The Make

need it. You’ve had a face like thunder for half the night, and is that what I pay for? I don’t think so. I just thought a little relaxation would do us both good, okay?’

‘No, actually it’s not okay,’ said Harry, enraged. ‘What the fuck next, Rohypnol? What sort of sad bitch are you, that you’ve got to drug a man before he’ll hump you?’

Becca’s face flooded with angry colour. She sprang up on the bed and glared at him. ‘If that’s how you feel, you’d better just piss off,’ she yelled.

‘Yeah. That is how I feel.’ His head whirling, he crossed the room unsteadily and picked up his jacket. He fumbled inside, found the envelope full of cash. He flung it on to the floor. ‘And here’s your full refund.’ Notes spilled out on the carpet but he didn’t give a shit. He shrugged on his jacket.

‘You useless bastard,’ shouted Becca. ‘I bet you couldn’t have got it up anyway.’

Harry strode to the door. He looked back at her, with her chocolate-smeared breasts and her face distorted and ugly with temper. ‘Night, Becca,’ he said, and left.

‘Fuck you!’ she screamed after him.

Lefty phoned Deano. He said: ‘I found out who took Alfie, Deano.’

‘Tell me.’

‘George Doyle.’ And Lefty gave Deano all George’s details.

* * *

It was very late when he got back to the flat, but Harry was so buzzed that he knew he’d never settle down to sleep. He wanted to talk to George, just a chat, just to talk things through.

Ah, who am I kidding? he thought.

What he wanted to say to George was that he’d had enough of the escort business. That he never wanted to have to do any of these women for cash, ever again. Even the bloody dole office and the boredom of just kicking his heels all day was better than this. He felt hurt, near tears, desperately sad over losing Emma. And more than that. Meeting Jackie and then Emma had forced him to confront things about himself that he had always shied away from. He was shiftless. He was lazy. He had no ambition. He had been wasting his life, letting it drift by – his one precious, unrepeatable life.

Why the fuck had George done this to him? He’d changed Harry from an easy-going young man about town – lazy and shiftless, true, but happy.

Now, he couldn’t even remember what happiness was. He was disgusted with himself. It was good that Emma had dumped him, because she deserved so much better than a useless waste of space like him. He would only have made her miserable. They could never have made a go of things, and now he could see that, could admit it to himself, even if it pained him.

He knew it was terribly late, but he had to talk to George about it all, or go off his head. He walked along the hall, still wearing his coat, and gently opened George’s door.

All right, if George was deeply asleep he wouldn’t wake him. But he needed to talk. The coke he’d ingested was still buzzing around his head, making him feel hyper. ‘George?’ he whispered, looking towards the bed.

And there, in the white cool moonlight spilling in from the window, was George, his arm flung around the slumbering Alfie. The musky scent of sex hung in the air.

Harry stepped back, recoiling with shock from the evidence of his own eyes.

George . . . and Alfie?

Harry stepped back, gently closing the door on the sleeping couple. He padded off down the hall, went into his own room, and sat on the bed for a long, long time.

Chapter 50

At breakfast next day, when Alfie nipped off to the corner shop to fetch milk, Harry took the opportunity to lay it on the line for George. He couldn’t just ignore what he’d seen. He wanted to, but he couldn’t.

‘I wanted to talk to you last night,’ he said, as George buttered toast.

‘Yeah? What about?’ George was smiling, in a good mood. In a great mood.

‘About the fact I’m not doing the escorting any more,’ said Harry.

George stopped buttering. ‘What? Why?’

‘Because I hate it, George. Because I feel like shit when I do it. Because I’m a fucking whore, and I don’t like it.’

George laid down the knife. ‘So what will you do?’

Harry shrugged unhappily. ‘God knows. Go back on the dole. Get a job. Something. I just know I can’t go on doing it, okay?’

‘Well if that’s how you feel . . .’ said George.

‘It is.’

‘Well then it’s fine.’ George started scooping marmalade on to the toast. ‘You’ve got to do your own thing, that’s okay with me.’

‘George.’

‘Un-huh?’

‘There’s something else.’

‘Shoot.’

‘I came in your room to talk to you last night.’

George paused with the toast halfway to his lips. His eyes met Harry’s. ‘Ah,’ he said.

‘“Ah”? Is that all you can say?’ Harry looked outraged. ‘Jesus H Christ in a sidecar, George, I didn’t have a clue. I mean . . . you . . . and Alfie.’

George put the toast down, his smile fading to nothing. ‘You’re pig-sick, right? You think it’s the most disgusting thing you ever saw.’

‘No,’ said Harry hastily. ‘Well yes. No. Fuck it, George, you might have given me a bit of warning. I just . . . couldn’t believe it, that’s all. You and Alfie. I always thought you were straight.’

George gazed at Harry sadly. ‘I always thought I was straight too. You think I’m not just as shocked as you are? Think again. I tried hard enough to be that. But now I can see it was just that – trying to be something, trying so hard; and finally, I just failed.’

‘Jesus, it’s not a failure, George,’ said Harry, desperately praying that the right words were going to come out of his mouth somehow. He felt like his whole world was spinning out of control. George was somehow not George at all; George was . . . well, they’d laughed light-heartedly and yes, a bit cruelly, about homosexuals together in the past. Called them shirt-lifters. Benders. And all the time, George must have been just pretending. George wasn’t the George he’d always known, not at all.

‘I just . . .’ Harry hesitated. ‘Well, Alfie. You and him. And he looks so bloody young.’

‘He’s seventeen,’ said George.

‘He looks a lot younger.’

‘I know that. But he isn’t. I’m not a fucking paedo, Harry. I would never do a thing like that – bed anyone underage. You know that.’

‘Yeah. I do.’ Harry ran his hands over his face, up into his hair. ‘Jesus, George, it’s just such a shock.’

‘I know.’

‘I’m gonna have to get used to it,’ said Harry. He looked at the tablecloth for long moments. ‘Anyway, I’ve decided I’m going to quit the escort stuff, and I’m going to move out, give you and Alfie a bit of space.’

‘Shit, Harry,’ groaned George. ‘You’re disgusted. I was right, wasn’t I? You can’t stand to be around two raging faggots like me and Alf.’

Harry shook his head. ‘Don’t be stupid. I love you man, you know I do. And Alfie, I got no problem with him, he’s great. You and Alfie? Well, it’s a shock but . . . it’s cool. Although Mum’s gonna go completely apeshit, no