Friends to Die For (3 page)

‘Maybe the gorgeous Carla’s chucked you already. She hasn’t rung you back,’ continued Ari.

‘Really, Ari,’ said Marlena. Then turning to George, ‘Take no notice, sweetheart. But why don’t you give her another call? Get the girl here and shut the lot of us
up.’

George protested mildly, but ultimately agreed to try Carla’s number again. With, as it turned out, the same result.

‘Oh dear, I’m still getting your voicemail, baby, and I soooooo want to speak to you. Please come to Johnny’s if you can. This lot are driving me mad. They’re desperate
to meet you. But don’t be put off. They’re all right, honest. All my love, baby-face. More kisses.’

After that, the entire group joined in poking fun at George.

‘Listen, get off me, I’m sorry I said anything,’ he exclaimed. ‘Let’s everybody tell the story of their true-love life-changing moment. Why the hell not?’

‘Well, you won’t be getting an answer of that sort from me,’ said Michelle, her expression suddenly darkening. She’d been drinking quickly, knocking back the wine faster
than the others, though nobody had noticed. She reached for a carafe and poured herself another glass. Her voice was hard and brittle when she spoke again.

‘I haven’t got a partner – bloody boring or otherwise. Mind you, come to think of it, meeting my ex was certainly life-changing. Or should that be life-destroying?’

‘Bambina, bambina,’ interrupted Alfonso. ‘Let’s not get too heavy, eh? C’mon, George, your turn. Clockwise round the table as usual. So let’s see how exciting
you can make your answer.’

George propped one elbow on the table, rested his chin on his hand, and made a great show of being deep in thought. Which he most certainly wasn’t.

‘I think it was probably my Hamlet in the final year at drama school . . .’ he began.

‘Yeah, it prepared you for panto and you’ve never looked back!’ sniped Tiny.

‘Oh, all right then, maybe it was my Rutger at the King’s Head.’

‘Your what, darling?’ Marlena interjected.

‘
Rutger.
Norwegian play. I was the eponymous lead. Thought you knew your theatre.’

‘I do,’ said Marlena.

‘So, all right, it wasn’t the most important play in the world, and it did only last a week in Islington, but I like to think I grew as an actor while I was playing it.’

‘Oh, come on, George,’ said Bob. ‘Be serious. Give us a proper answer.’

‘I am being serious. I’m a very serious actor. In fact every time I step onto a stage or in front of a camera it changes my life.’

‘That’s why he wears tights,’ said Alfonso.

‘I gave you an honest answer, man. I mean, I carried that play, everybody said so.’

‘Butterfingers,’ said Marlena, sparking another outbreak of laughter around the table.

‘Oh, leave him alone,’ said Billy. ‘We all know you can never get any sense out of George.’

George smiled enigmatically. Or at least he hoped it was enigmatic. He had done what he liked to do, played what he considered to be his true role in life: he had entertained his friends, and at
the same time wound them up a bit. He didn’t mind being laughed at. He had, after all, set out to make them laugh. He enjoyed being part of the group. Although he would never publicly admit
it, Sunday Club was actually very important to him. In spite of his flamboyant and confident demeanour, there was a deeply introverted side to George. He could never reveal his innermost thoughts
to his friends. It wasn’t in his nature. He liked to keep his hopes and his dreams to himself. He was what he was. And he saw no need to share his soul with anyone, that was all. But he
sensed it was necessary to give just a little.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘What really changed my life was learning how to deal with bullies. When I was a kid I seemed to attract bullying. And it felt like I had nobody to tell.
Then I discovered that if I could make the bastards laugh it was all right. So I learned to be funny.’

‘That’s what you think you are, is it?’ remarked Alfonso, but he was smiling.

‘Yeah, there was one kid at school I taught a proper lesson to though . . .’ George’s voice tailed off.

‘Go on then, tell us,’ encouraged Alfonso.

‘Oh, it’s history. Hey, it must be your turn, Bob.’

Bob hesitated. He always felt he was the least amusing of the group. Sometimes he wondered why they bothered with him. George, Alfonso and Ari were sharp as tacks and being witty came as second
nature to them. Tiny had a dry humour, a big belly laugh, and bucketloads of charisma. Billy, clever, cool Billy, was a natural conversationalist with a knack of almost always saying the right
thing. Marlena was Marlena, legend on legs, she both looked and was extraordinary and when she spoke the entire room fell silent. Greg oozed old-fashioned cockney charm and sometimes was the
funniest of them all. Karen was quieter and seemed more ordinary, but she too had a quick mind; Bob thought she was exceptionally bright and intelligent but deliberately played it down so as not to
outshine Greg. Plus she was a great audience. Her laughter came easily and was irresistibly infectious. Michelle was young and so pretty she didn’t really need any other attributes. Bob
thought he must surely seem like a sad old man to them. He certainly felt like it that day. It should have been a special day. Always had been a special day. In the past.

Bob ran a hand over his close-shaven head; his thinning hair, once dark brown but now pepper and salt, had been cropped in that drastic way to hide the bald patches. Fortunately the look was
quite fashionable.

‘Spit it out, Bob,’ said George.

‘Sorry, it’s Daniel’s birthday today. His thirtieth. I’m a bit preoccupied. Probably shouldn’t have come out . . .’

‘We’re glad you did, Bob,’ said Karen.

Nine pairs of eyes, their expressions ranging from compassionate to plain embarrassed, stared at Bob. Most of them knew, more or less, why Daniel was a painful subject.

Bob had been a career soldier but had quit the army in order to bring up his only son after the boy’s mother died of breast cancer not long after his birth. Danny was just seventeen and
still at school when he’d fallen in love with a backpacking New Zealander, some years older. Out of the blue she’d announced that she was pregnant and on the same monumental day decreed
that she was going home and taking Danny with her. Doe-eyed Dan, a bright boy who until then had seemed destined for university and a choice of illustrious careers, or so his father had hoped, went
along with it at once. He would travel the world with the girl he loved and their unborn child, and nothing was going to stop him, not even the father who’d devoted his entire existence to
him.

Thirteen years on, Bob still missed his son terribly. Danny’s leaving had undoubtedly been a life-changing moment. But Bob didn’t want to talk about that.

‘It was the army, going through the first Gulf War, that changed my life,’ he said. ‘There was a lad killed – first death I saw. He wasn’t much older than my Dan
when he pissed off. I always felt I should have saved him – I mean, I was the lad’s sergeant . . . Never the same after that.’

Marlena reached across the table and put her hand on Bob’s.

‘I’m sure you did all you could,’ she said.

Bob smiled at her bleakly. ‘Not enough though. I still think about it . . .’

‘My old man was a squaddie,’ remarked Greg, filling the silence. ‘What was you in then, Bob?’

‘Scots DG.’

‘Hey, that’s one tough outfit,’ said Greg.

‘The what?’ queried Billy.

‘Royal Scots Dragoon Guards,’ said Bob.

‘I thought they were all funny hats and skirts,’ remarked George.

Greg turned to face him.

‘Shut up, you prat,’ he said mildly, then addressed Bob again.

‘You were in the thick of it, then, in the Gulf, weren’t you?’

‘Yep, we sure were,’ said Bob.

‘Man,’ said Greg. ‘And you were an effin’ sergeant. Respect, mate, respect.’

Bob smiled at him. You could see in his eyes that he was remembering something long forgotten, another life, another world.

Karen nudged Tiny. It was his turn.

‘Everyone can guess mine, I expect,’ he said. ‘Finally accepting I was gay. I mean, who’d have thought, right?’

Tiny placed a hand on one hip and stuck out his elbow, camping it up.

The group giggled obediently.

Then Tiny turned towards Bob. The camp gone. Serious. Perhaps picking up on the mood of the night.

‘And that meant losing my family, my kids – my missus never let me see ’em again – so I know how that feels, Bob. It was down to me though. I was the one who walked
away.’ Tiny paused. ‘And then I threw in my all with this skinny little tyke.’

He wrapped an arm around Billy’s narrow shoulders.

‘Oh, sorry, not supposed to mention partners, are we? Tricky, though, when the fucker’s sitting right by you, eh, Greg?’

Greg grinned and nodded. Karen addressed Billy then.

‘So, how are you going to follow that?’ she enquired.

‘Well, by saying that it’s much the same for me, of course,’ Billy began, leaning back in his chair and looking as if he were about to make a speech.

‘Is it fuck!’ interrupted Tiny, his big bass voice reverberating around the restaurant, causing a nearby weekend dad to glower in the direction of the Sunday Club table. ‘Would
you believe I have to move out of the flat when his bloody mum and dad come to visit?’

The entire table erupted into cries of ‘No!’ and ‘No way!’

‘You’re right, Tiny, nobody believes you,’ said Ari. ‘You’re kidding, eh?’

‘No, I fucking well am not,’ said Tiny. ‘Go on, Billy, tell ’em.’

Billy blushed and began fiddling with his moustache in earnest.

‘Do I move out or do I not?’ Tiny persisted.

‘Well, I mean, we haven’t got a lot of room, and . . .’

‘Billy, you bastard, tell the truth. Your parents don’t know that you’re gay, nor that you live with me, do they?’

‘Well, I’m sure they know, deep down,’ Billy said.

Tiny harrumphed. ‘Really? You’ve never effing told ’em!’

Billy coloured even more.

‘Nor those precious fuckers you work with.’

‘Well, yeah, but it’s such a straight set-up at Geering Brothers; better to fit in and keep collecting the luncheon vouchers – you’ve always agreed with me on that,
Tiny.’

‘Oh yeah. And would it make any difference if I didn’t?’

From around the table came cries of ‘settle down’ and ‘domestic’.

‘So after all that, come on, what is your life-changing moment, Billy?’ asked Karen.

Billy didn’t have an answer. He wished Tiny hadn’t revealed that particular detail about their private life. It was all quite true, of course, and Billy was embarrassed. About
himself, not Tiny. And angry with himself too. This was the twenty-first century, an era in which almost all the gay men and women he knew no longer felt the need to be secretive. In the UK equal
rights were protected by law, civil partnerships were commonplace and same-sex marriage was surely on its way. Billy liked to give the impression of being a cool, slightly sardonic, very together,
thoroughly modern guy. He was reasonably good-looking, reasonably well off financially, very successful in his work, and successful, too, by and large, in his relationship with Tiny. Billy
worshipped the ground that rocked as the big guy walked on it. Which made it even more ridiculous that he did not always publicly recognize the existence of the man he loved and shared everything
with.

The truth was that Billy had never managed to become totally comfortable with his own sexuality. If he had he would tell his parents, and take the risk at work too. Surely he would. But he could
never quite bring himself to do so, and that annoyed and bewildered him even more than it did Tiny.

Billy, born into an achingly conventional suburban family, had been a confused and awkward teenager. He was all too aware that, although appearances were totally to the contrary, he had in so
many ways merely grown into a confused and awkward man. And it infuriated him.

He didn’t have the strength to be witty.

‘Well, obviously my life-changing moment was meeting Tiny,’ he said. ‘Only I’m not allowed to say that, apparently.’

‘Situation normal, then, as far as you’re concerned,’ said Tiny.

What Tiny had not revealed to the group was that Billy’s parents were due to visit that week, and he and Billy had quarrelled about it shortly before leaving home. Tiny was still angry,
largely because he was so hurt by Billy’s inability to give him full recognition. That was why he’d blurted out this aspect of their life together which until now had always been just
between him and Billy. And he’d no intention of letting Billy off the hook. Not yet, anyway.

‘Can’t quite bring yourself to tell anyone about your big slice of black arse, can you, darling?’

He softened the remark by squeezing Billy’s shoulder and giving the smaller man a peck on the cheek.

Nonetheless, the tension between the two was obvious, not least because it was unusual. Karen was quick to move on around the table.

It was Alfonso’s turn. The Italian, his beard immaculate, his black hair slicked back with gel, had a penchant for dressing formally and was the only man at the table wearing a tailored
jacket. He always seemed to be rather out of his time, and had once been described by Marlena as a kind of debonair gigolo who belonged in 1930s Cannes. The description seemed apt enough, but
nobody really knew what made the Fonz tick. They weren’t even entirely sure whether he was gay or straight. Alfonso’s habit, both at work and at play, was to reveal as little as
possible about his private life. However, his manner was such that nobody ever really noticed.

Alfonso knew what his most life-changing moment had been. It was when his father had died when he was in his mid-teens. His mother made him promise he would never leave her. And the crazy thing
was, he never had. He’d threatened to, promised himself that he would, the next day or the next week. But he’d never quite been able to do so. Every day, he trekked back to Dagenham to
the little terraced house they shared; unless he was on late shift, in which case he stayed at his gran’s place in King’s Cross. And there were other aspects of his life that he
considered to be even more embarrassing than shuttling back and forth between his mum and his gran. It didn’t exactly fit the profile he was trying to cultivate, that of the most dashing
waiter in London.