“You’ve def’ been lipsing, I can tell,” Petey said.
I rolled my eyes very, very hard.
“See! You have!” He was triumphant.
“We haven’t. You know the rule.”
Petey wasn’t having it.
“OK, Lady Chatterley. Rules are meant to be broken—and you clearlywantto lips him!” he said. “Good on you, fam. Maybe just give him a Kwell first, yeah? And maybe wear, like, some full-body PPE or sumfink.”
The more I protested, the redder my face got, the less the boys believed me. Probably because, well, Ididwant to kiss Ludo. I might have started out being nice to him to undo the potential damage I’d done to my career by insulting his family, but I’d grown to really like him. He was sweet and beautiful and hilarious and great company, and spending time with him had been like putting on a favourite hoodie. But I also couldn’t escape that fact that he was also infuriating and entitled and oblivious to his privilege—and giving in to the part of me that wanted to kiss him would only lead to tears. It was why I’d pulled away when he’d tried to pull me onto the bed.
Ludowassomeone who knew which knife and fork to use and when. I’d never eaten a meal that required more than one knife and fork in the first place. The cold hard realist inside me knew Ludo Boche was a bad idea. But the thing about really bad ideas is they can be really tempting.
Chapter30
Ludo
When I stepped out of the ballet studio, I felt like a million dollars. It was one of those bright late-April days when the sun has heat in it, the bluebells and tulips are out, and the trees have turned fully green, even in traditionally Conservative electorates where turning green is still punishable by hanging. I looked up at a big blue sky above me and sucked in a lungful of oxygen (diesel particulate, really; this was London, after all). I had just replied to Sunny’s message on GayHoller saying I’d love to join him and his mates at Miss Timmy’s when a large four-wheel drive stopped right in front of me, blocking my sunshine. The smooth whirr of an electric window winding down was followed by an all-too-familiar voice.
“Ludo, sweetheart.” Mummy never picked me up from ballet class, even when I was seven and taking the class rather than teaching it and the Child Catcher fromChitty Chitty Bang Bangcould have kidnapped me on the walk home at any point.
“What are you doing here?”
She slipped her sunglasses up onto her head, and I could see she was upset about something.
“You better get in, bubby.”
I knew from the crack in her voice it was serious.
Chapter31
Sunny
The thing about day drinking is, at some point you have to make a decision. Sometime in the afternoon, when the shadows are getting long and the air is beginning to cool, you have to flip a coin. It’s still only five or six o’clock. Most people haven’t even started their pre-drinks for a big night out yet, but you’re already wankered. So, do you leave the venue, grab a kebab, walk it off for a bit, and go home to sober up before bedtime? Or do you push on through, order another round of drinks, and try to beat your own liver at a game of who’s the hardest? The moment for decision came. I (metaphorically) flipped that coin, and, inevitably, it landed on “stay out with your crew.”
I checked GayHoller. Still nothing from Ludo. He’d said he was going home to shower and change and then he’d join us at Miss Timmy’s, but he’d never turned up. After inviting him, admitting that fact to the boys, changing my mind, having Ludo say yes, and mentally preparing myself for him coming anyway, to have him jilt me was… maddening. I’d messaged to say we’d moved on to the Duncan for the early drag show and to join us there, but nothing. It was clear I had been stood up, which, obviously, the boys ragged me about mercilessly. I was miserable.
“You all right, babe?” Dav said. Onstage, one of the newer queens, Sandy Crotch, was belting out “Euphoria,” the Eurovision winning song from 2012. That was the year I missed the final because I was busy losing my virginity to a guy called Gary Bender. Dav had a cob on with me on both counts. No self-respecting homosexual missed the Eurovision final, and certainly not to lose their virginity to someone called Gary.
“I’m fine,” I said. “For someone who’s been ghosted by London’s foremost vomit correspondent.”
“You do like him, don’t you?”
My heart hurt. I looked into Dav’s big brown eyes, pleading for the inquisition to stop. He put up his hands in surrender, then flung an arm around me. He leant his head against mine, the bulk of his turban a soft cushion between us.
“The boys want to hit Vauxhall,” he said. “You up for it?”
In a moment of clarity, I put my drink down on the bar.
“I think I might go home,” I said.
Sometimes, when you flip a coin, you get the wrong outcome. There’s no dishonour in altering course. Minds, like underpants, are meant to be changed occasionally. I hugged Dav goodnight and dropped a metaphorical smoke bomb on the evening. On the Tube ride home, I crafted Ludo a withering GayHoller message.
Ginger:Dead rude, mate. A text is cheap and manners cost nothing. Bang out of order.
* * *
