Stuff (The Bristol Collection) (9 page)

Lewis ignored the dig. “Who is he, and where did you pick him up?”

“I didn’t ‘pick him up’”—Mas made air quotes—“anywhere. I met him, like I said. In a shop, if you must know. His shop. And that’s where I’m going to move in.”

“He lives in a shop?”

“Above the shop. What? It’s a perfectly normal thing to do. Just coz you two are proper upper middle class and have lived in gert big houses all your lives, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with living above a retail premises. It’s what the rest of us working-class types have to do sometimes. Besides, it’s not like it’s a corner shop or something smelly like a curry house. It’s a vintage clothes shop. Cabbages and Kinks in Stokes Croft. Just down the road from my old place. You might have seen it.”

Lewis perked up. “He’s into
Alice in Wonderland
?”

“Huh? What makes you say that?”

“Never mind.” Lewis shook his head like Mas was a hopeless case. “Look, nobody said there was anything wrong with living over a shop, whatever kind of place it is.”

“Yeah, but you’re both staring at me like you’re disgusted.”

“Worried, Mas. We’re worried.” Jasper’s right eye was squinting like he was about to start up with the nervous twitch again. Shit. Mas didn’t want to be responsible for that, even if it was kinda cute. “It’s not safe to move in with someone you’ve only just met. What if he’s really an abusive psychopath?”

“Perry? He’d have problems saying boo to a goose. And he’s a nice guy, I can tell.”

“Sexual infatuation,” Lewis pronounced. “It’s got to be. Just because you’ve had a good time in bed doesn’t mean you’re going to be compatible living together.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Did I say anything about shagging him? Would’ve thought you of all people wouldn’t leap to conclusions.”

Lewis sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Is there something you want to say to me, Mas?”

“Yes, and I’m bloody well trying to say it if everyone will stop judging and listen to me for five minutes. For fuck’s sake! And yes, I know I have a reputation for being a total slapper, but for once this isn’t about sex. Perry isn’t even gay. He’s just… He’s a nice bloke, and I want to sort out his shop for him. And while I’m doing that, I might as well be living there. Would make more sense than schlepping back across the river every night. I’m gonna be putting in long hours on that place to get it up and running.”

Lewis was still frowning at him, but Jasper had gone back to his meal, shovelling in pie and chips like someone was about to snatch his plate away from him at any moment. “Did you say it was a clothes shop?” he eventually mumbled between mouthfuls. “That should be right up your street.”

“Literally.” Mas chuckled, but no one joined in. “Right up my street? City Road. Oh, never mind. My material’s wasted on you guys. Anyway, it’s the coolest place ever. Well, it could be. At the moment, it’s a bit of a shithole, to be perfectly honest, but there’s so much potential. He’s got all this cool vintage gear. Clothes, furniture, stuffed animals, you know, all that Victorian kind of stuff. And the house is one of those old stone jobbies, and I reckon there’s all kinds of period features he’s got covered up at the moment. And then there’s these amazing sculptures that he makes. I’m gonna sell them in the shop and help him market them so that soon he’ll be making a fortune and not have to live on digestive biscuits and Tesco Value crap anymore.”

“And he’s up for this, is he? After knowing you for a few days?” Lewis was probably doing his best to sound neutral, but Mas could hear the scepticism lurking under his words.

“He will be. He’ll see what a good deal it is for him. And anyway, it’s not like he’ll have to pay me anything, is it? Not until the shop’s bringing in more money. Just so long as I’ve got a roof over my head, I’ll be fine.”

“What about food? How are you going to pay for your phone?”

“I’ll get by. I’ll just buy a load of cheap food with my last pay cheque and live on ramen. And I’m sure some of my mates will spot me a meal now and again.”

“You don’t need to sponge off people,” Jasper said, looking even more concerned, if the furrow in his brow was anything to go by. “You’ve always got a home here.”

Mas glanced at Lewis, who looked kind of constipated but didn’t say anything to contradict his boyfriend. After all, it was Jasper’s house, wasn’t it? Still, Mas didn’t really like butting in and causing conflict between them. It would be best for everyone if he could just stay at Perry’s. There was that little kitchen and bathroom downstairs, after all. If he could get an army cot and sleeping bag from somewhere, he’d be sorted. “You got any camping gear?” he asked.

“Lewis made me throw it away,” Jasper said.

“I didn’t make you. I encouraged you. The decision was all yours.”

“He made me,” Jasper whispered conspiratorially, then smiled affectionately at the man in question, who huffed and smiled back. “He’s really bossy sometimes.”

“You love it.” Lewis smirked. “Gets you hot under the collar every time.”

“Gets me throwing things at you.” But Jasper was grinning like he was imagining getting it on with his boyfriend, and based on the sounds Mas could hear from under the table, he had a strong suspicion the two of them were playing footsie.

“You two are way too cute. Seriously, I’m going to slash my wrists if I have to live in the house of eternal love anymore.”

Lewis frowned. “If things are getting bad, Mas, I hope you know you can talk to me.”

Mas stared at him, trying to figure out the cause of the mood swing.

“If you’re having suicidal thoughts.”

“Oh, figure of speech. You know me, I’m not into all that emo nonsense. I wonder if Perry is? You know, he’s got a human skeleton on his roof. Not a real one! It’s plastic, but he’s painted it up to look real, ’cept it’s got these funky wings on it like some kind of mutant dragonfly. He calls it Albert.”

“A skeleton?” Lewis and Jasper were both looking at each other like Mas had said something really peculiar, like confessing to a sudden urge to don an anorak and take up trainspotting.

“I told you he makes these amazing sculptures, didn’t I? He’s got loads of them, but never sold a single one. Not that he’s ever tried, by the sound of it. I think he’s even more scared of people than you were, Jasper.”

Jasper coloured. “I wasn’t exactly scared.”

“No, but you didn’t want anyone coming round here, did you? And you used to do that crazy twitching thing. Don’t get me wrong, it was kind of sexy. But I figured you were pretty nervous of something, anyway. I get the same kinda vibe off Perry.”

“Is he a hoarder?” Lewis asked.

“Sort of. I dunno. He’s got a heap of stuff in there, but he does sell it so I think it’s just stock rather than stuff he’s too attached to. I guess I’ll find out when I start selling it all, won’t I?”

“God help him,” Lewis muttered.

“Nah, God’s got nothing on me when I’m on a mission. Perry won’t know what’s hit him.”

“That’s what I was getting at.”

Mas grinned. “So, once I’ve convinced him to let me stay, I’ll be moving out. Might need to keep some of my stuff here, though, if that’s all right. Oh yeah, and I’m starting work on Saturday, so I might be moving in on Saturday night. You never know.”

Jasper and Lewis shared one of those looks again, but Mas decided to ignore it and put on his best mumsy voice. “Now come along, boys, eat up. There’ll be no jelly and ice cream if you don’t finish off your pie.”

Jasper looked up hopefully. “Jelly and ice cream? Really?”

Uh-oh. “Umm, there’s ice cream, but I might have exaggerated about the jelly.” Did grown-ups really ever like the stuff?

Jasper clearly did. His face fell, but then he gave Mas an appealing look. “Is it toffee ice cream?”

“It’s vanilla, but I bought some of that hot toffee-fudge sauce stuff you stick in the microwave. Think you can stomach that?”

“Sounds wonderful.” Jasper beamed back at him while Lewis rolled his eyes.

“Sounds like a heart attack in a bowl,” Lewis muttered before taking another dainty mouthful of pie.

Chapter Ten

It was the fourth Thursday of the month, and that meant it was time for his regular visit to Cherise. Perry had dressed in what he thought of as his most “normal” clothes: a pair of olive-green wool trousers, white shirt and a dark brown waistcoat. Cherise still always laughed at him, saying he looked like a school teacher, but he didn’t mind. She had a lovely laugh—a warm, low chuckle that always made you feel like you were in on the joke. It was why he’d first picked her out from among the other women standing on Brunswick Square. Some man in a car had said something to her, and she’d laughed like that before walking away, her big behind wiggling. And Perry had chased after her, hoping he could convince her to take him home.

It didn’t even matter when he’d seen her face and realised she was no looker. Cherise had kind eyes, a big smile, and you could buy her talents for the measly sum of sixty pounds an hour—less if you didn’t need that long, although even a half-hour special was out of the question today. But he couldn’t just miss his appointment, as she’d worry. He’d just head over to her place and do her the courtesy of explaining.

But when he got there, Cherise opened the door wearing jeans and a headscarf, a harassed expression on her face and the sound of wailing from the room behind her.

“Perry, oh, I’m so sorry. Little Jamela has a fever, poor love. I couldn’t take her to nursery today. I tried ringin’ you at work, but you weren’t answering your phone.”

That was hardly surprising, seeing as how his phone company had finally made good on their threats and disconnected him. “Sorry. I didn’t hear it ringing,” he said, sure she’d be able to spot the lie.

But either Cherise was used to men lying to her, or she was too distracted by her daughter to notice. “I suppose since you’ve gone and dragged yourself over here, you might as well come in for a cuppa. Or something stronger. I could do with a drink right now. And a ciggie.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“Please? I could do with some adult company.” The wailing grew louder. “Okay sweetie, I’m a comin’. Just wait a minute.” She turned back to Perry. “You know where the kitchen is. Make me a coffee, hon. Two sugars. I don’t care ’bout no Weightwatchers points. I need them today.”

Perry made his way through to the cosy kitchen at the back of the house. Cherise’s home was tiny—a little two-up, two-down terrace in the rougher end of St. Pauls, but she’d made it feel welcoming. The first time he’d headed back with her, he’d been expecting some kind of budget attempt at a decadent boudoir, but what he’d found instead was a normal family home, complete with snapshots of gorgeous dark-skinned children everywhere, and drawings in crayon and felt tip adorning the fridge.

He’d just made their drinks when Cherise bustled through, a small girl in her underwear cuddled on her hip. “Cheers, my love. You’re a lifesaver. Don’t suppose you know any tricks for calmin’ a child with a fever, do you? I’m at the end of my tether with this one. Though you’re not cryin’ now, are you? Did you just need a change of scenery, sweetheart? This is Perry. One of your Mama’s friends.”

Jamela had her thumb in her mouth and was staring up at Perry with wide eyes.

“Hello there.” Perry waggled his fingers in an awkward wave. He never knew how to talk to children. They were tougher than adults, with that way they had of looking at you like they were trying to decide if you were friend or threat. Strange how the kids of his regular customers all seemed to flock around him, but maybe they were like cats in that respect, always choosing to pester the person least likely to want them around.

Or maybe because he looked like a fancy-dress pirate, according to Mas.

But Jamela had obviously decided he was a friend, as she waggled her fingers—without removing her thumb from her mouth—and her lips curled in a tired smile.

Cherise looked every bit as tired, and even with her dark complexion, Perry could see the shadows under her eyes and the strain written across her forehead.

“I’m afraid I used up the last of the milk,” he said.

Cherise just slumped farther back against the kitchen cabinet and gave a wry laugh. “Ah well. Good thing I don’t mind my coffee black.”

Perry hated to pry, but he’d noticed how empty the fridge was when fetching the milk. “How long has Jamela been ill?”

“Since Monday. It’s only chickenpox. Nothin’ serious. Just means I’ve had to stay home all week.”

“And there’s no one who can help you out with childcare?”

Cherise snorted. “There’s my goody two-shoes sister, but she refused, sayin’ she’d only be aidin’ and abbettin’ the devil’s work. I told her I only wanted to go to Asda, but that woman’s harder-hearted than a statue.”

“No neighbours you can ask?”

“Sweetheart, have you seen what’s happened to this neighbourhood just lately? All the decent folks moved out when the Somalians started movin’ in. Now it’s all women in burkas whose husbands have forbidden them to talk to me. I swear, they think I’m the whore of Babylon. I’m only tryin’ to earn enough to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. I’m not feedin’ a habit or nothin’.”

While he suspected Cherise did enjoy a drink or two—and she certainly loved her nicotine—Perry had never seen evidence of anything stronger in the house, so he took her words at face value.