The Impossible Boy Read online

  And a good opportunity to decide what he was going to wear for the date.

  He didn’t want to go too overboard, and even though he had a new maroon lipstick he wanted to try out, this probably wasn’t the right time. The last time he’d seen Ben, he had been dressed relatively low-key, and without knowing what their plans for the evening would be, it was hard to decide.

  Cigarette pants—incredibly tight, sandy colour, went well with everything. A very loose, black cotton tank that hung off his slim frame. Maybe a little more eyeliner than normal. His black motorcycle boots, a favourite, and good for walking in case they ended up having to go a distance.

  Stan managed to reduce the contents of his Balenciaga bag to the pockets of his jacket—a thigh-length, sleeveless, tan trench coat that had blessedly large pockets and tied with a belt around his waist.

  On impulse, just before leaving the flat, he took a detour to the bathroom and found a condom in one of his baskets of beauty products. His face flushed a little as he tucked it into the back of his wallet, not sure if this was the direction the evening would take. It felt good to be prepared, though.

  Ben was still working when Stan arrived at the pub, admittedly early but better than being late. He sidled onto the same stool he’d sat on the last time he was here and pouted invitingly at Ben until he noticed and came over.

  “I’m early. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I can’t go until Gem gets here to take over from me.” Ben smiled. “You look great, by the way.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Um….”

  Stan didn’t want to drink, not this early in the evening, and not when he hadn’t had anything to eat in hours. He got drunk quickly at the best of times.

  “Can I get a tonic water with lime?”

  “Wedge or cordial?”

  “Wedge, please.”

  “No problem,” Ben said with a wink and moved efficiently around the bar to fix the drink. The booths were buzzing with people but the bar itself was relatively quiet, leaving Stan with plenty of space to lean his elbows on the slightly sticky wood and play with his phone until Ben was ready.

  Gem, it turned out, was a tall girl with multicoloured hair. It was streaked with blue and pink, mostly, with some blond peeking out through the roots.

  Stan surveyed her with the critical eye he’d developed since he started working in fashion. She was too curvy for couture—she actually had curves in the first place, which was too much for some fashion houses. But her look was delicious, her proportions exquisite, and she could get some editorial work, if she was interested. Stan decided to not say anything unless he got a chance to speak to her alone. He didn’t want to offend.

  “Right,” Ben said, appearing from the cellar that apparently doubled as a staff room. He shrugged into his leather jacket, one covered in patches, and pulled a rolled cigarette out from behind his ear. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Ben waved goodbye to his friends but didn’t stop to speak to them again, and briefly put his hand on Stan’s lower back as they wandered out into the cool London evening.

  “Do you mind if I…?” Ben said, gesturing with his cigarette.

  “Oh, no. Not at all. I’d join you, but I had one on my way over.”

  Ben smiled and quickly lit the rollie. “I was thinking sushi,” he said, leading them off up Camden High Street. “There’s a good place not far from here, and I know they do vegan plates.”

  “I like sushi,” Stan said. “That would be nice. Thank you. And sorry for—”

  He didn’t finish his sentence, Ben was already waving the apology away. “It’s fine,” he said. “Really. I like this restaurant anyway, and there’s loads of places around here where you can get good vegan food.”

  Stan nodded. “How was work?” he asked, wanting to move away from his least favourite topic of conversation.

  “Not bad,” Ben took two quick drags on his cigarette and tossed it into the gutter, where it fizzed in the last of the previous night’s rain. “I was on the early, so I started at lunchtime and opened up. I don’t mind doing that—there’s normally plenty to do getting the delivery out and cleaning what they didn’t get chance to do last night.”

  “Have you worked there long?”

  “Yeah. It was my first job when I moved to London. I think I stay there for sentimental reasons sometimes… but the pay isn’t bad, and I get to pretty much pick my hours. If I need time off, they let me have it. And we get good bands and stuff coming through. Here,” Ben said, nodding to a tiny restaurant. The entrance was only six feet wide, a door with a window that was already steamed up. He let Stan go in first.

  Inside, the smell of food was thick in the air. Stan was surprised—the restaurant was much larger on the inside than what it looked from the street. The room stretched way back, and a staircase to the side suggested space for more tables upstairs.

  “Two,” Ben said from over Stan’s shoulder, to a young Japanese girl who smiled at them and gestured for Stan to follow.

  The little table was towards the back of the restaurant, pressed against a wall with other diners either side of them. Stan shrugged out of his jacket and hung it carefully over the back of his chair—he got the impression this wasn’t the sort of place that would hold it for him. Ben did the same and they shuffled into seats.

  “Tea?” she offered.

  “Please,” Ben said. Stan nodded. The waitress handed each of them a menu then left them alone.

  A rush of insecurity swept into Stan’s stomach.

  “So, we can order whatever, or there’s a sharing plate they do for sushi… let me find it for you,” Ben said. He was babbling. To think that Ben was nervous too was reassuring, and Stan forced himself to roll his shoulders, stretch his neck as surreptitiously as he could, crack his thumbs.

  Ben turned his own menu around and pointed to a sharing plate.

  “That looks good,” Stan said with a nod.

  “Yeah? Okay.”

  He smiled.

  “It says vegetarian, but I can check if it’s vegan. I expect so. They don’t label things as vegan in here.”

  The server returned with the tea and placed the two delicate cups in front of them. She confirmed the food was vegan, then did a double take at Stan’s flat chest.

  “Green tea,” she said, gesturing to the cups. “No milk.”

  Ben nodded, and she left.

  “We ask if the food is vegan, then she mentions milk,” Ben said with a laugh.

  “I can’t have cow’s milk. I’m not allergic,” Stan said. “What’s the word… like allergic, but it’s not that bad?”

  “Intolerant?”

  “Yes, that’s it. I’m intolerant to cow’s milk, so I can only have goat’s milk or soya. I don’t eat cheese anyway. I do like honey, though.”

  “London’s probably one of the best places in the world to be vegan,” Ben said. “There’s plenty of cafés and restaurants that are vegan only. You just have to know where to go.”

  “I don’t know many places here yet,” Stan said with a laugh. “I live quite close to Victoria Park, so I walked around there the other day. That was nice. I keep meaning to go down to Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square, all the tourist places, but I haven’t built up the courage to do that yet.”

  “I hardly ever go into central now,” Ben said, fiddling with his chopstick. “Not if I can help it, anyway. It’s mental.”

  “Exactly! And I don’t want to be one of those horrible tourists who just stands and looks up at everything. I was like that the first time I went to New York, and you can tell the people who live there, because they just give you this look….”

  Ben laughed. “I know the one. You’ll get to learn how to do it once you’ve lived here for a while. It’s equal parts exasperation and derision.”

  “I’ll look forward to that.”

  Stan reached for his green tea and sipped. He didn’t normally talk this much—not just on dates, at all, and he suddenly felt self-conscious. Under the table, where no one could see, Ben tipped his ankle against Stan’s. It wasn’t sexy, or even suggestive. Just nice.

  “So, tell me about your first week at work,” Ben said.

  Stan cocked his head to the side. “It was okay. I have a lot of work to do already, but I was sort of expecting that. I took a week off between finishing my last job and starting this one, so I have had a break this year.”

  “You work in fashion?”

  “Yes. I’m a fashion journalist.”

  “As you can tell,” Ben said, with a self-depreciating smirk, “I’m not the most fashionable person in the world. I have no idea what a fashion journalist does.”

  “No, no,” Stan protested. “Fashion is fleeting, but style is forever. You have a very striking style, Ben.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes.” Under the table, Stan knocked his ankle back against Ben’s. “I like the way you look.”

  “Thanks,” Ben mumbled. He sipped his tea to hide his embarrassment. “Tell me about what a fashion journalist does, then.”

  “That’s not necessarily easy. My job is quite varied. I got my start in blogging. Then I moved on to working for a magazine. Sometimes that means working on shoots. Sometimes I write articles or report from big runway shows.”

  “You moved here from Italy, right?”

  “Mhmm.”

  “How come?”

  “I wanted to take a step back. I was working for Vogue Italia, and it was so high-pressure, high stress, and I wanted to work for a smaller magazine where I could make more of an impact, instead of just being one of many.”

  “And you’re young, to have a job in a magazine like Vogue….”

  “Is that a sneaky way of asking how old I am?” Stan said, realising he was flirting too late to take it back. Ben held up his hands and laughed.

  “You got me. I’m twenty-six. There. I went first.”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “Are you serious? Wow. I mean, you were working for Vogue when you were how old?”

  “I left St Petersburg when I was fifteen. I had a chance to go to America, so I went, then within a few months, I was interning at a magazine. Unpaid, of course. I sort of snuck into doing this. Tell me about your job.”

  Stan was eager to move the conversation on, away from himself. He picked up his tea again, hoping that by occupying his mouth, Ben would do the talking for a while.

  “Well, I work in the pub. As you know. And I’ve got a little freelance job tutoring, which is mostly after-school stuff.”

  “You teach?”

  “Tutor,” Ben corrected. “I did a qualification in it, and now I go round to people’s houses and help their kids cram for exams. Some parents like me because I’m young and relatable and I look like this, so their kids get on with me better than the stuffy old ladies who do it.”

  Stan laughed and leaned back in his chair, holding his cup carefully close to his chest. “That sounds like fun.”

  “It is. I have to stay on top of a lot of the legislation that comes out and go to seminars a few times a year to keep on top of the game. Tutoring is a big-money business now, and parents all want the best for their kids.”

  “What subjects do you teach?”

  “Maths and English, some music, science and history. I specialise in music, but most of the time I do maths and English. Those are the important ones.”

  “Music?” Stan prompted. He liked the way Ben used his hands to demonstrate his point when he spoke, fingers drawing pictures in the air in front of him. He seemed utterly unselfconscious.

  “Yeah. I play in a band, guitar, and I help kids mostly with the composition element of their GCSE.”

  “You’re in a band?”

  “Yeah.” Ben smiled. “You should come see us sometime.”

  “I will,” Stan said with a nod. His next question was lost as the server returned with plates of food. “Oh my gosh,” he muttered. “We’ll never eat all of this.”

  “You underestimate how much I can put away,” Ben said, rolling up the sleeves of his long, black T-shirt, revealing the black-and-grey tattoos underneath. It seemed both arms were inked, from elbow to wrist, at very least. Ben caught him staring and winked.

  “Later,” he said. “Food first.”

  Chapter Three

  It was good sushi, and Stan had been to Japan once with Italia, so he knew good sushi—and more importantly, bad sushi. Ben wasn’t lying, he really could eat a lot, and Stan preferred to sit back and nibble while Ben talked and talked.

  And ate.

  “Please, tell me something,” Ben said. “I really won’t shut up otherwise.”

  “I don’t want you to shut up.”

  “I do.”

  “Okay. Um….”

  “What’s the magazine like? Is it different to Vogue?”

  Stan nodded slowly and carefully selected another piece of maki, dipped it in the rich, dark soy sauce, then put it to the side of his own plate before talking.

  “It’s very different from what I’m used to,” he said. “I’ve worked for a few magazines now, and they all work in their own ways, of course, but the underlying structure is the same. I know my job, and I know I’m good at it, but I feel like I have to prove myself all over again.”

  Ben nodded. “Even though you’re established, you still need to show the new people what you can do.”

  “Yes, exactly. And these people are a tough crowd. Is that what you say?”

  He ate his maki while Ben answered.

  “Yeah. That’s right.” He scratched his nose, but Stan still saw the smile Ben was trying to hide.

  “There’s some nice people, though. The sub-editor I’m working for is terrifying. My assistant is very good. Competent.”

  “You have an assistant?” Ben sounded surprised.

  “She works for the department,” Stan was forced to admit. “I’m hoping to take her with me to a shoot next week.”

  “That’s quick.”

  “That’s journalism,” Stan said with a grin. “Things move very quickly. I think one of the reasons why they hired me is because I can get straight into the job, no hesitating or learning things new. Apart from not knowing a single thing about London. That’s very frustrating.”

  “But why you have an assistant,” Ben said reasonably.

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  Ben insisted on paying for dinner, which Stan thought was charming, then took Stan’s hand as they walked out into the rapidly darkening London streets. They wandered back to the Tube station and the pub without discussing their direction, and all of a sudden Stan found himself back where he’d started. Almost.

  “Do you want to go for a drink?” Ben asked, and Stan hesitated, considering it, really considering, before shaking his head.

  “Not tonight. I’ve been at work all day, and….”

  “It’s fine. I understand.” Ben stepped closer. A car rushed past them on the street. “Can I…?”

  The question trailed into nothing as Stan nodded, leaning forward and up on his toes to close the distance between their lips. Ben kissed carefully, a steady press of his warm, soft lips against Stan’s. Just when Stan felt a flutter of disappointment that it wouldn’t be going any further, Ben cupped his jaw in his hand and flicked his tongue into Stan’s mouth.

  This was what Stan had been hoping for. He lowered his heels slowly, bringing Ben with him so Ben was leaning down, taking control of the hot, slick slide of two tongues, gasps of breath traded from one mouth to the other.

  Stan tilted his head to the side, letting Ben control the angle but kissing with an enthusiasm he hadn’t felt in a long time. This was kissing like he hadn’t experienced—hot and wild and a little lost.

  He was gasping for breath when Ben pulled away and pressed kisses under his ear, then down the side of his neck.

  “Ben….”

  “Yeah?” The word was mumbled against his collarbone.

  “Do you want…?”

  “Probably, yeah. We should….”

  “Stop,” Stan agreed. “For now.”

  “Yeah. Fuck.”

  Slowly Ben loosened his grip and smoothed Stan’s hair back into place, running his hand down its length all the way to Stan’s waist. The action sent a shiver down Stan’s spine—at least, that was what Stan was blaming his reaction on. Physics. Biology?

  “Am I going to see you again?”

  “I bloody well hope so,” Ben muttered.

  Stan leaned in and kissed him again, quickly, then slower when Ben insisted. This kiss was even longer, and Stan had to arch his back, bending to the pressure of his slightly taller partner.

  “Oh, wow.”

  Ben laughed, kissed him again, then again, then sighed. “What tube do you need to get?”

  “Um, the black one. Northern line, but going south.”

  “Okay. I’m going in the other direction. I’ll text you, if that’s okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ben reached for Stan’s hand and squeezed it lightly. Somehow this felt even more intimate than the kiss.

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Okay.”

  “Goodnight, Stan.”

  “Good night.”

  Working double shifts, plus extra band practice to get ready for their next gig, plus trying to feed the spark of a new relationship meant Ben was almost always tired. He’d gotten used to insomnia as a teenager, the result of a massive shift in his lifestyle and the stress of his parents’ divorce. These days he tried to meditate every night before going to sleep, although some nights he ended up crashing out and forgetting. Smoking didn’t help.

  “You look like shit,” Jez said as Ben stumbled into the kitchen of the North London house they shared.

  “Cheers.”

  “I meant it in a nice way. You not sleeping again?”

  Jez wasn’t exactly known for his subtlety. Tall and handsome and with an incredible singing voice, he was the ideal lead singer for the band, even though his look was slightly more clean-cut than Ben and the others. Jez wore his dark brown hair in a fashionable quiff, and preferred button-down shirts to the ripped-up T-shirts the rest of the band often wore. He was one of the few people, other than Tone, who knew about Ben’s family and how he’d made the leap from Auckland to London.