Rentboy

that sort of monkey business.”
    Unsure if it was a windup or time to laugh, Edward said, “I know that. I thought I’d help you out
    a bit, that’s all.” He pulled twenty pounds from his pocket and leaned down to give it to the man.
    “Have dinner on me.”
    The man raised his eyebrows at the sum and took it quickly. “Very kind.” He pushed the tarp off
    and stood up. He was wearing a new overcoat, warm and heavy, and new boots. He wasn’t much
    cleaner but perhaps a little. Inside the box was a full bottle of whiskey.
    “You look well,” Edward said.
    “Things are looking up. He invited me to the wedding, but I’ll have to check my calendar,” the
    man said.
    Confused, Edward shook his head.
    “Fox. The bloke you’re going to marry.”
    “Fox invited you to the wedding?” With an inward groan, Edward pictured the scene. On his
    side of the church, his mum and dad with Nik, respectably clad for the event. The grandparents,
    aunties, uncles, work colleagues—all the men in gray suits, the ladies in big hats. On Fox’s side, his
    mum, hopefully sober, the twins dressed as either girls or boys but definitely not one of each. Fox’s
    Goth friends from Wimbledon College of Art, and a tramp. It would look like the queen’s garden
    party versus Cirque du Soleil.
    “He wanted to rent me a room nearby, but I said no. I like this alley. It’s home. He got me this
    coat and boots.” The tramp did a twirl while still standing in the box. “And unlike most people, the
    first thing he ever asked me was my name.”
    The warmth that ran through Edward’s insides was like a stream of comforting water. “I love
    Fox,” Edward said. “He’s an outstanding human being.”
    “That’s exactly what he is. And my name is Alistair.”
    “A pleasure to meet you, Alistair. Now I’m going to go home to spend a bit of time with Fox
    before the twins get off the school bus.”
    “He told me he got them into some school for kids with special needs. You have a nice day,
    Eddie.” At the surprise in Edward’s face, Alistair said, “He told me your name and what a genius you
    are. Says all kinds of lovely things about you, he does. He drops by about once a week to see how I’m
    doing and take me for lunch.”
    “I didn’t know that,” Edward said.
    “And don’t forget his flowers.” Edward looked at him. “He loves flowers.”
    “Does he? Why didn’t he tell me?”
    “No one says, I love flowers; buy me some .”
    “Oh, of course. Thanks, Alistair.”
    Out on the street, Edward hurried toward the tube station. It was seven months since his knee had
    been shattered with a crowbar. The caliper with the screws was gone, but he still needed a patella-
    stabilizing knee brace, and he had a pronounced limp. It was seven months since Fox had been
    tortured on his father’s instructions. After months of cognitive behavioral therapy he was able to take
    a shower without an anxiety attack, and they had taken the twins swimming at the local rec center
    several times without incident. Fox could even laugh about it now. In Sainsbury’s the other day, he
    had gripped Edward’s arm and started to hyperventilate, pointing at the bin bags on the shelf as if they
    were explosives. Edward immediately hugged him, saying, “It’s all right, dear,” until Fox said,
    “Time to laugh, Eddie.”
    If Edward went to the flower shop on Colchester Street, it would mean he had to get off the
    Underground one stop early, which would make his walk longer. For Fox he would do it. He’d do
    anything for Fox. When you were used to being able-bodied, you never thought about how people
    managed who were not. Everywhere he had gone for the last seven months, he’d had to make a mental
    map in advance. Do they have a lift or an escalator? Can I carry a bag and use my crutches at the
    same time? Will I have a free hand to hold on if I take a bus? How far can I walk before I am too
    tired to go any farther, and is there a bench for me to sit down? Life was very different. He was
    grateful when he no longer needed the crutches, but he was far from recovered. He had also found that
    compensating for a gammy leg made the rest of his body ache too.
    But some things were better. Dr. Howard’s death had been brushed under the carpet at LSHTM.
    No one spoke of him or knew the true circumstances. Edward had been made head of his department
    with an increase in salary. Things had settled back into a normal routine.
    In the flower shop