his veins, so close was Gerry coming to the truth, but he'd rallied well enough. "You want to tell me what you're on about? What's your point? Just spit it out, Ger." This demand had been a calculated risk.
But in Cliffs experience, the time to bluff was when he had absolutely no idea what cards his opponent was holding. In this case, he knew what Gerry's suspicions were, and the only way he could sway Gerry to see those suspicions as groundless was to force them into the open in order to beat them down with a decent display of righteous rage. "Go on,, then. Spit it all out, Gerry."
"Okay. All right. You go out when I'm working nights. And we haven't been doing it like we used to. I know the signs, Cliff. Something's going on."
"Shit. I fucking do not believe this. You expect me to sit here and wait for you, right? But I can't / sit here with nothing to do. I start climbing the walls. So I go out. I have a walk. I take a drive.
I have a drink at Never Say Die. Or I work on a special order at the shop. D'you want some proof for all this? Should I get the barmaid to write me a note? How 'bout setting up a time clock at the Distractions so I could punch in and out for you?"
This explosion achieved a nice effect. Gerry's voice altered, a subtle gentling that told Cliff he was well on his way to having the upper hand.
"I'm saying that if we need to get tested, we need to get tested. Knowing the truth is better than living a death sentence without even knowing it."
Gerry's alteration in tone told Cliff that an escalation of his own passion would douse even more of his lover's. "Great. So get tested if you want to, but don't expect me to do the same, because I don't need a test, because I'm not bloody cheating. If you're going to start sifting through my business, though, I sure as hell c'n do the same to you. And just as easy. Believe me." He raised his voice further. "You're gone all day on the pier, aren't you, and half the bleeding night pounding away on some bloke's house -- if by the way that's what you're really pounding on."
"Hang on," Gerry said. "What's that supposed to mean? We need the money, and as far as I know, there's only one legal way to get it."
"Right. Fine. Work all you want, if that's what you're doing. But don't expect me to be like you.
I got to have breathing room, and if every time I need to have space you're going to think I'm fucking some bloke in a public loo - "
"You go to the square on market days, Cliff."
"Christ! Jesus! That really cuts it. How else am I going to do the shopping if I don't go to the square on market days?"
"The temptation's there. And both of us know how you are round temptation."
"Sure we know, and let's both get straight on why we know." Gerry's face grew red. Cliff knew that he was inches away from scoring the definitive goal in this verbal football match they were engaged in. "Remember me?" he taunted. "I'm the poofter you met in the market square loo when 'taking precautions' wasn't near as important as buggering any bloke willing to have you."
"That's in the past," Gerry responded defensively.
"Yeah. And let's have a look at the past. You liked your cottaging days as much as I did.
Giving blokes the eye, slipping into the loo, doing the business on them without even finding out their names. Only I don't wave those days in front of your face when you don't act like I want you to do. And I don't take you through an inquisition if you stop by the market square for five minutes to pick up lettuce. If that's what you're picking up, by the way."
"Hang on, Cliff."
"No. You hang on. Cheating works both ways, and you're out more nights than me."
"I already said. I'm working."
"Right. Working."
"And you know how I feel about fidelity."
"I know what you say about fidelity. And there's a hell of a lot of difference between what blokes say and what they feel. I figured you might understand that, Ger. I guess I was wrong."
And that had been that. Deflated when his argument had been turned against him, Gerry'd backed off. He'd sulked