fuck.”

As Nick reaches for his door-handle, I hear a clunk indicating that Tom has done the same behind me.

Nick's nostrils flare. He flexes his shoulders as he rises from the car. He's wearing jeans and a denim jacket. He looks solid and muscular, but shorter than me, 1m75 max.

As I look down at him, flexing his muscles, pumping himself up, I have a sudden desire to laugh at his size. I resist, but smirk all the same.

He pushes out his front teeth and lowers them to his bottom lip, then spits a drawn out, “Fuck, off,” at me.

The front door opens and Jenny appears, advancing slowly, her arms crossed across her stomach.

“Mark!” Tom shouts behind me.

I turn to look at him. He's standing one foot in the car, peering over the top of the Mini at me.

“Listen to me; we really need to…” But he stops
mid phrase. His mouth drops.

I hear Jenny scream behind me, but as I spin to see whatever they are seeing, Nick's fist meets the left side of my head, just in front of my ear.

The pain of his knuckles smashing into my cheek is gut wrenching. The shock of the blow winds me. The force of his arm behind the fist sends me crashing into the door of the Mini.

I crash and crumple against the car door, then miss my footing and slide to the floor, turning as I fall to look at my assailant.

Jenny has now reached Nick. “Leave him!” she shouts, latching onto his arm.

“Please!” she pleads. She glances at Tom, “Please just
go
?” she begs.

Jenny is hanging on to Nick's right arm, but his left hand is free. He swings at Jenny and the flat of his hand slaps her hard across the cheek. The sheer sound of the slap makes me wince. She stumbles backwards onto the lawn, still, incredibly hanging onto Nick's right arm.

He leans over her and slaps her again, this time on the side of her head. She crumples backwards onto the lawn just in front of the fountain.

Tom starts to move towards them. He's shaking his head. He's saying, “No, no, no, no…” His voice is peculiar and flat. He sounds oddly unemotional.

I struggle to stand; my legs feel rubbery and uncoordinated.

Nick is shaking his arm violently in an attempt to dislodge Jenny, but she is white knuckled, gripping the denim of his jacket.

I pull myself up by the door handle, and manage to balance unsteadily on my two feet.

“Nick, you can't…” Tom is saying. His voice is still strangely calm.

“Fucking get off me!” Nick shouts.

Just as he says “off,” he swings his leg and kicks Jenny hard in the ribs. She shrieks in pain, and releasing his arm, she rolls away, her arms
wrapped around her belly.

At the instant of the kick, everything shifts speed.

Tom runs and dives onto Nick's back, knocking him to the ground. Memories of the nightmare are pulsing through my mind, so I run to Jenny, desperate to insert myself between her and Nick.

The two men roll around in an indistinguishable mass, until Tom manages to plant the sole of his foot against Nick's stomach and push him hard away. Tom moves onto all fours and starts to scramble towards the BMW.

Nick grabs for the tail of Tom's jacket, but he scrabbles away, standing as he runs, finally dodging behind Nick's car.

As the two men face off over the roof I yank Jenny to her feet and glance back at Tom.

“Nick!” he is saying. His voice is breathless but still spookily toneless. “Just stop…”

Tom's eyes flick towards the Mini and I realise he wants me to get in, he has a plan, and he wants us to be ready to go.

“You can't behave this way. We don't have to fight,” he's shouting.

Nick is darting right then left, but Tom, on the other side of the BMW, mirrors every movement.

“This is family,” Nick is shouting. “It's none of your
fucking
business.”

“But you can't behave like that,” Tom says. “And you can't win. There are
three
of us.” There's almost a hint of laughter in his voice.