Free Another Cup of Coffee by Jenny Kane Page A

club-cruiser role. He’d never felt uncomfortable about his history of female conquests. But he was who he was, surely Kit could accept that? Even as he mulled things over, he knew he’d got that wrong too. Kit had accepted it. She’d been amazing. As soon as he’d admitted his confusion she’d been a tower of strength, had pledged undying friendship, and had helped him sort his life out. Kit was incredible. He needed her in his life. He’d call her.
    Sounding bleary and disorientated, Phil’s voice radiated anger, ‘Jack, it’s nearly four o’clock in the bloody morning. What do you want?’
    â€˜Sorry Phil, I just … is Kit awake?’
    â€˜No she isn’t, and neither was I. Whatever the problem is, you sort it on your own for once.’
    Phil slammed the phone down. ‘Bloody man.’
    Jack made tea and turned on the gas fire in his lounge, his mind see-sawing between the past and present, until it rested on that life-changing evening in Nottingham all those years ago.
    Even now he was surprised by how comfortable he’d felt there. Although he’d been the one who’d organised the trip to a gay club with his friends, to see how the other half partied, Jack’s palms had been sweaty, and it had taken more bottle than he’d care to admit to cross the threshold.
    Before going in, he’d had visions of pink furnishings, twee gypsy styles, and muscly blokes in sailor-suits or minimal black leather outfits. Jack had been fractionally disappointed when it almost lived up to the cliché. Purple and stainless steel ruled, rather than pink, and although it favoured modern, rather spartan décor, it had hung onto the essential floor-to-ceiling mirrors.
    There were indeed ‘sailors’, S&M fans, and the most incredibly short shorts he’d ever seen, but they were definitely in the minority, giving way to the ubiquitous young men’s uniform of T-shirts and jeans.
    And women. Not that many of them admittedly, but women. He had been so worried about betraying himself to his mates that he’d forgotten about the lesbian contingent. He cursed himself for being so stupid, hoping his mates wouldn’t leer too much. They all had serious fantasy issues in that direction.
    The music, which was so loud it bounced off the walls, was a fantastic mix of the undeniably camp and general dance stuff. The regulars were used to students coming in to check the place out, and teased them enough to let them know they were tolerated, so long as they were only passing through, and didn’t take the piss.
    Jack had suspected he was giving off mixed signals, as he got rather more attention than his mates, much to their amusement and weeks of subsequent banter. This was confirmed for him when, plucking up enough courage to go to the gents’, a laid-back young man with shoulder-length ginger hair and a soft Irish brogue had approached him.
    â€˜When you’ve made your decision, come back and see me. I’m usually here on a Friday night.’
    He’d left Jack then, moving out of the cloakroom and into the seething mass of bodies. Jack tried to locate him later, but couldn’t spot him in the crowds, so he’d contented himself with watching the talent immediately before him, drinking way too much Diamond White while listening to Kylie blasting out of the speakers, and gradually feeling at ease in a nightclub for the first time in his life.

Thirteen
    October 7 th 2006
    Jack woke with a start. He felt disorientated. Damn. He’d fallen asleep at his kitchen table, and at some point he’d knocked over his half-drunk mug of coffee. Pulling some paper towel from the roll, he began to mop up the sticky brown puddle that had started to form over the wooden table. Jack glanced at the clock. 8.30. Shit. He’d told Rob he would open the shop at nine, and now he was going to be late.
    Staggering through to the bathroom, Jack