Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

As the party wore on, the cocktails were going down a storm. Granny had taken up residence on the dance floor. She was currently stomping around to (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones. Aron leant against the bar, watching her.

“I bet she owned London in her day,” Alexander said.

“What do you mean in her day’?” Aron replied.

Alexander chuckled. “Don’t tell her I said that. Of course she still owns the bloody place. Are you okay?”

“Of course.”

“Tell your face then.”

Aron stuck his tongue out.

“Much better,” Alexander said. “You’re the belle of the ball now.”

They watched the action a little longer.

“How’s life with you? I mean really,” Aron said.

Alexander took a large swig of his cocktail and pondered the question.

“Promise you won’t hate me?” he asked.

“I’ll try not to.”

“Life is pretty bloody perfect.”

“Okay, I hate you.”

Alexander cackled. “I can’t help it. Zac is amazing, we own our own home and it’s on Queens Crescent. Plus my internet show is nearly at a million subscribers.”

“I wish I’d never asked.”

“I thought you had it all sewn up too?” Alexander asked. “Dream job in one of the best cities in the world. You’ll find a decent guy there.”

Aron shook his head. “Not my focus.”

Alexander had been a tower of strength to Aron when Paul had disappeared. Once again guilt stabbed at him that he’d had no contact other than Christmas cards. It wasn’t a fair way to treat a friend.

“And since you’ve been home? What has your focus been on?”

“My grandmother.”

“Sure.”

Alexander’s face suggested he didn’t believe a word of it.

“Watch out,” Alexander said. “Seems like you might be needed.”

Granny had come off the dancefloor and gesticulated wildly at him.

“I think we might regret cocktails. I should have listened to Simon and stuck to wine.”

“Mrs Wimpole with a hangover. I can’t picture it.”

“Fast forward twelve or so hours and you can come round and witness it if you like.”

Alexander held up his glass. “I intend to have one myself.”

Aron shook his head and wandered over to Granny. “What’s up?”

“This party needs men,” she said.

Aron frowned. “You have a whole team of men at your disposal.”

Granny shook her head. “I want my man.”

Oh god, she’s not going to get all inappropriate again, is she?

“He’s on his stag do.”

“Poppycock,” she said, waving her glass in his direction. “They’re only in the pub. Imagine if my favourite grandson were to tell him they were allowed here. I bet they would follow in a heartbeat.”

Aron sighed. “Is that what you want?”

Granny nodded. Who was he to refuse the bride-to-be anything she wished on her hen night?

“Fine. Give me ten minutes.”

He dashed out of the club. The air was freezing as he hit the street. He instantly regretted not getting his coat out of the cloakroom. Luckily, The Swan was at the top of the road so he didn’t have far to go.

To stave off the cold, he jogged to the ancient pub. Word had it that Dickens himself had drunk in there. Something the Professor hadn’t found hard evidence for. Not through want of trying.

When Aron got inside, he found the other party sitting around the table. It was more like a wake than a stag do.

Paul’s face lit up when he saw him.

“My. My. Doesn’t this look like a wild one?” Aron said.

“Aron,” the Professor said. “What brings you here? Is Beatrice all right?”

Aron rested a hand on his shoulder. “She’s more than all right. We have a never-ending stream of cocktails running at Club C and she’s getting stuck in.”

“Oh dear,” the Professor said. “That sounds like trouble. What brings you here then?”

“I’m on a mission. A very important one, I might add.”

“I had a feeling you might be. What can I do for you?”

Aron scanned the table. He recognised Simon and Stuart but there were others there who were new faces to him.

“Sorry, gents,” Aron said. “My grandmother requires your presence at Club C. She’s decided to merge the parties.”

They all seemed taken aback.

“That’s if you don’t have any complaints,” Aron added.

“Complaints?” one man said. “To Mrs Wimpole? None of us would dare.”

“Now, Nihal,” the Professor said. “You sound afraid of my betrothed.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little.”

They all burst into laughter.

“With that in mind, I suppose we’d better get our coats,” the Professor said. “Truth be told, I’ve been missing her.”

Aron squeezed the Professor’s shoulder. The poor man had the love bug bad.

“I’ll settle the tab,” Paul said.

As he walked past Aron, he raised an eyebrow.

“I suppose you’re declaring a victory?”

“Hey, nothing to do with me,” Aron said, holding his hands up. “I’m simply the messenger.”

Paul appraised him. The way his eyes wandered over Aron’s body made him feel naked. It was horny and unnerving at the same time.

“I wouldn’t put it past the pair of you colluding,” Paul said eventually.

“Hey,” Aron replied. “We’re simply happy to help. And let’s face it, you needed it.”

“Maybe.”

Paul carried on to the bar.

“Aron,” the Professor said, getting to his feet. “This is Wade, Jeremy’s father. Arvid who lives on the street and Zac Caton, Alexander’s other half.”

Alexander’s soap star boyfriend was exceptionally handsome. He was older than Alexander. According to Granny it all worked perfectly. Alexander had always needed someone to keep him tethered to the ground.

Arvid was Cesar’s partner. He was stunning. When Aron had been living on Queens Crescent, Arvid had kept himself to himself. That appeared to have changed. Aron had no doubt who’d helped with that.

The Professor went on to introduce Aron to members of his various Dickens appreciation groups. When he told them where Aron worked, they all snapped to attention. But Aron had no desire to talk about long-dead authors. That felt far too much like being back in New York.

Once bills had been settled, jackets put on and glasses drained, the stags were ready to go.

They left the pub and headed to where Aron had come from. Instantly, he began shivering again.

“Here.”

Paul took off his thick parka jacket and held it to Aron.

“It’s only over there,” Aron said.

“Take it.”

Aron did and slid the jacket onto his body. Paul’s body heat enveloped him. He smelt his familiar cologne too. A mix of bergamot and sandalwood that went straight to Aron’s balls.

“Thanks.”

They wandered down to Club C. The men seemed a little tipsy but nothing compared to what they would be facing when they got inside. He hoped they had their dancing shoes on.

“Things are a smidge wilder in Club C,” Aron warned Paul. “Brace yourself.”

“I’m braced.”

Aron led his band of merry men up the stairs. As he opened the door, the dulcet tones of Dusty Springfield hit them all.

As soon as they got inside, Granny came over and placed her hand in the Professor’s.

“Here he is,” she said with more than a little slurring. “You must have heard me when I sang, ‘I only want to be with you’.”

The Professor looked at Aron. “I think I’d better have one of those cocktails.”

As if by magic, a handsome waiter appeared with a tray full of drinks.

“Help yourselves, everyone,” Aron said. “You might want to knock these back. You’ve got some catching up to do.”

Granny dragged the Professor onto the dancefloor. The others melted away, seemingly in search of their other halves.

Everyone seemed happy except for Nihal. Carl held court with a group of women from Granny’s Women’s Institute. He was stumbling over his words and telling them how much he believed in historical institutions. They were lapping up every word he said.

“What the hell is in these drinks?” Nihal asked.

“Apparently only gin and fruit.”

“Lying sods.”

He sped off to rescue his boyfriend from making a public spectacle of himself. According to Granny, Carl was never off duty. It seemed like a huge sacrifice to Aron. Would he do the same for anyone?

Aron realised he and Paul were alone now all the sickening couples of the street were in each other’s arms on the dancefloor. Alexander and Zac. Arvid and Cesar. Simon and Rodrigo. Suddenly, he felt very alone. Even the Dickens aficionados had followed Nihal and were causing a flurry of interest amongst the Women’s Institute ladies.

He glanced at Paul. Judging by the expression on his face, he’d come to the same conclusion.

“I think you win,” Paul said.

“I was always going to,” Aron replied.

“I don’t remember you being this sure of yourself.”

Aron might have had a few drinks, but he was in control and intended to remain so. He turned to Paul.

“You have a fucking nerve.”

Paul stood back as if he’d been slapped. “What do you mean?”

Aron was on a roll now. This anger had been bubbling inside him for two years. It was time to release it.

“We’ve pussyfooted around this long enough,” Aron said. “You disappeared. Just like that. Not even a goodbye. Didn’t you stop and think for one second that it would hurt me?”

“Keep your voice down,” Paul said.

“Fine,” Aron replied. “I’m going for some fresh air. Maybe you’ll find an old dear to dance with who won’t expect anything too challenging from you.”

With that, Aron stormed outside. He was glad he still had Paul’s jacket on. Even if he had a very strong urge to throw it in the nearest bin.

“Wait.”

Paul was hot on his heels. Aron spun around.

“What do you want from me, Paul?”

The wounded expression on Paul’s face was still there.

“You’re right,” he said, holding his arms out. “I did run away. I didn’t say goodbye because I couldn’t fucking bear it.”

Aron was too stunned for words. All the time he’d thought he was a convenient distraction for Paul. They had all been trapped on Queens Crescent by other events. The minute it was safe, Paul had done a runner. What a mug Aron had been.

“I don’t do talking about feelings,” Paul said. “I never have. When the going gets tough, I leg it to a war zone or the remotest location I can find.”

He ran a hand through his hair.

“I can’t tell you what’s wrong,” he continued. “I can’t.”

“You don’t trust me?”

Paul sighed. His breath becoming dancing smoke before vanishing just as quickly.

“I can’t. That’s it. I know I’m giving you mixed signals but I enjoyed having a truce. I don’t know what it is. Actually, I do. It’s you. I felt that we’d slotted right back in together. Maybe I’ve overstepped the line?”

Aron couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They’d made a tiny bit of progress and he came out with that bullshit.

“Oh I see. There will be no effort on your part to overcome whatever obstacle is in your way?” he said. “And I live with that, do I? What am I expected to do? Be available for as long as you want me then off I pop to New York out of the way again.”

Paul shook his head. “That’s not what I’m saying and you know it.”

At this moment, Aron had absolutely no idea what Paul was saying. All he knew was, once again, he felt like a prime dickhead. It was time to retreat.

“I’m going home. I’d rather you didn’t follow me.”

“You’ve got my coat on.”

Was that the real reason he’d chased him down the stairs? The man was unfuckingbelievable.

“Here then. Have your bloody coat.”

Aron started to pull the item off. Paul crossed the distance between them and slipped his arms around Aron’s body inside the quilted jacket.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Sharing.”

“It’s a violation.”

“May I have your consent?”

Aron stared into Paul’s twinkling eyes. A smirk drifted over his lips.

I’m fucked.

Aron narrowed his eyes. “Granted.”

They kissed. Aron felt Paul’s heartbeat through his thin shirt as they pressed together. All his plans were firmly out of the window. He needed to be naked with his man. As quickly as humanly possible.

So much for the plan.

Aron staggered away.

“Okay. I have an idea,” Aron said.

Paul wiped his lip with his thumb and smiled. “What would that be?”

Damn you are sexy, Paul Higgs.

“We bail individually from the party. I’ll go first. You follow in say, twenty minutes.”

“I like it so far. What are you going to say?”

Hopefully Granny would be far too giddy to be her usual scrutinising self.

Who was he trying to kid?

“I’ll think of something.”

He went to head into the club. Paul stayed him with a hand on his arm.

“Are you sure?”

With absolute resolution, Aron nodded. “You?”

Paul grinned. “I was sure when I heard you were coming home for the wedding.”

“You are full of it.”

He broke away and kissed Paul again.

“Now go about your mission, soldier, and we’ll rendezvous in sixty minutes.”

“Where?”

“Where else? The Nickleby of course.”

As he ran toward the door to the club, he doubled back on himself. This time he managed to get the coat off, which he thrust into a confused Paul’s hands.

“Give me five minutes before following me back inside.”

As he took each step, he asked himself what he thought he was doing. He couldn’t even blame the booze. He hadn’t had that many cocktails.

Fuck it. I need him tonight.

Granny sat in a booth, snuggled up to the Professor and watching the proceedings. He made his way over.

“Darling,” she said. “Where have you been?”

“Talking to Mercury,” he said. “Prof, do you think I might have a quick word with Granny alone?”

His intention was to split them up as they said their goodbyes. Paul would wither under a cross-examination from Granny. Aron had learnt to navigate them over the years. He would fare better facing her alone.

“Of course, young man. How about another cocktail, Beatrice?”

“Why not? I’ll be an old married woman soon.”

The Professor trotted off with a kilowatt smile on his face.

“What is the matter?” Granny asked.

“I feel awful when it’s your big night but Mercury’s meeting Nick in town at a new club. He’s invited me along. Would you hate me if I went?”

Granny glanced over at the door. Aron followed her stare to see Paul coming in.

Too early, you bloody fool.

She leant forward and took his hand. “My lovely boy. I would never stop you doing what you felt you wanted to do. Go and have some fun.”

Does she know?

“Thanks. I hope I don’t regret it in the morning.”

“What’s life without the odd regret? Now off you go. I fancy another dance. I’ll get my second wind soon.”

Aron kissed her on the cheek. “I love you very much. You know that, don’t you?”

“Ever since they handed you to me in the delivery ward and you did the loudest fart I’ve ever heard.”

Aron cringed. This story had haunted him his whole life. It was like she had a mental filing cabinet full of them and she could summon up the perfect tale on demand. He supposed that’s what grandparents were for. Amongst other things.

“Granny,” he said with a groan.

“I mean it. You were so comfortable with me everything relaxed. I knew then that you and I would have something special.”

Aron welled with tears. He would have preferred a kinder story but the sentiment that was there still touched his heart.

“Go. Have fun,” she said.

“I’ll try.”

Before either of them could say any more, the lights dimmed and the spotlight came on the stage.

“What on earth?” Granny exclaimed.

“It’s nothing to do with me,” Aron replied. “I didn’t book an act. Maybe Rodrigo has booked Mick Jagger.”

Granny sat bolt upright. “Oh I don’t think so,” she said. “Mick hasn’t been back to Queens Crescent since the sixties.”

Aron’s eyes widened. “You knew Mick Jagger.”

“I knew him for a few hours,” she said, patting his arm. “Of course, he wanted more but I refused. My father would have gone berserk. Whenever I see Marianne Faithful on the television, I wonder what if.”

He hadn’t heard this story and wasn’t sure he needed any further detail.

“Wow.”

She leant closer and winked. “Wow. Indeed.”

Thankfully, Rodrigo came onto the stage with a huge beam on his face and the crowd applauded.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Sorry for the interruption. Do we have the happy couple?”

Aron gently pushed Granny toward a bewildered Professor, who had wandered onto the dancefloor.

Mick fucking Jagger?

Then he realised that the room he had at Granny’s house was her old childhood bedroom.

“Oh good lord,” he said to himself.

He focused on the stage. It would absolutely not do to dwell on what had gone on in his room. He’d never get a wink of sleep again.

“Ah here they are,” Rodrigo said. “Spotlight, please.”

Granny and the Professor were bathed in light. Aron glanced over at Paul. He winked.

It was the perfect time to escape. Yet, curiosity got the better of him. What was going on?

“We have a pair of surprise guests,” Rodrigo announced. “Please welcome, all the way from New York, Mrs Henrietta Harlton and Professor Gwendolyn Huffam!”

Granny clapped her hands together in delight. She also spun round as the famed fashion designer and her latest love project Josh Winterton walked through the door.

By the time he’d reached her on the dancefloor, two drag queens who were unmistakably Granny and the Prof had entered the stage. The whole crowd went wild. This had to be Josh’s new man, Hugh Mottram, and his drag sister. Well that was a turnup for the books.

Now he was more than ready to use their distraction to his advantage. Aron strode over to Paul.

“Ten minutes,” he said. “Don’t be late.”