Idea in Stone (29 page)

“My dad’ll be at home, and my brother’s in Aberdeen. So Fiona’ll have to do.”

“Thanks,” she said, whipping him with her bar-towel.

“Och, get that minky thing away from me.” He turned to his friends. “So, what are you lads up to tonight?”

“Robert here thinks he found something interesting,” said Calum.

“I did, I tell you,” insisted Rab.

“And he’s got it in his head we should check it out,” said Iain, “but I think it’s a bad idea. We should just leave it alone.”

“What is it?” asked Peter.

“New development work,” said Rab. “This is the biggest bit yet. It’s a different developer, but it seems like the same kind of job.”

“I’d like to see what they’re up to,” said Peter.

“It’s easy enough to get to, and no security.”

“We don’t want to do this,” said Iain. “You know what happened the last time we went into one of those sites.”

“Yeah, Peter found himself a free mo—” Peter cut Rab off by elbowing him in the ribs.

“That site wouldn’t happen to have been developed by a Reginald Mackenzie, would it?” asked Stefan.

“He’s the one who died, isn’t he?” asked Iain.

“Yeah,” said Stefan, “and that’s whose phone you had, Peter. That’s why they were after you.”

“Thanks for getting me out of that.”

“Yeah. So what are these companies doing?”

“Some of them are doing renovations,” said Calum, “and others are restoring listed buildings.”

“I think they’re doing a really nice job,” said Iain. “Some of those buildings are in really bad shape. It’s dangerous, too. Bits keep falling off them onto people.”

“Yeah, but half of Edinburgh is covered in scaffolding,” said Peter. “It’s a city on crutches. And I don’t trust the companies that are getting these contracts. So where’s this place, Rab?”

“Guys, we shouldn’t,” said Iain.

“Come on, Rab’s been there. It’s safe, right, Rab?”

“Sure.”

“On we go, then.”

They left the bar, waving to Fiona as they went. Stefan followed the young men through the streets. The route took them around corners and down wynds he’d never seen before. They stood in a queue for twenty minutes to get into what turned out to be a basement dance club. Calum and Iain got drinks and leaned on a small, high table, watching while Peter and Stefan went to the dance floor. Rab flailed beside them for a while, then vanished, leaving them to laugh, dance, and make a sport of trying to touch each other in ways that wouldn’t be obvious to the others around them.

Rab reappeared and gestured to the others, who followed him off the dance floor to a hallway where a few people leaned against the brick walls, talking in drunken earnest to each other. Rab stood close to them, insinuating himself into their conversation. “So what’re we talking about?” asked Rab.

“What?”

“What’re we talking about? What’s your bird there greetin’ for?” he said, pointing to their female friend, who was crying, being consoled by another of them.

“None of your business, mate.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be friendly. No need to get huffy.”

“Fuck off,” said the man. “Come on,” he said, and the group left the hallway.

“Perfecto,” said Rab. He went to the end of the now-empty hall, where boards were piled against the wall. He shifted them to either side, exposing an arched brick entrance. “Vaults,” he said.

“Someone should move those back after you go in,” said Iain.

“That’s right,” said Calum, “you stay here, shift them back after us, then maybe your mammy can come pick you up.”

“Hey, maybe I have a life and don’t want to go to jail just for looking at some mingin’ old building site.”

“Fair enough,” said Peter. “How about you make sure nobody follows us for a while, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” said Iain. Calum patted his round white cheek as he passed through the archway.

“Nice to meet you,” said Stefan, as he followed Peter and Rab in. He felt nervous, but tonight he’d follow Peter anywhere.

Rab clicked on the small torch he carried with him, evidently accustomed to doing this. Stefan was further surprised when Calum and Peter had small torches, too. This was not a first. The damp passageway was so dark that the small circles of light were a significant help.

They stopped at a junction. First Rab led them to the left, where the passageway ended in a low room. He flicked his light the other way, and they followed him. The second route led into a space whose size they could feel more than they could see. The hall’s dampness gave way to an open, cold space so large its ceiling ate their torch-beams without revealing any details.

Rab vanished into a corner of the room, then with a loud click, burst into light, holding a hanging work-light plugged into a cable that snaked from the room. They looked up to see a vaulted cathedral-like ceiling.

“Wow,” said Stefan.

All around them were construction materials—industrial power tools, boards, planks, giant pails of neutral-coloured paint, and endless sheets of glass.

“What do you think they’re doing?” asked Rab.

“Something boring, no doubt,” quipped Calum.

“Should we wreck it?” asked Peter. Stefan looked at him, surprised. “Not the room, I mean, just their shite.”

Another light bobbed on the opposite side of the room. “Rab!” hissed Peter. “Kill the light!” A second later, the work-light switched off, along with each of their torches, and a new, larger torch-light bounced into the room. It faintly lit a private security guard.

“Who’s in here?” he demanded.

“He’s got a dog,” whispered Stefan.

“It’s just a little terrier,” said Calum.

“I’m going out past him,” said Rab. “You guys go back to the club.” Before they could reply, Rab jumped to his feet and yelled at the top of his lungs. The terrier barked madly and chased after Rab as he ran through the room, rushing by the security guard. The other three turned and ran back as fast as they could.

The darkness suddenly turned white for Stefan, and he fell backward to the ground. His face felt hot. It took him a moment to realise he’d run into a low-hanging piece of masonry. “Peter,” he called. A moment later, Peter was beside him, helping him up. They heard the man’s yelling and dog’s barking getting fainter as they moved further away after Rab.

Peter put his arm around Stefan and they made their way back to the club by the light of Peter’s small torch. Calum left the boards open, and neither he nor Iain were anywhere to be seen. Peter took Stefan to the toilet and dashed to the bar, returning with a bar-towel filled with ice. He found Stefan looking at his face in the mirror. The eyebrow above his right eye had already swollen to Cro-Magnon proportions and bled onto his shirt. “Here,” said Peter, handing him the ice. Stefan put it carefully to his head.

“I’m sorry for taking you down there. That was stupid,” said Peter. He moved Stefan’s hand to look at the damage. “Ouch.” He leaned over and gave Stefan’s forehead the lightest of kisses. Stefan pouted and pointed to his mouth. Peter kissed him on the mouth.

“Actually,” said Stefan, a smile creeping across his face, “that was kind of cool.”

“One more date,” said Peter. He led Stefan from the club. A block away, Stefan realised he still had the bar-towel. “Oh, they said you could keep that.”

“Did they really?”

“No,” said Peter. He led them across town, to the entrance to Calton Hill. “Come on,” he said.

“What for?”

“Our third date.”

Stefan wasn’t sure what he had in mind, but followed him. His head throbbed, but didn’t ache, as they climbed the steps and walked up to the small gathering of mock-Greek buildings there. Stefan was relieved Peter didn’t lead him back to the paths, but to a monument like the giant concrete urn of a titan. They sat on its base and looked up over the city, where a dirty plate of a moon rested in the sky, then looked out over the roofs, spires, arches, walls, and castle of the Old Town, over the blocky Georgian buildings of the New Town, then out to the cranes and bridges in the distance by the water of the Forth.

Stefan took Peter’s hand. “I think you’re okay,” he said.

“Yeah, you too,” said Peter, “I’m gonna ask my dad if I can keep you.” He kissed him. “That’s three dates.”

“I guess we can mess around now.”

“Your place is closer,” said Peter. “How’s your head?”

“Suddenly it’s feeling a lot better.”

“Brilliant. Think you can run?”

Stefan leapt up and grabbed Peter’s hand, pulling him up to his feet. They ran toward the moon, heading home.

Sixteen

Hobosexuals

An electric buzz pulled Stefan backward out of a dream. While trying to open his gluey eyes, he leaned over to hit the “Snooze” button on his alarm-clock.

“Ugh!” said a voice. Stefan’s eyes opened fully, and he saw Peter pinned beneath his elbow.

“Sorry,” whispered Stefan. Peter groaned and went back to sleep. Stefan studied him. His face was so simple like this, almost unrecognisable without some expression animating it.

He put his head down on the thin patch of hair in the middle of Peter’s chest. He felt uncomfortably unmanly, damsel-like, doing this, but he had the courage in that moment to surrender. The last time he could remember feeling so comfortable, he was in his mother’s arms. To his surprise, he missed her.

He lifted his head again and traced a finger down Peter’s chest. Peter laughed softly with his eyes closed and smiled. Stefan pulled the sheets down to look at the rest of him. It felt odd having this license with another man’s body, and he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. He lightly stroked Peter’s penis, which moved, more awake than its owner. Peter made a pleased noise. Stefan looked with curiosity at the extra skin Peter had there. He remembered his father telling him once in a swimming pool change room of Delonia’s horror when she learned that the doctors had circumcised her baby, according to the custom at the time in Canada.

He stroked Peter with more vigour, but, determined to keep sleeping, Peter wrapped his arms around Stefan and pulled him close to his chest to make him stop. Stefan sighed and fell asleep.

The clock buzzed again half an hour later, and Stefan turned it off. He remembered it was Friday and he was supposed to be at work. Peter told him to take the day off and he’d agreed, but he hadn’t informed the office about this.

He rolled from the bed and felt around for his shorts. He had trouble finding them: the curtains were drawn, the room was dark, and their undressing the night before was hurried. He turned on the lamp to see better, but had to look no further, as his underpants hung from the lampshade. He put them on—new ones would come after he’d had his shower, and he wanted Peter for that—and pulled on enough other clothes to go outside. After slipping his bare feet into his shoes, he tiptoed back to Peter, kissed him on the cheek, then went out.

He searched the street for a pay-phone, not having used them before, and found one three blocks away. It was a tall, clear plastic box like a soft drink fridge, covered in logos for the very company he was calling. He preferred the old-fashioned red telephone booths, but they were increasingly hard to find. After dropping in his money, he listened carefully, half-expecting to hear what Peter was dreaming, but smiled when he heard nothing but a dial-tone. He rang his line manager’s direct number and put on his best stuffed-nose voice.

He told her who it was, and said good morning. “You sound awful,” she said. He smiled: he still had it. A lorry rumbled by, and his smile dropped.
Busted
. “Where are you?” she asked.

He coughed and sniffed while strategising. He decided to go with the truth, but to make it sound pathetic. “I don’t have a phone. I had to go outside to find one.” He pinched himself under the nose until he sneezed.

“Get back home! Stay in bed all weekend, and come back on Monday if you’re feeling better.”

Staying in bed all weekend sounded just fine to him.

“When you come back, the Directors want to hear your report about that missing mobile. I saw someone from Tech go up to talk to them on Thursday. That’s a first! But don’t worry about that. Just get yourself better, and we’ll see you when we see you.”

“Thanks so much,” said Stefan. “Bye bye.” Horror crept over him as he wondered what the Directors had been told, and how much, if any, the Tech team saw of his intervention with Peter. His worry was soon replaced by an eagerness to get back to the flat.

The next two days were filled with conversation, naps punctuated with actual sleeping, sex, and the occasional foray into the kitchen area, where they scrambled to put meals together from the incompatible things on Stefan’s shelves. Their last meal attempt, “Mustard Rice”, was so unpalatable they decided it was time to go out. They treated themselves to a big meal that cost more than they intended to spend, then walked home in a light mist, holding hands whenever they cut through a close or a courtyard.

~

“No, no, no. I have to go,” said Stefan, tightening his tie as Peter tried again to pull him back toward the bed. When he got free of Peter’s grip, he sprang onto the bed and wrestled with him, taking advantage of his vulnerable naked opponent.