could come over for a visit," Valentine says tentatively, and Lindsay makes an accidental sound of scorn. "Because that wouldn't be awkward at all, would it?" "Don't have to be. She's still your friend, ain't she? Like Olly's mine."
Another silence, even longer than before. The chair's uncomfortable, Lindsay's starting to go numb, but he doesn't want to move; it's as if moving would shatter something delicate in the air. Then Valentine speaks up again:
"You know what I said before... in France when me and you was fighting, when I went away?"
"You said a lot of things."
"You know when I said I don't care if you wanna be with other people, like if you fancy girls as well, I don't care if you wanna see other people so long as you're nice to me when it's just me and you? I still mean it. If it helps." It's a nice gesture, but he's lying. He wouldn't sound so strangled and heartbroken if he meant it. "I mean... I never known what it's like being any other way, I always knew I liked boys my whole life, even when I was like seven I knew it. So if you don't wanna be with me all the time... I don't mind, you can be with women as well if you want and I won't kick off, it's alright. If you're miserable. If it helps."
"Philip-"
"And I swear it ain't some open-relationship scam cos I still wanna be with Olly or nothing cos I don't, but... is that how it works, being bi? Are you miserable just being with one? I don't know what it's like but if you slept with all them women and no men that means you really really like it, and-"
"Maybe I slept with all them women because they didn't matter, did you ever think of that?" Valentine just sniffs loudly, so Lindsay tries to get a laugh with, "Disposable tarts, can't even remember their names," and it works.
"You're a sexist pig." "Then it's a good job I don't plan on trying to impress any women, isn't it? Unless... do you count?"
"Fuck off."
"No." He gets up off the arse-numbing chair and goes to sit on the bed. Valentine moves across the blankets to make space for him and they end up cuddling like teenagers, Valentine popping some of Lindsay's shirt buttons through so he can find some skin to touch and Lindsay threading his fingers through Valentine's hair and combing out the tangles he didn't reach yet. "I'm not miserable. I don't want to sleep with women. They're harder to get off than you are, anyway." Valentine makes a disgusted noise, but he doesn't talk any more and he falls asleep where he is, half-dressed with his palm to Lindsay's beating heart.
8.
October 2014
The weather starts to turn, but it doesn't seem to get that much colder. It just rains , endless miserable grey drizzle that always seems to find its way into your collar no matter how tightly you button up or how many times you wind your scarf round.
It's a week from Halloween, not even three months since they got back together, less than a month since Pip moved all his stuff into Lindsay's huge Georgian house in Dulwich and messed the place up, and already it's like he's been there forever. It's only weird when he thinks about it, but he can't help thinking about it all the fucking time – how easy it all is, how it's so comfortable, how domestic they are. It feels like they've been married for fifty years and it's so strange, it shouldn't be like this. He kicks his boots off just inside the door, stepping around the little puddles he's left on the hall floor so he doesn't get his socks wet, and unwinds metres of the cold damp Doctor Who scarf that suddenly feels like it's choking him. "Where are you?" he yells, even though it's kind of obvious. There's an amazing smell coming from the kitchen. He's already in preemptive mourning for his waistline.
"Where do you think?" Lindsay's at the table with whiskey and a cigarette and a book closed over his thumb to keep his page. He turns his face up for an upside-down kiss as Pip goes past him to get a Corona out the fridge. "You're late. If we had a dog your dinner
Another silence, even longer than before. The chair's uncomfortable, Lindsay's starting to go numb, but he doesn't want to move; it's as if moving would shatter something delicate in the air. Then Valentine speaks up again:
"You know what I said before... in France when me and you was fighting, when I went away?"
"You said a lot of things."
"You know when I said I don't care if you wanna be with other people, like if you fancy girls as well, I don't care if you wanna see other people so long as you're nice to me when it's just me and you? I still mean it. If it helps." It's a nice gesture, but he's lying. He wouldn't sound so strangled and heartbroken if he meant it. "I mean... I never known what it's like being any other way, I always knew I liked boys my whole life, even when I was like seven I knew it. So if you don't wanna be with me all the time... I don't mind, you can be with women as well if you want and I won't kick off, it's alright. If you're miserable. If it helps."
"Philip-"
"And I swear it ain't some open-relationship scam cos I still wanna be with Olly or nothing cos I don't, but... is that how it works, being bi? Are you miserable just being with one? I don't know what it's like but if you slept with all them women and no men that means you really really like it, and-"
"Maybe I slept with all them women because they didn't matter, did you ever think of that?" Valentine just sniffs loudly, so Lindsay tries to get a laugh with, "Disposable tarts, can't even remember their names," and it works.
"You're a sexist pig." "Then it's a good job I don't plan on trying to impress any women, isn't it? Unless... do you count?"
"Fuck off."
"No." He gets up off the arse-numbing chair and goes to sit on the bed. Valentine moves across the blankets to make space for him and they end up cuddling like teenagers, Valentine popping some of Lindsay's shirt buttons through so he can find some skin to touch and Lindsay threading his fingers through Valentine's hair and combing out the tangles he didn't reach yet. "I'm not miserable. I don't want to sleep with women. They're harder to get off than you are, anyway." Valentine makes a disgusted noise, but he doesn't talk any more and he falls asleep where he is, half-dressed with his palm to Lindsay's beating heart.
8.
October 2014
The weather starts to turn, but it doesn't seem to get that much colder. It just rains , endless miserable grey drizzle that always seems to find its way into your collar no matter how tightly you button up or how many times you wind your scarf round.
It's a week from Halloween, not even three months since they got back together, less than a month since Pip moved all his stuff into Lindsay's huge Georgian house in Dulwich and messed the place up, and already it's like he's been there forever. It's only weird when he thinks about it, but he can't help thinking about it all the fucking time – how easy it all is, how it's so comfortable, how domestic they are. It feels like they've been married for fifty years and it's so strange, it shouldn't be like this. He kicks his boots off just inside the door, stepping around the little puddles he's left on the hall floor so he doesn't get his socks wet, and unwinds metres of the cold damp Doctor Who scarf that suddenly feels like it's choking him. "Where are you?" he yells, even though it's kind of obvious. There's an amazing smell coming from the kitchen. He's already in preemptive mourning for his waistline.
"Where do you think?" Lindsay's at the table with whiskey and a cigarette and a book closed over his thumb to keep his page. He turns his face up for an upside-down kiss as Pip goes past him to get a Corona out the fridge. "You're late. If we had a dog your dinner
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