Read Online On Chasing Brad Through Purgatory by Stephen Benatar - Free Book Online Page A

that neither of us had ever been much of a beer-drinker. We sat on one of the red crescent-shaped couches, nylon sprayed with Scotchguard, and under one of those huge purification pipes which were now a feature of the place; and since today was Wednesday and the pub relatively uncrowded we had the couch entirely to ourselves. Behind our heads Shirley Bassey quietly belted out the fact that like Frank Sinatra and innumerable others she did it her way; but after a grimace of resignation from Brad and a responsive but not altogether honest shrug of sympathy from myself we instantly forgot about her. “Do you come here often?” asked Brad. He said it perfectly straight-faced yet even so he got a laugh, brief but spontaneous. “Good,” he said. “If you hadn’t done that I’d have had to get right up and walk away.”
    â€œI don’t believe you.”
    â€œOh I’d have taken my drink with me.”
    â€œI still don’t believe you. And if I did I think I’d be the one who had to get up and walk away. You’d be too frightening. Intolerant. Completely unrelaxable with.”
    â€œIs that a word?”
    â€œCertainly. As of this minute anyway.”
    â€œAnd if it wasn’t before I don’t know how the world ever got on without it.”
    â€œI have to admit you don’t seem too enormously frightening.”
    â€œI hope I’m not,” he said. “I fear that sometimes I don’t suffer fools gladly but that’s honestly not something I’m proud of and I’m really doing my damnedest to correct it.”
    â€œTonight?”
    â€œThere—and I’d told myself you wouldn’t notice!”
    â€œHow foolish of you! And I too sometimes fear I don’t suffer fools gladly.”
    â€œImpasse.”
    â€œIsn’t it a little soon,” I asked, “for strangers to be flirting?” Apparently I already felt quite dangerously at home. I wondered if this was partly an expression of relief. That there could actually be life after Jonathan. Though I knew it was anyway a failing of mine: frequently to come on a bit too strong. I hadn’t yet drunk much of my whisky.
    â€œMy God! Which of us did you suggest was frightening? How old are you Danny?”
    I told him.
    But like you,” I said, “I hope I’m not. Frightening. That’s really the last thing in the world I’d want to be. We seem to have a lot in common.”
    â€œTell me about yourself.”
    â€œWhat d’you want to know? Born in a village near Nottingham. My mother a teacher, my father ex-RAF. I’ve three older brothers and two older sisters who’ve all settled in various parts of the Midlands. None of them gay. Five nephews and six nieces. Are you finding this fascinating?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI’m a big disappointment to my mother and father but nevertheless they love me and I love them. We’re a pretty close-knit family all except for me.”
    â€œWhy should you think you’re a disappointment? Because you’re gay?”
    â€œPartly that perhaps. But more because I walked out of university in the middle of my course. They feel I’m only half-educated—and the sad thing is they’re right.”
    â€œWhat were you reading? And where was it?”
    â€œI was reading Law. At Newcastle. But it was a bad choice of subject. I should have switched.”
    He waited for me to go on.
    â€œYou see, I liked the thought of all that money which solicitors and barristers can rake in. But you can’t imagine how dry and dispiriting the actual work was. And when I finally admitted to myself that I was never going to make it—well by then I was just so tired of being with people of my own age. In the main I found them shallow and juvenile even though I was probably equally shallow and juvenile, but in a different way. Have you had enough?”
    â€œNo. You give a pretty good