Hard Tail(26)

The weekend class, when I got there, had a completely different feel to the Wednesday one. More school kids, with a few who hardly looked old enough for school, their brightly coloured belts wrapped several times around their skinny middles-not that I was one to talk, of course. Unfortunately, my sparring partner from Wednesday was there too. Pritchard-I was damned if I was going to think of him as "Mister" anybody.




 

 

He didn't look any happier to see me than I was to see him-he sneered and turned his back deliberately as I approached, effectively blocking me off from the group of brown and black belts standing around having a pre-session chat.

Ye gods, how old was he? Twelve? I started doing a few stretches, and after a minute or two, John, one of the other black belts, detached himself from the group and came over to join me. He was a sandy-haired man in his forties with a cultured voice and impressively toned abs. I'd noticed those last two on Wednesday, although possibly not in that order.

"Don't let old Pit-bull get to you," John said in a low voice. "I think he feels he needs to defend his territory."

I smiled at the nickname. "As long as he doesn't try and pee on me," I murmured, and we both laughed.

I didn't get it, though. What the hell did the guy have against me? Was it my accent-too "posh"? My face? The way I did my hair?

Or was it the other thing? A cold chill ran through me. Could he tell? Maybe there was something in the way I looked at the other guys-without me even realising it? God, could the other guys tell too? A bead of sweat trickled uncomfortably down my back. No, that couldn't be it. No one had noticed anything at my old club-but then, they'd all seen me with Kate at the Christmas do, hadn't they? So if they had noticed anything, they'd have just assumed they'd been mistaken, wouldn't they?

I'd always thought the "gaydar" thing was a bit of a myth, that you couldn't tell just by looking at a guy-but what if I'd been wrong? What if it was just me who was rubbish at it?

"Mr. Knight! Good to see you again!" Sensei's friendly greeting nearly ruptured an eardrum. I spun round to be treated to one of his trademark enthusiastic handshakes. It definitely made a change from the Sensei at my London club, who took his karate very seriously indeed-I think he'd totally forgotten bowing wasn't the normal social greeting in the West, which was a little sad for a bloke called Brian from Billericay.

We all trooped into the dojo-it takes a while when you all have to stop and bow-and lined up. Sensei bounced on the balls of his feet a couple of times, then called out, "Mr. Knight-would you like to do the warm-up?"

I blinked. I hadn't expected this on only my second session here-then again, a warm-up was a warm-up, wasn't it? "Osu," I replied quickly, bowing, and ran out to the front to face a long line of friendly and not-so-friendly faces. Although there was really only one in the last category: Pit-bull Pritchard looked like he'd rather swim naked through boiling lava than have me out the front telling him what to do. "Okay, let's have you jumping on the spot," I began. 

I took them through the usual exercises, although I may have put in a few more jumps than usual when I noticed Pritchard wasn't too light on his feet. Maybe he'd had a night on the town last night, and was feeling hungover? I probably shouldn't have enjoyed the thought as much as I did. By the time we finished, he was looking like he thought skinny-dipping in boiling lava was an excellent idea, only it'd be me taking the plunge, not him. I was careful to meet his glare with a sunny smile, after which he looked like he'd decided lava was far too good for me.

Of course, I then had to make sure I avoided Pritchard for the rest of the class, but I'd been planning on doing that, anyway. I managed to keep at least three people between us at all times until the very end, when I had to walk past him to leave.

"Fucking poofter," he muttered as I bowed my way out of the dojo.

I was glad my face was hidden. All I could think of was getting away. Luckily my body was on autopilot and even managed to wave good-bye to the guys as I went. My mind was paralysed, frozen with shock. He'd known. How had he known? What was it that gave me away?

I hadn't been eyeing his tank-like form with illicit desire, that was for sure.

I wondered who else he'd told. I guessed I'd find out on Wednesday, when nobody wanted to spar with me …

Damn it.

***

I spent Sunday afternoon trying to distract myself by doing mundane but necessary tasks. I threw my dirty clothes in the washing machine, then unpacked all Gran's pottery dragons and arranged them on Jay's shelves. All right, perhaps not strictly speaking necessary, but it definitely cheered the place up a bit. I found the one that looked most like the picture of Puff the Magic Dragon I'd had as a kid and bunged it in the loo next to Jay's bong. It looked right at home. I found myself whistling the song every time I went for a pee.