Seven O'clock


And the streets you thought would all be paved with gold
But when the wind cuts through you'd even try to sell your soul

Well its a laugh a minute and you can't decide
Between the burning question and the fortune in his eyes

They could tear you apart with those barefaced lies
Can't disguise all the hurt you're feeling inside


James stared at the television, not really listening to the local newsreader prattling on about fire engine shortages. It had reminded him of the Fire Ka they'd featured on the show once - during the news section - and Richard's joke; "What do you mean, 'I'm on my way'?"

He hadn't caught The Five O'clock Show in a couple of weeks, not since that first episode after which he and Jeremy surprised Richard by turning up at the studio with two Blackberry and Apple Pies they'd managed to pick up at a Co-Op on the way.

He'd watched it this evening, though, had been looking forward to it all day with a strange sort of childish anxiety and excitement.

Immediately it had been clear that something was up. Richard had gone through the motions, smiling that famous cheeky grin at the all the right moments, laughing at the right jokes, delivering his lines up like a pro now - comfortable with the format, used to dealing with the voices directing him in his ear as he kept a live show moving at a breakneck pace.

James saw through it in the first thirty seconds of them being on air.

As the show had ended, Richard giving the camera a final and frankly relieved wave, James had found himself leaning forward - almost reaching out to touch the television. "What's wrong, Richard?"

He toyed with the idea of calling. He hadn't seen either he or Jeremy in person since the morning after the first show, but then Jeremy had been off filming something for BBC2 and he'd been busy writing articles for various biker publications. He should have called before now.

Richard's mobile rang for so long that when it was answered, he expected to hear the dulcet tones of the woman who'd recorded the voicemail message. Instead a tired voice said his name.

"Hey. Erm. How are you?" His doorbell rang. "Shit."

"James?"

"Sorry - there's someone...."

"Don't swear at me."

Richard was standing on his doorstep, his mobile and what looked to be a takeaway in his left hand, two bottles of what James recognised instantly to be very expensive white wine hanging from the fingers of his right, and tears in his beautiful brown eyes.

Lost for words, James stepped back to let him step inside, and ended the call on his phone. But as soon as he'd closed the door he couldn't help but reach for Richard. He took the wine from him and put his arm around the narrow shoulders.

"What's wrong?"

Richard just shook his head, wiped his eyes with his fingers and pointed to the kitchen. James nodded. "Go through."

"Sorry to do this to you. Again."

"You're welcome here anytime. And I don't think two visits in six months necessitate the use of the word 'again'."

It brought a smile to Richard's face as James found a couple of plates, a couple of glasses, handed the corkscrew to him, then pulled him into his arms and held him.

Richard's own arms wound tight around his waist, holding for dear life.

"What is it?" James murmured; face rested against Richard's hair, smelling the faint tang of hairspray. Of course, he'd come from the studio. That also explained the loosely fitting grey suit. It hit James just how exhausted he must be. "What's wrong?"

For a long time there was no answer. He could feel tears soaking through his shirt but Richard was completely still against him.

Then he heard one word which provoked more anger than he believed himself capable of.

"Jeremy."

Naturally. Who else was capable of cutting Richard down like this? Of course knowing that Jeremy was capable and thinking he'd ever do it were two completely disparate things.

"What's he done?"

Richard pulled away from the anger in his voice and James let him go. "James...."

"He's hurt you," he evened his tone, calmly adding, "I'll kill him."

"Don't." Richard swiped at his eyes with the backs of his hands and grabbed one of the bottles from the work surface, opening it with practised ease.

James watched him, expecting him to drink it straight from the bottle, despite its cost. But he filled both of the glasses James had produced and handed one to him. It was fabulous, but James' stomach was churning and the dry taste only made things worse. Richard started to unload the Chinese food from the bag.

"Tell me what he's done."

With a deep sigh, he turned and leaned against the cupboards, arms wrapped around himself in his usual way, only for once it looked like a self-protective gesture rather than just a habitual one.

"The 'Top Gear' office called my agent, asked if I was free for three days in March for the Aston Martin Rapide race. They told them I wasn't free until April, when the show finishes. An hour later Jeremy phoned me. He said... he said the show was a pile of meaningless shite, told me I was selling my body and soul for some transient fame, called me a media whore, told me I might as well fuck off completely and hung up."

Stunned, James stared at him, wide-eyed, open-mouthed. He didn't believe it. He couldn't. "You're kidding?"

Richard's face crumpled and immediately James hated himself for asking. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"Sorry. I'm sorry. No." Flustered, getting angrier by the second, he ran his fingers through his mop of greying hair. "I just...." He shook his head, the only thing he could think to say was, "He loves you."

"Weird way of showing it." Taking a deep breath, Richard grabbed the food and the wine, poised by the door expectantly. Picking up his own glass and Richard's, James led him through to the lounge.


They sat close together on the sofa, shoulders touching, feet up on the coffee table. They hadn't touched much of the food - even James who usually didn't let much get between him and eating.

But they were already on the second bottle of wine and James had another couple waiting in the wings.

"Is it really bad?" Richard asked when the meaningless chatter about how life was going in general slowed down.

"Is what really bad?" But James knew exactly what he was talking about. He swore the huge brown eyes would be the death of him. "No. It's live daytime television."

"What does that mean?"

There was no getting away from it, eventually Richard would wheedle it out of him and it wouldn't take all that long with those eyes staring up at him. "You should hire yourself out to the security services. You'd be great in an interrogation."

"Stop changing the subject."

He sighed. "All right. But I only feel like this because you're you and I'm me and there's an 'us'." Richard nodded slowly in understanding. "The last two minutes when you find some new and ingenious way of embarrassing yourself in front of the nation make me cringe."

"How shows have you watched?"

"Two. Including that first one."

He was prepared for an angry explosion, but instead Richard laughed. "That's such a relief. I mean, you think the food thing was bad...." He doubled over with alcohol-induced laughter.

James just smiled to himself. "God, I've missed you."

The laughter faded and the dark head came to rest against his shoulder. "I missed you too. And Jeremy, I thought." James could feel the humour evaporating, knew Richard's eyes were filling with tears again without having to see them. "God, James... what the fuck am I doing?"

He rested his cheek on top of Richard's head. "You're doing what you're good at. Don't let him make you question yourself."

"But everything he said..."

"He's just jealous."

"Of what?"

"Of you. You're him five years ago. You're becoming more successful and more famous than he is and he's jealous of it."

The tears spilled over. James watched him wipe them away. "He said he loved me, over and over. Was that bullshit just to get me into bed?"

"Jesus, Richard, no...."

"So why's he doing this now?" The sharp hurt in his voice stabbed into James' heart. Never had he wanted to hit anyone so badly in all his life as he did Jeremy right at that moment.

"He's an arsehole."

"I love him." He lifted his head and looked up, and the misery in his forlorn expression was palpable. "So do you."

"Maybe, but that doesn't preclude him from being an arsehole."

"Do you think it's over?"

"No." James shook his head, certain of that one thing at least. "I told you, he couldn't give you up. He's just being a prissy drama queen. He'll be calling any time to apologise profusely and beg you to forgive him." But something wasn't right. "When did he call you?"

"Yesterday morning."

James hesitated; then got to his feet. "Wait here."

"James...."

"Please."

Thirty-six hours. Jeremy had left Richard in this state for thirty-six hours. All the anger from earlier came flooding back. Stalking into the kitchen he picked up the cordless phone and dialled a number he knew by heart.

After four rings, it was answered.

"Hello." Definitely Jeremy.

"You heartless bastard."

"James?" Could he really sound surprised?

"Why did you say that to him?"

There was a pause, then he was on the defensive. "Because it's how I feel. It's what I think of it. All right?"

"No, it's not all right, you fucking idiot."

"He's dumped us for that bollocks, James!"

"He hasn't dumped us! He turned up on my doorstep this evening with a Chinese in one hand, two bottles of wine in the other and tears in his eyes."

"I didn't mean 'us', us! I meant the show!"

James wondered if Jeremy had actually heard him. "Oh, for Christ's sake. Can't you think about someone else other than yourself for once? This is his career, it's what he wants to do and he's bloody good at it. He hasn't quit, has he? We can go to Switzerland in April and still give the production crew time to edit the film." Jeremy was silent. "So? "I'm waiting."

"What for?" He could hear the slump in the voice.

"An explanation as to why you're tearing apart a man you love. Have you any idea what it's like to see him cry? Christ, Jeremy, he thinks it's over between you two. How can you do this to him?"

The response wasn't anywhere close to what he'd expected.

"I'm sorry, James." The line went dead.