The Ties That Bind Read Online Free PDF Page A

explain. ‘Neither of us have family in Britain, so we have to be each other’s family now. He was there for me when no one else was.’ But Jem chose not to listen.
    There was a corresponding cooling in the atmosphere at home, especially now that the novelty of Viggo’s book deal had worn off and he understood the marathon of work ahead. When Luke had mentioned that Viggo’s ghostwriting empire was slowly expanding to fill their little flat, Jem gave him a key to the penthouse and told him to work there whenever he wanted. Jem loved the idea of his home being used to create art when he was out at work. He said he felt like his money was finally being put to good use. He made Luke feel like he was doing the favour gracing the flat with his presence, never that it was an imposition.
    Luke had never seen himself with someone like Jem – never thought he’d go corporate, always pictured himself with another writer or artist, or someone in the media at least – and now realised that was why he’d never held on to the same man for more than a few months. If a relationship was going to be close, there wasn’t space for two people to be the same.
    It was part of the attraction, the utter mystery of Jem’s job, the arcana of profit and loss, the knowledge denied to everyone else Luke knew. Not that Jem took his work home with him. Once the suit was off, you forgot about his day job. He might be pushing forty but his intensity reminded Luke of himself at seventeen, unable to play it cool with the first boy who reciprocated his interest; Jem was texting him constantly, following him from room to room, playing the same songs on a loop and forcing Luke to sit down and listen to the lyrics. Occasionally he would say stupid things, marvelling at the strange cosmic forces that had compelled him to visit the gallery that night, musing on fate and destiny, concepts that Luke found excruciatingly embarrassing.
    ‘I can’t believe how confident you are, how comfortable you are,’ he said once. ‘I’m so glad I’ve got you to show me the ropes.’
    ‘There aren’t any ropes,’ Luke had snapped. ‘It’s not the Freemasons.’ He tried to rise above his irritation. It was obviously a natural consequence of Jem being in the closet for too long. Luke had to remember that in gay years he was the grown-up.
    Still, he found himself behaving in ways he didn’t recognise. He would have been mortified for his friends to see the messages he sent when he was bored during the day:
     
Darling Jem, come home for lunch. ALA, Luke
     
    ALA stood for All Love Always. The acronym was one of those little couples’ codes that you sneered at when used by others but that, Luke was now discovering, locked you together.
    Work was going well, too. He couldn’t say whether it was the peaceful home environment, the motivating envy of Viggo’s book deal, or the confidence Jem had poured into him, but he had made more progress on his book in the few weeks since they met than he had in the previous six months. He’d gone from written correspondence with Len Earnshaw to telephone calls and they had arranged to meet for the first time.
    He and Jem spent their one-month anniversary in the penthouse, ostentatiously relaxed in towelling robes after a long shared bath. Jem looked up from the interiors pages of the newspaper he was reading.
    ‘What would be a bohemian thing to have on that blank wall?’ he said. ‘I need something to balance out the painting. It says here that feature walls are the way forward.’
    He showed Luke the page in question. One room was part-covered in wallpaper that looked like old bookshelves, another one hosted a selection of starburst mirrors, and another had a wall entirely covered in cuckoo clocks. They all looked awful and Luke trod carefully, knowing that to give anything his blessing, even casually, would mean that he would come home to find it installed.
    ‘It’s your place,’ he said.
    ‘What if it was yours