"Quinn? Ask you a question?"
"Yeah."
"Why do you never talk about your family?"
Ah fuck. He was bound to start asking sooner or later, wasn't he? "We don't talk much anymore."
More like I haven't talked to the old man in over ten years, not since... haven't talked to mum much either, not these five years or so. Finally had it with having to sneak around while the old man was down the pub, so's mum could hide me from the neighbors.
"Why?"
"Because they threw me out." Short, succinct, and to the point. Let's hope he's got the presence of mind to drop it at that.
"They threw you out?"
I nod. Yes, right after the old man tried to beat the queerness out of me, though I'll be buggered if I tell you that.
"How old were you?"
"Seventeen." Seventeen and scared shitless and confused with nowhere to go; London was a much bigger city then.
"Where did you go?"
"Friends." New friends. Very new friends and many of them. A whole army of new friends with short attention spans and a large enough bed to sleep one extra until I went and landed on my feet again.
"Do you miss your family?"
"I miss having a family, but not them."
Silence. Good, he's dropping the subject then. If I got any more monosyllabic I might regress to caveman status.
"You do, you know."
"Do what?"
"You've a family."
"How d'you reckon?"
"You, me, me mum, Nicky; we're a family."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Sometimes he knows just the right thing to say, I reckon, even though he drives me barmy at times. "That's good."
"Yeah. Love me?"
"Always."
"Make love to me?"
"Not in the middle of Regent's Park, no."
"Bugger. Was worth a try though, wasn't it?"
Wonder what he'll try next. Playing hard to get does have its advantages at times.
© KJB 2002-2003.