Page 8 of The Fete of Summer (Tales of Crumbington #1)

Intervention

Before Nathan had a chance to put Clifton straight, Arlene Killroy barged into the group. Oblivious to the tension, she handed Clifton a glass of sparkling something before pulling him away to a pair of waiting guests. Jaymes had released his hold on Nathan by then but remained firmly by his side.

Seeing Arlene hogging Clifton’s attention, Nathan tried to distance himself, but Jaymes placed a hand in the middle of his back and half-pushed him across the room to where Polly tucked into a plate of sushi. She froze mid-chew on seeing Nathan’s expression.

“What the hell was that?” demanded Nathan, yanking his arm away and turning on Jaymes.

“What happened?” asked Polly.

“Saving your arse.” Jaymes picked up his pint of dark ale from the table. “And a simple thank you will do.”

“I didn’t need saving. And I can handle myself. Clifton and I go way back.”

“Is somebody going to tell me what happened?” Polly asked again, handing Nathan a fresh pint of lager.

“I was right,” said Jaymes before Nathan could answer.

“Prince scumbag in the nose-snow, the wannabe movie star over there, was trying to smarm his way into your best friend’s pants.

Invited him to attend some sleazy get-together, probably involving swings and collars and hardcore drugs, if his reputation is anything to go by.

And all this while his partner’s away. Pure class.

The man makes me want to vomit furballs. ”

Nathan’s anger subsided at the word partner.

He hadn’t considered that Clifton might be in a relationship.

Of course a good-looking, high-profile and openly gay man like him would have a plus one, probably somebody equally well-known.

Jaymes obviously knew because he glowered dangerously in Clifton's direction.

All Nathan had seen the other night was the boisterous and irritating joker.

“Jaymes, I really don’t think he was—”

“Oh, come on. You cannot be that na?ve. Polly and I were standing way over here and we could tell what he was up to. Looking at you the way a lion looks at a baby zebra. Licking his fucking eyebrows. When I got to you, I was surprised I saw no saliva dripping off his chin.”

“You told him about me and Clifton?” Nathan asked Polly.

“He asked,” said Polly, sheepish now. “And, to be honest, he’s right. You did look as though you needed rescuing. Clifton always had a way of getting you to do what he wanted. But in my defence, I did tell Jaymes not to intervene.”

“What the hell does any of this have to do with either of you?”

“Done deal, buddy,” said Jaymes, who had now calmed after a good tug on his pint of stout. “You’re my cousin’s friend, which means, by extension, you’re mine. And I look out for my friends. So get used to it.”

“I don’t need looking out for.”

“The hell you don’t.”

“Boys,” said Polly. “Play nicely.”

The phone in Nathan’s jacket pocket dinged a couple of times in short succession.

Taking the opportunity to escape from Polly and Jaymes, he walked towards the pub window to check his messages.

Behind him, he could hear the two of them start a heated exchange.

On checking his phone, he noted the first message was from Clifton, sent before Jaymes had butted in.

Unknown: Cute as ever, Nate. Next Saturday at 7:30. Details to follow. Cliff xx

The second message came as a surprise because he hadn’t yet set up the message group.

Bob Collier: Been chatting with the lads over a pint. I’m in, and so is Norris. And I’m sure others will come around. It’ll be a hoot.

Nathan stared through the pub window, noticing a drizzle starting.

Three members had already agreed to the photoshoot.

Would wonders never cease? As he gazed out, movement caught his eye.

Clifton came strolling across the car park in front of the short guy who had interrupted him and another, much broader and taller, who now held an umbrella over his head.

They moved towards the spotless Tesla, Clifton stopping and waiting for the tall man to open the passenger door for him.

Every action, every movement, looked perfect, as though the walk from the pub exit to the car had been choreographed.

Had Jaymes been right? Was Clifton hitting on him because he thought Nathan would be an easy fuck during a dry spell?

If anything, Nathan preferred to give people the benefit of the doubt.

After watching the car reverse out and head to the main road, he peered down at the final message.

Unknown: My apologies. Bring your friend. Still need time alone tho. Lot of explaining. I’ve missed you, Nate. We were good together. Sending contact deets. Cliff. xx

Nathan bit the inside of his lip. He needed answers.

Memories flooded back of Clifton's beautiful face as Nathan sucked him off. Even simple things came back, like how happy they had been in each other’s company and how well they had worked together on the football field.

Clifton had become the best thing in his life.

Until the Hogmores had disappeared into the night.

What had soon come to light was that the head of school had known about Clifton’s departure more than a month before the event. That news had devastated Nathan. If Clifton had known he would be leaving, why had he said nothing to his best friend and lover? Nathan needed answers.

When he returned to Polly, she gave him an apologetic smile. In his short time away, the three young women who had been hassling Clifton now surrounded Jaymes, who was mid-speech, his handsomely rugged face animated as he enthused about his profession.

“And what people don’t realise is that the threat to trees from pests and diseases has never been greater.

Your grandparents may have told you about DED, Dutch Elm Disease.

Changed the face of the English countryside back in 1975.

Even in our generation, we’ve had cases of Oak Processionary Moth—OPM—even though working closely with the EU, we managed to reduce the number of cases… ”

“I forgot that Jaymes is a tree-hugger,” Nathan whispered to Polly.

“Do not call him that. He takes his work very seriously.”

“…may not be the most glamorous job in the world, but someone needs to protect our species of forest plants and animals for future generations. Despite what some world leaders may tell you, climate change is real, and we’re in danger of losing many of our native species, not only in terms of flora but also forest animals.

You only have to look at the news in places like North America or Australia to know that a beautiful forest that has been around for generations could be gone in a matter of days due to a deadly combination of wildfires and adverse weather conditions.

Our own Mosswold Forest doesn’t have a dedicated environmental specialist, which is why the Forestry Commission sent me here for a few months to carry a kind of stock and health check. ”

“Does that make you, like, Saint Greenpeace for trees?” said one, which had the other two giggling.

“Except I get paid a wage. I’m not a volunteer.”

“You literally look like a superhero,” said another.

Nathan held his tongue even though a couple of comments began to form.

“Do you drive a Range Rover? And wear a flat cap and tweeds and green wellies? And go fox-hunting?” asked another. Hats off to Jaymes, he took the comments in his stride, kept smiling and answered good-naturedly. Out of the corner of his eye, Nathan noticed Arlene making a beeline their way.

“I do drive an old Land Rover, and yes, I also possess a pair of green wellies as well as a matching Barbour jacket. But both are old and purely functional.”

Without even glancing at anyone else, Arleen dragged Nathan away to a quieter spot at the back of the room. Nathan was getting a little irritated at being pulled around.

“You and Clifton O’Keefe are friends?” she whispered. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Years ago, Arlene. School friends. And I didn’t think he’d remember.”

“Well, he clearly does. And now he’s gone without even saying goodbye,” she said, sounding a little miffed.

“He probably has a busy schedule. But if you’re worried about him being committed to opening the fête, then don’t. He’s definitely on board.”

“Of course, of course. I know that. And did the two of you have a nice catch-up? I don’t suppose he gave you any contact details. I could ask my husband, but he’s already done so much. All I’ve been given is his manager’s email.”

For a fleeting moment, Nathan considered sharing Clifton's phone number with her, but Arlene did not come across as the type who respected boundaries.

“I’m seeing him next Saturday. He has my number and said he’s going to be in touch. If you don’t mind waiting until then, I can either give him yours or pass his details on to you. How does that sound?”

“Marvellous.”

“And we have volunteers to do the calendar.”

“We do? How wonderful. How many?”

“Four. Mike Shanton, Norris Hillwood, Bob Collier and me.”

“Oh,” said Arlene, her disappointment vaguely insulting.

“So far,” said Nathan. “I’ve only just put the word out. It wasn’t a show of hands, and some will want to talk to their other halves. I’m sure there’ll be more.”

“Let’s hope so. How many of the squad are single?”

Nathan made a quick mental calculation and included those who were single, divorced or separated—and not dating—into the pot.

“Around nine.”

“Including you?”

“I’m gay, Arlene.”

“You’re single, though, aren’t you?”

“Terminally.”

“Ten, then. Excellent. We should start the bidding at a hundred pounds a player. What do you think?”

As if his opinion even mattered. He knew exactly what was going through her head. One event, and she would already have achieved almost half of what the committee made last year for the whole day.

“Fine.”

“It’ll be fun,” she said.

Her attention elsewhere now, she wiggled the fingers of one hand at friends and headed off. He waited until she was well out of earshot before murmuring to himself.

“It’ll be an embarrassment.”

“What’ll be an embarrassment?” came Jaymes’ voice next to him, startling him.

“Will you stop stalking me?”

“I’m not stalking—” Jaymes looked away, his eyebrows scrunched together, and he sighed. “Polly sent me over to see if you wanted a lift. In case you haven’t noticed, the weather’s taken a turn for the worse. Apparently your place is on our way. Or you could come back and share some lunch with us.”

“Polly’s cooking?” said Nathan, aghast. Polly only ever opened packets or tins. He wondered if she even knew how to use her microwave.

“Of course not.”

“You’re getting takeaway?”

“I’m cooking. Why do people find that so hard to believe?”

“Give me a few moments to come up with a suitable response.”

“You want a lift or not?”

Nathan peered out the window to where the weather had worsened.

Rain hammered down from the sky, January rain—ice cold, unrelenting, and able to pierce even the thickest overcoat.

His flat stood a brisk forty-five-minute walk away, usually giving him refreshing exercise after a beer.

If he walked, he would get soaked. A lift home would be a sensible alternative.

“Go on, then. But you can drop me home.”

After finding Polly chatting with a Nigerian woman who turned out to be the photographer, Jenny Nwadike, they stayed for a little longer before making their farewells.

Trudging across the car park beneath umbrellas that Jaymes and Polly had sensibly brought, they made their way over to a British racing green Land Rover, an old style with two doors and a canvas covering over the back of the vehicle.

“Series three, single wheelbase,” said Jaymes, pulling keys from a jacket pocket. “My pride and joy. Came off the line in ‘76. Belonged to Granddad. She’s a beauty. Just needs a bit of love and attention from time to time.”

“Don’t we all,” said Nathan and Polly in unison. Both laughed and high-fived at their shared response.

After opening the passenger side for Polly, Jaymes walked to the back and opened up the canvas flap before looking expectantly at Nathan.

When Nathan peered inside, he saw an untidy mess of a toolkit, bolt cutters, deflated football, plastic tub and buckets, two huge water bottles—the type you find upside down on a water cooler—a range of brushes, rubbish sacks, confectionary wrappers and old bits of flora carpeting the floor.

“You want me to get in there? Without a tetanus shot?”

“It’s either that or the roof,” said Jaymes, the smug smile back on his face.

“We’ve only recently met, and you already take great pride in humiliating me, don’t you?”

“You need no help from me, hotshot. Getting in or not?”

Nathan clambered awkwardly into the back and made himself cosy on a rolled-up carpet against one side of the car. Watching Nathan, Jaymes continued holding the canvas flap open.

“What now?” asked Nathan.

“Are you going to Pretty Boy’s house next weekend?”

“What do you care?”

“Nate! Nathan . Are you going?”

“I’ve been invited, yes.”

“Just you?”

“Just me.”

“What time on Saturday?”

“What? Why? You’re not—”

“ What time on Saturday?”

“It’s an all-male dinner party, Jaymes. Nothing more—”

“ Nathan !”

Nathan breathed out a sigh. Maybe he did need moral support. If he went alone, he might feel out of his depth among a group of celebrities.

“Seven-thirty.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Fine.”

Jaymes’ reply came in the canvas flap being slapped back into place and the driver’s door opening and slamming closed. All the way back to the shop, Nathan braced himself against the chassis to stop from being thrown across the car, doing a better job than the poor squashed football.