Page 47 of The Best of Times

Alexander’s soap star boyfriend was exceptionally handsome. He was older than Alexander. According to Granny it all worked perfectly. Alexander had always needed someone to keep him tethered to the ground.

Arvid was Cesar’s partner. He was stunning. When Aron had been living on Queens Crescent, Arvid had kept himself to himself. That appeared to have changed. Aron had no doubt who’d helped with that.

The Professor went on to introduce Aron to members of his various Dickens appreciation groups. When he told them where Aron worked, they all snapped to attention. But Aron had no desire to talk about long-dead authors. That felt far too much like being back in New York.

Once bills had been settled, jackets put on and glasses drained, the stags were ready to go.

They left the pub and headed to where Aron had come from. Instantly, he began shivering again.

“Here.”

Paul took off his thick parka jacket and held it to Aron.

“It’s only over there,” Aron said.

“Take it.”

Aron did and slid the jacket onto his body. Paul’s body heat enveloped him. He smelt his familiar cologne too. A mix of bergamot and sandalwood that went straight to Aron’s balls.

“Thanks.”

They wandered down to Club C. The men seemed a little tipsy but nothing compared to what they would be facing when they got inside. He hoped they had their dancing shoes on.

“Things are a smidge wilder in Club C,” Aron warned Paul. “Brace yourself.”

“I’m braced.”

Aron led his band of merry men up the stairs. As he opened the door, the dulcet tones of Dusty Springfield hit them all.

As soon as they got inside, Granny came over and placed her hand in the Professor’s.

“Here he is,” she said with more than a little slurring. “You must have heard me when I sang, ‘I only want to be with you’.”

The Professor looked at Aron. “I think I’d better have one of those cocktails.”

As if by magic, a handsome waiter appeared with a tray full of drinks.

“Help yourselves, everyone,” Aron said. “You might want to knock these back. You’ve got some catching up to do.”

Granny dragged the Professor onto the dancefloor. The others melted away, seemingly in search of their other halves.

Everyone seemed happy except for Nihal. Carl held court with a group of women from Granny’s Women’s Institute. He was stumbling over his words and telling them how much he believed in historical institutions. They were lapping up every word he said.

“What the hell is in these drinks?” Nihal asked.

“Apparently only gin and fruit.”

“Lying sods.”

He sped off to rescue his boyfriend from making a public spectacle of himself. According to Granny, Carl was never off duty. It seemed like a huge sacrifice to Aron. Would he do the same for anyone?

Aron realised he and Paul were alone now all the sickening couples of the street were in each other’s arms on the dancefloor. Alexander and Zac. Arvid and Cesar. Simon and Rodrigo. Suddenly, he felt very alone. Even the Dickens aficionados had followed Nihal and were causing a flurry of interest amongst the Women’s Institute ladies.

He glanced at Paul. Judging by the expression on his face, he’d come to the same conclusion.

“I think you win,” Paul said.

“I was always going to,” Aron replied.