Identity Check

Chapter 5

Absolutely, Phil said and meant it. On Monday he called Patrick to tell him to come in the next day. By Friday, Patrick had the job - to start Monday.

They had a hell of a night on Saturday to celebrate. It ended with Patrick going back to Russ's again. Two nights now. How many times before it counted as cheating on Simon?

Now he was reporting to reception for his first day of work, wearing his only suit. The receptionist called the department and few minutes later Phil appeared.

"Nice suit," he said, looking Patrick up and down and grinning while he shook Patrick's hand in welcome. "The girls are going to go wild for you." He winked. "Poor things. Come on." He led Patrick from the reception area.

Girls, yeah. Patrick got attention from girls when he went out with Nick and Colin to ordinary pubs. He hadn't really got the knack of dealing with it graciously yet.

"Should I tell them I'm..." he glanced around, lowered his voice. Nobody close enough to hear anyway. "Not available or something."

They stepped into a lift and Phil hit the button for the fifth floor. "It's up to you," he said with a shrug.

"Are you out here at work?"

"I've told a couple of people. Then it gets around."

"Are people okay about it? Do they hassle you?"

"Some of the blokes can be funny about it. Most of them just ignore it. Doesn't bother me. I prefer talking to the girls anyway." Phil laughed. "I'm the reverse version of a fag-hag, I'm a hag-fag."

Patrick decided he'd keep it quiet for now. Quite enough to deal with, without adding more complications. But if people knew he was Phil's friend, would they guess anyway? Would they in fact assume he must be Phil's boyfriend? He smiled. The 'boyfriend' thing was becoming almost natural now. Well, what if people did assume that? He glanced at Phil, chatting away now about the people in the department. Not as good looking as Russ, by a long way. Kind of skinny and bony too. Would Patrick mind people thinking a guy who looked like Phil was his boyfriend? He frowned. What, Phil isn't good enough? You'd be ashamed of him? He's a great guy, and funny and nice. What kind of shallow creep would be ashamed of someone like that?

Phil turned to him, his voice faltering, when he saw Patrick looking at him so intently. He grinned, a sheepish expression on his face.

"I do go on, don't I? Sorry." The lift doors opened before Patrick could reply.

They reached the department, a big, open-plan floor, full of desks arranged in banks of four. People tapped away at PCs, checked over forms, or talked on the phone. Several looked up as Patrick and Phil passed. Some had that same 'fresh meat' look he saw in the pubs and clubs.

"Hi, Gwen," Phil said, stopping at the desk of a middle-aged women in a black suit and pale blue blouse. She looked up and smiled at them.

"Hello again, Patrick. Thanks, Phil, you can get back to work now."

"Aye-aye, Cap'n," Phil said and went back to his desk, giving Patrick a wink as he turned away.

"Sit down, Patrick," Gwen said. "We've got some paperwork to complete, then I'll have Phil show you around. This afternoon you'll go along to human resources for an induction and orientation session." She started pulling forms from a file. "And you'll need an ID pass and key card - HR will sort that out for you, take your photograph..."

All this paperwork. God, it was worse than homework. She waited as he filled in the various forms, then took them back, checked them over.

"You know, it's funny, with a name like Patrick Kavanagh, I expected you to be Irish."

"My dad was half Irish," Patrick explained. But I was brought up in London, so I never got the accent."

"Ah well, that's a shame. The girls here do love an Irish accent." She chuckled and Patrick smiled. Was that his cue? Now should he say 'but I don't fancy girls?' No. She hadn't asked for his bloody life story.

The morning flashed past in a blur. Once he'd completed all the admin with Gwen she had Phil give him a tour of the department and the building. Phil smirked as they left the department, heading for the lifts.

"We'll milk this one," he said. "Be lunchtime by the time we get back."

"This place is huge," Patrick said, after they'd walked for what felt like miles. "What the hell is everyone doing anyway? I thought all this financial stuff was done by computer these day."

"We'll there's the call centres. They have hundreds of people in them. That's something you can't replace with a machine. Though I'm sure they're trying. They have vacancies in the call centres pretty often, but stay out if you're smart. Dealing with the public is a mug's game, trust me."

"Paper seems a lot easier to work with."

"Yeah, till you try and figure out what the hell the punter is trying to say. In a couple of weeks you'll totally despair of the education system of this country."

They got back to the department just in time to leave again for lunch. Patrick got some hot food from the serving counters in the staff canteen and joined Phil at a table. Phil had a plastic lunch box on the table in front of him.

"I bring my own," he said.

"Very organised."

"Just fussy."

After lunch, Patrick spent the afternoon in Human Resources, learning all about the company policies and culture. Between trying to take all that in and doing yet more paperwork, by the time five o'clock arrived his head was pounding. He headed back to the department, getting lost only once, to find Phil still at his desk though almost all of the other desks were empty now. Phil gave him a sympathetic smile and said only one word.

"Pub?"

*

Patrick typed in a text message to Phil as he followed the dark street towards the Pink Triangle area at nearly ten o'clock on Friday night.

U guys out?

A reply came back inside thirty seconds. Phil always kept his phone on vibrate, Patrick knew, since he needed to be contactable 24/7 for his mother.

In gossip. U coming?

His thumb flew over the keys to say he'd be there in ten minutes. Phil sent back a nearly instantaneous response.

Excellent!

Ten minutes later, he found the usual group with Russ and Phil at a table in the bar and they cheered his arrival.

"Late starter," Phil said as Patrick sat down. "Can't cut it, huh? Can't keep up with the big boys?"

"I've been out with Nick and Colin for a couple of hours."

"What, in like a straight bar? What's the use of that?"

Patrick slapped Phil's arm, grinning. "They serve beer don't they? Anyway, how do you know I'm not bi?"

That led to such a round of hysterical laughter that one of the boys needed slapped on the back when he started choking.

"Well, I could be!"

"Don't start about bisexuals," Phil said. "Russ doesn't believe in bisexuals."

"Doesn't believe in them?" Patrick said, looking at Russ, eyebrows raised, not sure whether to be amused or baffled. Simon claimed to be bisexual and certainly his affairs with various women around the village were infamous. "What, like they're a figment of someone's imagination?"

"I believe the behaviour occurs," Russ said. "But not that it's an actual orientation, like straight or gay."

"He's studying human behaviour this term," Phil said, rolling his eyes, "So he thinks he's Sigmund Freud."

"If it's not an orientation, then why do people do it?" Patrick asked, settling on baffled.

"Greed," Russ said, provoking a chorus of both laughter and jeers from his friends. Russ shrugged. "Depravity."

"Depravity?" Patrick stared. "That's a very... judgemental kind of word."

"I've been with women too, you know," one of the other guys, Gary, said, his tone cold and tense.

"Yes, before you accepted what you really are," Russ said. "You don't go out on the pull for girls now, do you?"

"No, but... I mean, I could. What's to stop me?"

"Just your real self."

"Oh screw you, Russ, you think you know it all." Gary stomped off to the bar.

Patrick watched him go - he had a nice arse - finished his own drink quickly and headed off to the bar after him.

"Hi," he said fetching up beside Gary. "Russ touched a nerve there?"

"Depraved! He's one to talk. You know he's out every single night of the week picking up men? So he can fuck right off with his shit about bisexuals being depraved."

"Really?" Was Gary exaggerating there? Every night? Was Russ really that promiscuous?

"Probably been blown by every guy in this bar," Gary said.

Now that had to be an exaggeration. And every guy? Did that include Gary himself? Was this jealousy? Had Gary wanted more?

"He just fucks me off sometimes, you know," Gary said, leaning on the bar, not ready to go back to the group yet. "Mr four fucking A-levels." He grimaced. "Got the superior bastard doctor attitude down pat already."

"He got four A-levels?" Patrick was impressed but kept that in check, doubting Gary wanted to hear that right now.

"All A grades. No wonder his head's the size of a blimp."

"If he's that clever how come he didn't go to Oxford or something?"

"God knows. Said he wanted to stay local. Whatever." He smiled at Patrick, his annoyance draining away. "We're going on to Powerhouse later. You coming?"

"Definitely."

"Nothing keeps you off the dance floor does it? Short of sniper fire."

"Hey, if I move fast enough, then not even that."

Gary laughed. "You're a charmer, Patrick. And gorgeous." He leaned in closer and spoke more quietly. "If you want to go home with someone less po-faced than Russ later, I'm more than willing." It took Patrick a few seconds to find his voice so he could respond, and not stand there gulping like a landed fish at the straightforward approach.

"Well, let's see how it goes."

It went. They had a couple more drinks then moved on to the nightclub. Patrick broke his now established habit of dancing with Phil most of the time and paired up with Gary. Not as good a dancer, bigger and a little clumsy. But his bulky frame appealed in other ways.

When the night started to wind down, Patrick and Gary sat on a bench seat, watching the dance floor, their friends out there still. Some eye contact, a look a nod, and they asked and gave permission. No words. Gary moved in closer and took Patrick in his arms.

Big, strong arms, and dammit, he started getting hard as soon as Gary's lips pressed against his. He moaned. Damn, need it now, but can't. Not here. Get us barred! Gary moved back after a few seconds, eyes wide at the intensity of Patrick's response.

"We should get out of here, shouldn't we?" he said.

The taxi ride from the club to Gary's flat was agony. If he'd lived any farther away, Patrick would have jumped him right there in the car. But he kept himself under control long enough to reach Gary's small flat without committing anything the police would classify as gross indecency.

They ran up four flights of stairs, laughing like idiots, unwilling to wait for the lift. Patrick couldn't stop himself kissing the back of Gary's neck, hugging him from behind while Gary unlocked the door.

"Fuck, you're a horny little bastard, aren't you?" Gary said. The door opened and he pulled Patrick inside, then shut the door and pushed Patrick hard against the wall.

Is this depraved? Patrick wondered, as Gary's large, strong hands pulled at his clothes, getting rid of just enough before dropping to his knees in front of him. Is it depraved not even to get as far as the bed, like normal people? He slipped a condom from his pocket and handed it to Gary. Is it depraved to always carry condoms?

And he didn't care. His thoughts wiped clean, blank as Gary's mouth slid over his cock.

*

This week it was Rob. Another student from Russ and Phil's group, tall and blonde and sort of boring, but well built, hot.

Rob let Patrick stay all night and they spent a while on Sunday enjoying lazy morning sex, something Patrick hadn't experienced so far. He'd fantasised about it, imaging sleeping in Simon's bed all night and waking up to him and spending hours making love in the morning, like a real couple. But for them it was all stolen moments.

For a few minutes, Rob wore Simon's face as he moved on top of Patrick, slow thrusts and soft moans, taking his time. But then Patrick shook the fantasy away, with a stab of guilt and saw Rob again, face flushed, brow furrowed, as if fucking took so much concentration.

A chirp from his phone on the floor beside the bed made him glance that way. Every time it beeped, he thought of Simon. But he could hardly reach for it now. Rob was getting close, by the look on his face, eyes closed tight, breath panting. His thrusts increased in speed and intensity.

Patrick forgot about the phone. That little chirp. He forgot it. He did. And he said Rob Rob Rob over and over in his mind, lest he let the name Simon slip from his lips.

*

In coffee shop for next cpl hrs. C u thr? Need to tlk xmas

The message was from Nick, he saw as he left the flat. Not Simon.

The cold biting into Patrick despite his jacket, reminded him how fast the year was drawing to a close. Term almost over for Nick, Colin and Russ. Christmas closing fast.

How quickly the weeks had gone, in his new routine. Work, maybe a couple of nights out during the week, or hanging out at home, playing computer games, watching DVDs or the footie with his house-mates, or some on-line chit-chat with Phil. Friday and Saturday out, either with Nick and Colin or with Russ's group.

And a routine there too. Go home with one of the group. Russ several times, but he'd worked his way through most of the others now, starting that night a few weeks ago with Gary. It made him blush to think of, and he wondered if they talked about him when he wasn't there. Wondering whose turn it was this week. He wondered what Phil thought of him - that he was a slut probably. Phil wasn't one of his bedpost notches. Not yet. Frankly, he deserved better.

And Sunday morning's routine was sitting in the local coffee-house with Nick and Colin, eating a non-nutritious breakfast of pastries or muffins chased down with gallons of coffee. He'd developed a taste for mochas, though Colin said they were kind of girly. The other two were getting a taste for real coffee and complained about the expense, as if Patrick was forcing them to drink it, just because he'd rushed out to buy a coffee machine the day he received his first month's pay.

So Patrick headed straight to the coffee-house from the Metro station, wondering what Nick meant by his text message. Why did he want to talk about Christmas? Was he going to invite Patrick to spend it with him and his parents? Patrick would have to accept. Where else could he go? Not home, that's for sure. He didn't even want to. Not just because of the inevitable fight about his lifestyle that would ensue, but because Christmas at home hadn't been fun for a long time.

His mother wanted Christmas absolutely perfect and the slightest problem meant the whole thing was ruined. Patrick used to be glad to get back to school after the Christmas holidays were over, just to escape the knife edge tension. Christmas at the Mason's was less perfect and more actual fun.

He found Nick and Colin sitting at tables outside the coffee house, despite the cold, wrapped up in their coats.

"Need anything at the counter?" he called as he headed inside.

They shook their heads, no. Patrick walked in, rubbing his numb hands and in a few minutes, came back out to join them carrying a hot chocolate.

"Morning, you dirty stop-out," Colin said as Patrick sat down. "All nighter, huh?"

"Morning, Colonel." He smiled at Colin's mildly irritated look at the nickname. It had been inevitable though, when he'd brought out his winter coat for the year, an RAF greatcoat, that he claimed belonged to his great-grandfather, who'd fought in the Battle of Britain. Naturally Nick and Patrick had immediately saluted him and turned him from Colin into Colonel.

Of course on this chilly morning, Colin was the one laughing on the other side of his face, cosy in the heavy coat.

"Why are we outside?" Patrick asked, poking at his hot chocolate's whipped cream cap. "It's brass monkeys out here."

"That weird old bat is inside," Colin said. "She kept looking at us."

"She's totally stalking us," Nick said. "I was in the library yesterday and she was looking at me in there too. Weirdo."

"This whole street is full of weirdos. And cats." Colin looked thoughtful. "So all the weirdos must own the cats. Typical."

A waitress came out with the hot sandwich Patrick had ordered and took away a few empty mugs. While he waited for the cheese in his sandwich to fall below the temperature of the surface of the sun, Patrick turned to Nick.

"So, Christmas?"

Nick nodded and sipped his coffee. "I was talking to my mum last night."

"You didn't tell her we broke the washing machine did you?" Patrick glanced at Colin. "Though when I say 'we', I mean Colin of course."

"Look that would have worked if you hadn't -"

"I didn't say anything about the washing machine," Nick said. "Pat, she said she's been talking to your mum for a few weeks now, and that things are going pretty well."

"Pretty well? Are you kidding?"

"Okay, aside from that thing with your phone."

Yeah, that thing with his phone. They'd cancelled his contract! He'd lost his number! Had that been Alistair's idea? Sick of paying the bills? Patrick doubted that. He'd have been happy to take over paying the bills. But he'd bet it was his mother's, thinking it would stop Simon getting in touch with him.

"Yeah, well, there's nothing we can do about the phone now." Patrick muttered. He'd tried, good grief he'd tried. But it was hopeless. There was nothing they could do, the phone company said. The number had already been reallocated. He still had his handset, but he didn't have enough credit history to get a contract, so was on 'pay as you go' now. Embarrassing.

"That's the right attitude," Nick said, in an approving tone that made him sound exactly like his dad. "You have to put things that can't be changed behind you and look to the future."

"What does this have to do with Christmas?" Patrick was growing tired of beating around the bush. "Has my mother asked me to come home for it?"

"Actually, um, no – the Tavis have invited us all."

"Tavis?" Colin said as Patrick choked on his hot chocolate.

"They're the set of grandparents we share," Nick explained. "You know our mums are sisters? Well, the Tavis are their parents. Geraldine and Clive Tavistock. Apparently they're upset that the whole family hasn't been together for Christmas for a few years."

"That's because none of us can stand them," Patrick reminded him. Nick sighed and Colin grinned.

"That bad?" Colin said.

"Oh they're real charmers," Patrick told him. "Think the world's been going to hell in a hand-basket since 1960. They hated my father, I know that."

"Why? What did he do to them?"

Patrick snorted. "Married their daughter while being wilfully Irish."

"I thought he was only half-Irish."

"Any Irish is too much Irish for those two. They used to look at him like he was about to start throwing either potatoes or bombs at them."

"I know, I know," Nick said, "it doesn't sound like it has the potential for Best Christmas Ever status. But mum thinks it could be a good opportunity for you and your mother to at least... open negotiations."

Patrick slid down in his seat and ate a few bites of his sandwich, brooding on the idea of opening negotiations.

"I'd rather go to Gran and Granddad Mason," Nick said, "But they're still on that cruise. Is it me, or was that postcard from St Lucia just a little too gloating?"

Patrick smiled. Nick's other grandparents had always been kinder to Patrick than the Tavis. Perhaps they saw a gap in the boy's life. No grandparents on his father's side – KK's mother long dead and his father a mystery – and the Tavis on the other. They'd tried to fill that gap and had treated him with the same affection they treated Nick.

"They deserve that cruise," he said, happy to think of them soaking up the sun in the Caribbean. He sat up straighter. "The Tavis picked a hell of a year for a reunion. Do they know about me?" They couldn't, surely? As strict a Catholic as he mother was, Grandmother was ten times more devout. The Pope would tell her to lighten up.

"Well, I haven't heard any reports of an elderly couple in Hampshire spontaneously combusting," Nick said. "So, I'm guessing not."

"Nick, I don't know," Patrick said, shaking his head. "I don't know if I can be in that atmosphere."

Nick sighed again. "I know what you mean. I promised my mum I'd talk you into coming, but I can't say I'm looking forward to it myself. And there's no way I'm standing during the Queen's speech. That was funny when I ten. Now it's just embarrassing."

"Gosh, these people sound like a laugh a minute," Colin said, grinning.

"Yeah," Patrick said. "I think they heard about laughter once and decided to devote their lives to wiping it out."

"My mum says your mother's agreed to... a truce, I suppose you'd call it," Nick said. "She's promised; no arguments, no yelling."

"You think she'll hold to that? She's never going to approve of what I am."

"Probably not. But I'm sure she doesn't want to lose you forever either. Apparently she's prepared to talk about what kind of lasting peace you two can make."

Well Patrick wanted that of course. He didn't want to lose his mother either. He'd missed her more and more as the weeks passed.

"Tell your mum... I'll think about it."