‘What did he look like?’ Aleksey rubbed his shin. He thought it wasveryrelevant to the situation—he reckoned the moron, despite being an utter fuckwit, could afford to be extremely choosy. He polished off his whisky and reached for the bottle to top them all up once more. There were serendipitous outcomes to having a boyfriend’s friend in despair—namely being allowed to drink at lunchtime—and he was determined to make the most of the situation. He emptied the contents of this first bottle into his glass then got up and rummaged until he found another, listening with half an ear to the various speculations and reassurances going on behind him. Whisky and then neat gin would be an odd combination, but as he always maintained, fortune favoured the brave.
As he was returning after the successful alcohol hunt, Tim sat a little straighter, took a breath as if he were back at university about to deliver a lecture and declared with authority, ‘This ismyfault. I’ve only got myself to blame. This is about the baby thing.’ Ben appeared about to argue this assessment forcibly but patently couldn’t think of anything to say to counter it. Tim continued anyway, his focus only on his own misery.
‘It was the wedding that finished him off. So gorgeous, wasn’t it? And you two, sitting there so perfect, as if you were… I didn’t sayweshould—I mean, obviously I wouldn’t suggestthat—not tohim. But I think that’s what Michael heard anyway.’ He discovered his glass was full once more so drank the gin down as if it was juice, something Aleksey watched with fascinated admiration. He’d never seen Tim Watson paralytic and anticipated the results being spectacular. Suddenly, Tim broke off from the intent watching of his glass being refilled and cried out accusingly, ‘You both think heisfucking someone else, don’t you? You’re not even trying to defend him!’ Some startling realisation appeared to strike him. He turned sharply to him.
‘Youknowsomething about this!’
‘Me? Why me?’
‘Because! You’re always scheming together! It’s usually just a pile of crap, so I ignore it just like Ben does, but now he’s told you something.You know something.’ He rose extremely quickly and went out of the room into the granite extension.
Aleksey craned around to follow his progress. ‘Has he gone to get a gun?’
‘What!’
‘The prof—’
‘This isn’t funny, Nik.’
‘Oh, come on. It really is.’
‘Out of the blue, Squeezy goes and—’
‘Ben.’ He put his hand on Ben’s, stroking his thumb over the face of his beautiful watch. ‘Is this honestly such a surprise to you? Tim knows in his heart of hearts what this is about—he went straight there.’
‘Yeah, I guess. The baby thing.’
He quickly took the opportunity of Ben sinking into a deep reverie, which being uncharacteristic might not last long, to top them both up and polish his drink off before Ben could object. The neat gin was revolting, but the room was beginning to appear quite cheerful, tastefully decorated if he did say so himself. ‘Do you think there’s anything to eat?’ He added swiftly, ‘It might do Tim some good to eat something?’
Ben immediately rose and began to rummage once more, cupboards and fridge being explored. Now out of direct observation,hetopped up his glass and gulped it down. Tim returned with a bottle of brandy and slumped back at the table, morosely filling his tumbler. He waved the bottle at them and they both accepted. Ben had apparently forgotten about the food, which was extremely worrying.
They were quiet, each lost in their own thoughts as they sat at the table, passing the bottle between them. Suddenly, Tim slurred, ‘Fuck it! I’m going to phone him!’
Aleksey, with some difficulty because it was out of focus, plucked the phone from Tim’s fingers, holding it out of reach. ‘I’ve got a better idea.’
* * *
It probably would have been a good idea if they hadn’t all been extremely drunk by the time they set off for Exeter airport. Tim possibly could have driven, as he never drank as quickly as they both did, but he had shorter legs, and he’d finally succumbed to grief at the end of his relationship, one he’d apparently envisioned marriage and children being part of, and consequently was in no fit state to do anything other than swing alarmingly between self-recrimination and promises of painful retribution. As he pointed out between hiccups from the back seat, they had a house now! Wasn’t that what everybody did when they had a house?—plan marriage, babies!
Neither Radulf nor PB was considered for the driving role, or only briefly, anyway, despite them both being sober, alert and manifestly very eager to get to Scilly quickly and thwart the cheating one. Or possibly just watch him, if some of their habits in the glass house were anything to go by.
So Ben got nominated as driver. Hecoulddrive drunk and had done so many times before, despite Aleksey knowing Ben would deny this if challenged. And Ben didn’t lie. He genuinely believed his excessively careful turning of corners, stopping at every stop sign, using his indicators correctly and obeying the speed limit were not abnormal things for him to be doing—he didn’t know he was drunk. Aleksey, who often sat alongside Ben with his eyes shut, actually enjoyed this short, zealously careful trip. But everything was feeling extremely mellow for some reason. Someone else in trouble for once was undeniably pleasant.
They were all used to the short flight to Hugh Town now. Even the dogs were well-behaved, lying in their assigned crates in the aircraft without protest. They were on a mission, Aleksey could tell. He’d brought the alcohol with them and kept all three of them well lubricated whenever the cabin crew weren’t looking. If he’d known Ben would relax his constant, excessive and fuckingly annoying monitoring over a friend in need, he’d have created more havoc in their friends’ relationship ages ago. He had many ideas, conjured late at night, how he might throw a spanner in the works between these two men, and they were all very enjoyable. For him, anyway. He was having a great deal more fun than even he’d anticipated from the baby tyrant being gone: a whole morning fucking Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen, a frosty drive over Dartmoor, getting enough ammunition on the moron to last him years, and now an unexpected and highly amusing drunken escapade to Light Island.
Ben was chatting quietly to Tim, but when the recipient of all his relationship wisdom fell asleep on him, he muttered,
‘What the fuck are we doing?’
Aleksey chuckled. ‘We should parachute him in—toss him out right over the lawn.’ He demonstrated this with a twirling finger.
‘It’snotfunny.’
‘Itis. I especially like that the cretin dragged you into it—used you as an excuse to cheat.’
Ben checked his sleeping companion then pointed out, ‘This is going to absolutely destroy him. He’s keeping a brave face on—probably because of you. But you didn’t see him last time.’
‘No, I did. Nothing on at all, not even a brave face.’
