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nothing out of the ordinary. Nor did he bat an eyelid when she took my hand.
     
    “Clive, I need to borrow Minette for a while”. Horribly, I sensed he was turned on. I left my boots at the bottom of the stairs in the hallway as it was carpet thereafter.
     
    “We can't make a habit of this in work hours” I said. “It's not fair on the others”. A pathetic, toothless stab at assertion. She tutted and ruffled my hair, giving the comment the short shrift it deserved.
     
    “It makes me feel like a boy when you do that” I said, pawing my hair defensively.
     
    “You are my boy” she said. “My boy with the beautiful breasts”.
     
    A series of approaching coughs. “Oh deary me” he sighed. Quincy's shire horse shamble creaking the stair boards. Another volley of hacking followed by a trumpeting nose blow. We froze mid-fuck. Quincy's relentless, heavy gallows walk now on the carpeted scaffold.
     
    “Why is he coming up here?” she hissed. I knew he was looking for toilet paper having exhausted the supply in the two downstairs loos, investigating the possibility of an en suite in Nancy's bedroom. How many times had I told him to bring his own?
     
    “Twas brillig and the slithey toves!” he boomed, entertaining himself on the climb, trudging in time to his pedantic delivery. He seemed to know the first line of many poems and numerous snatches of Shakespeare. “When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning and in rain?” he announced in a croaky, hag voice. I stared at Nancy in panic and outrage. He had no business being up here. He knew it was wrong. A violent, protracted throat clearing heralded his arrival on the final landing. Whimpering, I ducked under the duvet. He was at the door.
     
    “Quincy” she said calmly. I saw him in my mind's eye, head tilted like some listening Disney dog.
     
    “Yes?” he replied tentatively.
     
    “Go away”.
     
    “Right you are”. His footfall retreated.
     
    “Do you think he saw your boots?” she asked. Even if he had I said, he wouldn't have made the connection.
     
    We lingered on the top landing, looking down on my team. Quincy, extracting a length of decking from the radial arm saw and about to offer it up to its resting place.
     
    “That's a centimetre too long”
I said.
     
    “You can't possibly tell that from up here”.
     
    Quincy scratched his head as the board wedged against the brick wall, some two degrees from level, about to bring his foot down on it.
     
    “No” I whispered.
     
    Thinking better of it, he snatched it up.
     
    “A tad too long” he shouted to Clive.
     
    “…I can see everything now” I said.
     
    Increasingly less time at Remy's, not returning until gone midnight only to leave at a quarter to six the next morning. Jasmine was in crisis and needed my support. Remy praised my self- sacrifice but was concerned I looked tired.
     
    “Minsk, you're running yourself ragged”.
     
     
    Chapter 10
     
    It was evening, a new nip in the ai r. We strode along Highbury Park to buy wine. Nancy had dressed me in a fluffy, bottle green jumper that smelt like her. She curled her warm hand around mine, a brazen thing to do given the proximity of neighbours and shopkeepers. Also foolhardy; she hadn't been a lesbian before and knew nothing of the dangers inherent in such public display.
     
    As if on cue, a group of Turkish boys ambled towards us, casually scanning the street for something to prick their interest. Men often looked at Nancy, sometimes stopping in their tracks to see if the rear view was as good as the front, craning their necks as they drove past. Occasionally, a lewd compliment, or obscene suggestion raised my gorge, but Nancy, accustomed to it, would walk on focused on a distant thought.
     
    “Look man, le le le lesbians” leered one. I looked up challengingly, unsure which had spoken, locking eyes with one.
     
    “Yeah, but look man” he said. “They're beautiful”. He grinned at me without guile