suspicious.
"Look, you're not some sort of weirdo are you? Or gay? I'm not into that side of things, or anything like that."
"Listen, it's just a friendly offer of a roof over your head, nothing more, nothing less," Michael lied. He had a plan and Jacob would be just the man he needed to help him put it into effect, if he could convince the young man to throw in his lot with him.
Jacob rose from the bench, pulling himself up to his full height. Michael looked surprised when Jacob appeared to be at least three inches taller than himself. From his position curled up on the bench, the young man had looked smaller somehow. No matter, Michael wasn't intending anything violent. He thought that Jacob might just be the man he needed to help him in a coming venture. For now however, it was necessary to get Jacob back to his home, and try to engender a sense of gratitude in his new friend.
Jacob stretched, looked up and around at the multi-coloured seafront lights suspended between the resort's lamp-posts, and at the dark starlit autumn sky. A breeze was being driven in towards the promenade from the English Channel, and the salt air held the tang of a cool night as it whipped around his face. Wherever Michael lived, it would probably be a more pleasant option than spending another night in the open, and risking arrest for vagrancy by some bored copper with nothing better to do than pick on homeless young people. His mind made up, he agreed to go with Michael and the two young men walked together towards the less salubrious end of town, where Michael's home lay. It was, he explained to Jacob, only temporary. He'd be finding something better soon.
Twenty minutes later, arriving at Michaels flat, Jacob had cause to pause and think that perhaps he might have been better taking his chances on the seafront bench. Michael's flat was squalid to say the least, though Jacob could have added a whole host of less than complimentary terms to that one simple word to describe the place he found himself in. The whole flat smelled of something unclean, though Jacob couldn't put a name to the scent that assaulted his olfactory nerves. Perhaps it was just the fact that he'd spent days living in the fresh air of the seafront, but he almost retched as he was swept into the living area by Michael, who proceeded to flop on the sofa in the middle of the room, gesturing to Jacob to take seat in one of the two tattered armchairs that made up the other components of the three-piece suite that had seen many better days, that was for sure.
"Bet you could do with a hot drink, eh, Jacob?" asked Michael, after allowing his guest the luxury of five minutes relaxation on the sofa.
"Wouldn't mind," Jacob replied, and Michael gestured to follow him into the kitchen.
The kitchen reminded Jacob of something out of a war zone. Pots and pans lay strewn on top of the grease encrusted cooker, the centrepiece of which was a heavily burned and well-used frying pan, that, like everything in Michael's flat appeared to have seen better days. The sink was piled high with used plates and bowls giving the whole area the appearance of a piece of grotesque modern sculpture. The worktops were equally laden with plates that bore the remains of a few take-out meals, well past their sell-by dates by the look of them, and Jacob estimated that anything he ate or drank in this place would probably be guaranteed to give him a dose of salmonella at the very least. He was surprised therefore when Michael opened a cupboard and extracted a couple of clean mugs and a clean spoon produced from a cutlery drawer positioned strategically next to the sink.
"I hate washing up," said Michael, by way of explanation for the culinary and hygienic mayhem that lay before them. "I get around to it about once a week," he went on, though Jacob estimated that once a month might be nearer the mark.
"Is Bovril all right? I ran out of tea and coffee days ago and haven't had chance to do any shopping since
"Look, you're not some sort of weirdo are you? Or gay? I'm not into that side of things, or anything like that."
"Listen, it's just a friendly offer of a roof over your head, nothing more, nothing less," Michael lied. He had a plan and Jacob would be just the man he needed to help him put it into effect, if he could convince the young man to throw in his lot with him.
Jacob rose from the bench, pulling himself up to his full height. Michael looked surprised when Jacob appeared to be at least three inches taller than himself. From his position curled up on the bench, the young man had looked smaller somehow. No matter, Michael wasn't intending anything violent. He thought that Jacob might just be the man he needed to help him in a coming venture. For now however, it was necessary to get Jacob back to his home, and try to engender a sense of gratitude in his new friend.
Jacob stretched, looked up and around at the multi-coloured seafront lights suspended between the resort's lamp-posts, and at the dark starlit autumn sky. A breeze was being driven in towards the promenade from the English Channel, and the salt air held the tang of a cool night as it whipped around his face. Wherever Michael lived, it would probably be a more pleasant option than spending another night in the open, and risking arrest for vagrancy by some bored copper with nothing better to do than pick on homeless young people. His mind made up, he agreed to go with Michael and the two young men walked together towards the less salubrious end of town, where Michael's home lay. It was, he explained to Jacob, only temporary. He'd be finding something better soon.
Twenty minutes later, arriving at Michaels flat, Jacob had cause to pause and think that perhaps he might have been better taking his chances on the seafront bench. Michael's flat was squalid to say the least, though Jacob could have added a whole host of less than complimentary terms to that one simple word to describe the place he found himself in. The whole flat smelled of something unclean, though Jacob couldn't put a name to the scent that assaulted his olfactory nerves. Perhaps it was just the fact that he'd spent days living in the fresh air of the seafront, but he almost retched as he was swept into the living area by Michael, who proceeded to flop on the sofa in the middle of the room, gesturing to Jacob to take seat in one of the two tattered armchairs that made up the other components of the three-piece suite that had seen many better days, that was for sure.
"Bet you could do with a hot drink, eh, Jacob?" asked Michael, after allowing his guest the luxury of five minutes relaxation on the sofa.
"Wouldn't mind," Jacob replied, and Michael gestured to follow him into the kitchen.
The kitchen reminded Jacob of something out of a war zone. Pots and pans lay strewn on top of the grease encrusted cooker, the centrepiece of which was a heavily burned and well-used frying pan, that, like everything in Michael's flat appeared to have seen better days. The sink was piled high with used plates and bowls giving the whole area the appearance of a piece of grotesque modern sculpture. The worktops were equally laden with plates that bore the remains of a few take-out meals, well past their sell-by dates by the look of them, and Jacob estimated that anything he ate or drank in this place would probably be guaranteed to give him a dose of salmonella at the very least. He was surprised therefore when Michael opened a cupboard and extracted a couple of clean mugs and a clean spoon produced from a cutlery drawer positioned strategically next to the sink.
"I hate washing up," said Michael, by way of explanation for the culinary and hygienic mayhem that lay before them. "I get around to it about once a week," he went on, though Jacob estimated that once a month might be nearer the mark.
"Is Bovril all right? I ran out of tea and coffee days ago and haven't had chance to do any shopping since
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