Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [34]
‘Half board?’
‘Room only. But it say there is three restaurants. “The casual beachside grill, the child-friendly Harvey’s and the more formal Cochon Gros.” ’
‘Not that I’ll ever get to go to any of these places,’ Fintan murmured. ‘But it’s nice to dream. What’s the average temperature this time of year?’
Sandro consulted the chart at the back of the brochure, then suddenly flung it on the floor. ‘I am so angry with these peoples, these animals, that do this to you,’ he said fiercely.
‘Are you… really?’ Fintan choked.
‘I am angry that they do it to the gay man and I am angry that they do it to you!’
But what did that mean? Fintan wondered. Was Sandro just a bleeding-heart liberal? A straight bleeding-heart liberal?
Luckily, no. Sandro was as gay as the next man. (Fintan.) When pressed it all came out, and Sandro admitted that two years previously his boyfriend had died of ‘the virus’.
‘And I feel I can never again care for anyone. But I see you coming in and out of your flat,’ Sandro ducked his head in embarrassment – not that it made any difference because Fintan was still, to all intents and purposes, blind, ‘and I think, he’s… he’s good-looking. Then you bring me my letters and the leaflet about pizzas and window-cleaning and I think you’re very kind.’
Very gently, taking care not to dislocate Fintan’s jaw any further, they had their first kiss and Fintan experienced such a surfeit of happiness that he thought his heart would split open – just like his lip had. From that day forth, Sandro and Fintan were an item and it was a match made in Heaven.
They were mad about each other. Sandro was overwhelmed with happiness at falling in love again and Fintan had met his long-awaited Mr Right.
‘I understand now why they talk about your “other half”,’ he admitted. ‘That’s what Sandro is to me.’
Both had been wounded – Fintan by the trauma of being beaten up and Sandro by the death of his previous boyfriend – and they were tender and mindful of each other. At the same time they both had bags of energy, an enormous circle of friends and a great love of socializing. Sandro’s English improved greatly. The only thing was he now spoke with an Irish inflection and peppered his conversation with ‘grand’ and ‘feck’.
Six months later they bought a top-floor flat in Notting Hill and Sandro used his architectural skills to take out so many ceilings and walls and put in so many mezzanines, portholes and polished concrete floors that it appeared in Which House? and Elle Decoration.
‘Up we get.’ Fintan heaved his feet out of Sandro’s lap. ‘Things to see, people to do. Do you want to go to Katherine’s later?’
Sandro nodded enthusiastically. That was another reason that Fintan and Sandro worked so well. Fintan came as a package deal with Tara and Katherine – love me, love my friends – and Fintan had once dumped a potential love interest because he’d taken violently against Katherine, exclaiming, ‘She’s so anal.’
‘After Katherine’s will we go out for a drink and a dance?’ Sandro asked.
‘Sure. So we’d better get you organized for Norwich now, because you’ll be too tired in the morning.’ Fintan bustled: the following day Sandro was going to Norwich for a week, doing major work on a house there. ‘Bring me your shirts to be ironed.’
‘You know you don’t have to do that,’ Sandro protested. ‘I could try.’
‘Pah, no. You never make them as nice.’
‘Okay,’ he said shyly. ‘Thanks.’
Fintan got out the ironing-board and Sandro gave him five shirts.
‘What do I need to pack?’ Sandro called from the beige Japanese-style bedroom, his case flung open on the raised platform bed.
‘Five pairs of knickers, five pairs of socks, toothbrush, smellies, charger for your mobile, you forgot that the last time…’
‘Can I have your jean jacket?’
‘If you don’t mind it being too big.’
After Fintan had lovingly removed every crease from Sandro’s shirts, he carefully laid them in the case, smoothing them flat. ‘Right, you’re all set. Now I’d better ring