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Robbie looked up from scowling into his pint. The guys seem to be reverting to juveniles on a stag do. To be honest he knew Grainger’s do would be like this when he realised it was blokes only, no girlfriends or wives. Not that he had anyone to bring. It was a shame James hadn’t been invited.
He winced at a roar of approval as Grainger downed yet another yard of ale. Perhaps not? He couldn’t see James fitting it here. Ali McLennon maybe? She could probably drink half the men under the table.
He looked around and saw a tall, attractive blonde woman stood in the doorway, looking nervous. Her body language reminded him of James when he was worried or nervous. In fact, if James had a twin sister, she could be her. James was so reticent about his family he could have a sister for all he knew!
Whoever she was she looked like she needed help. After all, his work colleagues had somewhat taken over the pub. As Robbie got closer he realised that this was not James’ sister! Those ever changing green grey blue hazel eyes were James’, and that was his nose, just as cute as the endearing way his bit at the skin around his thumb nail.
What was he doing? If anyone else recognized him he would be dead! He could be doing this for a dare? A bet? No, not James. Well, there was only one way to find out. Two could play this game.
“Are you okay, love?” Robbie asked quietly in James’ ear, trying hard to keep the amusement out of his voice.
James blushed, which was so cute. “Um. It’s busy tonight, isn’t it? I usually come in here for a quiet drink before I go home. When I’ve been at the Bodlian. It’s never been this busy before.”
Nice cover story James. “Follow me, I’ll find you a seat.”
James followed quietly as Robbie found a quiet table in the corner. A few of the lads made scarky comments but Robbie ignored them and offered a drink. James fumbled for his handbag. Nice touch James, very convincing. Robbie offered to pay, watching James confusion as he worked out what to ask for. He came back with the drinks and asked to join him, sitting down anyway and told him to call him Robbie, something he’d been trying to get James to do out of hours for at least a year. He asked for James’ name and couldn’t keep the snort of humour in. Can’t you do better than that? He thought.
“Is there something wrong with my name?” Now, that was the James Robbie knew, that furious glint in his eye.
Robbie couldn’t resist saying something about his sergeant and when James cheekily asked if he were here Robbie gave a little clue, “I’m... not sure,” he said, staring right at James, who was too nervous, or something, to notice, so Robbie offered him another wine.
When he returned they talked, James’ mostly listened after his leading question, “So are you married?”
Robbie decided yeah, go for it, so talked of Val, how she was more than a wife and the mother of his children, that she had been his best friend, his soul mate, a safe port in the storm of his career, full of darkness and death, how she was inspirational, involved in so many causes and local community projects. How every day he still woke up to an empty bed and it was a kick in the guts, an overwhelming emptiness for a few seconds before he woke properly. He lived it every day, every morning. She was gone and was never coming back.
He then went on to moan about ever since she’d been gone these women just seemed to crawl out of the woodwork, as it were, wouldn’t leave him alone, as if he had a target on his back. The widower, the guy who only had one wife and was totally faithful, the dream man to women of a certain age, obviously. He didn’t want to hurt them, so mostly, he never got passed the first date. He watched James’ eyes widen in surprise. Obviously not what James thought he was doing.
“Besides,” he added, “I’ve never met a woman who came close to what I felt for Val.” He emphasised the word woman carefully.
James asked if he had faith, spinning him a story of being a research fellow at Trinity in theology. Good lie, James, stick close to the truth. He watched the hurt in his eyes, as he told him he was done with religion, with a God who could take his Val and leave him behind.
James looked down, blushing again, before saying, “But you’re angry with God. You have to believe in him somehow if you hate him.”
Robbie stared, “Mebbe,” he allowed. “What about you, nice girl like you? No boyfriend?”
James shook his head, the long fake hair flying about his face in a very real way. It was bloody alluring. Robbie didn’t think he had it in him to play silly role-play games.
“You don’t have to be alone, a lovely person like you,” he said carefully.
“It’s complicated,” James said.
“You bet it is,” Robbie snorted and decided to tease some more, and told James all about his complicated sergeant, how deep and mysterious he was, how he did his head in sometimes, how he really liked him but was infuriated by him. James’ answer was truly revealing.
“He doesn’t sound mysterious at all. He sounds like he’s probably gay and in love with you.” Robbie stared, thinking thank you James, I had figured that out years ago, thank you for finally telling me. He almost missed James adding, “I could understand anyone falling in love with you.”
“Sweet of you to say, Jamie, but you’ve only just met me. My sergeant is Catholic, devout as far as I can tell. He was going to be a priest.”
“Okay, gay, in love and guilty about it,” James conceded. He then went on to talk a lot about Catholic attitude to homosexuality, which seemed to be far more complicated than Protestant Evangelical theology that Robbie knew about, i.e., banned in the Bible and if you do anything it’s a wicked, sinful choice and accepting Jesus would just make you straight. It was an attitude that had always pissed him off, because he knew your sexuality wasn’t a choice. He was lucky; he was bisexual and fell head over heels in love with Val and had almost three decades of happy marriage. But not everyone was straight or bisexual, were they?
From what he could gather, Catholicism seemed to acknowledge this, but treated it like a disease. Certainly you weren’t allowed to do anything, think anything, with your sexuality.
However, he was three sheets to the wind and following all this complicated theology was doing his head in. Poor sod, he thought, you poor fucked up sod. Now you’re cross-dressing to attract me, whereas if you had ever answered my bloody question with a yes you would have got a ‘and I’m bisexual, so what James?’ out of me!
The conversation and not revealing that he knew was getting so difficult Robbie was so grateful when the lads called him away. He arranged to meet ‘Jamie’ on Friday night and walked ‘her’ partway to the door.
He stayed to watch the stripper so he wouldn’t get ribbed the next day for Morse having turned him into a ponce and a nob or Hathaway turned him holier than thou or queer and then left. He had a lot of thinking to do. The next two days were going to be difficult, that was for certain.
*
Fortunately, Robbie had spent a lot of time occupied with the DCs’ annual reviews and James had been off, out and about, with community police visiting secondary schools’ career fairs. Apparently, lots of 16 years old girls had developed a previously unknown ambition to join the police when they saw the DS from CID in their school halls, CPSO Chris Spence told him.
Aye, he could imagine.
On Friday afternoon, however, a body was found in a college and it was back to the excitement of murder as opposed to the mundane. James’ face when he told him he had a date and couldn’t cancel and told him to sort SOCO was a picture. Still, he hopefully had rushed everything to give himself time to sort himself out and get here. To be honest, Robbie’s instincts told him it was another teenage suicide, another bright kid who couldn’t take the pressure. Still, Hobson would let them know in the morning.
And now, as he walked through from Castle Street, he smiled to himself. James was James, whatever his wore. He scooped to pick up James’ half smoked, still lit, cigarette and handed it to him. Deja vu. He smiled warmly. He found this game bizarre but fun. When did James plan to tell him? How far would they go before he was forced to admit who he was?
They talked for hours. At first, it was just as if they were at the Trout, Robbie ‘confided’ in ‘Jamie’ about the dead student and the spate of burglaries throughout the colleges they were also investigating, and they talked of work. Then, after a few glasses of wine, admittedly, Robbie decided to push it and ask all about ‘Jamie’ and ‘her’ life.
It was probably the wine, or the decision to stick to the truth as closely as possible, or not get caught, but James told a story of a life of work and music and church, of Cambridge and more loneliness, of rowing, which was cool, and studying, which he loved, and involvement in a big way with the church – he paused, as if his mind was keeping up a few beats behind his mouth – ‘but of course, it went nowhere, women can’t be priests,” he corrected himself.
“Not in the Catholic church, no,” agreed Robbie, topping up James’ glass. “What about your childhood, not lonely there?” he asked, mischievously.
Big mistake. James was far too forthcoming, from drink or nerves or some kind of deliberate plan the reasons for, Robbie, with his normal mind, couldn’t guess at, he had no idea.
“I said it was complicated,” James concluded sadly.
Yes, pet, complicated, and I’d not even pieced half of it. But Robbie said nothing, just put his hand over James’ and rubbed at it with his thumb, smiling sadly, before changing the subject to pudding.
Later, as he opened the taxi door for James, he kissed him firmly on the mouth before asking him to come for dinner, at his, the following evening.
James blushed at the kiss and nodded enthusiastically.
“Say eight o’clock then?”
James nodded, sitting down. Robbie leaned forward and kissed him again. He must have shaved before putting the make-up on, because he couldn’t feel the slightest bit of stubble. He stood up and handed the driver a twenty.
“Walk her to the door. She’s special.” He waved as the taxi pull away. James, you stupid sod, he thought sadly, you didn’t ask where I live.
*
Hobson proved his instincts right, a straightforward suicide. So sad, although reading between the lines the previous night that could so easily have been James, in Cambridge. He took Hobson for coffee that morning, and they both contemplated life, death and being young in silence. He nearly told her he had a date, but decided against it. He’d have to explain who with and what was going on, and that was private. Apart from the admission to himself, and to Val, that he found himself attracted to men and well as women, he’d never really acted on it. Times were different to when he’d been a young man, and for all the equality legislation and the encounter groups and challenging prejudice seminars policemen got sent on, homophobia was fairly rampant in the force. Whatever happened tonight, wherever they took it, it had to remain private. Never mind James’ gender, he was his subordinate officer. Words like taking advantage and abuse sprang to mind.
He left a message on Lyn’s voicemail, an SOS, and drove to Cowley Tescos. She rang him back as he was helplessly wandering about, leaning on a trolley, stocking up with the usual stuff on his Saturday shop and looking pointlessly at expensive ready meals and prepared foods. He wanted it to be from scratch. He knew he couldn’t cook like James, or Val, but he wanted to make an effort.
“Hello pet.”
“Hiya Dad. What are you doing?”
“Shopping. I need your help love.”
“You said Dad. In the voicemail, remember?”
“Uh yeah. I want to cook something – nothing complicated, just something that I can say I cooked and...”
“Have you got a date Dad?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Sure? Is it Laura?”
“Laura and I are just friends, I do keep telling you that. I get fed up with family trying to pair me off, you know I do.”
Lyn laughed. “Okay Dad. Whatever. Who are you trying to impress then?”
“James.”
“James? Are you sure this isn’t a date?” Robbie could hear his daughter chuckle.
“No, of course it...” Robbie found he was in the Health and Beauty aisle. He bent down, a bit embarrassed, and picked up a tube of K-Y jelly and then he scanned the condoms. What would be safe for...
“Dad? Dad? Are you there?”
Robbie felt himself blush. “James cooks for me so often and I just want to say thank you.”
“Sure? I wouldn’t mind, Dad. He adores you, I can see the way he looks at you. He’d make you happy. See, he already cooks for you.”
“And what? Are you saying you wouldn’t mind if your old Dad was gay?”
God, what a place to have this conversation, a supermarket on a Saturday morning. He was getting more than a few stares.
“Dad! I just want you to be happy.”
“And your wedding, you want the guy who walks you down the aisle to turn up with another guy on his arm, one younger than you?” Robbie stressed the last bit, and repeated it in his mind. Younger than his daughter! On top of that, James was so innocent and yet too experienced with older men all at the same time. Oh God! What was he doing? He stared at the condoms in his hand.
“Dad! Dad! Are you there? Hello! Dad!”
“Sorry pet. What?”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“No. Sorry love. What?”
“I said,” Lyn enunciated clearly as if speaking to a particularly intractable toddler, “that James is so old in his head, and he adores you. Silently. Like a puppy dog. And he’s gorgeous. If my Dad is gonna be gay, let all my girlfriends be jealous of him, that’s what I say!” she laughed. “Besides, Dad, love is never wrong. Do you love him?”
Will McEwan said that. It was a sign. He dropped the packet of condoms in the trolley, but then pulled his washing powder over the top. “Well, what do I cook for him, then?” he asked, without really confirming or denying that it was a date, and certainly not confirming that he loved his sergeant as much as her mother.
*
Robbie saw James from his window, pacing and smoking outside, so put the pan of water on for the pasta and took out the salad bowl from the fridge and tossed in the dressing. It had been easier than he’d expected; Lyn had told him to buy a pack of mince, and fry it and add the jar of sauce, to buy a pack of salad leaves, and any extras he wanted to chop up and buy a French dressing. It was cheating, but nowhere near as much as his usual processed crap. He could even do this for himself sometimes, he supposed.
James stood in the door, smiling awkwardly, holding a bottle of rather expensive red wine and some flowers, but the very tight girl jeans caught Robbie’s gaze. Where had he put his...? He shook his head, not believing where his thoughts were going. James obviously misunderstood his look because he grew defensive about the flowers. Lewis couldn’t help himself; he made another cryptic quip about knowing what was going on here!
As he followed James down the hall to the living room he couldn’t help look at James’ very tight bum in his jeans. Nice. His mind wandered to the embarrassing purchase in the bedroom. What was he thinking? This was, still, his sergeant, and a very vulnerable young man at that.
Yeah, but he obviously wants it, Robbie argued with himself. From me. He wants it from me.
Monty came out to welcome James, there was no fooling him, and again he couldn’t resist a little tease. As he tipped the spaghetti in the pan Robbie heard James tell Monty to keep his secret.
After a surprisingly edible meal and discussion over nothing – favourite TV shows, favourite music, favourite TV shows when James (sorry, Jamie!) was a kid - Robbie retired to the sofa while James cleared up. He couldn’t help smiling as James brought in coffee, as he had some so many, many times before, but in his own clothes, not female ones. Robbie had to admit it, he did look good, convincing, and as if he’d walked straight from a catwalk or the pages of Vogue at that. But then, Robbie mused, the same could be said of the lad in his work suits, straight from the catwalk or GQ that was!
He realised he had to make the first move, if anything was going to happen, and then he could see how far James was going to go with this.
Far enough, it seemed, as he pulled back as Robbie moved his hand to between James’ legs, knowing exactly what he was going to find there.
“No!” James sounded panicked.
“Sorry, pet,” Robbie said gently, in case it wasn’t fear of discovery, but something more difficult to deal with. “Is this some Catholic guilt or your miserable childhood or something else?”
“Something else?” James asked. He looked confused.
Robbie smiled and he chuckled, reaching out to touch James’ wig. “Fear I’ll find a very un female reaction between your legs-” Robbie pulled off the wig “-James, pet.”
James stared for a long while, all the time Robbie just smiling sadly. It was obvious James really hadn’t a clue; he had truly believed he was fooling him. Stupid boy, what if he’d been the hardened Newcastle cop, the hard straight man, he sometimes liked to present? Then he could have easily battered the living daylights out of him. Didn’t he think? Or did James just trust him so implicitly that he thought it would all work out somehow?
“How long?” James whispered, and then coughed. “How long have you known?” he tried again.
Robbie decided to kiss him again before answering, to make sure James understood that it was him that Robbie wanted, not some fictional woman. This time he kissed him so passionately James moaned.
“Well, James, let’s see?” Robbie began; watching James’ confused, in fact, rather terrified, face. Yes he had thought about how this could go and had been prepared to take the risk. “You know where everything goes in my kitchen. Monty knew you. But apart from that, I ‘forgot’ to give you my address, and yet here you are.”
“Oh.”
James looked so crestfallen, Robbie couldn’t help himself, he laughed.
“Stop it!” James sounded exactly like an upset child who had been found out too soon in his game.
“Oh James, the real answer is I knew it was you standing in the doorway of the Whitehorse. I just wanted to know how far you would go.”
“Oh?”
“And what’s the answer? Still a good Catholic girl or were you just hiding your bad Catholic boy reaction?”
“Uh?”
Robbie kissed him again, this time hands quickly undoing girl jeans and pulling them swiftly down.
“Sir!”
“Well, James, tucked between your legs out of sight, now that has to be uncomfortable.”
“Sir!” James repeated, more a strangled moan.
“I told you to call me Robbie, didn’t I? Was that a no?”
“No!”
“What?”
“No, it wasn’t a no.”
“Was that a yes then?”
“Yes. Oh fucking yes!”
“Good.” And Lewis silenced him with another deep kiss, pushing the jeans off James completely, and began to push up his top, suddenly desperate, now he’d finally made the decision, to feel James’ skin as much as possible. Okay, James had gone the whole way with this, hadn’t he, Robbie thought, finding bra. For some reason, this made his angry, and he ripped off the rest of James’ female clothes, not caring if they got torn. James protested slightly at his aggression, but Robbie just silenced him with another kiss. In no time at all, James was utterly naked and lying underneath him, while he still was fully clothed.
“Is this what you wanted?” he hissed in James ear, before tracing his teeth over James’ tender neck.
*
Robbie got up to wash his hands and fetch some tissues, James having not been able to contain himself any longer, as it were. He was glad he brought the whole box since when he returned to the sofa he found James in tears, trying to hide it.
“Hey, what’s all this then, love?”
James grabbed the tissues and turned his back on Robbie, his head hung low in misery.
“James, pet?” Robbie rubbed James’ back and tried to pull him into a hug.
“Was this a... why?”
“Why what?”
“Was this to laugh at me? Pity?”
“James! Did you not feel how I kissed you, man! Why would I pity you? I love you. I admit, this was a bizarre way to get my attention, but I’ve kind of been enjoying it. Yeah, it was kind of fun. Certainly got some stuff about your past that I never would have, I think.” Robbie frowned, thinking hard. He grew insistent and pulled James into a tight hug anyway, stroking his hair. “Is this to do with your faith or your... past,” Robbie floundered. He gave up and kissed the top of James’ head.
“You’re not angry with me?”
“For what pet?” Robbie carried on stroking his hair. “Tell you what, we’ll be more comfortable in bed. Shall we?”
“Oh. Oh? You haven’t...” James went pink.
“Doesn’t matter. I was thinking of just cuddling and talking, you know. Until you feel safe.”
“What do you want Sir?” James looked directly at him.
“For you not to call me Sir in bed, for starters. Then, well, I can think of one or two things, but it’s what you want, pet. It’s up to you.” He stood up and held out his hand.
Instead of taking his hand and standing up James wrapped his arms around his waist and buried his face in Robbie’s tummy. He mumbled something, Robbie had to strain to hear.
“Did you just say what I think you did?” he checked. “Are you sure? You really want me to do that to you?”
James nodded, “You make me feel safe,” he said. “I trust you. I’ve wanted you for so long.”
Robbie was suddenly so glad he’d steeled the courage to buy the condoms and lube. “Okay pet. Let’s go to bed then, but,” he added sternly, “this relationship remains a secret, otherwise we’re risking our careers.”
“Relationship?” James said, his voice rising with some strong emotion, pulling away from Robbie and looking up.
“Of course. I don’t do one-night stands. If you’re finally offering yourself, I want you for keeps. That alright with you love?”
“Yes! Oh yes it fucking is! Yes please! You can’t imagine how much... I must be dreaming!”
“Na. Look. I’ll pinch you,” said Robbie and did so, before turning it into tickles, loving James’ giggles as he was saddened by James’ confused look. No, the lad really hadn’t had much in the way of tenderness of any kind, ever. Robbie vowed to make it up to him, as long as he lived. He got up again and pulled James to his feet. “Come on. Bed. Now young man,” he said, towing the naked James to his bedroom.
*
Afterwards, all explanations and plans to go to James’ flat in the morning and fetch his own clothes made, James fell asleep in his arms, Robbie couldn’t even begin to thank whatever had given him James. He loved him as he was, but he did consider, as he drifted off to sleep, whether to ask James to keep the wig.