The Friends We Keep(112)

Topher cast his mind back to his former life, a life he had rarely thought about since moving here. He started off phoning Dickie every day, just to check on him, but Dickie and Cookie were having such a good time, he rarely picked up the phone anymore. All those years with Dickie, and already it felt like it happened lifetimes ago.

“I used to be an actor. Maybe you’ve seen me in something? I was in a rather ghastly soap opera for years and years.”

“No.” Roger frowned and shook his head. “I don’t think that’s it.”

“The steam rooms on Houston in 1992?” Topher said, deliberately making a joke to see Roger’s reaction, to see if he was indeed batting for Topher’s team.

Roger gave a wry grin. “I wasn’t in New York in 1992, but I do remember those steam rooms.”

Yes! thought Topher. Score!

“I think it’s something to do with theater. Is that possible? Were you connected with theater?”

“I did a little off-Broadway but not anything I imagine you would have seen. Although I did have a long-term relationship with someone . . .”

Roger narrowed his eyes then smiled. “It wasn’t Benedict Burroughs, by any chance, was it?”

Topher started. “It was! Do you know him?”

“I don’t know him but I have a great friend in New York, Cookie Kempson, who . . .”

“Oh my God! You know Cookie?”

Roger laughed. “We’re old friends. What a small world! I can’t believe our paths haven’t crossed given that you’re now living here. How have I not run into you at a dinner party, or a cocktail party? What on earth have you been doing socially, and if you haven’t been going out, why, may I ask, have you been hiding yourself under a stone?”

“I live with friends,” Topher said.

“Ah.” Roger nodded. “You’re in a long-term relationship. Still, you have to go out.”

“No,” Topher laughed. “I’m not in a relationship. I’m single. I do live with friends, but it’s been a bit all-consuming. Quite a bit of drama for a while there. Also, I had no idea where to go to meet . . . people like us. I looked online but the only thing I could find were LGBTQ meet-ups that looked like they might have been a bit sad and desperate. I couldn’t face it.”

“Funny boy. I wish we’d met earlier. I’m going to a dinner party tomorrow night in Frome. Lovely boys, David and Matthew. David’s a literary agent, and Matthew’s a choreographer. They’ve been up here for eons, and I think you’ll love them. Why don’t you come?”

“They won’t mind?”

“Absolutely not. The more the merrier.”

“This isn’t a date, is it?” Topher asked, with a grin and a frank gaze.

“Why, no! It’s just a dinner party,” said Roger, but he was smiling as he said it.

“That sounds wonderful.” Topher tried to contain his excitement at finally finding the people he’d been looking for, the people he didn’t even know existed here. Not that he didn’t love his old friends, but living with Maggie, and now Jack, had felt like living in a microcosm; it wasn’t real life, it wasn’t the real world. He adored the house, adored Maggie and Jack, and Evvie, but it would be even better if he had a circle of friends outside of them, a social life with other people! Frankly, he’d spent the last year wondering where all the gay men were.

“I’m going to return the invitation with one of my own.” Topher was astounded to hear the flirtation in his voice. It had been so long since he was attracted to someone, so long since he had flirted that he thought he had forgotten how to do it. He had not forgotten.

“If you’re not doing anything Sunday morning, I’m helping friends out with a new breakfast spot opening. You should come,” said Topher. “It’s in Bruton. The old tearoom.”

“Ye Olde Tea Roomes?” Roger laughed. “Of course I know that place! It’s around the corner from me. I walk past it every day and I’ve been dying to know what it’s becoming. I heard it was going to be an American-style diner, which didn’t sound right.”

“It may not sound right for Somerset, but that’s exactly what it is. Come and join us on Sunday, and I guarantee you’ll eat the best banana pancakes you’ve ever had in your life.”

“You’ll be there?”

“I promised them I’d work during the grand opening, so I’ll be there, but I’ll be working.”

Roger narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t a date, is it?”

“Why, no! It’s just banana pancakes,” said Topher, smiling as Roger chuckled.

“Give me your number.” Roger took a streamlined leather notepad out of his pocket.

“That’s very old-fashioned of you,” said Topher, admiring the notepad. “No phone?”

“I’ll put it into my phone later,” he said. “That’s a promise. And I’ll phone you later to confirm the dinner party. Does that sound okay?”

“That sounds fine,” said Topher, using all the acting skills he had to hide the fact that he was bursting with an excitement he hadn’t felt in months. Possibly years.





fifty-five


- 2019 -