Becoming Liz Taylor by Elizabeth Delo

Author:Elizabeth Delo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin

NINETEEN

A text made Rafe’s phone ping. ‘Alright m8? Shall I come round your gaff?’ It was Robert, a man Rafe had met a couple of weeks before at Duke’s Mound. He was a builder. Their encounter had been rather sweet – none of the usual tugging at zips, none of the tiresome impatience. It had ended in a long kiss, and Robert had run his finger along Rafe’s cheek, stopping to gaze at him. When Robert suggested they exchange numbers, Rafe began to imagine every kind of fairy tale. Maybe this was the beginning of something. He didn’t normally give out his phone number so readily, but Robert could have it. Robert could have anything he wanted. As Rafe walked back to his flat that afternoon, he touched his fingers to his lips, feeling the place where Robert had kissed him.

Ever since, Rafe had been wondering how long to wait before he should text. He hadn’t invited a man round to the flat before, but there was a tenderness about Robert. Despite Rafe’s low mood and diminished self-worth, he had to start again somewhere. Over the past fortnight he’d written and rewritten the same text a hundred times, rearranging the words, changing the tone from ‘laidback’ to ‘keen’, before losing his nerve and deleting the whole thing. Who was he kidding? Robert had probably forgotten all about him.

Rafe stared at the text. He wasn’t sure what the ‘8’ meant. It must be a typo. The tone seemed very casual, but Rafe told himself that texts were easily misconstrued. He remembered Robert’s subtle touch. He clicked ‘Reply’ and started composing. Should he offer dinner? Perhaps he could cook his famous moules marinières. He hadn’t made them since Florence Road. Maybe he could stretch to a bottle of Chablis. It wouldn’t take him long to nip up to the deli. To hell with the benefit sanction. He imagined the two of them sharing a romantic meal, refilling each other’s glasses, talking about important things with full mouths. Then afterwards, shirts strewn along the hallway, lying together in Rafe’s bed and watching the light coming up across the rooftops of Brighton. For the first time since Jim, Rafe began to imagine another relationship. Perhaps it would be him next time in the Doorstep, all cosied up with Robert, his new love, smirking at pictures on a phone, their thighs touching. Strolling through the Lanes on a Saturday afternoon, a double bill at the Picturehouse, dinner out, then back home for telly and bed. Rafe looked at the text again. M8. Ah, he saw what it was now. Mate. He felt a twinge of disappointment. He texted Robert back his address, told him he’d be in all afternoon and was looking forward to seeing him.

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