Chapter 4

Later that week, Graham was in a bar, listening to his favourite Katy Perry playlist on earphones, and waiting for Sam so they could discuss what to do about their mum's debt.

Graham couldn't understand how she'd run up that sort of money. What did she have to show for it? Nothing, when he'd emptied her flat in the fortnight the council gave him before letting it out to someone else. His childhood home, where he'd been brought up – well, where he'd lived with his mum at least – and he'd brought up Sam. Years and years of hoping their mum would get better, stop drinking, sort her life out and properly step up as their only parent. Except, despite multiple promises, she hadn't been able to.

It was a disease, Graham knew now. Back then he'd thought their mum terribly selfish, but he'd researched it, went to AA meetings with her, understood it was a disease, and for some, they couldn't be saved. They weren't able to stop drinking. Their mum was one of those, sadly.

The bubbles in the golden lager rose to the surface of his glass. Where was his brother, Graham wondered. He knew Sam was just starting a proper graduate job, but he knew about work, that wasn't anything new to him. But clocking in and out of a pub wasn't the same as working in the body shop department of a car manufacturer?

Graham's mind boggled just trying to say it, never mind study and work it. They were so different in almost every way – him and Sam. And yet, they had much in common. Surviving that childhood for one.

Graham took a swallow of lager. No point dwelling on that. The past was the past and now they had to face the future together.

His phone rang. It was Sam.

‘Are you just leaving, little brother? Because I've been here a while and don't have all evening.'

‘I'm nearly there. I just needed to ask a favour. In case he turns up before I do.'

‘Who?'

‘Ryan.'

‘You invited Ryan to a discussion about our mum's debts? Interesting approach. Please explain?' He couldn't stop behaving like the dad, because he'd done it for so long. He wished they could have an ordinary brotherly relationship – whatever that might be.

‘Unconventional I know. He's having family stuff too. And he doesn't have anyone else. I am his best friend. He relies on me.'

Graham knew what that was like. He'd heard so much about Ryan, they'd spent summers at Ryan's parents' place, lived together, and now were working together too. Ryan was important to Sam, so of course he could bring him now.

‘I can't believe you've never met him before,' Sam said.

Graham's apartment was flashy but small, only one spare bedroom. So, it made sense they'd stayed at Ryan's parents' place that summer. ‘I've spoken to him on the phone though?' He thought he had anyway.

‘When?' Sam asked.

‘Second year at uni, when you lived in that flat above the pub where you worked.'

‘And you met him.'

‘When?'

‘First day at uni, you dropped me off and he was in the kitchen of my halls of accommodation.'

Graham had done it because their mum couldn't drive, had promised to take Sam to university, but had gone to the pub, returning the next morning, drunk and incoherent, clearly unable to drive, or even help Sam pack. So, Graham had done it. ‘Don't remember. It's years ago. I dropped you off, saw you were settled okay then went home.' Back to work, responsibilities, envying Sam of going to university, when Graham hadn't. Couldn't leave their mum just in case. Couldn't justify the cost when he'd been working for years.

‘Well, you have met him. So, can he come? He's a bit much sometimes, can get a bit clingy. I try to show him I have other friends, but he's not interested. Puts it all on me.'

That sounded like a conversation to have another time. ‘If he's your friend, then who am I to say no?'

‘Thanks. I'm nearly there now.' Sam ended the call.

Graham returned to Katy Perry's, "Roar" filled his ears and he mimed to himself, ordered another lager, checked the news, scrolled the socials, did a bit of work and rather than being annoyed at his little brother's terrible time-keeping, decided to enjoy the music, be relaxed and wait.

Sam arrived much later than he'd given the impression he would. With him was a huge man-mountain, short dark hair, neatly trimmed beard, designer clothes, cut to accentuate his muscular, solid, rugby player build. And goodness, did he have plenty of those to accentuate: thick biceps, clearly delineated pecs showing through the fitted shirt, big thighs in the spray on jeans that people in their twenties could effortlessly wear.

Graham removed the earphones and stopped the music.

Sam stood by Graham's table. ‘This is Ryan. Meet my brother, Graham.' He went on to say something about how they'd met before.

But Graham wasn't listening. He was shaking Ryan's big hand, it gripped his own tightly, covering his, there were dark hairs on the back of it, and some peeping over the collar of his shirt, nicely fitted, accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist, whoever had dressed him knew what they were doing. It was probably Ryan who'd dressed himself, Graham decided. Because that was what most people did….of course…

Ryan stopped shaking Graham's hand, removed his jacket, the shirt looked even better now. He must be fifteen stone or more. There was a scent that Graham recognised, and had his senses flashing with excitement – a woody, citrusy scent – it was designer eau de toilette Graham always recommended to male clients wanting something sophisticated yet understated, and it had something else accompanying it, notes of…slightly salty and muskiness, which would be Ryan's own scent.

Graham shifted in his seat, trying to focus on what Sam was saying, rather than admiring the perfect specimen of masculinity who'd walked in with his brother. He was staring, he did this sometimes, when he was struck with handsomeness that ticked all of his boxes.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

With clients, he found it easier, because they usually came to him needing a polish, not quite making the most of their assets. Whereas this man, here now, was definitely making the most of his assets. And Graham had to stop himself imagining Ryan in his underwear.

Magnificent, was the only word Graham could think of as he imagined it, in great detail, and full colour.

‘Sorry to crash in,' Ryan was saying, sitting at the table, hanging his jacket over his chair. ‘I hope Sam's explained I've got stuff. Not like your stuff, but family stuff anyway. I'll get a round of drinks. Leave you two alone. And if there's anything you're discussing you don't want me to hear, just give me a sign and I'll be gone.' He stood, looked at Graham's drinks. ‘Same again?'

Graham's brain had frozen. He'd lost the power of speech. Standing, in the fitted shirt and spray on jeans, Ryan was devastatingly, almost offensively handsome. Graham nodded as his throat felt dry.

Ryan said to Sam, ‘Usual?'

Sam made himself comfortable, nodded.

Ryan gambolled to the bar, wide gait, arms held out either side in a confident gesture of who he was and where he was. His behind was, as Graham expected, pert, muscular, wonderfully accentuated by the cut of the jeans. The shirt was nipped in at the back, showing off his wide back, ripples, were they muscles, not on his back, surely?

Sam looked from Ryan to Graham and frowned. ‘Are you all right?'

Graham nodded. ‘Fine. I do not remember meeting him.' Because if he had, he'd have remembered it.

‘He wasn't that big when we started uni. He's a bit obsessive about it actually. I don't know why. Not that it matters because I'm not gay, but I don't find that attractive in men. It's a bit too artificial.'

‘He's not gay, is he?' Graham asked, holding his breath in anticipation.

Sam shook his head. ‘I don't think he's straight either.'

‘Bi?'

‘He's Ryan.'

Graham frowned. ‘Which means?'

‘He doesn't do relationships. Or anything else. He's Ryan and that's it.'

This, as far as Graham could see, wasn't much use to him. ‘So, he's not gay or bisexual?'

‘Not as far as I know. Although whether he'd have told me, I'm not sure. He briefly dated a girl at uni, then she dumped him.'

Why on earth would someone dump that man? Unless he wasn't interested in the woman and…

Before Graham could contemplate that any further, Ryan returned, carrying their drinks. ‘Have I missed much?'

Graham shot a look to his brother as if to say, don't you dare tell.

Sam took his drink. ‘Mum stuff.'

‘Course,' Ryan said as he sat. He remained quiet, while Graham and Sam discussed what to do about the debt.

There was a sadness to Ryan's eyes, as if he had the weight of the world on his admirably wide shoulders. He politely said nothing while the conversation went on about their mum's debt.

Graham said, ‘What do you think?'

‘Me?' Ryan asked.

‘What would you do? Tell the debt company to go fuck themselves, or pay up?'

‘In this scenario, can I afford to repay it?'

‘Yes. Not all at once though.'

Ryan stroked his chin, rubbing his big fingers through the neatly trimmed hair.

Graham wondered if the hair elsewhere on Ryan was as neatly trimmed. He had a hunch it would be. Man like that, taking care of his appearance. Didn't mean he was necessarily gay, but a man in possession of a regular grooming routine, usually applied it from head to toe – in Graham's experience. And those who were unkempt and didn't consider that as important, tended to be consistently messy from head to toe.

Ryan's lips were moving, as he said something.

Graham could think of only one thing and it was kissing them. Which was about six kinds of wrong, his little brother's best friend, of indeterminate sexuality. Never mind tick, tick and tick. This was wrong, wrong and wrong. ‘Sorry, I drifted off then,' Graham said, having imagined drifting off in a large swimming pool, being towed around by Ryan's impressive arms.

‘Not that it's any of my business, and I'm grateful you don't mind me tagging along, but the morally correct thing to do is repay the debt. If you weren't the guarantor, then that's very different. But you signed up to be guarantor in the eventually this happened. And, well, it has.' Ryan shrugged, put his large palms facing upwards, rested them on the table.

Large palms, large hands, long fingers which could mean…

Graham brought that train of thought to a screeching halt. He'd not dated for a while, ever since the messy breakup. He'd stopped even considering sex, never mind wanting it. It was funny how when it was out of his mind, he didn't miss it. But now, faced with, well, Ryan, he felt his urges return.

‘I agree,' Graham brought his thoughts back to the task in hand, and said to Sam. ‘Morally, it is the right thing to do.' Even if financially, it was all going to fall on his shoulders. Sam had offered to contribute, but between his London rent, his not as high as he thought graduate salary, and living costs, repaying his student loan and tuition fees, he didn't have much left at the end of each month, as he'd shown Graham earlier.

‘Wish I could do more. Hope you don't think this has been pointless,' Sam said.

It had been far from pointless. Discussing it had confirmed the right decision. Besides, he'd met Ryan, which even if he was only ever material for his wank bank, or the jolt Graham needed to get back in the dating game, that was far from pointless.

‘So, your mum's getting married,' Graham said to Ryan, leaning forwards, staring into his eyes, ‘Why's that a problem?'