"Ben Jeapes - Pages Out Of Order" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jeapes Ben)

the same as Tom Melton at fourteen -- a mature, well balanced character at
ease with the world. He knew he had nothing to prove and so never bothered
trying to.
Another familiar face was Stephen Gale, of fond memory, who I had actually
found I could like. It's amazing what a leveller just growing up can be.
But it was still an eery feeling when he nervously, and with an
embarrassed smile, told me over a cup of coffee that he had joined the Gay
Society, he felt happier than ever before, I shouldn't feel offended but
he didn't really fancy me ("too gangly"), and could I think of a good way
for him to break it to his parents?
I fell in love with a dark-haired girl called Joanna Hughes, who I met
through Tom (she was on his course), and by the end of term we were
inseparable. Tom didn't seem to mind that I had poached "his" girl, and
when Jo and I became a fixture he gave all the encouragement he could and
refused to be a gooseberry.
The most surprising thing was the nondevelopment of Tom's own love life.
He remained a bachelor. When I mentioned this, as casually as I could, he
shrugged.
"I believe in lasting relationships," he said.
"So do I," I said, a bit self-virtuously.
"I know but ..." Tom actually seemed flustered. "However hard I tried,
Will, it wouldn't last. That's all."
Tom's nerve giving out on him? Surely not.
"How do you know?" I said.
"Because I'm clever."

It was towards the end of summer, 1984 that Tom and I had our biggest
disagreement. Second-year students traditionally lived off-campus and we
three were such good friends that surely, he said, it would be good if we
moved in together?
I was adamantly against it, and my reasoning must have been transparent.
My relationship with Jo had still, despite my best efforts, a bit further
to go. She was determined to be a one-man-per-lifetime girl and had just
about convinced me that sex isn't the be-all and end-all of a
relationship; possibly a bonus, which we had yet to enjoy, if I indeed
turned out to be said man. I wasn't exactly pawing the ground, but on the
other hand, given a year in a flat together, the possibility couldn't be
ruled out, could it?
So, much as I liked Tom's company, much as I could even admit to myself
that I loved him, I could conjecture times when his presence might not be
welcome.
Jo thought it was a great idea ("he'll be someone to talk to if we split
up," she said encouragingly), so grinding my teeth as quietly as I could I
put my signature next to the other two on the application form.

Second year, Easter holidays, 1985
Tom's twentieth birthday came and went. That was March 1985, the last
normal month I was to have for a long time.
One April evening I came up the stairs to our flat and to my surprise
smelled chicken roasting. When I went into the kitchen, there was Tom,