‘Quite.’ What was Adam’s point?
Adam had sat down on his own bed and was pulling on his ankle boots. ‘I mean, on a scale of one to ten, where one is you can’t read the lecture notes on the board and ten is you can’t get out of bed because you can’t see the floor, how short-sighted are you?’
‘I’d say about a five,’ said Christopher. ‘I wouldn’t be able to find my way across the pub, if that’s what you mean. But I could probably get out of bed and get my feet into my slippers.’
‘Right.’ Adam frowned. ‘So the glasses we make a virtue of – don’t want you falling over a table, that’s not smooth, is it? Unless you’re going for the Some Mothers Do ’Ave ’Em school of charm, which you’re not.’ He narrowed his eyes, scrutinising Christopher. Christopher shifted on the mattress, coughed into his hand. ‘Your hair’s better than it was,’ Adam continued. ‘You’ve got two decent pairs of britches, a few shirts and that coat we picked up, so all we need now is… the chutzpah. A bit of bravado. What you’ve got to understand, mate, is that sometimes when women say no or stop they mean yes, carry on, and a bit of cheek is what tells you when to listen and when to take no bloody notice.’ He stood, his boots all but covered by the wide sweep of his jeans. Christopher stayed sitting on his bed, aware that Adam was about to deliver one of his talks.
Sure enough, Adam spread his hands. ‘You’ve got to look at it like this. You chat up some bird – she knocks you back. So what? You move on, no big deal. Unless there’s that tiny hesitation, in which case keep going. And basically you keep going until one of them takes the bait.’
‘The bait?’ What were they – fish?
‘That moment when they bite. But the thing is, the more you get knocked back, the less you care. So you’ve got to almost want to get knocked back, if you know what I mean. And this is the sheer beauty of it, my friend. The more you get knocked back, the less you care, and the less you care, the better you get. Do you see? And then eventually you find a woman, she likes what you’re saying, or she gives in to what you’re saying, or she just can’t be bothered to fight you off, it doesn’t matter. Then it’s just a question of keeping going till they relax. They’re uptight, most of them. They want a bit of action as much as we do; they just need to relax and see that none of it matters. Because it doesn’t! We’re all here to have a good time; it doesn’t need to be War and Peace. It’s just a drink, a laugh, a fuck if you’re lucky, and the sooner you can get them to relax and realise that, the sooner you’re on.’ He stepped closer. ‘Stand up.’
Christopher stood, found himself almost nose to nose with Adam, now two inches taller in his boots. To his surprise, Adam took both his hands in his and Christopher had to fight the urge to pull them away.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to jump you.’ Adam let go, took a step back and placed his hands on Christopher’s shoulders. He pushed down. ‘Get these from round your ears for a start. You’ll develop a hunch if you carry on like that.’
Christopher lowered his shoulders. His back made a low cracking sound.
‘Well that’s a hundred per cent better for a kick-off.’ Adam moved closer and grinned. ‘Now, pretend I’m a gorgeous bird. Gorgeous as you like.’
Christopher felt himself blush. Forget it, let’s just go to the pub, he wanted to say but couldn’t.
‘You want me to pretend you’re a woman?’ he asked instead. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Deadly. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to make a pass, not that way inclined; just want to get you to feel the force, like Luke Skywalker. You need to get some use out of your lightsaber, Lukey baby.’ He was mucking about, pretending to be solemn, had put his hands together in prayer. ‘Pretend. Use the Force.’
Christopher opened his mouth to protest. Adam grabbed his hands and placed them on his own waist.
‘Adam, I…’ The heat in his face spread down his neck. He looked at the floor – the orange scratchy carpet that Adam said was made from Brillo pads.
‘Trust me, flower. I’m Obi Wan. You’re Luke Skywalker. Now. Pull me towards you.’
‘I can’t.’ Horrified, Christopher stared at the tips of Adam’s silly boots, his own brown brogues polished to a high shine. This was utterly ridiculous. ‘We… in my family… we don’t really…’
‘We don’t in mine either. Just relax, will you? Look, your shoulders are right back up again; what are they on, string? You’re not a puppet. Get ’em down.’
Christopher obeyed, rolled his head to loosen his neck, but still could not look at his room-mate.
‘Now, pretend I’m a bird and pull me towards you. Stop groaning, Christopher. It’s called a hug. Women love it. It’s tender without being predatory – before you get predatory, although we don’t say that and that bit I’ll be leaving to you, mate. Go on, pull me in.’
‘I…’
‘Do it.’
‘I don’t…’
‘Do. It.’
Christopher sighed. Impatient, it was Adam who pulled Christopher towards him until their bodies almost touched. There was no room to keep his head at a downward angle, so he found himself obliged to tilt it back a little and direct his gaze over Adam’s left shoulder.
‘That’s it,’ said Adam. ‘Steady as you like.’ Without warning, he wrapped his arms around Christopher’s shoulders and pulled him into an embrace. Now their bodies touched, all right. Christopher could feel the strength in Adam’s arms, his hard, thin torso against his own. His neck had almost locked itself over Adam’s collarbone, the tip of his chin against Adam’s back. It was all so different from the way it had been with Angie, or slow-dancing at the youth club with the girl with greasy hair. He kept his eyes on Adam’s T. Rex poster on the far wall
‘You see, mate,’ said Adam. ‘It’s not that bad. But you are as tense as a tightrope. Try and relax, will you, for crying out loud. At least try. I’m not here to jump you – this is what this position says. I’m your friend, it says, you can trust me, all that.’
Adam leant to the right, then the left, keeping tight hold of Christopher all the while. He repeated this once, twice more. Every muscle in Christopher’s body clenched, but he concentrated on keeping his shoulders down, as if relaxed, in the hope that Adam would stop.
‘Hug me back,’ Adam said.
Christopher lifted his arms a little and closed them tighter around his friend. Their chests connected; he could feel the side of Adam’s head against his own, could smell the Brut cologne he kept on his bedside table.
‘That’s it. Now. I’m a girl. I’m a girl and I’m thinking,’ Adam switched to a high-pitched parody of a woman’s voice, ‘here’s a strong fellow who can hold me tight. He’ll look after me, he’ll protect me from that nasty Ripper man.’