The Haunted Pub Read online

  When he'd sat in here with Ginger, it had almost felt like some form of punishment: being made to eat, every mouthful watched. The panic over Ginger resenting him, which was bound to happen soon, that was what shrivelled Fizz's appetite. Then the never-ending questions that churned over and over in his mind. Why should he get food? Why should he be allowed to enjoy comforts when so many others didn't? And now what was he doing? Sitting here, being waited on by possibly the most gorgeous boy he'd ever met, and all he could do was panic and feel guilty about receiving a dinner.

  "Stop thinking," the voice hissed. "Relax."

  Fizz felt a tingle run up his spine, and he shuddered. Ash noticed, but didn't comment on it. In fact, he purposely started talking about the current scene in the movie, as if to distract him. Fizz appreciated that. He liked the way Ash didn't seem to need a response from him; he kept chatting away, as if he were completely comfortable doing so. Ash did pause at times, but he didn't wait too long for a reply from Fizz.

  The conversation was all one-sided, yet seemed to flow naturally. Caught up with the chat, and feeling calmer than he could ever remember feeling, even when he'd been zoned out on meds, Fizz felt a strong urge to join in. It started with a nod, a shy glance, then a soft hum of agreement, and even working up to a smile. Ash kept talking, not making a big deal out of anything.

  Anyone would think this was all perfectly normal to him.

  When dinner was ready, Ash quickly set the table with cutlery and glasses of fruit cordial, then laid out two plates of steaming hot curry. The rice was fluffy, yellow, and smelled faintly of lemon. The sauce was almost amber in colour, with spices and vegetables, and a drizzle of something white on top. "That's yoghurt," Ash said, noting Fizz's frown. "I found some natural yoghurt in the fridge. Bit of a surprise, that! Maybe it was Matt's." He chuckled.

  Fizz nodded. Ash sat down opposite him, and picked up his fork. "Hope it tastes all right," he said.

  Looking from the beautiful dinner in front of him to the even more beautiful boy across the table, the smile Fizz wanted to show suddenly faltered. This is weird. What was this? A date? Panic flowed through him like ice, threatening to take over. He didn't want a panic attack now. Please, not now.

  "Relax. Say, thank you."

  Hearing the words spoken in his head reminded Fizz of his manners. "Thank you," he said.

  "No worries," Ash replied. "Honestly, if you don't like it, no sweat. A toast binge is always a fall-back option."

  A breath of laughter escaped his lips as Fizz smiled. He wanted to show his gratitude, even if he wasn't entirely sure what Ash's motives were in this. He picked up his fork and plunged it into the food. He took a tentative bite, in case it was too hot, but it was perfect, in every way. Fizz was surprised. He took another mouthful, then looked up to see Ash watching him.

  This time it was Ash's turn to look away, with a nervous smile on his lips. It seemed Ash's shyness only crept up on him occasionally. Fizz felt like slightly less of an idiot to know that even confident people like Ash could be affected. Even if it was only small glimpses. And that thought brought up the question of why Ash was nervous. Fizz realised it must be down to him. He swallowed, his throat felt tighter all of a sudden.

  Luckily, Ash started chatting again, distracting him. "You know, my favourite films are the ones that make absolutely no sense." He looked at the TV, barely glancing down as he shovelled in his food. "But they have to be fun, you know? That's why I like Austin Powers, with the random dancing and songs. It's almost like watching Bollywood."

  Fizz looked at him, trying to understand what he meant.

  Ash caught the look and asked, "You ever seen a Bollywood movie?"

  "Sorry," Fizz shook his head. He didn't want to add that his father had been more than a little bit racist with regards to viewing choices. Anyone other than white on the TV was either shouted at or turned off. Another reason Fizz chose to stay in his room most of the time.

  "Oh, boy!" Ash shot him a heart-stopping smile. "You have got to watch some Bollywood. It's the answer to everything."

  "It is?"

  "Of course." Ash grinned down at his food as he loaded up his fork. "If you watch a Bollywood movie, you'll understand." He stuck the food in his mouth and chewed, looking thoughtful. Swallowing, he said, "Of course, that does depend on the movie choice. Some of them are a bit—" Ash arched his back, tilted his head up, and put a hand to his forehead, striking an overly dramatic pose.

  Fizz smiled in response. "Aren't all films like that?"

  Ash lost the pose and grinned. "Yeah, I guess. But nothing like a Bollywood tragedy. I'm not so keen on them; I like the more modern ones. As far as I'm concerned, the more random, happy dancing in a movie there is, all the better."

  "Dancing?" Fizz wasn't sure he could picture what Ash was talking about.

  "Yeah, well," Ash began, staring down at his food. "I could lend you some DVDs, if you wanna see 'em. Ryan and I were gonna have a movie night soon anyways. Or maybe... you and I could watch a movie sometime?"

  Fizz felt fire heat his face, and it had nothing to do with the curry. Placing his fork down gently, he hid his hands under the table, wringing them together. "Ash, I—I don't... I can't—"

  "Hey, it's cool," Ash said easily. "We're friends, right?"

  "Um, we are?"

  "Sure we are." Ash smiled at him. "We can watch a movie, right?"

  Fizz was torn. He should, in all honesty, tell Ash that it really wasn't worth his effort; Fizz could never give anything back to him, no matter how much he wished he could. Even friendship would be a struggle. He could remember those words his father had used, whilst on the phone to Fizz's most recent medical consultant, his conversation blaring out through the house: "He's not all there. We've done everything we can, but trying to talk to that boy... it's like sweating over an old car that won't start. There's no spark there."

  It was harsh, but pretty accurate, Fizz thought. That was his father all over, really: blunt and to the point. So how was he supposed to deal with Ash and this situation? Fizz already felt guilty about it. The way Ash looked at him so hopefully crumbled his resolve. Shit. Fizz took the coward's way out, and plastered on a smile. "Um, I guess we could watch a movie."

  Ash's face lit up. "Great! I've got just the ones in mind. It'll be ace, I promise. You'll love Bollywood."

  "Okay."

  They continued to eat. After laughing at a few more scenes in the movie that was still running, Ash brought up a new topic. "I think Ryan will be pleased."

  "Huh?"

  "You know, the reason he shoved us upstairs tonight, so he could stay downstairs." Ash definitely had a twinkle in his eye. "With your cousin."

  "Huh?" Fizz wasn't sure he understood. "They're low on staff."

  "Yeah, I heard." Ash shook his head. "Poor Sammy. Ryan said they're keeping him in hospital overnight, just to check for concussion."

  Fizz nodded. That was right, and Ryan was doing a double shift to cover it.

  "Then Rachel called in sick," Ash went on. "But Ryan and Ginger are both workaholics, so really, they're probably enjoying this chance to work themselves to the bone so they can whinge about it later. Quite alike, in lots of ways. I can see why Ryan likes him."

  "I... I don't understand?"

  Ash gave him a look. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed?"

  "Noticed what?"

  "Oh, man!" Ash started laughing, covering his mouth with his hand. "Oh! I'm sorry to break this to you. Especially as Ginger's your cousin and all..."

  "What?"

  "Ryan kinda likes him."

  Fizz blinked, staring. "What? Are you sure?"

  "Sure, sure." Ash nodded. "Just watch Ryan the next time he's around Ginger. Then compare it to how mopey he is when Ginger isn't around."

  "Oh." Fizz thought about it. "I guess... I didn't notice."

  "Well, I've known Ryan for a while now. There's not much he can hide from me."

  "Um, has Dan—I mean, has Ginger said anyt
hing about it?"

  Ash pulled a who-knows face and shrugged. "He doesn't say much to anybody, never has done. That's why Ryan's had a face like a wet weekend for the past... God knows how long. No one even knows if Ginger... well, you know. If he swings that way."

  "He does," Fizz blurted out.

  Ash looked genuinely shocked, and sat up in his chair. "No way! For real?"

  "I shouldn't have said anything." Fizz flushed hard. "Please, don't tell anyone."

  "Oh, no way. You don't need to worry, I'm not a goss. Ryan's my best friend." Ash shook his head, smiling. "Wow. I never thought. I mean, how do you know?"

  "Promise you won't tell?"

  "Cross my heart." Ash smiled, drawing an X over his chest. Fizz had to tear his eyes away from Ash, because he suddenly started imagining what was under that T-shirt. He cleared his throat.

  "Um, well, Luke—my older brother—and Dan, they were pretty close, growing up. So, it's just what Luke mentioned to me. When Dan was in London, he... he had a boyfriend. I don't know the details, but it ended badly. That's when he moved down here. Luke said Dan hasn't been with anyone since. Not that we know of."

  Ash was rapt. "Oh. My. God. No way! And Ryan doesn't even know! Are you sure about this?"

  Fizz took a deep breath and nodded. "We came to Brighton to visit him, before Luke moved in with his fiancée. But I guess I was young, and excited to be away from home. I didn't get much chance to speak to Dan, and I didn't notice how upset he was. That's when Luke told me about it on the drive home. I felt so bad, but I don't know how to bring it up now."

  "Hey, don't worry," Ash said, calm and understanding. "Like you said, you were young. You didn't mean anything bad, and Ginger obviously likes you. He's letting you stay here now, right?"

  Fizz smiled wanly. Yes, but for how long? The thought of overstaying his welcome was enough to make him want to run away before things turned sour.

  Maybe picking up on the tension, Ash said, "I'm sure he appreciated your help tonight, you know."

  Fizz looked at him. He hadn't thought of that before. How dense...

  "Yeah," he said. "I hope so. He's... he's a good guy."

  "Definitely," Ash agreed. "Him and Pete let us practise for free."

  "Yeah."

  They were both smiling again. Fizz marvelled at how easy it felt, to smile at Ash and watch him smile back. Scary, but easy. Don't rush, he pleaded silently. Don't rush.

  "Relax."

  Fizz tensed. That voice. Before, it had calmed him, but now... Where the hell was it coming from? He had this crazy urge to ask Ash if there was someone stood behind him, perhaps leaning down, whispering in his ear. Fizz knew that was ridiculous, but now he'd pictured that image in his head, he had trouble not thinking about it.

  Chapter 8

  The dream was so vivid, it almost felt real. Ginger was there. Of course, pretty much all of his dreams revolved around Ginger. The dream started with them talking then, just like that, they were kissing. Ryan felt the warm press of lips against his, the hard planes of Ginger's body. He wrapped his arms around Ginger's neck, and clung on tight. His feet weren't touching the ground; he simply floated. "Daniel." He spoke without words, somehow knowing he'd be heard. "Daniel, I love you. I love you so much, please—"

  It wasn't real. Even as he held onto Ginger, relishing touching him, he knew it wasn't real. As much as Ryan wanted this, it was never going to happen. A sob wracked his throat, and he felt an overwhelming urge to cry.

  Ryan opened his eyes, and the dream was over. He stared up at the wall. Posters of Jake Gyllenhaal and Johnny Depp stared impassively back at him. Waking so suddenly brought mixed feelings. While Ryan had been happily living in his own fantasies for some time now, he couldn't deny they were starting to do more bad than good if he woke up feeling this depressed. His face was wet. Scrubbing at his eyes, he kidded himself that he hadn't been crying.

  No point going back to sleep. Light shone around his curtains, which meant it wasn't night any more, and that meant he could finally go to the bathroom without worrying about any strange noises, or footsteps or...

  Anything else.

  Ryan felt uneasy about those noises, especially at night. He could've sworn he kept hearing someone laugh. It wasn't a happy laugh either; it was more of a mocking laugh. Like someone was laughing at him. The sounds filtered up the stairs, along the halls, but never seemed to come from one direction at any one time. It was just everywhere. And always when he was on his own.

  To combat lone trips to the bathroom at night, Ryan had stopped drinking fluids before going to bed. During the night, he held onto his full bladder as long as possible. At this rate, he'd need to buy a bed pan.

  Ryan stretched in his bed, about to get up. Then he frowned and looked down. What was that wet patch? He pulled back the duvet. In stunned horror, he stared down at himself and the sticky mess all over his pants and sheets. He hadn't had a dream like this in years. Not since he was a teenager. Now he'd have to wash his sheets and have a shower. And hope nobody found out about it.

  "Great," he muttered. "Just great."

  Dragging himself out of bed, Ryan tried to think about other things as he bundled his laundry into a pile. He'd put new sheets on his bed later; he couldn't be bothered right now. He stripped off and grabbed his towel. Holding it loosely around his body, he poked his head out into the hall.

  Quiet. But that was normal, as it was still early. Well, early for the pub. Obviously no one else was up yet, which hopefully meant there would be lots of hot water.

  Tip-toeing over the carpet and down the hall, Ryan slipped into the bathroom, closing and locking the door. He turned on the shower head and pulled the curtain across the bath, waiting for the water to heat up. Sometimes it took forever and a day.

  In the meantime, he hung up his towel and relieved his aching bladder. Ryan tried not to stare into the grimy filth of the toilet bowl as he peed. Someone was going to have to clean that soon. Someone, as in, him. He sighed, closed the lid, and flushed. The cistern made a clanking sound, then the most horrendous noise. Ryan frowned at it, wondering what was wrong. The pipes seemed to rattle, and Ryan jumped in fright when a deep, long note reverberated through the pipework. That was bound to wake everyone up. Ryan thought it rather sounded like a ship coming in to dock. He prayed this didn't mean the toilet was about to break down.

  Well, there was nothing he could do about it right now.

  Sticking his hand under the shower spray of water, Ryan was quietly amazed to find it was hot. He stepped into the bath and stood under the showerhead. He used a blob of his two-in-one shampoo and conditioner to wash his hair, which made multi-coloured streams of dye run down his body. The colours pooled in the soap suds at the base of the stall, dyeing the bubbles rainbow shades. Ryan didn't care much about his hair. He needed to re-dye it soon anyway. He grabbed shower gel next, and washed away all the sticky remains from his skin.

  Idly, his gaze fell on the items balanced precariously along the rim of the bath. As it was all blokes, there were a lot of Lynx products, as well as Pete's L'Oreal for men. Sammy tended to favour the more extravagant, girly-looking products. He had a collection of interesting looking bath oils and some glittery, handmade soaps from Lush. The slightly-grubby ring around the bath tub also had remnants of Sammy's glitter bath-bombs, which everyone knew Matt hated with a passion. Matt was not a glitter fan.

  There were also hair clips, combs, latex gloves and discarded, empty hair dye pots, as well as brand-new pots. Some of them were Ryan's; he'd started to buy the same brand Ginger used, La Riche. The little pots of dye were only temporary, but the colours were bright and vibrant. They smelled good, too.

  Whenever Ryan saw one of those pots, he thought of Ginger's hair. Ginger had all the best shades of red, streaks of each one in his hair, so the overall colour was deep and varied. Ryan knew Ginger's favourite colours off by heart, as he'd memorised the names printed on their lids. Pillar-box red, poppy red, fire, rubine, dark tulip,
vermilion red.

  Sometimes Ryan borrowed a little of Ginger's pillar-box red to use on his own hair. He liked to have the streaked rainbow effect in his mowie, and secretly loved having one of Ginger's colours in his hair. Ryan caught himself staring at the dye pots, feeling sorry for himself. God, he had to get out more. He should go on the pull, put himself out there.

  How long had it been since he'd had sex anyway? Six months? Seven? The worst part was, he was starting to get used to it. The dream came back to him, along with the feel of holding Ginger, and being held in his arms.

  Ryan wanted that contact so badly. His body responded to thought, and very quickly he found himself with a hard on. He stared down at himself. Great. Now what? Although... he was alone.

  Under the spray of warm water, Ryan closed his eyes and wrapped his hand around his cock. He let the memory of the dream invade him—Ginger holding and kissing him. His imagination took hold as he began to stroke himself purposefully. A sigh escaped his mouth, then turned into a squeal as the water abruptly lost its heat. Ice-cold water now lashed over him, and Ryan fumbled to turn it off. He staggered out of the bath and stood, dripping wet, on the mat.

  That strange honk sounded through the pipes again, along with more thumps and clanks. Just as quickly as it started, after a few more seconds, the noises stopped. Ryan heaved in a sigh. He grabbed his towel and started to dry himself off, taking care not to touch his cock, which was still hard, and bobbing at him eagerly.

  "Just forget it," he told himself. He didn't have time to feel horny anyway. He had to go and put his washing on, before someone else beat him to the machine. Then he had to get ready, and tell someone about that weird noise—

  Footsteps echoed along the hall. Ryan froze. Oh God, he thought. Not again. He didn't dare move. But it was daytime, surely the... the whatever it was only came out at night? He listened, his ears on stalks as the footsteps came closer. They stopped just outside the door. Ryan's breath caught in his throat. There was a gentle rap on the wood.