I’m not really a party animal. It’s usually others who drag me along. Like the night when my date with dull, but nice-enough Phil got turned into something very different.
Okay, I shouldn’t be mean; he wasn’t that dull. We just weren’t on the same wavelength. That much quickly became clear as conversation stalled and sputtered over rapidly gulped-down pints. Phil was telling me about his gym routine, how he’d recently found that the triceps dips really helped with his obliques for the side planks. Oblique is the right word, I thought, smiling and nodding.
‘But I never skip leg day.’ He steadied our table as someone bumped it. ‘It’s so important that you do an equal amount of leg exercises, and you don’t even need equipment for that… ‘
‘Totally. Yeah.’ I put my beer down, wiping my stubble with my forearm. ‘But so, er, do you do other things? For fun?’
‘Other than the gym? Hmm.’ He actually stroked his chin. He was in his early thirties like me, had a square-jawed face with a neat middle parting, thick-rimmed glasses and a paisley shirt. The face, hair and wardrobe had all looked better in the photos.
‘Do you go out?’ I prompted. ‘Clubbing, or… ‘
‘Oh, no.’ He grinned. ‘I know a lot of guys do, but… it’s never been an interest of mine. I guess I don’t really do a lot of things, outside of work and the gym.’
‘You do this.’
‘What?’
‘I said, you do this!’ I raised my voice to be heard over the yawling of Kim Wilde. The music in here always veered wildly between contemporary and eighties pop, often at ear-splitting volumes. Why had I suggested this place? Because it was decidedly unromantic? Easier to leave the whole thing on a casual note, if I wasn’t sure about the guy. And I wasn’t.
‘Oh, go to the pub?’ he said. ‘I guess so!’
‘Yeah, and dating! That’s a thing. That’s a hobby.’
‘True.’
Another pause.
‘So do you use Tinder a lot?’ I asked. ‘I kind of hate it. But at least it’s a change from Grindr.’
He grimaced. ‘Yeah, Grindr… ‘
I smiled. Common ground! A mutual disdain for Grindr.
‘To be honest, I don’t use any of them that much,’ he said then, scratching his neck (I noticed and approved of the biceps bulging under his ugly shirt.) ‘I’m not the kind of guy who’ll be trawling Grindr late at night, like, hey, who’s up for some fun… ‘
‘Oh, me neither,’ I lied (although I’d never chat up guys up with who’s up for some fun like some demented children’s TV presenter.) ‘No, that’s… not for me, that whole life.’
‘I’m glad we managed to meet through it, though.’
He smiled and held my gaze. Kim Wilde changed into Robyn, With Every Heartbeat. I looked away with a sheepish grin. Oh God, was he into me? Did I want him to be?
Postponing the answers to these questions, I pointed to our empty glasses. ‘Hey, it’s my round, isn’t it? Shall I get us some drinks? I’ll get us some drinks. Same thing again?’
He said sure.
I squeezed through to the bar, where I leaned my elbows on the wet counter and watched as hot, hip bartenders served everyone but me. Fortunately, punters were peeling off towards the stage to my right, where a drag queen had just announced that another drag queen would soon be performing. Finally I ordered. While the two IPAs were being poured, I hung my head and rubbed the back of my neck. What was I doing? I didn’t like this guy. He hadn’t even known what a theremin was when I’d told him how I was thinking of learning to play one. And he hadn’t known the theme tunes to Doctor Who or The X Files when I’d tried to explain what it sounded like. He said his favourite show was Love Island. That probably didn’t have a theremin in it.
‘All right, ladies and gents and everyone in between,’ announced an emcee, ‘get ready for… Theresa Maybelline!’
The crowd cheered, but I wasn’t looking at the stage. I’d suddenly felt someone’s eyes on me.
Looking to my left, I saw Panos.
He grinned and sipped a clear, fizzy drink. He was the same annoyingly sexy Greek pixy I remembered, all green eyes and snub nose and toned chest under an oversize t-shirt. Past sins and crimes flashed through my head. How we’d dated for a couple of months three years ago, before he’d ghosted me. How he’d popped up at a rave two years ago and charmed me and kissed me and gotten me to share my MDMA with him, after which he’d disappeared. How he’d mysteriously, flirtatiously written to me on Instagram six months ago that he’d seen me jogging by the canal, but I hadn’t seen him. To which I had written a warm, extensive reply, which had been seen, but not replied to.
‘Malte!’ he said now, extending his beautiful arms. ‘It’s you!’
‘Yes, it is,’ I said with a frustrated groan as I let myself be embraced. All crimes, I guess, forgiven. ‘How are you?’
‘Good, I’m good!’
Behind me, samples of old Theresa May speeches segued into Strong Enough by Cher.
‘Who are you here with?’ asked Panos, his hand squeezing my shoulder before dropping.
‘Oh, this guy over there — it’s kind of a date… ‘
‘Oh, him, okay, okay… ‘ He nodded as if well-acquainted with the man at the table glancing disconcertedly at us. ‘I’m just waiting for my friend Kate. She’s late. Kate is late, that rhymes! Doesn’t it?’ His smile broadened. I hated myself for smiling back. ‘Can I join you?’
‘Er… yeah, I mean, it’s kind of a date… ‘
But I don’t know if he heard me the first time, or the second, or maybe I could have spoken louder, because now he was striding over and pulling up a chair and shaking Phil’s hand.
I rushed over, spilling beer on my t-shirt, and sat down, handing Phil his. ‘Cheers,’ he said, clinking the glass to mine.
‘Cheers, guys,’ said Panos, clinking his to ours. ‘So glad it’s Friday, right?’
***
He asked if I was still doing the comedy thing. I said yes, I was still doing the comedy thing. He asked Phil if he’d been to see me. Phil said no, this was the first time we’d met. Panos said that I was funny, very funny, while his irritatingly pretty eyes lingered on mine. Out of British politeness, clearly dying on the inside, Phil asked Panos what he did for a living, and where he’d met me (software engineer, said Panos, and around. He didn’t return the questions.) I realised I’d forgotten what Phil did for a living, despite having already asked him twice tonight. A third time would be taking the piss. Something analyst — finance analyst? Data analyst?
Behind us, the drag queen jumped abruptly from three songs out of Cher’s back catalogue into Rihanna’s Work.
‘There she is,’ Panos exclaimed, suddenly spying a large woman with a stylish fur coat and a beehive hairdo by the bar. ‘Kate! Oh my God… ‘ And he went to hug her, leaving his chair at an angle as if ready for our next guest to join.
‘Sorry about that,’ I said to Phil, leaning forward.
‘No, that’s all right. He seems fun.’
‘He is, but… ‘
‘Malte! Mal!’ Panos was gesturing for me – not us, really only me – to come. ‘You have to meet Kate!’
I grimaced subtly at Phil, then rose from my chair. He followed. Kate turned out to be very loud, very Australian, very drunk already. She towered over us all and leaned all the way into your face to ask a question. Panos seemed to find her amusing, which made me question his judgement of my own humour. Gradually I learned, sort of against my will, that Kate worked as a music promoter, that she was from Melbourne, and that she was fascinated with my name, which she repeated. ‘Mal-te. Mal-tea? Mal-tuh. Mal-tuh? No, you’re saying Mal-taw. Mal-taw. It’s a funny name, isn’t it?’
I shrugged.
‘Mal-toe. Mal-taw… ‘
I glanced in panic at Phil, who was listening with a frown to something Panos was saying. Suddenly the music changed to Crazy In Love. The crowd whooped. I looked over my shoulder to see another drag queen coming out to join the first for a lipsync duet. Panos shouted that we should get to the front, so we did. I looked back, but had lost Phil in the throng. Now Panos was putting an arm around me as he jumped excitedly to the music. The performance ended. Phil found us as the crowd thinned. I must have looked like I’d temporarily forgotten he existed – which perhaps I had – because he seemed annoyed. Panos and Kate wanted to go to the smoking area. Phil said he’d go to the loo and then join us. When he did, I didn’t know what to talk to him about, so like two idiots we stood in the cramped yard and listened to Kate giving Panos a lecture about the benefits of bedroom humidifers. We all went back inside. I said I needed the loo. Phil said he’d go grab our table again, which was miraculously still free. On my way back, Panos grabbed me — from the area in front of the stage, which had become a bustling dancefloor — and said that this Blondie track was his favourite, and we had to dance to it. So we did.
Until I saw Phil through the crowd, putting on his jacket, getting ready to leave.
I yelled slurred excuses at Panos and Kate. Extricating myself from the crowd, I followed Phil out onto Kingsland Road in the warm summer night.
He was staring at his phone.
‘Phil!’
He looked up, faintly surprised.
‘Are you okay? Where’re you going?’
He shrugged. ‘Home.’
‘Without saying goodbye?’
‘You seemed to be having fun without me.’
‘I’m — sorry, I got distracted by my friend,’ I waffled,’ but he’s just an old friend. I know that we were on a date. I didn’t mean to, like, neglect that… ‘
‘It’s okay, mate. It’s fine.’
‘No, it’s not, I was being stupid… ‘ I shook my head. I stumbled back as a shoal of laughing girls walked between us.
‘Mate. It’s fine.’ He held my gaze calmly. ‘Just go inside and have fun, yeah? You didn’t seem that interested in me, anyway.’
‘Oh.’ The remark landed like the softest of wallops. No, I guess I hadn’t been. But I didn’t think it had shown. I didn’t want to be a douchebag. Guys like Panos were. I wasn’t. The distinction seemed somehow important.
‘My Uber’s here,’ said Phil. ‘Take care, man.’
And he ran across the street and got into a car.
I watched it drive off.
Then went back inside to look for Panos and Kate.
***
An hour later, the three of us on Kingsland Road, weaving around other drunks. Panos said he knew of a party happening nearby – just a small group of, like, five or six people. I know them, they’re nice, you’ll like them. But when we passed a club with pounding house music coming from inside, Kate stopped.
‘Guys, I’ve been to this place before. Oh my God. You guys! This place is so good!’
‘There’s no queue; how good can it be?’ said Panos with that hint of bitchiness he sometimes displayed.
‘No, seriously. Seriously, Panos.’ Kate turned to the stout, frizzy-haired bouncer. The pink neon sign above read Bermuda. ‘How much is it to get in?’
‘Fifteen pounds, love. Cash on the door.’
‘Yeah, that’s all right, I’ve got cash.’ And with barely a last look at us, busily digging out her wallet, Kate went inside, the doors swinging shut.
Panos and I stood on the pavement. The bouncer watched us mutely.
‘Is she going to… come back out, when she realises we… aren’t following?’
‘Maybe.’ Panos put a hand on the small of my back, warm and solid through my bomber jacket. I’m ashamed to say how much that pleased me. ‘Maybe not. But she has my number, you know? It’s her business.’
‘Oh. Yeah, I guess.’ To be honest, I was glad to be just the two of us. A comparative quiet and calm seemed to settle over us as we walked on.
‘She might not like my friends at the party anyway,’ Panos added. ‘So maybe it’s good. You know?’
I hummed in agreement. So these friends — I would get along with them, but she wouldn’t. Interesting. I felt privileged. It’s good to feel privileged.
His hand was still on my back.
We’d turned down a side street. Past the sides of closed restaurants and offices. Quiet now. A fox pattered across the road. A full moon hung in the sky.
‘Wait,’ said Panos. ‘Let’s stop here, okay?’
I frowned, was about to ask if he needed to pee or something, but he guided me into a doorway and kissed me. I gave a surprised yelp. Then reciprocated. His coat folded over mine. A dog barked in the distance. He kissed and bit my neck and pressed me into the corner. Air whistled between my lips. ‘Ffff-fuck… ‘ I’d missed this. I said so. He said yeah? Had I? I said yeah. I had. He stuck his hand in my pants and smiled at me, feeling for himself how much I’d missed it.
‘Do you have any drugs?’ he asked.
‘No… I wasn’t planning on that kind of night.’
He gave an amused hum. He pulled his hand out, then held my chin with the other and kissed me again. ‘Do you still have that sexy fucking arse?’ he mumbled.
‘Uh. Yeah, I haven’t… exchanged it for a different, less sexy one… if that’s… ‘
He kissed me harder. Turned me around and pulled my trousers down a little, so he could rub the head of his cock in the cleft of my arse, not actually fuck, just play around, there in the darkened doorway where anyone could walk past and see. I felt the weight and warmth of him, grinding against me, like a ghostly afterimage of times we’d spent in our actual beds, and I wanted more, wanted him for one mad second to just press inside, and I knew he knew I wanted it, but that he was enjoying holding back, just about, kissing my neck with a sudden tenderness, running a hand through my hair, the other in my pants again, slowly jerking me off. And maybe that did turn me on, I thought, maybe I like things being withheld, and at the same time I thought that of course this was how my date night had ended, not with me getting anywhere with my date, but sidetracked, fumbling around with this guy who had repeatedly proven to me that he was not, would never be, had no intention of being, my boyfriend.
After a while, he stepped back and tucked himself away. I pulled my trousers the few remaining inches up. He glanced up and down the street with the casual expertise of the frequent rule-breaker.
I thought about Phil and his paisley shirt, not sure why. I thought about how people are all so inexplicably different, provoking different responses in others.
‘Come on.’ Panos was all business again, hands in the pockets of his coat. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Maybe we could… go back to mine. I’m in Hackney Wick now.’
‘No. We should go to this party.’ He rubbed my back, as if to say nice try.
***
We turned left, passed through alleyways and reached the canal. Mossy stone steps led down to the path. We walked past other late-night wanderers — determined loners, couples holding hands, so casually yet blissfully. I was about to ask Panos where the party was when I got my answer. He stepped to the edge of the path, put one hand on the curved roof of a houseboat, leaned in and knocked on the door. From inside came throbbing music, laughing voices.
The door was opened by a cheerful, middle-aged man with a Scottish accent and glitter in his beard. ‘Look who it is! Panos, come in, you nutter… ‘
‘I brought a friend, I hope it’s all right… ‘
‘Of course it’s all right.’
Inside was a cluttered space lit by fairy lights, and a confusion of chatter from five men. We sat on rickety chairs around a table on which lay, of all things, an abandoned game of backgammon, some bottles of booze and an obvious drug plate with cut-up plastic straws, someone’s debit card and traces of powder. I sat down between Robin, the glitterbeard Scot, and Derek, a shifty American who looked like Bob Hoskins. Opposite us were Santiago, a flamboyant Spaniard, Neil, a lithe English twink, and Oliver, his lithe English twink friend, who Panos sat down next to and greeted with a kiss on the cheek, which disconcerted me, but got pushed to the back of my mind as the drug plate came my way.
‘What is it?’
‘Ketamine,’ said Robin.
I looked down at the generously proportioned lines. ‘Oh God, I really wasn’t planning on that kind of night. Maybe just a drink? Sorry, we shouldn’t have arrived empty-handed… ‘
‘Mal!’ said Panos with an arm around cherubic Oliver, which gave me another painful twinge. ‘Stop with your blah, blah, blah. Just do it. It will be fun.’
‘Panos, stop being a cunt,’ laughed Robin, then turned to me. ‘Babes, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, yeah?’
I hesitated. Looked around at the others chatting away. I would be the only one not high. Never a good position to be in. ‘No, yeah. Why not?’
I took the plate and set it in front of me, grabbed a straw and snorted.
***
I kept saying how I’d never been on a houseboat. Robin kept responding with a dramatic welcome! To the houseboat. Apparently he lived here with Derek and Santiago, both his boyfriends, and Neil, a part-time boyfriend. How many boyfriends does a man need? I shouted. Then apologised, didn’t mean to sound judgy. Robin said it was fine. He was great. A great guy. I told him so. I asked if he was on Instagram; he said he was off it, but on Facebook. I spelled out Malte Kretz, made my usual joke that it sounded like medication for an STI. Santiago shouted that that was funny. I was funny. I said I did comedy, but the topic wasn’t pursued; suddenly we were discussing Charli XCX, agreeing that she had gotten a bit overrated, then Tove Lo, who was all right, then Dua Lipa, boring now. I said the name was funny, Dua Lipa, and now we were repeating the name the way Kate had repeated mine. Dewa Leepa. Do A Leper. I always assumed it meant two lips. Robin laughed at that. ‘I mean I also have two lips, but you don’t see me shouting about it.’ Everything was funny. I didn’t even mind the way my night had gone wonky, didn’t mind the fumble with Panos in the doorway, didn’t mind that he’d just disappeared with Oliver. (Just? Or a while ago?) Was it even still the same night? Was it daytime? Was I in the bar or on a boat? Could I go through the door and be in the bar? No. I was on the boat. Being on a boat was nice. Being with these four was nice. The way my body turned slowly, rustily, the way the music and voices stretched and elongated and the fairy lights shimmered. I’ve never been on a houseboat! I declared. Robin giggled. Welcome… to the houseboat! Jazz hands. Don’t do that. Don’t do jazz hands. Freaking me out. Oh, am I? I nodded. No, just kidding. I needed to pee. Robin had left to find a fresh mixer in the kitchen. Where’s the bathroom? Down there, said Derek the American. First door on the left.
I nodded and stood. Hooo, had to get used to standing. The floor was wobbly. Being on water plus being on drugs. My legs stuck in invisible mud. I carefully lifted one, then the other, out from the table. The others laughed. At me? No. Something. I made my way toward the darkened corridor Derek had pointed to, past a small kitchen, supporting myself with one hand on the wall. Something bristly brushed it. I looked. The hair of an African witch doctor mask. The wall was covered in masks. Never mind us, said the masks. I nodded. Sorry. I continued to the corridor, which was narrow like on a train. First door on the left. I opened it.
Inside was not a bathroom, but a bedroom. On the bed were two naked figures, one with skinny legs up in the air, the other grinding away at him. I realised the buttocks, the broad back and messy black hair were all Panos’. Panos, fucking the twink. What was his name? Oliver. Oh. Oh, I said. I closed the door. They hadn’t seen me. The moaning continued.
I still needed the loo. There was one other door, so I tried it. Bingo. While I sat down to pee, the hurt began to sink in. I could hear the moaning through the wall. Yeah. That hurts.
I flushed, wondering dimly how boat toilets work and whether it goes in the canal (yeah, where else, you dummy?) I washed my hands and stared at my sallow face in the mirror. Still the moaning continued. I returned to the table. Asked for a beer. Santiago got me a Budweiser. A joint was being passed around. I took a few drags. Weed seems to counteract ketamine for me. And I wanted a return to reality, to having control over my body and thoughts again.
Derek, the middle-aged American, was watching me. I watched him back. ‘Your directions were wrong,’ I said as I passed him the joint.
He nodded his egg-shaped head and suppressed a smile as he toked.
‘You knew,’ I realised. ‘You knew I’d see them.’
Still, the barely withheld smile. He passed the spliff to Neil.
‘That’s mean,’ I said. ‘You’re mean.’
He shrugged. Both of our responses muted, off-key.
I had nothing more to say to him anyway. I wondered if Panos had known he’d have sex with Oliver when we got here. Whether he’d known that our fumble in the doorway had been just a starter before the main. Whether they were dating. As always he left me only with questions, to which I didn’t particularly want the answers. Another question: What had I been hoping for, by following him around tonight?
I sat for a while, then said my goodbyes to the others. An outcry arose of no, stay, which I politely declined as I hugged Robin. I bowed my head and stepped through the door onto the prow, straightening in the balmy night air. Carefully, very carefully — the last thing I needed was a dip in the canal — I stepped over onto the path. Terra firma. Said the wobbly ketted-up gay. I left the houseboat and all its goings-on. I walked to Hackney Wick.
***
Later, sat on the sofa, eating a banana, not quite ready to sleep, I checked Grindr more out of habit than anything. Scrolling down the squares, I paused at a familiar face, one which my exhausted mind couldn’t quite place at first, despite having seen him only hours before. It was my date. Phil! He’d used the same photo he had on Tinder, of him on a tropical beach in his trunks, grinning. The profile was named Chill_guy. It had no personal bio, but said he was looking for: Dates, Friends, Right Now.
Oh, wow. And after he said he wasn’t the type of guy to trawl Grindr late at night.
I laughed, and muttered to the empty room: ‘What a douchebag.’
