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Tucks himself in. Ignores the shuffling noises in the cubicle behind him. Bear and twink hiding inside. Money earned while he dutifully pretends not to be aware of the transaction.
Esca turns away from the urinal, sneakers whispery on the tile, soft beneath the music invading the cramped room. He doesn't pay any attention to the cubicle. Soap and water because his Mum taught him well. Hands wiped on his jeans. Esca hums along with the music, cellophane pack pulled from his pocket with damp fingers before the door is completely open. Rush of smoky air. Cleaner than the shite smell in the loo.
Click of the lighter.
Vibrate.
Flame and inhale, cherry glowing before thought is given to his pocket. Nicotine addict of the highest order. He moves aside for a barely legal girl heading to the women's loo. The back hall is tiny. Brushing against the sweaty skin. Thin material snags on the overloaded bulletin board. She vanishes behind the door.
Vibrate.
Demanding attention. Esca blows smoke through his nostrils. Tattered clouds in the dingy light, almost as murky as the islands of bitters and billiards he left moments ago. He glances up. Collin taking his turn. Turk scattering ashes over the felt. Rosemary holding Turk's cue and their bets. Tonight it's mostly food coupons. And a concert ticket Collin won from the college radio station. Barren pockets this time of month.
Vibrate.
Mobile freed from the pocket. Esca takes a step, looks down at the screen. Pause. Blur. Backs up into the corner where the pay phone still hangs like a forgotten trophy on the wall. Stares at the lit screen until the light automatically dims.
Marcus. Marcus in Sicily. Marcus with Cottia.
A message from Marcus.
Two weeks without any word. Two weeks since Esca hid behind a column in the airport and called Marcus' phone just before the man entered the security line. He had watched him while they talked. Marcus had been anxious. Flushed. The limp in his right leg was as pronounced as his aggressive gum chewing. Nervous habit inhibiting his normally perfect speech. Just a few minutes. Esca reassuring. Marcus flustered. Soft words exchanged before the younger man forced himself to end the conversation with one last endearment. Another moment to watch, then Esca walked away.
He's done his best to distract himself since then. Left London. Traveled north. Farther away. From Marcus and Cottia. From the event he can't be involved in. Forbidden. No right, no part.
But Marcus sent him a message.
The girl exits. Sickly sweet. Vomit and hairspray. Esca takes a deep drag from his stick and presses the right button on the mobile.
A picture. The service is hindered in the pub, image loading slowly. Esca exhales slowly. Another suck. Lungs full. Air trapped. Grey wide.
A bundle of green and white. Blankets. Ruddy cheeks nearly obscured.
A familiar broad hand in the top of the frame. Thumb curving protectively over the small, dark head.
Esca cannot breathe.
Can't. Forbidden. No right.
Small motion, scrolling down. The text is simple.
Marcus Aedan Aquila. Amazing. Love you so much.
No right. No part.
But it's on his screen. Esca is transfixed. Smoke blown out. Precious bundle. Marcus' hair. Perhaps Cottia's eyes. Marcus and Cottia's. Family life. Not his.
But Marcus sent it. To him.
Love you so much.
The men's door opens. Bear and twink pass by. Esca holds the mobile closer without taking his eyes away. The screen grows dim again.
Push the button. Bright spot in the dark. Soft bluish glow. Esca brushes his thumb over the image. Imagines the callus on Marcus' thumb. Imagines the smoothness of newborn skin.
Curve of lips. Smile hidden in the dark. Inhale deeply, bright golden cherry glow wobbling between his lips.
Turk calls his name through the music. Grey looks up briefly at the circle of friends around the pool table. Waiting for him. Esca raises his first finger, requesting a moment.
Another slide of his thumb over the screen. Caressing.
Marcus sent this to him.
Love you so much.
He reads the words once more. Saves the message. Later, when he wakes up on Rosemary's sofa in the late afternoon, he'll have to delete it. No proof. No evidence.
Close it out. Lock the screen. Imprisoned again in his pocket. Safe.
Esca laughs quietly. Empty hand dragged through his hair. Ash falling.
He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing.
But Marcus gave this to him. And he's going to hold onto it for a bit longer.
end