I laid out the food and the wine as best I could on the narrow desk-come-dressing table, which stood by the window. There wasn’t much other furniture, just a small built-in wardrobe and one chair. That didn’t matter. I suspected we would eat our picnic in bed. I’d brought proper glasses, plates and cutlery, all wrapped in kitchen paper. I arranged everything as attractively as I could.
At the appointed time I texted Tim, as arranged, to give him the room number.
He must have been waiting nearby, probably inside the hotel. The knock on the door came far more quickly than I’d expected. I was just opening the champagne and called out for him to wait a moment. I quickly poured two glasses and carried one of them with me, holding it aloft, as I opened the door.
‘Welcome to the Ritz,’ I said.
He stepped into the room and I passed him the glass. His face broke into a smile, that big, crooked, lovely smile I feared I was becoming more or less incapable of doing without, whatever the dangers. He took the glass, leaned forward and kissed me lingeringly on the lips. After a bit, I backed away.
‘First, dinner,’ I said, waving an arm at my picnic.
He looked gratifyingly surprised.
‘I uh, hadn’t expected,’ he stumbled. ‘I mean, I didn’t bring anything. I, uh, wasn’t sure…’ Of course he hadn’t been sure. How on earth could he be sure of anything? I’d done nothing but send out mixed messages ever since we’d met.
‘I didn’t want you to bring anything,’ I said. ‘I just wanted…’ It was my turn to stumble over the words. ‘I wanted to make things special… well as special as I could in a Premier Inn,’ I finished a tad apologetically.
‘The Premier Inn is fine,’ he said.
I suspected, however, that he was wondering why, if I wanted to give him dinner, I hadn’t arranged to do so in one of the restaurants Soho is teeming with.
‘I just wanted us to be alone all night,’ I offered, again apologetically.
‘It’s fun, really, it is,’ he said, flashing the crooked smile again, even more broadly.
‘Enjoy,’ I said, topping up his glass.
I’d barely touched mine. I didn’t want to drink too much and for anything to take the edge off what was going to happen. I hadn’t even brought any poppers. I didn’t think either of us needed them and I wanted to see what it would be like without.
I couldn’t believe I was with him again and I was going to be able to spend all night with him. Well, most of it anyway. I couldn’t believe how much he already meant to me. I supposed I really was falling in love with him. I wasn’t entirely sure, though, because I had never been in love before.
Tim drank most of the champagne and at least two large glasses of the claret. I don’t think he noticed that I just took sips. By the time we climbed into bed and lay naked alongside each other, he was more than a little tipsy. But he somehow seemed all the more attractive to me. I’d wanted us to have a good time in more ways than the obvious. I’d wanted to show him that I cared about more than the sexual gratification I had when I was with him. I was only sorry that I hadn’t felt able to do so in a less secretive way.
He was an eager lover. Ever since the last time we’d been together, I had done little but dream of this, of touching and caressing him, of feeling his hands and his lips all over me and, ultimately, of entering him.
My every expectation was, if anything, exceeded. It was as if my whole being came alive. When we’d finished I was a trembling wreck. He fell asleep almost at once, in my arms. I lay wide awake through the night.
I left just after five, before the city was awake.
I climbed back into my clothes in the half light and loaded the glasses, crockery and cutlery I had brought for the picnic back into my rucksack. Although I moved as quietly as I could, this time I had nothing to worry about. It would have taken a lot more than me dressing and packing to wake my young lover. The alcohol and the sex combined had done their job. Tim was dead to the world, lying flat on his back, snoring. His outrageously beautiful, young body was spread-eagled across the bed. His organ lying limp and damp now. I felt aroused just looking at him, but that was no good. I had to go. I walked softly across the room to the door. There I paused. I couldn’t leave him with nothing, not even a goodbye.
I reached into my pocket for a pen and a piece of paper, on it I scribbled a brief note. Farewell, sweet Tim. You were magnificent.
Then I left the room, pulling the door quietly shut behind me. I put on my baseball cap and pulled the peak low over my forehead. I walked with my head down and kept out of the way of the CCTV cameras as much as possible, both inside and outside the hotel. I walked down to The Strand and on to Waterloo Bridge. In the middle, where the Thames was deep, even at low tide, I stopped and stood looking down into the murky waters. Then I reached into the pocket of my jacket, took out my pay-as-you-go iPhone and threw it into the river. I felt a tug on my heartstrings and a renewed sense of longing in my groin, as the phone sank without trace.
But I had been forced to take drastic action. I could no longer trust myself. My feelings for Tim were such that I was in danger of taking huge risks just to be with him, just to spend a few hours with him.
I had to end it.
As long as I had the phone, I knew I would not be able to ignore him if he called or texted me. Or rather, when he called or texted me, because I was sure he would. Neither would I be able to stop myself calling him. After all, his was the only number stored in that phone. It would just be too easy. If I no longer had the phone, Tim had no way of contacting me. He knew nothing about me. He thought he did, but he didn’t.
And maybe, just maybe, without that phone I would be able to resist even attempting to contact him again. And eventually, day by day it would become easier.
I lasted for two weeks. It felt like two years. No. Two decades.
I could not get Tim out of my head. Whatever I was doing and however hard I tried, his presence was there within me. Nothing, it seemed, could block Tim out.
Eventually, I gave in.
That original hotel bill, with his number scribbled on it, was still in the top drawer of my bedside cabinet. I’d got rid of the phone, which was my main connection with Tim, but had proved quite unable to destroy that scrap of paper. I suppose it had always been just a matter of time. I guess I’d only been kidding myself otherwise. After all, I’d bought myself a new pay-as-you-go phone at the end of the first week. Just in case.
On the day that I attempted to contact him again, I took that piece of paper from its hiding place several times and then replaced it, before eventually dialling Tim’s number.
I knew it wouldn’t be an easy call. He was going to be angry and hurt. Yet again I’d blown hot and cold. I’d allowed him to think that he was special to me, which he was, whatever he now thought and however much I denied it to myself.
However, I had walked out on him again, whilst he was asleep and without even saying goodbye, then effectively cut our cord of communication.
I was right too. He was angry.
‘I don’t bloody believe it,’ he said. ‘You have a nerve, Leo, I’ll give you that.’
‘Look I’m really sorry, I can explain—’
‘What?’ He interrupted me. ‘With some piece of fiction about another lost or stolen phone, I suppose? I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear from you again, not ever. Go play your stupid games on some other poor sucker.’
And, with that, Tim hung up.
It took me several days to find the courage to call him again, but it was inevitable that I would, eventually.
He didn’t seem quite so angry this time, at least he listened when I told him I’d never come to terms with my sexuality. That I’d always kept everything about it a secret from my family and friends, that I had previously been content with occasional, casual, sexual encounters to satisfy my needs and that I’d never before found a man I wanted more from.