Come Di(n)e With Me, page 9
“Only if you lose your job,” Sam smiled, before kissing him on the cheek. “What can I say, I have a type.”
“Well, I’ll make sure to keep my uniform if I do, then, shall I?”
“Nah, it’s fine. If you have to, you can always fall back and become an underwear model. You have enough pairs.”
Peters cast him an awkward glance.
“What did I say? You look amazing in them!”
“I don’t have that many.”
“Yeah, saying that, they do seem to keep going missing?”
“Ooh, trouble in paradise, is it? You’re counting each other’s knickers, are you?” Anton sniggered.
Chris quickly changed the subject. He didn’t want any fallouts over his meal. That kind of drama was best kept for Saturday night, on Sandy’s evening.
Dinner went down really well. Patrick and Stewart left their spinach on account of hating it, but otherwise, there were clean plates all around, and even a few requests for seconds. Peters declined any more of course, on account of trying to stay trim.
“Very nice, boys. Very nice. I can’t wait to see what’s in store for dessert.” Sandy said, finishing the dregs of his fifth or six glass of wine.
“Sorry guys, we ran out of time so it’s Co-op’s finest ice cream for pud,” Sam said, clearing plates.
“Oh dear. I’ll pass. The cheese and biscuits will do just fine,” Sandy said.
“We have some Ryvita and Dairylea, if that’s any good? But otherwise, we didn’t prepare a cheese course. Oh, tell a lie. I have some Babybells too, if you like?
“Thanks, I’ll pass.” Sandy said, holding out his wineglass. “Please tell me we haven’t ran out of wine.”
“Why do we only have kid’s cheese in, Chris? You’re a thirty-nine-year-old man. You’ve got to stop eating as if you’ve taken a packed lunch on a school trip,” Faye complained, a little embarrassed.
They didn’t have kids, but it sure felt like she was a parent most of the time. It got exhausting.
“I bought the wine, didn’t I. That’s very adult of me. And no, we haven’t ran out.”
“And that’s all we care about,” Patrick and Stewart joked, clinking glasses.
Once the hosts had returned with ice cream for those who wanted it, which happened to be just Chris and Sam, the conversation returned to the game in hand.
“So… how was that, then?” Chris asked keenly, “Without giving us our scores, of course.”
“Nice. Well done boys,” said Anton.
“Delicious,” Patrick said.
The remaining guests murmured their approval with big grins.
“So, is that it, then? We go now?” Peters asked.
“Umm, no. It’s still a normal dinner party, Peters. It’s customary to have a few more drinks and get a little shit-faced before throwing up in the taxi on the way home,” Sam explained.
At least he’s pretty, thought Sam warmly. Keen to change the subject, Sam turned and asked rather bravely, “Sandy? Was that to your liking?”
The whole room turned to catch his response.
He took a swig of his wine. “Well, thank you, boys. You tried really hard. I can see a lot of effort, well, some effort went into the meal. Such a shame about dessert though, but this is exactly why I prefer to dine in the nicer restaurants,” he said, as though he was Louis Walsh giving critique on the X Factor.
“Glad I didn’t ask about the service then!” Sam laughed.
Although coffee was offered, everyone bar Peters chose another glass of wine instead. He was still getting used to everyone and didn’t want to make any more of a fool of himself, at least on night one, anyway. By a couple of Sam’s looks earlier, he may already have done.
By eleven o’clock, there was a palpable trepidation in the air. It was time to say goodnight, but for the first time they’d be going home with other people.
It wasn’t a big deal of course, many of them had slept over at each other’s houses before, it was just a little strange, under these unique set of circumstances.
As Sam gathered their jackets, they all stood around the coffee table in the living room.
Holding his half-glass of wine up, Chris said, “Thank you all for coming. I hope you enjoyed the evening and we’ll see you all tomorrow,” with his arm around his ‘husband’ for the week.
“Don’t be a knob,” Faye said, before nipping upstairs to grab a few items she’d forgotten earlier.
“C’mon then Patrick, let’s get you home,” Anton said, slapping his arse. “Thanks for dinner. Ten out of ten!”
“Really?” Chris asked optimistically.
“Really?” Faye asked sarcastically from halfway upstairs.
As the last of them were out of the door, Chris topped Sam up with another glass of wine.
“May as well make the most of it, eh?” He grinned.
***
No sooner than Sandy and Faye had arrived home, Sandy had said goodnight and headed straight up to bed, taking Pricilla with him.
It had been a difficult day at work. He’d probably had a little too much to drink and his hangover was prematurely starting to niggle right at the base of his skull.
Faye was going to do the same, but as if from nowhere, Moanie popped up and offered her another drink. Faye figured it would have been rude to decline.
“Oh, go on then. Why not?”
“So… how was it, then?” Moanie asked with enthusiasm.
Faye smiled. It was nice to be taken seriously for a change, from a woman, too. She always felt better in women’s company. Most of the men she had to deal with were only one step ahead of the slime that crawled out of the primordial ooze. Today’s meeting with Nathanial being a perfect example.
“I wish you were there… at least I’d have had some decent conversation. It was… tough. I’m exhausted. Totally knackered,” Faye sighed.
“Oh shit, don’t let me keep you up, then. I didn’t realise it was so bad.”
“No problem. I think I need to decompress anyway,” she said, reaching over to clink beer bottles again.
***
Over at Peters’ flat, Stewart was getting ready for bed in the bathroom.
Peters would have gone in to brush his teeth next to him, but he didn’t want to seem overly familiar, so instead he was scrolling through some meal suggestions on his phone. He hadn’t really had anything in mind yet, particularly for the night’s entertainment.
Did they really have to do that?
“Hey, Stewart…” he called, sure that his houseguest was just finishing up.
“Just a sec,” he replied, opening the door. Coming out of the bathroom, he added, “It’s all yours. What’s up?”
He looked nice in his shorts and a crisp white vest. Peters wondered if they were only for his benefit. Surely he slept naked with his husband at home.
“What are we gonna do… you know, for our turn?”
“Oh, that. I’ve been thinking about that too, but I’m not quite sure.”
Stewart knew that in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter, but his competitive side also wanted to beat his husband. Plus, he also didn’t want to let the side down completely by serving something shit that no one liked. Regardless of the futile competition element, it was still a dinner party with friends.
“Well, we don’t have long to decide or prepare. It’s our night tomorrow.
“How about we split it? I’ll do all the cooking and you think of some entertainment?” Patrick suggested.
“Hang on. Why don’t we swap? As you know everyone far better than I do, it’ll be easier for you to think of something fun that people will like.”
“Sure. I’ll get the wine then as well…and obviously I’ll help you cook, too. Fair?” Patrick asked, knowing that the food side was a much bigger task.
“Perfect,” Peters said, relieved.
“Good stuff. Okay. Err, where am I sleeping, by the way? I’ve not actually been here before.”
Sam had only been in the flat about ten months, and earlier today, Patrick had gone back to work straight after the pub, just like Anton and Sandy had.
“You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Is it a pullout?”
“Huh? Pull what out?”
“The couch. Is it a sofabed?”
“No. Just normal,” he said, confused. “Its just a couch.”
“You take your bed then. I’ll have the couch.” Stewart offered.
“This is silly. The bed is a king. You’re welcome to share it with me if you like. So long as you keep your ‘jamas on. I’ll even wear a pair of pants.” Peters smiled.
“Great. I really didn’t fancy spending four nights on that thing, nice as it is,” he said, with an unconsciously raised eyebrow.
***
“Well, that was fun,” Anton said, as he followed Patrick into the house. “Fancy staying up for a little nightcap?”
“I shouldn’t. I’ve got a showing early tomorrow,” he replied unconvincingly.
“That’s perfect. We’ll just have a little drop. It’s not yet eleven thirty. We’ll be in bed by twelve, I promise. I bet Stewart and Peters are having one,” he said, as if to seal the deal.
“Ah, go on then. Just one. Lemmie just take my shoes off. There’s some wine and glasses in the kitchen. Help yourself. Just a small one for me, though.”
Anton made his way through, subconsciously judging the house yet again. Comparing it to his own, as people often did.
It was immaculate. Show-home-esque, not a thing out of place or so it appeared. But then, it had no character, either. There were no pets, no stray children coming and going as they pleased; the boys were really into property, after all. It was nice, but completely soulless as far as Anton was concerned.
The house was obviously a new build, only five or six years old. It wasn’t big, but the three bathrooms seemed a little excessive for a three-bed house. It was definitely comfortable, but by no means as nice as the house he shared with Sandy. You just didn’t get that level of sophistication with new builds these days. No real features like original coving and stained glass or elaborate fireplaces. New builds just lacked character and could often look cheap as opposed to modern, in Anton’s opinion. He didn’t even want to get started on the low ceilings.
The kitchen was decked out with all the mod-cons of stylish living, though, and that room was probably far more expensive than the rest of the house warranted. Digital this, sleek that. It wasn’t really Anton’s cup of tea, but he could see it must have cost a packet.
“What do you reckon our husbands are up to?” Anton asked, handing a rather full glass over to Patrick, the amount of which didn’t go unnoticed.
“Knowing Stewart, he’ll already be in bed. What about Sandy?”
Anton looked at his watch and chuckled. “Same.” He took a hearty swig of the red and pondered, “are you worried?”
“Worried? About what?”
“Stewart being away. About him staying with the new twink on the block? Peters is very handsome, you know.”
Now it was Patrick’s turn to laugh. “Really? I hadn’t noticed? But no, absolutely not. I can tell you with all honesty, I’m far more worried about what we’re gonna serve in two night’s time. What about you? Do you have anything to fret over?”
“Ha! I’d pay to see Sandy try something on with our outspoken friend Faye.”
“Oh shit, yeah, I forgot she was a woman.”
“Well, maybe I should be actually…” Anton pretended to be concerned, “He’s slept with women in the past.”
“Shut up!” Patrick spat, clearly enjoying Anton’s company. “He’s the least likely of us to go straight.”
“Well, my darling boy, there’s secrets in all of us, don’t you know? Right, that’s enough gossip for now. We really should have a think about what we are going to serve. Sandy is only going to get the satisfaction of winning over my dead body.”
“That’s what I like to hear!” Patrick smiled, holding up his glass.
***
Faye looked at her watch. She couldn’t believe it. It was gone two and she was still up, drinking and talking with Moanie. She knew she should have gone to bed a couple of hours ago, but she was having a great time chatting to her new friend, no matter how drunk they were both becoming.
“I’ve gotta say,” she said, placing a hand on Moanie’s, “I really can’t believe you’re related to Sandy. You’re just… so different.”
“Believe me, I wish we weren’t,” she agreed, knocking back the rest of her beer. “I must have done something terrible in a past life. But don’t you worry, it’ll sort itself out in the end. Things like this always do. Karma’s a bitch and all that…”
Tipsy, Faye ignored the comment, instead more concerned with appearances. “But you don’t even look alike. I mean, you’re beautiful.”
“That’ll be my Filipino mother’s fault. She isn’t… wasn’t any better.”
“Oh, I take it you don’t see much of her anymore?”
“My mum? Oh, she died several years ago. Bayani and I weren’t what you would call close. I’m not close to Sandy, either. I was shipped off to boarding school and neither of my parents bothered, really. The occasional birthday card, or trip out to see them once over the summer.”
Blimey! What a nasty bastard Sandy really was, Faye thought, trying not to get too worked up about yet another man shirking his responsibilities.
Although half-cut at this early hour of the morning, Faye could see that Moanie was hiding a pain. The way she’d dropped it casually into conversation, so blasé like that… you only ever did that if you really did care. Faye squeezed her hand. “C’mon. I’ll help you to bed.”
“Sure. So long as it’s not Sandy helping me. I can’t fucking stand the guy…”
Wow, thought Faye. There must be some serious issues between them.
As the girls made their way to bed, they had no idea that by the end of night four, everything would be different.
Thursday
Day Two
Nine
The following morning there were a few sore heads around town. But this was just the beginning of the festivities. There were three more nights to endure before everyone got to go back to their old lives… with their old partners.
And one person suffering more than most was Stewart. He’d never really been one to hold his drink as well as some of the others, and last night was no different.
“Oh shit!” Stewart mumbled, looking at his watch. He’d slept in. “Double shit!” he added as soon as he realised where he actually was.
Somehow, regardless of the size of the bed he was sharing, regardless of the fact he wasn’t sharing it with his husband, he was spooning Peters. And as big spoon, his morning wood was poking rudely into the back of his new friend.
“Sorry! Force of habit,” he said, panicky. He managed to pull away just as Peters was starting to stir.
He really should have taken the couch.
“No problem. I was all nice and cozy,” Peters grinned, rubbing his eyes. He might have been a little shy, but he certainly wasn’t a prude. “Fucking hell, what a package,” he said, gobsmacked when Patrick jumped out of bed. He couldn’t help himself, but it really was the biggest thing he’d ever seen so early in the morning.
“Shit, err… I’m gonna go for a quick shower,” Stewart replied, completely mortified. Scooping up his clothes from last night, he tried to hide the boner that was pitching a tent in his shorts, big enough to keep a scout group dry.
“Lucky guy, that Patrick,” Peters joked playfully as he rolled over to go back to sleep.
He might do a little bit of work later, but for now he could enjoy his lie in. After last night, spending some time off with his new friends was going to be bliss.
***
Across town, Chris stirred too. He was asleep with Sam in the living room. They’d apparently crashed out, taking a couch each. “My God, my mouth is like sandpaper. How much did we drink last night?” Somehow, he was still holding the PS5 controller in his hand.
Sam rolled over to face Chris. The coffee table was in the way, but he’d barely opened his eyes, anyway. “I have no idea, but I’m paying for it now.”
“They left around eleven. I think we opened another bottle and then you suggested Tequila.”
“Bad move. You should have stopped me. All your fault…” Sam groaned.
“I’m so glad I’ve got a few days off. It would have killed me to go into work like this. Ugh,” he said, making a gagging noise. “I need some water. Want some?”
Chris peeled himself off the couch and shuffled his way through to the kitchen. The house was a mess. The table hadn’t properly been cleared from last night. There were empty bottles everywhere and half-eaten packets of crisps and other snacks lying around. “Do you have that audition today?” he shouted through, over the noise of the running tap.
“Nah. I need to chase up with Sandy, but I think it’s tomorrow. I should hear back from him this morning, I’m hoping.”
“The one that Sandy’s working on, that pilot programme.”
“Yeah. Well, I don’t think he’s actually working on it, but it is being filmed in his studio. Why did we not make it upstairs? My back is killing me.”
“You’re getting old, man.”
“Warn me again when I’m as old as Sandy. Thank God it’s not today…”
***
“Sorry I’m late.” Sam said, a few hours later. He was still feeling a little rough. Having thrown on a pair of joggers and one of Chris’ old hoodies, which hid his usually impressive physique, he looked almost as bad as he felt. “What’s up?”
“I got the part. I start on Monday.” Duncan said.
Although he was pleased, Sam could tell he wasn’t his usual confident self. There was a reservation about him that knocked the edge off his usual sparkle.
“What’s the role?” Sam asked, trying to appear as keen and supportive. In truth, feeling like this, he’d much rather be back to bed, no matter how nice his friend’s company was, or how pleasing it was just to sit and stare in his big brown eyes.
