Beautifully Unexpected by Lily Morton

Chapter Ten

Laurie

Standing outside Mags’s door,I inhale deeply through my nose and then slowly exhale through my mouth. Feeling slightly calmer, I raise my hand and knock on his door.

I bite my lip as I wait. I haven’t seen him since the sauna, which was two days ago. I’ve been painting, but honesty compels me to admit I’ve been avoiding him mostly due to the sheer hotness of our encounter in the shower. I’d reacted like a scared roadrunner, zipping a hundred miles in the opposite direction.

I’ve had a lot of sex over the years, but nothing quite rivalled that. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because Mags is one of the most attractive men I’ve ever met. Being in his presence is like standing at the top of a ski run and inhaling pure oxygen. He’s scarily intelligent and challenges me every second I’m with him—a rarity, as my mind usually drifts to my work at the slightest opportunity.

Maybe one of the reasons why I find Mags so hot is that I came to know him as a friend before sex got involved. That makes him a unique fixture in my life. I tease Mags about his twinks, but I’ve hardly got any room to talk. All my relationships—even the ones that lasted a few months—have been casual in every sense of the word. Sometimes I’d tried harder, wanting to convince myself I could hold down a relationship, but every failure cemented my decision to be alone.

I like being alone. I like the freedom to paint all day without someone sulking and huffing. I like being able to eat dinner at one in the morning if I want to and to hear nothing but silent peace around me. Sex has been a release for me—and nothing else—until two days ago.

I hear footsteps and straighten up. Get over it, I remind myself. I don’t need a bad dose of feelings at this precise point in my life. That would be excruciatingly lousy timing.

The door opens, and my heart beats heavily as Mags appears. It’s a Saturday, so he’s dressed casually in olive-coloured shorts and a white T-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders. Being Magnus, his outfit is probably worth more than my entire wardrobe. The ever-present expensive running shoes on his feet—this time a lime green—make me smile. It seems to be a theme with him.

“Ah,” he says, leaning against the door with his arms folded. He looks me up and down, taking in my outfit of old shorts, Blondie T-shirt, and Converse that were white a few years ago. “My partner in crime.”

I wink at him. “Makes us sound like Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Did they break public indecency laws in a spa too?”

“No. But bagsy me being Bonnie, because Clyde was impotent in the film.”

He rolls his eyes. “Can I help you?”

I nod emphatically. “Yes. We’re late. Come on.”

A smile plays over his mouth, curling it in a wicked fashion that makes his clear brown eyes glow. My fingers itch with the desire to paint him.

“Ah,” he says. “What are we to do today? Are we having sex on the floor of the House of Parliament during Prime Minister’s Question Time? Or maybe we are jaywalking naked on a motorway today?”

I bite my lip to hold in my smile. “Much more exciting than that.” I lean close and inhale the scent of his aftershave. It smells of bergamot and ginger and is probably hideously pricey. “Bingo,” I whisper.

He draws back. “What?”

“Is your hearing bad?” I say in mock sympathy. I raise my voice and ask, “Do you need an ear trumpet?”

He shakes his head and steps back, waving me into the flat. I wander in, and my suspicions are immediately confirmed when I see the files spread out over the dining room table. “Work,” I say. “Ugh!”

“Your command of the English language never ceases to amaze me, Laurie. I’m preparing for the trial I mentioned.”

“How long have you been preparing today?”

He considers that. “Six hours.”

“Okay. Definitely time for a break. Go and grab your wallet. You’ll need the money, as you’ll likely be terrible at bingo.”

“I think I’d quite like to be dreadful at bingo. It sounds like something I don’t wish to be good at, yes?”

I laugh and then crow as I spot the legal thriller he bought at the bookshop. It’s open and set down over the arm of a chair, and it looks like he’s already halfway through it. “I knew it! Is it good?”

“It’s terrible,” he says smugly. “The legal details are completely wrong.”

“And I bet you’ve enjoyed every second of it. I told you fiction was fun.”

“What has been fun is composing my letter to the author.”

“No,” I say, putting my hand up. “Just no. Get your stuff.”

He rolls his eyes but obeys. I crane my neck to watch his arse in those shorts. It’s worth a stiff neck, but I find myself having to rearrange my cock surreptitiously.

When he comes back, he’s holding his wallet. “I didn’t know if I would see you again,” he says almost diffidently.

“What? Why?”

He shrugs. “I wondered whether the sauna would make everything too awkward between us.”

His tone and posture are casual, but maybe a little too much so. Suddenly, I want to ask him about awkward things, like if he’s been wondering about me for the past two days and whether he’ll miss me when I leave London. Instead, I put all my effort into adopting nonchalance and say, “It was only a teeny hand job.”

“Same,” he says with an urbane smile on his face. I wonder what he’s thinking, and the desire to find out scares me shitless, so I clap him on the back.

“Come on. We need to get our bingo on.”

“Ack,” is his considered reply, but he ruins the stoical word by grinning at me.

I feel myself relax for the first time in two days. We’ll be okay.

I’m way more relieved than I should be, but I don’t dwell on it.

* * *

The taxi stopsand when he sees the two people waiting on the pavement for us, he turns a wry look at me. “So, you’ve invited my best friend here to witness my downfall.”

“It’s bingo. Not the house of Medici,” I observe and shove him out of the taxi.

As I settle up with the driver, I watch Mags greet my sister and brother-in-law. It still stuns me that the Magnus I’ve heard both of them mention so much over the years is my Mags. Mental tyres squeal. Not my Mags.

He says something that makes my sister screech with laughter, and I remind myself that he is not anyone’s Mags. He’s a bit like a wildcat. Lovely to look at, but he will never be curling up in front of your fire. He’s powerful in his impregnability, and I envy him because my own imperviousness was severely dented on the night I went off that road.

I climb out of the taxi, and my sister hurries over. “Come on before he changes his mind, Laurie. I’ve got my phone set to record.”

I shake my head. “It’s as if your whole spirit comes alive at the idea of secondhand embarrassment.”

“Only if it’s Magnus,” she says in a duh voice. “He’s got so much material on me.”

“Really? I’ll have to speak to him about that.”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s known me since I was that clumsy first-year at uni. The ammunition is unbelievable.”

“It’s hard to believe that was Magnus,” I say as I watch the two men laughing at something. “Has he changed much?”

“Not so you’d notice. When I first arrived at the house he shared with Chris, he was showing a bloke out. The next morning there was another one. And then another and another. I single-handedly credit Magnus for my having no problem in talking to strangers.”

“Well, fair’s fair. He’s got no problem shagging them,” I say, and she laughs.

Mags and Chris look over. “I detect badly hidden glee in your face, Lennie,” Mags says in a voice full of mock reproof.

“I’m surprised I’ve managed to hide any of it,” she replies. “This is what I’ve been waiting all my life for.”

“Hardly a ringing endorsement for your marital relations,” he observes.

Chris claps him on the shoulders. “Marriage teaches you to grab your little bit of joy when it happens along,” he says in a virtuous tone of voice.

Mags chuckles. “Well, I’m so pleased that Lennie’s brother has given her such a golden moment.”

Chris shakes his head. “I’m still bemused that Laurie managed to get you to come here and play bingo. It’s like seeing a gorilla in a bikini at a wedding.”

“Your analogies, as usual, make no sense,” Mags says.

His voice makes me smile. Deep and warm, with hints of an accent and that tiny lisp that softens consonants. He looks up at the building. “Let’s get this done, yes?”

“You know you can drink during bingo,” I call.

He turns to me instantly. “Alcohol?”

“No, Horlicks.” He rolls his eyes, and I laugh. “Of course, booze.”

“I thought that was banned.”

“Only at children’s bingo which, let’s face it, is the only way you’re going to beat us,” Lennie says sweetly.

Mags cocks his head, and Chris grins at him. “Welcome back to my world, Magnus. Surely you remember how intensely competitive she can get.”

“I am not,” Lennie says.

Her husband chuckles. “So, it wasn’t you betting that you’d get your coffee first at the café this morning? You bet actual money.” She slumps, and he laughs. “You’ll never beat them, Magnus. Lennie even has her own dobber.”

“Dobber? Is that some form of sexual infection that I’ve never heard of?”

“No. I’m pretty sure you’ve heard of all of them,” my sister says with a poisonous smile, and I laugh.

We head into the building, and I pause in the entry, looking around with pleasure. It’s an old music hall, and very little has been done to change the beautiful gaudy lines of its interior.

Mags comes up next to me, following my gaze to the high, vaulted ceiling. “Why here?”

I don’t pretend not to know what he’s talking about. “I wanted to see it, Mags. Look at the light.”

He obligingly looks around, but his gaze comes back to mine. “What of it?”

He doesn’t sound as if he’s taking the piss, so I elaborate.

“It filters through those high windows and makes the old gilt on the woodwork gleam like treasure. Look at the way it’s decorated. Bright pink and that wonderful sherbet-lemon yellow. It’s like being inside one of those bags of rhubarb and custard sweets.”

“It’s very gaudy.”

I smile. “Exactly. I love that. It’s vibrant and brash. The way the music halls were in their heyday. Like they’re allowing the old lady to be herself.” I wriggle my fingers. “I’m dying to get those colours down,” I say almost to myself.

I watch his face as he considers the décor. Mags, too, is vibrant. The liveliness of his mind is reflected in the quicksilver expressions of his bright eyes and curling mouth.

I shake my thoughts away and grab his arm. “Come on. They serve excellent beer here apparently and a smashing curry.”

“Curry? Here?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I know it’s not in some twenty-seven-star restaurant where they starch your napkins, but there is life outside Knightsbridge.”

He chuckles, and the sound hits me deep in my belly. We gaze at each other, and the moment seems to stretch. Unbidden, I remember the shower and him staring into my eyes as he came. His breath catches, and I know he’s thinking the same thing. His eyes are intent and dark, and I inhale a shaky breath.

The mood is broken when my sister approaches, brandishing a fistful of bingo cards. “Come on,” she says excitedly. “Hurry up.”

Mags stares at her. “I don’t think you were this excited when Chris proposed to you.”

“I wasn’t,” she calls over her shoulder as she marches through the enormous double doors leading to the bingo hall. “He didn’t come with the chance of winning a vase.”

“I’d have bought you one of those,” Mags calls after her. “You had only to ask.”

I laugh and pull him into the hall. “It’s not the same as winning them, Mags,” I say in a sing-song voice, and he groans.

We make our way across the long room to where my sister has secured our seats. She’s gesturing at us to hurry.

Mags shakes his head. “It’s like she’s another person.”

I laugh. “An intensely competitive one at that, and bingo really rings her bell. We used to get dragged along to all the bingo places when we went to the seaside as kids. My mother seemed to view the bingo hall as a de facto babysitter.”

He hums thoughtfully. “I’m imagining your stepfather in one. His… What did she call it? His dobber in one hand.”

“That sounds ridiculously filthy,” I observe.

He throws his head back, laughing loudly. “I imagine he has a very firm grip on his dobber and never loses control, Laurie.”

“Please stop. Anyway, he wasn’t around then. After my mother married him, we went to places like Antibes.”

“Why does it sound like you preferred the British bingo place?”

“Because it’s true. We used to stay with my grandma in Seaton every holiday.” He looks at me, and I elaborate. “A little seaside town in Devon.”

“Not somewhere the judge would want to visit?”

“Nope. He’d be as out of place as Boris Johnson in a nunnery.”

He laughs loudly.

I look at the lush colours of the walls and the carpet. “This looks like a Bollywood movie. Delicious,” I say, and he smiles at me, slowing his pace so I can gaze my fill.

We come up to the table and find my sister looking at us with a strange expression on her face.

“Alright, Lennie?” I say, sliding into my seat and tugging Mags down too when he displays a propensity to stand and gape at everyone.

“Don’t stare,” I admonish him.

“But there is a lady over there with an eye patch and a pirate hat.”

I chuckle. “It’s still rude to stare.”

“It’s rude to wear polyester, but it doesn’t appear to have filtered through to here.”

I glance at my sister, who is sitting with her mouth open, looking at us. “Catching flies?” I ask. “What on earth’s the matter, Len?”

She shuts her mouth with an audible snap. “Nothing,” she says quickly. “Nothing at all.”

I look at the smile she’s struggling to conceal. “Bingo makes you weird,” I observe as Chris comes over to the table with a tray of drinks.

“You have no idea,” he says. “She wanted to play it on our fucking honeymoon.”

“Did you not have a dobber down your pants?” Mags enquires, and I snort beer over the table.

“Disgusting,” Mags says calmly as my sister squarks and grabs the bingo cards to save them.

“Okay,” she says, handing them out once we’ve dried the table to her satisfaction. “You each get two cards. On them are numbers. The caller will shout the numbers. With your dobber, mark any numbers on your card that he calls. Call out if you get a line.”

“As in cocaine?” Mags asks.

She frowns reprovingly at him while I hide my smile. “No. As in little numbers on the multicoloured cards.” She hands Mags a dobber. “May the luck of the Danish be with you.”

“Really?”

“Pshaw, no. I hope you lose so badly you cry.”

“So ruthless,” her husband says admiringly.

I grab my cards and uncap my dobber. “To the victor the spoils,” I say with relish.

Mags turns his head to stare at me.

Chris laughs. “Did you think Lennie was the only ruthless Gentry family member? They’re all the fucking same. Don’t, whatever you do, play any board games with them. It makes World War Two look like a minor skirmish.”

The microphone squeals, and the man doing the calling steps up. “Afternoon, folks,” he calls. “Who’s ready for a full house?”

Everyone cheers and waves their cards in the air, and I find myself watching Mags’s face. It’s full of amusement and an open enjoyment. He isn’t mocking the people, just amused at the spectacle. His lively curiosity is why he’s so good at his job. Every detail engages him, and his eyes are busy flitting around watching the group of old ladies at the table next to us who are each handling ten cards with the air of experienced and ruthless bingo-goers.

I’m glad I’m watching him when the caller shouts out, “Eyes down for a full house. The first number is Kelly’s Eye.” Everyone bends their heads over their cards furiously, and Mags turns his disbelieving face to me. “What?” he asks far too loudly and is immediately shushed by the ladies next to us.

“Number one,” I say, checking my cards disappointedly and bending over his.

“What are you doing?” he says, grabbing his cards and holding them to his chest.

“Checking if you’ve got Kelly’s Eye.”

“It sounds painful. I don’t think I have that, or want it, come to think of it.”

“You have,” I say, reaching over and dabbing the number on his card. “Now pay attention. You’ve made me miss more numbers.”

He rolls his eyes.

“And it’s a knock on the door,” the caller says, and everyone choruses, “Number Four.”

I bite my lip to hide my smile as Mags immediately scrutinises his cards, looking as if he’s summoning the ability to defend the Prime Minister in open court for offences against hairstyles.

The caller continues to call out numbers, and the vast room is filled with noise and laughter that reaches the rafters. I’m glad of my choice to come here—the atmosphere is a lot more friendly than some bingo places we’ve been to. Someone calls a line, and I look around idly as it’s verified.

My smile escapes as I watch Mags being instructed on bingo call signs by the ladies at the next table with a lot of laughter. His face is full of amusement, and he’s extremely handsome in the simple outfit that he manages to wear like it’s couture.

A nudge startles me. I turn to my sister. “What?” I ask. “Cards not right for you, Len?”

She has a funny expression on her face. “They’re looking infinitely better than yours.”

I gaze down at my cards sadly. “No doubt about that. I’ve got dreadful numbers.”

“You’ve actually got good ones. It’s just that you haven’t marked them off, because you’ve been far too busy flirting with Magnus and staring at him.”

I take a buying-time sip of my beer. “Don’t be silly.”

“Oh, really? Am I silly? Explain this, then.” She brandishes one of my cards. “You had a line well before that woman over there.”

“What?” I grab the card back and groan. “Shit.”

She smiles smugly but then leans forward. “Is there something going on? You two look really cosy.”

“Nothing is going on apart from the fact that I’ve made friends with him,” I say, the lie almost convincing me.

“Well, he has a lot of friends,” she says. “But I’ve never seen him look like that with any of them.”

“What do you mean?” I ask uneasily, a flock of baby birds stirring in my stomach.

She watches Mags. “He’s always the centre of attention in any room. He’s been that way since uni. He just has something about him that draws the eyes and lights up a place.”

“It’s called charisma, and he abuses it shamelessly,” I say wryly.

“Oh, of course,” she says, waving a cavalier hand. “But he never really engages with the men he’s with. I’ve seen him with loads of them over the years, but I’ve never seen him laugh like he does with you.”

“That’s the lack of sex,” I say. It’s not truthful, but in a sense, it is. We’ve been like this from the beginning. “We’re friends,” I say again in a voice that warns her to drop it.

And because she loves me, she does, but not before saying quietly, “Well, that’s just a crying shame.”

The game starts again, and after a while, my headache makes it difficult to concentrate on my cards. I take my tablets surreptitiously, and then, making the excuse that Mags is so woeful he needs help, I lean into him and offer helpful advice that makes him shake with laughter and gives me a strange feeling in my belly.

The afternoon passes quickly with a great deal of laughter and booze as we discover that Mags is as competitive as Lennie. Chris and I finally give up on our cards and sit together watching the pair of them. Mags has taken on another three cards and is making his way through them with effortless aplomb as if this eminent QC plays bingo every day of the week. He occasionally hesitates as the colloquial bingo calls confuse him and I lean in, helping him and sometimes hindering.

“This is a good day,” Chris says, putting down his pint and hugging me affectionately. “We miss you, you know.”

I smile at him. “I’m only over the Channel. You can come at any time.”

“I know, but I like this. I like seeing Mags like this too.”

“How?”

He shrugs, taking a sip of his pint. “It’s like when we were at uni. He’s loose and free again.”

“He’s loose, anyway,” I inform him and smile as he snorts his beer.

He wipes his face. “Sometimes I think he’s become the image he projects, and that makes me sad.”

My brother-in-law, for all his laidback, easy-going nature, is an excellent judge of character. “What do you mean, Chris?”

“Well, he’s known for being suave and carefree and charming, and he is all of those things. But he’s so much more. He’s a music geek and a Scrabble addict and the best and most loyal friend you could ask for. When I had the cancer scare?”

I nod. Chris had a scare last year. It had been a tense time.

“Well,” he says, “Magnus was with me every step of the way. When I didn’t want to worry Lennie, I’d ring him, and even if it was the middle of the night, he’d pick up the phone, and he’d listen. Even if he was in the middle of a trial, he’d take the time for me. We would go for long walks and he’d let me talk until I was hoarse. And he was so calm and reassuring. I can never pay him back for that.”

“He wouldn’t want that anyway.”

“I know.” He looks sideways at me. “What puzzles me is how you know it too.”

The moment stretches, and I try to think of a way to respond. I’m saved by a cry of “House!” and Mags rises to his feet, waving his bingo card like a flag and doing some strange victory dance as my sister glares at him.

I burst out laughing.

He turns to me. “You saw that, yes? I have won.” He makes a sad face. “And Lennie has not.”

“It’s true,” I say. “Mags is the winner.” He puts his hand to his ear, and I say obediently, “And Lennie has failed miserably.”

Lennie groans, and Mags sits back down next to her. “Do not despair,” he says, mock seriously. “If you want to win, you can always just bring your husband. You can beat him easily.”

“Hey,” Chris says with no rancour at all.

Mags grimaces. “For a CFO, you have an alarming failure rate in bingo.”

Chris looks around, and we all nod at him.

“Oh, fuck off,” he says.

“Well, never mind,” my sister says sweetly. “If he mismanages our money, I can always rely on Laurie to come and paint our house.”

Chris and I start to laugh and Mags groans. “He told you, yes?”

My sister snorts and Mags watches her affectionately, his eyes twinkling. He looks up as a woman comes over to check his card. He says something, and she smiles at him before marking his card. She waves it in the air, and everyone groans.

“Ooh,” I say, brightening and jumping up. “You can pick your prize. Come on.”

Mags shakes his head. “It puzzles me why you’re so excited. You lost.” He pauses. “Badly.”

“Ooh, burn,” Chris says happily. “Mags, you really should finally give in and come to games night at the Gentry household. You’ll fit in very well.”

“I’m going to pick your prize,” I say, heading over to where the prizes are kept. Mags follows me, complaining that he wants to do it himself. His complaints are cut short when he sees the display case. I try not to laugh at his expression. “This bingo hall sources the glitziest prizes around,” I whisper.

“Do people not win money?” he enquires. “All I see is—” He searches for the word and then smiles triumphantly. “Tut.”

“Collectible tut,” I say, looking down at the case.

“Collectible by whom?” he says to the air as I bend over the cabinet.

“This is epic,” I say happily after spending a few moments examining the selection. “He’ll have that ashtray,” I say to the woman behind the counter, pointing to the glitzy monstrosity in the middle of the case. It’s absolutely massive, very seventies-looking, and currently giving off so many rainbows under the lights that it should be in a Pride parade.

“Laurie.” Mags sounds pained.

“It’ll look lovely on your coffee table,” I tell him seriously, managing to fight back my smile at his grimace. “It’ll make your house feel like a real home.”

“Like a home belonging to Liberace,” he says morosely, but signals the woman to wrap it up.

An hour later, after Mags has bought the old ladies at the next table three rounds of drinks and led them in a rousing version of “Night Fever,” we spill onto the pavement and exchange promises to meet up before I go back to France.

The reminder makes me feel a little sick. Some of this is because, by the time I go back, I’ll have made a decision that’s been eluding me since I’ve been here. But the other reason is that this thing between me and Mags will have to stop, and I won’t be able to walk across the corridor and knock on his door anymore. For a man who’s prided himself on living a life with few strings, it’s a surprising and worrisome revelation.

At the moment, Mags is watching my sister and Chris get into their taxi. The sun gleams on his shiny, ash-brown hair, and he squints in the bright light, showing the fine sunburst of wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. My body flushes with heat. I debate my next course of action, but there’s only one thing I want to do. And I’m looking at him.

He turns back to me with a smile on his face, but it dies as he immediately guesses my mood. I knew he would. I move closer, and he takes a step back.

“It’s been a good afternoon,” he says warily.

I wink at him, and he immediately wrinkles his nose in disgust. “I know how we can make it even better, Mags.”

“I am cautious of even asking how.”

I grin. “Let’s go back to your place and fuck.”

A muscle ticks in his set jaw, but his eyes are hot as fire. “And is that wise?” His voice is filled with both humour and heat.

“Is anything ever wise, Mags?”

“I’m sure I could pick fault in that particular piece of logic.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you going to?”

He looks me up and down, and his eyes grow heavy-lidded. “No,” he says finally, and I breathe out slowly, feeling a pulse in my cock like the clang of the bell to start a race.

I raise my hand to hail a taxi. “Let’s go. I want you inside me.”

He follows me obediently. “Can I look at my ashtray while we do it?” he asks solemnly.

I shake my head, trying not to laugh. “I don’t know, Mags. Will it improve your performance?”

He gives a predatory smile, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “Only one way to find out.”