Free The Case of the Missing Boyfriend by Nick Alexander Page B

can’t help but remember fondly the conversations we used to have in the old days about ecology and politics and books.
    After dessert we give Carl our birthday gifts. Most of these are generic items from Habitat – candleholders and paper-weights which I know for a fact Carl bins as soon as no one is looking. He must do, otherwise there would be no visible surfaces left in the place.
    I give him a Deelish wallet, a freebie from work which he of course loves. Carl is the only heterosexual man I have ever been able to buy for. I just look at what my gay friends have and buy him the same thing. Mark met him once, and unforgettably described him as a
poor wee gay man trapped in a big strapping hetty body.
    Finally, Carl gets out the port, and Cynthia and Cheryl drift outside for another cigarette and, I presume, a fresh round of analysis of Cynthia’s and Carl’s missing sex life. It’s a shame I’m being excluded from that one, as really I’m quite the expert.
    And then Carl goes to the toilet, and Pete follows him, and I am left, uncomfortably with Betina and Martin.
    Within a group of seven people there are a myriad of combinations possible. Some of these work like clockwork, and others are about as comfortable as a weekend at Guantanamo Bay.
    For reasons unknown to me, though I get on OK with Pete and Betina, and can tolerate Martin when he’s with Cheryl quite efficiently, this particular threesome has always felt like walking on glass. I say for reasons unknown . . . actually, I have my suspicions that Martin and Betina are having an affair. Or at the very least, have had one in the past. I think I’m the only person to whom this has occurred, and guess that they somehow sense that I have picked up on it. I also suspect that Martin was, and probably still
is
, closer to Brian than he lets on.
    Whatever the reason, today is no exception: silence falls across the table, and I am just thinking up excuses why I might have to leave the table myself when Martin asks, somewhat drunkenly, ‘So, you ever see anything of old Brian?’
    I stare at him for a moment, composing myself.
    Brian has never been a subject of dinner conversation here, and, I’m pretty sure, everyone knows why.
    ‘No,’ I eventually say. ‘No, I don’t.’
    ‘Of course she doesn’t,’ Betina chips in, bless her.
    Martin shrugs and runs his tongue across his front teeth. ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘I’m just asking . . .’
    ‘Anyway, I really have to nip to the . . .’
    ‘So how come you two never had kids?’ he continues. He’s definitely sozzled.
    ‘Martin!’ Betina protests.
    I think,
Such a shame . . . things were going so well . . .
‘Hey,’ Martin says. ‘Just because it didn’t work out in the end . . . I mean you guys were together for . . . how long was it?’
    ‘Five years,’ I say through gritted teeth.
    ‘Yeah, five years. So, in five years, I mean, it could have happened.’
    ‘Martin, really!’ Betina says. ‘I don’t think this is appropriate . . .’
    ‘Chazza doesn’t mind, do you?’ Martin asks.
    Before I can formulate a polite way of saying that, ‘
Yes, I do mind . . . And don’t ever call me Chazza,
’ he continues, ‘I mean, did you always know it wasn’t gonna work out . . . sort of woman’s intuition or something . . . or didn’t you want kids at all?’
    ‘I—’ I say.
    ‘Because, of course, it’s obvious enough that Brian did.’
    ‘I have to . . .’ I say. And then I pause. ‘What does that mean?’ I ask.
    ‘Please!’ Betina exclaims, now looking wide-eyed and shocked.
    ‘What?’ Martin asks. ‘What did I say?’
    ‘Why is it obvious that Brian wanted kids?’
    ‘Martin!
Shut up
,’ Betina whines.
    ‘Don’t tell me to shut up!’ he mutters, slopping more port into his glass.
    ‘She doesn’t
know
,’ Betina whispers, as if this is somehow going to prevent me from hearing.
    I laugh sourly. ‘OK, whatever this is, that’s enough. What don’t I know?’
    ‘Oh!’ Martin