laughing.
‘Well, at least you know his name already.’
I felt another rush of panic and tried to catch the barman’s eye. I still hadn’t paid. The red-checked man read my mind.
‘I’ve already bought you that one. Drink up and let me buy you another.’ He turned back to the bar and waved to the nearest white T-shirted tattooed arm and shaved head. I was suddenly aware of Roehm standing behind me. The red-checked shirt had seen him first.
‘Whoops. Here’s your date. Looks like Big Daddy’s here.’
‘Good evening.’
Roehm simply occupied all the space around us. There he was, like a Zeppelin slowly inflating.
‘Just keeping your seat warm for you. And Toby entertained.’
The two men actually shook hands, meeting each other’s eyes. Both were unworried and calm. Someone shut the outer door and the cold dark gust which had licked in behind Roehm settled about him.
‘We’ve met, haven’t we?’ said the man who had been chatting me up, but had never given me his name.
‘Yes,’ said Roehm, ‘we have. I hope we’ll meet again.’
‘Oh, we shall. I’ll see to that.’
The stranger stroked my cheek reassuringly as if I was a nervous horse, then slipped away. I had no time to draw back or speak. I was left gazing into Roehm’s heavy white face and grey eyes. He looked patient and amused. He didn’t say anything. I gulped down my beer and stared. He was wearing a huge leather trenchcoat with padded shoulders, which made him even larger than he actually was.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked at last.
‘Yes. I think so.’
‘Come, then.’
Roehm nodded to the bar staff, one of whom saluted, and then strolled out of the Earl of Rochester. I trailed along behind him, like a tug attached to an Atlantic cruiser. On the street, groups of men gathered and talked, their breath forming smoky gusts in the frosty air. The tarmac glittered beneath their feet as if they were walking in pools of red and gold. Roehm waited for me to catch up.
‘Did you really know that man?’
‘Yes. After a fashion. We met in that club over there.’
I saw a blue neon sign curved over a tacky black doorway.
VERITABLE CUIR
MEN ONLY
I stood, open-mouthed with surprise, puzzled by the name in French. Then I realized that it was a joke. Roehm smiled slightly, enjoying my discomfort.
‘I’ll take you one day. You’re over eighteen. You’d be quite a hit.’
He made it sound like a day trip to the Asterix theme park. I didn’t like Roehm’s smile. His smile, private, ambiguous, amused, was the perfect echo of the smile on the face of the man we had left behind. I was angry and confused. If Roehm was queer then what was he doing with my mother? If she knew he was queer then what was she doing with him? I sank into a cantankerous adolescent silence. I hated ambiguity, indecision and muddles, including those of my own making. I had wanted to find out who this man was, but he appeared to be a dozen different things. The bizarre thought actually crossed my mind: he’s a completely unsuitable candidate to be my stepfather. Neither Luce nor the social services would give their approval.
Roehm coasted easily through the stealthy narrow alleys. I could smell burning fat and greasy pots; the odours rushed out from the lighted kitchen doorways. A cook leaned against the dustbins. I could just see a pile of plates and pans, stacked in the chaos behind him. Roehm paused and asked him for a light. While he leaned forward, concentrating on the flame, I stared at Roehm’s illuminated face behind the huge cupped hand. There was an odd fluidity in his heavy features, as if there were no bones beneath the skin. I stared at his rings. He wore a gold signet ring on the third finger of his right hand. The emblem was blurred. The next ring had a pattern of interlocking leaves, also rubbed and worn. The third was a wedding ring, perfectly plain, made of reddish old gold. He looked into my eyes, spread out his hand and extended
‘Well, at least you know his name already.’
I felt another rush of panic and tried to catch the barman’s eye. I still hadn’t paid. The red-checked man read my mind.
‘I’ve already bought you that one. Drink up and let me buy you another.’ He turned back to the bar and waved to the nearest white T-shirted tattooed arm and shaved head. I was suddenly aware of Roehm standing behind me. The red-checked shirt had seen him first.
‘Whoops. Here’s your date. Looks like Big Daddy’s here.’
‘Good evening.’
Roehm simply occupied all the space around us. There he was, like a Zeppelin slowly inflating.
‘Just keeping your seat warm for you. And Toby entertained.’
The two men actually shook hands, meeting each other’s eyes. Both were unworried and calm. Someone shut the outer door and the cold dark gust which had licked in behind Roehm settled about him.
‘We’ve met, haven’t we?’ said the man who had been chatting me up, but had never given me his name.
‘Yes,’ said Roehm, ‘we have. I hope we’ll meet again.’
‘Oh, we shall. I’ll see to that.’
The stranger stroked my cheek reassuringly as if I was a nervous horse, then slipped away. I had no time to draw back or speak. I was left gazing into Roehm’s heavy white face and grey eyes. He looked patient and amused. He didn’t say anything. I gulped down my beer and stared. He was wearing a huge leather trenchcoat with padded shoulders, which made him even larger than he actually was.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked at last.
‘Yes. I think so.’
‘Come, then.’
Roehm nodded to the bar staff, one of whom saluted, and then strolled out of the Earl of Rochester. I trailed along behind him, like a tug attached to an Atlantic cruiser. On the street, groups of men gathered and talked, their breath forming smoky gusts in the frosty air. The tarmac glittered beneath their feet as if they were walking in pools of red and gold. Roehm waited for me to catch up.
‘Did you really know that man?’
‘Yes. After a fashion. We met in that club over there.’
I saw a blue neon sign curved over a tacky black doorway.
VERITABLE CUIR
MEN ONLY
I stood, open-mouthed with surprise, puzzled by the name in French. Then I realized that it was a joke. Roehm smiled slightly, enjoying my discomfort.
‘I’ll take you one day. You’re over eighteen. You’d be quite a hit.’
He made it sound like a day trip to the Asterix theme park. I didn’t like Roehm’s smile. His smile, private, ambiguous, amused, was the perfect echo of the smile on the face of the man we had left behind. I was angry and confused. If Roehm was queer then what was he doing with my mother? If she knew he was queer then what was she doing with him? I sank into a cantankerous adolescent silence. I hated ambiguity, indecision and muddles, including those of my own making. I had wanted to find out who this man was, but he appeared to be a dozen different things. The bizarre thought actually crossed my mind: he’s a completely unsuitable candidate to be my stepfather. Neither Luce nor the social services would give their approval.
Roehm coasted easily through the stealthy narrow alleys. I could smell burning fat and greasy pots; the odours rushed out from the lighted kitchen doorways. A cook leaned against the dustbins. I could just see a pile of plates and pans, stacked in the chaos behind him. Roehm paused and asked him for a light. While he leaned forward, concentrating on the flame, I stared at Roehm’s illuminated face behind the huge cupped hand. There was an odd fluidity in his heavy features, as if there were no bones beneath the skin. I stared at his rings. He wore a gold signet ring on the third finger of his right hand. The emblem was blurred. The next ring had a pattern of interlocking leaves, also rubbed and worn. The third was a wedding ring, perfectly plain, made of reddish old gold. He looked into my eyes, spread out his hand and extended
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