Sasha'shead spun as the pill he'd swallowed hit him too hard and too soon:he couldn't recall when he'd last eaten.His throat was tight, noroom in it for anything other than the giant lump that lived therethese days.He swiped a thumb beneath his eyes, surreptitiouslyeven though he was alone.He lived in fear that the lump woulddissolve into infantile grief at any second.But the skin beneathhis eyes was dry, papery and hot.
Hewasn't well, he supposed.He would have held out almostindefinitely without admitting it, but maybe it was getting to thepoint where something would have to be done.Perhaps he was now atthe stage where, for the first time in his life, he actually neededthe services Laurie had so kindly bought for him—Olivia's, andthose of the imaginary rape counsellor he felt he knew quite wellafter creating him for Laurie.Nightmares were one thing, but nowhe was encountering their denizens by broad daylight.The greyghost of a figure at once familiar to him and long lost, beyond hismemory's reach.And, once only, vivid as a raw wound among theCamden market stalls, his father's face—thrust leering towards hisand then gone.
Animaginary doctor and two ghosts.That was quite an inner life,carefully adjusted or concealed for his lover's benefit.Perhaps heneed not have been quite so hard on Laurie for his own hiddenadventures.In fact when Sasha thought about what he'd said to him,the bewildered pain he'd called into those night-blue eyes, hewanted to curl up and weep.
But itwas Mrs Gibson's wedding day.She and Sasha were fast friends.Heremembered the first dinner he'd sat down to in the Mayfairhouse—Sir William dead, not even a ghost at the feast, Marielleperforming her duties as host with an unsteady brilliance.Clara inhigh glee at having her brother and her secret prince together atthe family table—and at being allowed to stay up so late to jointhem—and Mrs G, beaming and shedding blessings with every glance asshe served the meal, because not only did she have her missing girlback under her wing, but her boy had found someone tolove.
Sashasat upright in the pew, hands folded on his lap.He couldn't bearthis gouging emptiness.How did other couples stand it—the ones whorowed and reconciled three times a week?The worst of it was that,if Sasha had little experience of quarrelling, he had still less ofmaking up.He had no store of playful, surrendering gestures orlooks to signal that he was ready to back down.
Anyway,he wasn't.How could he be?Laurie was, as far as he could see,making a move that would terminate everything he loved best abouthis career.And he expected Sasha to accept this professionalsuicide, assist with it.Follow him meekly into thedark...
Thenorth door of the church creaked open, admitting sunlight and abreeze from the Thames.Sasha got up, plastering on a smile.It wasearly for a guest to be arriving, but he had volunteered to act asusher for the Dagenham contingent.He wanted to do a goodjob.
Lauriestepped into a patch of golden light.He was half-hidden behind theenormous trellis of jasmine he was carrying.Setting it downcarefully, he looked around him, dazzled from the brillianceoutside.“Sasha?”
He wasdressed in his pale grey suit, the one that looked as if the tailorhad died of love for him during its creation.Beneath it was awhite linen shirt.His tie was crumpled in his pocket, because onlySasha knew how to knot it for full-dress occasions.He'd tucked ayellow rose into his buttonhole, and its petals cast reflectedsaffron lights into his face.For a long moment, Sasha couldn'tspeak at all.Then he managed, dryly, hands clenched in hispockets, “I've heard it's bad form to outshine thebride.”
“That's just what I was going to say to you.Your new suit fitsokay, then?”
“Yes.”Sasha had woken alone, filled with grief that Laurie hadslipped away in silence once again.Then he had seen the beautifuljacket and trousers, the colour of old ivory, laid out on the endof the bed.“I didn't know what to wear this morning, but somefairy had left these.”
“Some fairy?All those Pride marches and demos for gay rights,and I get calledsomefairy?”
Sashachuckled, and it turned into a sob.“Oh, Laurie.If this Hollywoodthing means so much to you, I'll come with you.Okay?I'llcome.”
“Oh, thank God.”Laurie took a step towards him, fell over thetrellis and shoved it unseeing off to one side.He held out hisarms.“Thank God.”
Sashamet him with passionate force.He laid his brow on Laurie'sshoulder, let go the cry that had been waiting, briefly allowedhimself to burst into tears.He hauled in one breath.“These lastfew days—feeling so far from you when you were right there...Icouldn't bear that, let alone having you five thousand miles awayfor months.”
“But your job.”
“I'll go on sick leave.”Maybe he needed to.He felt likescalding water in Laurie's embrace, ready to evaporate.“Don'tworry.I'll get round it.”
Laurieburied his face in Sasha's hair, gratefully breathing its freshfamiliar scent.He'd spent part of his morning tearing aboutbetween florists, but he'd also attended a nerve-racking meeting inEaling between Douglas Brett and a financial representative fromIvory Gate.So far he'd had to walk out twice in order to gain hisobjectives.Both times he'd been run after with satisfactory speed.In return, and to keep Brett sweet, he'd offered an extra scene forDevlin, one that glued several of the others into making sense.He'd set everything up exactly as if Sasha had been coming too.Notfor one second had he believed it would happen.“Thank God,” hesaid again, voice cracking.
Sashafelt the heat of his tears.He wanted to look up but his ears werebuzzing, grey rags fluttering across his field of vision.“Why's itso important to you, love?”he asked, muffled against Laurie'sshoulder.“That I be there?”
“Why do you think?That I want you as some kind of trophy formy arm?I can't act without you.I can'tbewithout you.”
But you'd still have gone.Sasha letthe thought go—let everything go, dissolving and falling at last.He was in Laurie's arms.Nothing else mattered.“Is it hot inhere?”
“No.But you're white as a sheet.Come with me.”
Theystumbled out together into the churchyard, where a dancing breezeand honeysuckle were combining to make the graves look festive.Laurie led Sasha to a marble tomb amid the long grass and eased himdown, careful to find him a patch free of moss.“There.What'swrong?Are you ill?”
Sashagave it thought.Everything cold and clenched inside him wasexpanding in relief.“No,” he said, hanging on to Laurie's lapel,absently caressing the yellow rose.“I'm just hungry.”
“Missed-breakfast hungry, or...”
“No.The other type.”
Laurienodded in comprehension.Sasha had almost died of starvation on thestreets.Now he ate healthily, but there were times when olddesperations and damage caught up with him.Straightening up,Laurie scanned the green where the marquee staff were strugglingwith flapping white canvas.Beyond it was a little park, a handfulof stallholders setting up for the summer's-day trade.“I know justwhat you need.Hang on.”
He tookthe short cut out of the churchyard.He was a sight, Sashathought—a vision to take to the grave with you, vaulting the wallin his immaculate dove-grey suit.Sasha watched him out of sight,clutching at the tomb's marble edge.
Hereturned more conventionally through the lych-gate.He was cradlinga paper-wrapped package in one hand, a cup in the other.“Here,” hesaid, setting both down on the marble.“Sausage.Bun.Coke.”
Streetfood, immediate and hot.Sugar and caffeine to wash it all down.Glancing at him apologetically, Sasha unwrapped the package.Lauriehad brought paper napkins to protect the beautiful ivory-colouredtrousers, and between them they placed these strategically.“It'sall right,” Laurie told him.“It's safe.You can eat.”
