| What day is it? Any one day was much like another and frankly he didn't usually care but today he wanted to know. He looked around for a newspaper but Manny had been tidying again and anything - newspapers, remainders of takeaways, toenail clippings - had been recycled. "Manny!" Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he gave it exactly one second before shouting again, "Manny!" Nothing. The man was probably still in the bath. He seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time in the bath or washing his hair. Not that his hair didn't look great. It always did. Bernard could remember remarking on it a couple of times. But that wasn't the point. It was half past ten! The shop was open. At least, he supposed it was. He wasn't completely sure it ever closed anymore. A far cry from the first five years when he'd never been sure if it was ever open. Obviously no one took any notice of the sign he'd had made specifically to keep customers out. "Manny!" For a moment he thought he heard an answer to his call but straining to listen more carefully he realised he could actually hear the lyrics from 'It's A Man's World'. He'd known hadn't he that letting Manny see 'Return to the Forbidden Planet' would be a bad idea? One he'd regret for a long time to come? But he had promised Fran that he'd treat his live-in assistant as least as a grown up if not as a human being. If only he'd thought to negotiate a musical cease-fire for the following six months. Hindsight was a wonderful thing. "Manny!" He looked up when the door crashed open and Fran fell through it, carrier bag in one hand, his mail in the other. That at least put today somewhere near the end of a month. The only things he ever received through the post were bills. He watched her with a complete lack of interest as she closed the door in a complicated manoeuvre involving her bum and what looked like a reverse foxtrot. "What day is it?" "Tuesday." "Damn." He hated Tuesdays. "Why?" she asked sweetly, dropping his mail in front of him and pulling a seat up to the desk. He reached out, beckoning impatiently for her to hand him the bottle from her bag. "No reason. Give me the bottle. You're late." "I'm not late! You're early. I didn't expect you to be up, actually. I've got something to show to Manny." "Why Manny? And why shouldn't I be up? It's your fault. Since you talked him into living here...." "Blah, blah, blah." A sly smile crossed her face. "Just out of interest, what time do you think it is?" Using his elbows as leverage, Bernard launched himself halfway across the desk and grabbed the neck of the bottle, taking it with him as he slid back into his chair. "Half past ten." "Time has no meaning for you, does it?" "What? Where's the corkscrew?" She peered into the bowl between them at what looked suspiciously like cornflakes with orange cordial on them. Tentatively, she lifted out the corkscrew and let it hang from her finger. When he made a grab for it, she snatched it away, her smile positively evil. He was so much less together before his first glass of the day. He seemed to need alcohol like most people needed caffeine. "Answer my question." "What question?" Definitely flustered. "Does time mean anything to you?" "What's that supposed to mean?" Rolling her eyes she let him take the corkscrew from her. "It's twenty past nine, Bernard." It tore his attention from the bottle for a couple of seconds. "What?" "Twenty past nine. The clocks went back last Sunday morning." He stared at her for another second or so, then placed the bottle and the corkscrew down onto the desk and rose almost gracefully to his feet. "Excuse me." "Bernard...." He disappeared into the kitchen. She heard his footsteps on the stairs, a shocked cry, a lot of splashing around in water, then the following conversation. Shouted - "Why didn't you tell me!" Surprised - "Tell you what?!" Shouted - "That the clocks had gone back." Guilty - "I thought you knew!" Shouted - "Do I usually wake up before ten in the morning?" Thoughtful - "It depends where you fall asleep." More splashing followed by footsteps returning downstairs. Bernard was dripping wet when he sat back down. For a moment or two she couldn't think of what to say. She wanted to ask him if he really had just got into the bath with Manny, but she suspected that he had. She wanted to ask if he thought that was appropriate behaviour for two grown men apparently in no way involved with one another, but she knew the response she'd get. She regarded Bernard with bemused affection. She really did love him, no matter how crazy he drove her. But she couldn't imagine being anything but friends, she just couldn't find within herself to find him physically attractive. Apart from his eyes - he had the biggest, darkest eyes she'd ever seen. She wouldn't allow herself to imagine the nightmare it must be to actually live with him and yet she was the one who'd talked Manny into living here in the first place. He was a saint, pure and simple. Finally Bernard got the bottle open and poured them both a glass, a little surprised to find it was white and not their usual breakfast red. He took his first wonderful mouthful and leaned forward to paw through the envelopes she'd dropped onto the desk. Bills, as usual. Except one. An A4-sized, Manila envelope addressed only to, 'A little bookshop off Russell Sq, London WC1B'. He left it for the time being, some deep-seated survival instinct telling him it was something he should open alone, even if he then had to wait three hours to tell Fran about it when she reappeared at lunchtime. "What are you doing today?" he asked her, the unfamiliar question surprising them both. "I'm meeting Monica for coffee. There might be a job going at her place." "Who's Monica?" "You know - my friend. Fat, big nose, always sounds like she's crying." "Oh yes. The one who chased Manny around Geoff's dinner party all night." Fran nodded, finishing her wine. "And where's her place?" "Weight watchers." That didn't make much sense to him, but very little did at this time in the morning. He poured a second glass while he contemplated the disturbing fact that he'd been up before ten for the last three mornings. She left eventually. He could hear noises upstairs and knew he didn't have much time. Snatching up the envelope with the strange address, he tore open the flap and shook it upside down. A slim magazine fell into his lap and he stared in horror at the image that smiled back at him. "What is this?" Taken aback at the demand, coming so soon after the unprovoked attack in the bathtub, Manny retreated behind the oven gloves and regarded his employer warily. That is, until he saw exactly what it was Bernard was holding. He could feel himself going white. "Where did you get that?" "It doesn't matter. What is it?" "Where did you get it?" "Someone sent it to me! Now what is it?" Even though Bernard shouted at him on a regular basis, Manny couldn't remember a single time before now when he'd heard actual, honest-to-God anger in the strong Irish drawl. He paled even more. "I need a drink." With a pleased smile, Bernard turned back to his desk and picked up the half-empty bottle. "First sensible thing you've said all year." He refilled the glass Fran had used and topped up his own before dropping back into his chair, waving the magazine around in the air. "I may be wrong, but I believe these illegible squiggles translate to read, 'Big and Beardy'." Drowning the wine in one gulp, reaching for the bottle and finding it empty, Manny went back into the kitchen and raided the 'absolutely strictly in case of emergencies only' case of wine he'd hidden in an empty cardboard box marked as 'toilet cleaner' under the sink behind the cleaning products. Even Bernard on a binge wouldn't get past the Flash Toilet Duck. He'd drink that and pass out. Taking four of the twelve bottles he went back into the shop and dumped them on the desk. "Where did those come from?" "Not saying." He pulled the other chair up next to Bernard, opened a bottle and sat down with a full glass which he emptied in a second. Bernard was flicking through the magazine, disgust bordering on repulsion on his face. Spotting the envelope on the desk, Manny picked it up and read the address. "That bastard!" "What bastard?" Bernard closed the magazine and dropped it on to the desk. "Did the bastard do this? Did he take these photographs?" "Have another drink." Manny poured. "Thank you, I will. Thanks for asking." "Manny!" "All right." He took a deep breath. "Remember when I ran away?" Staring at the magazine, Bernard nodded. "Yes." Okay. He'd hit a real nerve, which was rare. "He... picked me up." "Picked you up? What do you mean, picked you up?" "I'd been mugged! I didn't have any money." "You could have come home." "I was trying to run away!" "You didn't get very far." Manny ignored him. "He... picked me up. Took me home, offered me a glass of wine -" "We have wine." "- asked if he could feel my beard." "What?" He'd expected the wide-eyed shock. "I... let him." He shrugged. "He turned out to be a photographer, so I let him take some photos." "You let him...! You...." Bernard's mouth opened and closed, lost for words. "You...." He indicated the magazine cover - Manny dressed as Heidi. "You wore women's clothing and let him photograph you for... for beard porn?!" "No!" Manny refilled his glass, panic-drinking. "Of course not! I didn't know it was for... for that!" "Then what did you think it was for?!" "I... I don't know. I wasn't thinking straight. He was nice to me. He... bought me things." Knowing he was treading a fine line, he glanced at Bernard, straight into dark brown eyes. "Bought you things? Why? What for? What did you do for him?" Manny didn't answer. "Oh no. You didn't." Quietly, he admitted. "Not with him." "Not with him?!" Bernard was suddenly on his feet, tipping wine over his trousers in his hurry. "Shit! What?" shaking his head in the way he did sometimes, presumably to clear the alcoholic fog in his mind. He swapped the glass for the bottle and tipped it down his throat. Manny sat forward. "Bernard, it was once. I was at a casino, there was champagne and chips and..." "We have chips!" "Not those sort of chips! I got caught up in the moment. I didn't know about the magazine until the night before I came home." Bernard finally deflated and sat down again, cradling the bottle in his hands. He fell silent and for a time they both just drank. "Why did you... do what you did?" Manny regarded the other man thoughtfully. Being drunk didn't help the required Bernard-to-English translation. "Which part? The running away part," he heard the slur in his own voice and tried to prevent it, "the posing for photographs for a beard-obsessed pervert part or the sleeping with a Japanese businessman part?" "Japanese?! You never said he was Japanese?" "What does it matter?" The expression on Bernard's face told him that it did matter, but he had no idea why. "You're only acting like this because you're jealous." "I wouldn't want to sleep with a Japanese businessman!" "Not of me, of him!" "Why would I possibly be jealous of him?" "Because you want to go to bed with me." "I do not want to go to bed with you!" "You do. You're just in denial." "What? I'm not in denial! I just don't want to go to bed with you!" Reaching for a second bottle and the corkscrew, Manny shook his head. "Denial." Swallowing the rest of the wine from the bottle in his hands, Bernard ditched it and picked up his glass. "What...? What makes you think... I want to go to bed with you?" "Everything! Look at us!" "What?" "Bernard, you've just gone crazy because I slept with a businessman! You don't actually want a girlfriend, you feel you should have one! I don't quit my job, we break up." He filled both their glasses. "I don't work here, I live here. I'm not your assistant, I'm your... your au pair!" "My what?" "Your maid!" "Oh. Well, what's wrong with that?" "No other two adult men on Earth live like we do." "You can't prove that!" Manny sighed, taking a minute or two out to drink his wine and regroup. This whole conversation was entirely too surreal. He'd never, ever meant to bring Bernard's attention to the utter weirdness of their relationship. This was that hairy beard-loving bastard's fault, getting his own back for Manny walking out on him. Why he'd left it almost eighteen months was anyone's guess. Maybe his supply of good beards had finally dried up. "Do you want to go to bed with me?" As unexpected as the question was, the alcohol cushioned the blow. Manny pushed his chair back, crossed his ankles on the edge of the desk and leaned back, turning his head to regard his employer. He considered his answer for a long time, knowing what it was, just wondering how to say it. If to say it. "Yes." It was difficult to tell if Bernard was upset or disturbed by his response. He was staring into the murky depths of the Chianti. It wasn't easy to tell what was on in the alcohol-logged mind at the best of times but Manny hadn't got the faintest clue at that moment. The silence stretched on and Manny's thoughts started to wonder. Was the shop open? Had he emptied the bath? Had he caught movement out of the corner.... "Why?" "Why what?" "Why do you want to go to bed with me?" He turned to look at Bernard, seeing the confusion in his hunched posture. For once he wasn't sorry to break open his friend's comfortable shell. "Because under all the swearing and the muttering and the sniping you're a good man. When you've been within two feet of a bath or a shower you're very... nice." He glanced away, embarrassed. "And when you wear that long coat with that red scarf you think makes people assume you're gay, you look like an angel." "How many angels have you ever seen wearing long winter coats and red scarves?!" Pleased to be taking advantage Manny smiled at him affectionately, knowing he was getting on Bernard's nerves. Flustered hands were waved between them. "Stop it!" As deep as the conversation was, neither of them noticed their first customer of the morning. "It's probably immaterial anyway," Manny continued, knowing no bounds. "You drink a hundred bottles of wine a day. You smoke a billion, zillion cigarettes. You probably can't even get an erection." "I can get an erection!" Eyes widening, the middle-aged man perusing the books in the centre of the shop cleared his throat loudly. Both Manny and Bernard looked up. "Get out! Can't you see this is a private conversation?!" Sure he'd never experienced such rudeness before, the man left, but not before he'd heard the shop's Irish owner proclaim, "I get an erection at least once a day!" "'Wakey, wakey' erections don't count." "What?" "'Wakey, wakey' erections. You know, when you first wake up." "You're kidding? I usually wake up at my desk lying in a puddle of spit, or on the sofa with a crick in my neck and a book over my head. I can't remember the last time I woke up in bed - anyone's bed. Believe me, there's nothing erotic about waking up with a wet face and a half-smoked cigarette hanging out of your mouth." Manny decided he could take Bernard's word on that one. "When then?" "Then when what?" "When do you have these regular daily erections?" Bernard went back to staring into his drink. "When you get up." It took a second for Manny to process that. Bernard, for once, took his silence as a request for more information. "After you've been in the bath and brushed your hair. You smell of bath... stuff. And your hair looks like... spun gold." He snorted, which spoilt the effect of his compliments somewhat, and drained his glass, reaching for the bottle. "Let me get this right. The way I smell in the mornings after my bath gives you an erection?" Replaying the words in his mind to ensure that was the gist of what he'd said, Bernard nodded. "Yes." "But you still claim you don't want to go to bed with me?" "Yes. No. I don't!" "I was wrong. You've gone way past denial." He watched Bernard sweep an agitated hand through his hair. It was an action Manny found suddenly and unbelievably attractive. Finishing off yet another glass of wine, absently wondering when the last time he'd drunk this much at all, never mind before lunch, had been, Manny watched Bernard watching his own drink. He'd woken up this morning the same as he'd woken up every morning he'd been living here; hungry, thirsty, with a raging 'Wakey, Wakey' erection and a desperate need to pee. He'd bathed as usual, preparing Bernard's breakfast while soaking in bubbles, with no inkling that his employer found the sandalwood scent of his foam bath arousing. Now he was drunk and talking Bernard into sleeping with him. Life was unpredictable sometimes. "What would we do?" He started, lost in thought. "What?" "If we went to bed together." "What would we do?" "That's what I asked." "No, sorry.... I mean...." He faltered. "Oh, come on. It hasn't been that long has it?" Bernard still wasn't looking at him. "I've never done this before." "What?" "With a... man." "Oh. Of course. Right." Talking him into it was one thing, explaining what to do was something entirely different. "Well... We do... what you do. When you're alone. In bed." He got a side-ways glance and a frown. "What? Drink, fart and fall asleep with the sheets in my mouth?" "No. You know. With that erection you were talking about." "I'm never in bed at the same time as my erection." He thought that through for a moment. "I told you, I get it when you get out of your bath." "You must have done sometime! At least with a woman!" "Oh! Yes. But I mean... you don't have the right..." he waved his free hand in the air then froze. "No! No way! I'm not putting it -" "Bernard! I'm talking about masturbating!" The shop door closed with a crash. "Oh, that. Right. Well... that's easy." He seemed to sink further back into his chair. Manny sighed as the silence crept up on them again. Finally he took the plunge. "Look at it this way. What else have you got to do all morning?" "Well, there's the shop...." "Apart from that." "Nothing really. Not until lunchtime." "Come on then." Putting his glass down onto the desk, Manny got to his feet determinedly. Bernard was less enthusiastic, but he rose and led the way back through into the kitchen and up the stairs. Heart pounding, Manny almost walked straight into him on the landing just outside his own room. "Bernard...." When he turned around, Manny's heart almost skidded to a halt. There were tears in the dark eyes. He'd never seen Bernard cry, not ever. Not when their thumbs and Mums had been threatened by a convicted thug. Not when he'd been forced to spend the night working in a burger bar just to stay out of the rain because Manny had locked him out of his own home. Not when his couple of girlfriends had dumped him. But he didn't get a word passed his lips before Bernard spoke. "Listen, Manny. I've never... needed anyone before. Not like I need you. If this goes wrong... if we...." Manny lifted a shaking hand to Bernard's face but didn't touch. He couldn't comprehend what it had cost him to say that. "I'll always come home. I promise." It had to be enough. Apparently it was. Bernard nodded and pushed open the door of Manny's bedroom. ~ Fran pushed open the door of the shop and entered carrier bag first. Bernard was in his usual place at his desk, book in one hand, glass in the other, cigarette hanging from his fingers. He was wearing the blue shirt that Fran had always thought would have set off his eyes perfectly if he'd had blue eyes. Dumping the bag on the desk she grinned at him and he smiled up. "Lunch." There seemed to already be a larger-than-usual number of empty bottles but she supposed he just hadn't cleared up from the previous night. Odd though that Manny hadn't.... "Manny," he called, "could you fetch another glass?" "Sure." Manny appeared in the doorway. "Morning, Fran." He dropped back into the chair next to Bernard where he'd already spent half of that morning while Fran grinned at him too and poured, waiting for Bernard to hold out his own glass. He was still reading, engrossed in something. "So... have you had a nice morning?" Manny nodded. "Yes. Thanks. How about you?" "Well, I have a story to tell...." Manny let his mind wonder as she talked at him about a man with a great ass she'd followed around Bloomsbury all morning. He and Bernard had been... mind-blowing. Not a great deal of finesse but after one or two aborted attempts at a couple of positions they'd finally got it right. Oh, yes. 'Right' was a long, exquisite build up to a shared orgasm with a soundtrack of rough moans and hoarse cries. 'Right' was Bernard's mouth finally, tentatively finding his and a deep kiss that had left them both breathless. 'Right' was them lying in a sated, sweaty heap, gingerly exploring with uncertain touches. 'Right' was a shared bath that had left soap suds and water all over the bathroom floor. There was a small part of Manny that had, at one point, been hit by the horrific thought that perhaps he'd fallen in love with Bernard somewhere between the bedroom and the bathroom. But that was too terrible an idea to entertain. "So I have a date!" Fran finally declared. "Congratulations." He smiled a happy smile and nudged Bernard who glanced up. "What?" "Fran's got a date." "Congratulations." He smiled too and went back to his book. "Tell me all about him," Manny encouraged. "I just have done!" She frowned, glancing from one to the other. Something had changed. Something was different. Bernard was making no pretence of not listening and although Manny was, his attention was obviously elsewhere. Usually he was so attentive. She looked carefully at him; big happy eyes, wide smile, relaxed as he leaned on the desk toward her. She looked at Bernard, relaxed in his chair, feet on the desk, knees bent, sipping his wine, reading. Happily... sated. Fran spat her wine out over the desk in a fine spray. "Oh my God! You've finally done it! You've finally had sex!" Bernard didn't even look up from his book. "We didn't have sex! We made love. Now drop it or I'll phone your landlord and tell him you're cultivating watercress in your carpet." He missed Manny's sunshine smile. Fran didn't, but no number of strangely imaginative threats were going to stop her from bouncing in her seat. "When? When did you do it?" "Never you mind! It's none of your business." "Oh, it is! Yes, it is! I've been around for all of your break ups! Please! Oh, Manny...." "And don't try wheedling it out of him either. He won't tell you." "Come on! You can't do this to me! It isn't fair! I give you all the details!" "It's not the same." "Yes, it is! It's exactly the same. Please! Just tell me when." Manny looked at Bernard who turned his head and, relenting a little, he nodded. "This morning." "Aww!" She was grinning, from one to the other and back. "Stop it!" Bernard instructed finally, putting his book onto the desk and dropping his feet to the floor. "If you're going to grin at us every time we sleep together I'll have to ban you from the shop." "But this is huge!" "No, it isn't. Now go away and don't come back until you're over it." She scowled, but her eyes were alight with excitement. "Okay." She drained her drink and stood up. "Can I take Manny?" she asked, batting her eyelids. "No. Absolutely not." "Why?" She was the voice of innocence. "Has he got chores?" "He has a shop to look after. Besides, we might want to do it again." "Do what, Bernard?" "Get out!" Fran left with a spring in her step and headed for the high street and a shop she'd walked past many times but never had the reason or the balls to go inside before. Bernard went back to his book and Manny started to clean up. The kitchen was its usual hazardous state and the shop needed dust removed from the new and cheap books and sprinkled liberally over the old and expensive books. He couldn't wipe the smile from his face, even when he was standing on a chair peeling toast away from the ceiling and cleaning up the jam stains left behind. His quiet humming prompted no adverse reaction and so he began to sing. David Bowie. Status Quo. Andrew Lloyd Webber. Silence. He had to start whistling the theme tune from 'Roobarb and Custard' but finally Bernard started yelling at him to shut up. He smiled, relieved. Some things couldn't be allowed to change. |