Perking the Pansies, Jack and Liam move to Turkey

Chapter 1 - In the Beginning

In the beginning there was work, and work was God. After thirty-five years in the business, the endless predictability made me question the Faith. Liam, on the other hand, was neither bored nor unchallenged but routinely subjected to the demands of a feckless boss, a soft and warm Christmas tree fairy with a soul of granite, Lucifer in lace. He feared for his tenure. I feared for his mental health.

"Happy Birthday, Liam."

Our favourite Soho brasserie was illuminated by flickering antique oil lamps and the occasional beam of light from the kitchen. The restaurant was swollen with rowdy after-hours workers, swapping gossip and feasting on hearsay. We had squeezed into a small recess by the window, dribbles of condensation trickling down the glass and obscuring the view to the street beyond.

Liam ripped off his Armani tie and draped it across the back of his chair.

"Thanks, Jack. Forty-six and fully-functioning tackle."

"I'll drink to that."

Our waiter intruded. "Have you decided?"

"Yes, Cato," I said. "We'll both have the special."

The cute Colombian turned on his heels and sashayed off towards the kitchen. Liam retrieved his tie and rolled it absently around his fingers.

"You do know that's Italian silk?"

"It's just a shackle. An over-priced, over-hyped, ridiculous little shackle." He closed his eyes and massaged his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

"Good day at the office, darling?"

"Just pour the wine, Jack."

Liam folded his tie, placed it neatly on the table and stared into my eyes with unusual intensity.

"Jack, you know I love you, don't you?"

"Sure I do."

In the three years we had been together, Liam had been irrepressibly affectionate. We had recently married, an affirming fanfare of family and friends crowned by two glorious weeks in Turkey. I had never felt more loved.

"Look," said Liam. "I've got something to tell you."

Cato returned and fussed over the table setting for what seemed like an age, adjusting the condiments like chess pieces to make room for the oversized plates. He placed the white linen napkins on our laps and started to fret over my cutlery.

"That's fine, Cato!"

Liam shuffled uncomfortably, and Cato and his impossibly thin waist minced back to the kitchen.

"I thought you liked this place?" I said. "I thought you were happy?"

"I do. I am." He forced a smile.

"This is you looking happy?"

Our food arrived along with a fresh bottle of wine and a sulking waiter.

"It's the job," said Liam. "It's driving me insane." He took a fortifying swig of wine. "I told that bitch of a boss where to stick her profit margins. I've done it. I've quit."

Liam had spent the last two years working for a cut-and-thrust, slash-and-burn private sector company, vainly trying to coax the unemployable into work. He sought stimulation and challenge and got both in spades, along with a gruelling twelve hour day. I reached over the table and held his hand.

"Jumping ship's fine, love. As long as it's onto dry land."

"But, you're my dry land, aren't you?"