I wasn't going to bother dressing up particularly-after all, this was Adam we were talking about; his idea of dressing up probably involved a T-shirt that wouldn't show the curry stains. Actually, thinking about it, that wasn't a bad idea. The state my nerves were in, I'd probably spill more than I ate. I quickly changed into a wine-red, tailored shirt I'd bought after seeing Sherlock on TV. I hadn't worn it much; people always seemed to stare when I did, and I'd got the impression Kate hadn't liked it much. But Adam, I was fairly sure, wouldn't even notice.
I checked my reflection; hmm. The shirt fit snugly, emphasizing just how skinny I was, and made me look almost vampirically pale. The black jeans completed the picture. It was the closest I'd ever come to flirting with the goth look I'd yearned for, back in the youth I'd lacked the courage to misspend. I was fairly sure I'd passed the point of being able to carry it off now. Still, the ensemble would definitely hide any embarrassing mishaps with the tikka masala. I nodded at myself, gave my darkening chin a quick rub, decided Adam wouldn't give a toss if I shaved or not, and headed downstairs just as the doorbell rang to announce the arrival of my escort for the night.
When I opened the door, Adam just stood there and stared at me for a moment. He was, as predicted, as scruffy as ever in baggy three-quarter-length cargo pants and a faded T-shirt that read, bizarrely, "Archaeologists do it in ditches". Bugger. Was I hideously overdressed?
"Um," I said by way of greeting. "Should I go and change? Have a shave?"
Adam shook his head slowly. "Nuh-uh. Nuh-uh. Y're perfect."
I was? "Er, thanks. Do you want to come in? Or shall we head straight off?"
Adam looked torn. Clearly worried by his show of indecision, my stomach rumbled loudly. Adam laughed. "All right. Food first."
***
The curry was pretty good, as it happened. Adam was quite a fun companion, with plenty of stories about mountain biking mishaps told with his customary economy of words, not to mention vowels, but helpfully illustrated with an impressive collection of scars. Some of them I was amazed he got away with showing me in a public place. Subtitles would have been useful, no question about it, but we seemed to get along just fine.
It was ironic, though-my first ever date with a man, and it felt exactly like going for a meal with a mate. I mean, I'd never have taken a woman to this place-it was far too laddish for a date with a girl. But for Adam, it seemed just right. There was no holding hands across the table-I guessed neither of us fancied getting our heads kicked in by the lagered-up rugby players celebrating today's win with a vindaloo and the makings of a killer hangover-and no gazing soulfully into each others' eyes. We just talked, ate and laughed.
Actually, we talked quite a lot about Matt. I got to hear Adam's opinion of the school they both went to back in Somerset ("'S shite"); Matt's mum, who'd died a year or so after they'd started there ("Lovely"); Matt's step-dad ("'S a bastard") and Matt himself ("'S all right"). Hearing that made me feel a bit better about having been described the same way-apparently it was Adam's all-purpose seal of approval.
"Do you know Matt's, um, boyfriend well?" I asked casually.
Not casually enough, apparently, as Adam gave me a knowing smile. Actually, it was more of a leer, but on Adam, the two expressions weren't all that far removed from one another, anyway. Then his face seemed to close off, and he leaned back in his chair and took a long swig of his lager (alcohol-free, since he was driving). "'S not out."
I frowned. "Not out? But I thought they were living together?"
Adam snorted a laugh. "Says Matt's the lodger, anyone asks. Or if they don't. Even charges him rent, the bastard."
At least I seemed to be getting better at speaking Adam. His words were almost totally comprehensible now. "Is Matt all right with that?" I asked. "The hiding, I mean, not the rent." I had to admit, a small part of me-no, not that part-could see the advantages. No problems with family, friends and colleagues. Having your cake and eating it.
But it left a sour taste in my mouth, and not just because it was Matt we were talking about rather than a bit of sugar-covered bakery produce. Was that hypocritical of me, given the lie I'd been enthusiastically living all these years?
Adam just shrugged and took another helping of chicken madras. "Told him to leave the bastard. Won't."
That was depressing. If Matt was prepared to be Steve's dirty little secret even against the advice of one of his best friends, he must really care for him. Love him, even.
I decided I'd better change the subject before I ended up sniffling into my Shiraz. "So, um, do you work?"