Come Di(n)e With Me, page 19
With a smug smile on her face, she sat back to watch the shit-show develop. She’d finally had enough of all of them. There was nothing really to save around the table after this evening, no friendships as far as she was concerned, except of course for Moanie.
At least she should come away with something positive after the week from hell.
“Don’t be daft,” Patrick said, with complete faith in his husband. But, glancing over, he could see Stewart was outright crying now. “Tell her, Stewart. She’s talking shit. She’s been in a bad mood all week. In fact, she’s always in a fucking bad mood. Tell her she’s talking shit, Stewart.”
Patrick reached across Sandy to grab Stewart’s hand, but his husband pulled away.
“Tell her, Stew,” he repeated, clearing his throat. He was starting to look a little agitated himself.
Amongst tears, Stewart said, “I’m so sorry. I just… it just happened that one night after way too much absinthe.”
Momentarily, all eyes swept around the table, from Patrick to Stewart and then on to the newest member of the group, Peters.
He blushed, looked a little uncomfortable, and shrugged. Sam looked at him in disbelief and as Stewart took his turn to storm off, Peters said, “Sorry. It just happened. But my point earlier still stands. It is fucking painful to take eleven inches.”
“Fucking hell, Peters. It’s really not the time,” Anton whispered under his breath, loving every second. Then, for effect, he added, “Tut tut. How could you?”
“That’s rich!” Sam spat from across the table. He had so much anger at the moment, he just had to blow off some steam. “I caught you earlier this week getting a blowjob from my friend Duncan!”
Now, as Anton looked shell-shocked, Sandy took his leave as the next person to storm off. Anton had been enjoying himself right up until now, but that little revelation was never supposed to come out. Everything else; Sandy’s little secret, Moanie being there, they were all fine, but this little revelation was going to make things really tricky for him.
The two women, however, were having a field day. Faye didn’t even care that Chris was hurt. She felt it was payback for him, for all those misogynistic men, for all of his and their comments over the years. Chris might not have been as bad a Nathaniel Merrick, or half of the adulterous men around the table, but that didn’t mean he was much better.
Moanie took a deep breath. It was her time to contribute to the evening’s entertainment.
“Well, I’m glad everyone’s having fun,” she said sweetly, as if she was at a children’s tea party. “But the big shocker of this evening, and it’s just a shame Seamus isn’t here to hear it straight from my mouth, is that I’ll be taking my house back.”
Anton whipped his head around. “Hmm? I’m not sure about that, darling. This is Sandy’s house, and mine. We’ve had it years. We’ve been very generous with letting you stay, but it might be time for you to move on now. Obviously, in the will, once your father and I have, you know…”
She sat there with a smug little smile on her face. She let him take his time, enjoying his confidence even. Moanie really wanted to savour this moment because it had been coming for a very long time.
She took a sip of wine. A little smile over to Faye. Then turned back to Anton as though there was no one else in the room.
“Do you really think Sandy could pay for all this on, what was it, a ‘trainee assistant catering manager’s’ salary?”
“Umm. Well, you see… he’s had the house longer than I’ve known him. It’s been in his family–”
“I’ll stop you right there, darling,” she replied kindly, “but this house was my mothers, not his. It’s taken a little bit of digging, thanks to Sandy hiding things so well, but I’ve recently found out that he had rights to enjoy the property with me, until I turned twenty-one.”
“Excuse me?”
“And as I’m now twenty-three, I think this six-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bathroom detached house might just be a little small for the three of us, don’t you?
Anton looked disgusted. Jumping up, he didn’t care that his chair crashed into the credenza behind him. He needed to find his husband, and fast.
“Well, this is turning out to be a bit of a shit show, isn’t it?” Sam sighed, just a little bit impressed with Moanie for her timing.
To be fair, it wasn’t the direction that any one of them wanted the night to go in, but there you were.
The possible exception to that, of course, was Moanie.
***
Stewart was laid out on the same bed that Sam and Peters were sat on earlier in the evening.
He was disgusted with himself, but in a strange way he was relieved the sordid affair was finally out in the open. The worst part of it for him was keeping it a secret from his husband, his best friend and his business partner. He might still feel guilty, but at least he wasn’t lying about it anymore and that was something, at least.
Stretched out on the bed with his head burrowed deeply into the expensive feather pillow, he didn’t hear anyone else enter the room. It was only when he felt the side of the bed dip and the weight of a hand on his back that he knew Patrick had joined him.
Stewart couldn’t bring himself to turn around. He wanted to, of course. All he wanted to do was to throw his arms around his husband and never let go, but the fear of rejection was too much to bear. Honestly, he didn’t know if he could go on without Patrick by his side. Why would he want to? His whole life, from being a young boy, was wrapped up in this man and he’d gone and ruined it in the space of one or two rash decisions whilst completely pissed up. He didn’t even fancy Peters and would never have done it if he wasn’t so trashed in the first place.
What a fucking mess he’d got himself into.
Was Patrick going to tell him he was leaving? Were they going to go down the same route as Faye and Chris? Was he also going to dissolve their lucrative business? Stewart wouldn’t blame him if that’s how he felt. Patrick had always been far more sensitive than he was. Something like this would affect him deeper than it would affect Stewart. Patrick wore his heart on his sleeve. He was honest and open, and Stewart hated himself for putting his husband through something like this so needlessly.
Yes, he was drunk, but he knew he should have said no.
Patrick rubbed his hand up and down the small of Stewart’s back. It was such a familiar go-to of theirs it was almost as if nothing was wrong.
“Do you want to come down for the rest of dinner? I don’t know about Sandy, but I think you need to eat something. You’ve not been yourself for a few days.”
This was textbook Patrick. Caring far more for Stewart than he ever did for himself. Stewart began to sob into the pillow. Heavy, uncontrollable crying. It was messy and ugly, but he needed it. He somehow needed to purge that horrible feeling he had about himself, and although a breakdown like this wouldn’t absolve him of his wrongs, it felt like a good place to start.
Patrick gently laid down on the bed next to him. He managed to roll Stewart over and spoon him from behind.
“Don’t cry. I love you,” he whispered gently in his ear.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are. Shush… don’t cry.”
***
In the kitchen, things were far more animated than they had been with Patrick and Stewart upstairs.
Sparks were flying as both men were spitting feathers. Sandy didn’t know what was up with Anton this evening, but he certainly wasn’t himself.
“I can’t believe you’ve been doing it again.” Sandy hissed, flicking his hair back. “You disgust me.”
He was pacing around the island in the middle of the room. He’d got himself a new glass, and a big serving of the most expensive wine he had. None of that shit the others had brought this evening.
“We weren’t sleeping together. It was just a bit of fun.”
“You expect me to believe that? You’re telling me that with Duncan it was just a bit of fun and I’m supposed to sit back and believe it, am I? What about all the others, I’d bet this house that there are plenty more boys you’ve been fooling around with again. You just can’t help yourself, can you?” He didn’t even want to get into whatever it was that Anton might have been snorting or popping.
Anton winced at that. “Speaking of which, you’re no saint yourself, are you?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Sandy whipped his head around, mid pour of wine.
“This bloody house. You’ve been lying to me all along about it.”
“What do you mean, ‘this house’?”
“Oh, so it really is a surprise to you then, is it? I find that hard to believe, but here we go. This should be fun!” Anton said with a sarcastic laugh. He figured it would be easier to deflect blame if Sandy was also taking some of the heat himself.
“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. I really haven’t. All I know is you’ve not been keeping it in your pants like you promised me you would. I can’t cope with all of the lying and cheating anymore. I really can’t. It’s bad for my heart, you know that.”
“You really are clueless, aren’t you, Sandy? Utterly clueless.”
“You’re under my roof. I won’t have you talk to me like that. I’ve had a terrible evening as it is. I don’t need you making it worse.”
“So, shall I get the lovely Monalisa though here to explain the finer details in plain English to you?”
“Explain what?”
“That she’s kicking us out of the bloody house?”
“Don’t be so ridiculous. She can’t do that,” Sandy laughed.
“Well, she said it wasn’t our house in the first place. As far as she’s concerned, it was left to her by her mother years ago.”
Sandy stood for a moment. Anton could see his brain ticking over. He was processing the information, which, after the champagne and several glasses of wine, was taking its time. Sandy’s wineglass shattered under the whites of his tensed knuckles, spilling the expensive red wine everywhere.
“We’ll see about this, that ungrateful little bitch,” Sandy said, pushing past his cheating husband to deal with his daughter.
Eighteen
On a mission to try to resolve at least some of the problems that surfaced during the evening, Peters went to look for Patrick and Stewart. He slinked past Sandy in the hall. Caught up in his own problem, they’d not even noticed each other as he’d passed. Likewise, Sandy was so desperate to put his daughter in place, he’d not even looked up. There was just far too much going on.
Peters, quite rightly, assumed that Sam wouldn’t be too fussed about him shagging Stewart. After all, he’d seen Sam’s eye wander enough times in the few months they had been a couple. There was one particular acting friend of Sam’s that he just wouldn’t shut up about too, but that didn’t faze Peters, either. They had a good setup between them. Sam was good looking and had an apartment of his own. Peters was happy if Sam wanted to go off every now and again and have a bit of fun. Some gay couples did that separately, or together. It’s the twenty-first century, it was all good.
Peters did feel a bit bad about Stewart and Patrick, though. He could tell neither of them were up for that type of fun. In fact, a one-off shag was probably a mistake on Stewart’s part, at least.
He had to make it right, somehow, but how?
Seeing the door to the guest bedroom on the first floor ajar, he gently rapped his knuckles, but went straight in before getting a response.
“Hey guys… I just wanted to say how sorry I am.”
Holding tightly to each other, neither of them said a word in response. But at the sound of Peters’ voice, Patrick could feel Stewart grow more nervous with his breathing and his sobbing.
“It didn’t mean anything, honestly. And it won’t happen again… unless you both wanted it to, that is?” he asked with a slight inflection.
“I think you should leave us, Peters,” Patrick suggested firmly.
“If you want to make it better, Patrick, maybe we could sleep together just once? You know, even it out?” he suggested hopefully.
“GET OUT!”
Shit.
Peters meant well; he really did. But as usual, he seemed to have just put his foot in it.
He seriously wasn’t trying to stir up more trouble, but he’d heard that getting a sense of equilibrium after someone did something bad in a relationship might help.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, heading back downstairs as quickly as he could. He struggled with common sense sometimes, or so he’d been told, but he did try to have a good heart.
By the time he’d reached the dining room door, he could hear the shouting from within.
“So, this is how you repay Anton and I, is it?”
“Oh no, I’m very grateful you’ve let me stay in my house this week. It was lovely meeting your friends, especially Faye,” she smiled.
Moanie had waited quietly all this time to have her revenge. It had taken many years, but finally she was here and she was going to enjoy it. Growing up, she’d despised being Sandy’s daughter as much as she knew he hated having one. He’d never been there for her. Instead of supporting and nurturing her, he’d use her mother’s money to ship her off, as far away as possible. It was a surprise, in fact, that he’d even let her stay this week without putting up a fuss. Unless, of course, he knew on some level he needed to tread lightly around her now that she was old enough to take back what was rightfully hers.
“But, what can I say, Daddy? You’ve had free rein of the house for so long, but it was never actually your house in the first place.”
Unfortunately, he knew she was right. He’d, of course, hoped that she’d never find out, but it had been at the back of his mind for years now. So far back, in fact, that he’d almost believed she would never find out.
“How did you?” he began, but she interrupted.
“Does it even matter?” she sighed, growing bored with him now.
He guessed that it didn’t. “What, what… what am I supposed to do now?” he stuttered, rather worried. He was pacing around the table, left and right. The others were all sitting down, with their eyes glued to him. No one else had said a word since he’d burst in.
“Well, you’ve got that lovely husband of yours, haven’t you?”
Sandy slammed his hands down on the table before he pointed towards the kitchen. “Anton? He spends most of his money on coke and rent boys!” He didn’t want to add that probably the only reason Anton was still with Sandy was the fact he had such a beautiful house to live in.
“Oh, dear lord, you’re insufferable and so bloody stubborn,” Sandy spat as he stormed back out of the room. “Just like your mother.”
But it was no use. Moanie was right, and they both knew it. All he could do was hope she’d give him a little bit of time to sort himself out.
He went back into the kitchen. Maybe he’d need to keep Anton a little more engaged from now on, if he was to have any chance of maintaining this kind of lifestyle. Otherwise, on his salary, he’d be in a council flat, queueing up for a Supercuts trim before he knew it.
But Anton’s face had changed somewhat on his return.
“Not such a bad guy, now, am I?”
“Oh, shut up Anton. You’re a liar, a cheat and you’re driving me crazy.”
“Umm… sorry to interrupt ladies,” Faye said, popping her head into the kitchen, “but shall I start to bring out the main courses?”
They both turned around to stare her out of the room.
“I’ll tell them all, ten minutes, shall I?” she suggested, leaving them to it.
She had to admit, it was kind of fun seeing Sandy finally get what was coming to him, she just could have predicted all of this.
By the time Faye returned to the dining room, Stewart and Patrick had come down from upstairs. Everyone had changed seats, in favour of sitting next to, or away from, certain people. She chose an empty seat next to Moanie, who seemed to be the only person actually enjoying the evening now.
Everyone was there, except for Sandy and Anton. Although, they were certainly in everyone’s thoughts, as their shouting match could be heard all the way from the kitchen.
“Sounds like they’re having just as much fun as we all are,” Chris grumbled.
Faye wanted to shout, ‘shut the fuck up’, for old time’s sake, but really, what was the point? He never listened when they were together, and it had never helped her mood with him, so what was the point in raising her voice now?
The mood was definitely more subdued that it had been earlier. People were still drinking, but growing rather hungry. No one, not even Peters, felt it appropriate to chase up the main course.
“So, do you think you’re gonna go gay now that you’ve separated, Chris?” Peters asked with a light-hearted tone, trying to break the silence.
Chris looked at him. “Umm… no. I like women. Just as much as my wife does, apparently.” Then, deflecting, he asked, “but do you think you’re going to, now Sam knows you’ve been… well, you know…” Regretting his words instantly, Chris didn’t want to make matters worse for Patrick and Stewart. They had returned to the room holding hands, with puffy, red, tear-stained faces, so Chris was hoping they had patched things up.
Peters looked hopefully at Sam, who was sat next to him. From what he could make out, things seemed to be salvageable. At least he hoped they were.
“What do you reckon?” Peters asked, taking his fiancé’s hand.
“We’re good, so long as we don’t turn into Sandy and Anton,” Sam replied, really not wanting to pay the whole rent by himself next month.
“It’s a deal. No fucking around once we’re married.”
“You say that as though it’s an admirable thing,” Patrick murmured, on the cusp of really needing to blow off some pent-up anger.
For once, Peters knew when to keep quiet.
Faye was just about to say something, but a loud metallic crashing noise rang out from the kitchen.
All of the guests immediately got to their feet and ran en masse towards the kitchen.
