Jez had been more than a bit annoyed at the party. Chan had been moody at all night. He had always been one for a bit of introspection, but she had half hoped that he would be up for a bit of a laugh nonetheless. Christ, she’d even worn that halter top that he had commented on in such a positive fashion when she had worn it once in the not so distant past. No luck, though. Not even a grope in the dark. He was brooding over something, she knew him that well. And then he left, as she had expected he would, taking her hope for a shag with him. She could have done with one as well, having just finished a week of soul-destroying night shifts. A bit of physical release was definitely in order. How close she had come to running after him, but knew better than to try. She would have gotten the cold shoulder all night. Not purposely, but Chan simply had this way of zoning out if his mind was on something, whether it was in mid-conversation or mid-stroke. It often amazed her that he was even able to perform at all sometimes.

Shortly after he had left the party, Ollie was on her like a tick on a cow’s arse. Drunk and slobbering down her cleavage, he had tried kissing her, only to be stopped in his tracks by her fist exerting firm, steady pressure on his balls.

‘Ahhhkkk….. easy Jez! I know you’re horny for me, but not in public, hey?’ he quipped.
Prick.

It was truly beyond her why a man always thought that having been with a girl in the past, regardless of when it may have been, meant she’d be willing to jump into bed with him ‘for old time’s sake’ just because alcohol was involved. Granted, she had made the mistake before, but with Ollie? No way. Or at least, not ever again. She could envision the bastard smarming all over her each and every time they were out having drinks after, winking lasciviously every chance he got. The very thought of it raised her bile.

It was approximately four hours after Chan left that her mobile went off, vibrating madly in her back pocket. To her pleasant surprise, it was the man himself. Unable to hear him above the din, she screamed for him to hold on as she shoved her way through the crowd toward the exit. Once outside, she gasped involuntarily as the icy morning air chilled her sweat-slicked skin and caused her nipples to harden. Hugging herself with one arm, she crammed the mobile to her ear with the other.

‘Hey, Chan. You alright, babe?’ she asked with chattering teeth.
‘Jez, hi. Sorry to call you so late, chick.’
‘It’s fine. Didn’t see you when you left,’ she lied.
‘Yeah, sorry about that. Wasn’t in the mood, you know?’ Yeah, she knew.
‘Hey, it’s cool. Everything alright?’
‘Ummm… no, actually. I need your help…’ His hesitant tone immediately alerted her. Something had happened.
‘Yeah, anything. What’s up?’
‘I’d rather not say over the phone, Jez.’ He paused, and then, ‘Can you come up?’
Jez looked at her watch. It was almost six o’clock in the morning. ‘What, to Barnet? Now?’
‘Yeah. Sorry to ask you, hon, but I really do need your help here.’
‘Yeah, sure, Chan. I’ll be about forty, forty-five minutes, though. That okay?’
‘Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll see you then.’

It wasn’t an option, of course. Something big was up and Chan needed her, so she’d go. Did that make her a desperate, love-sick puppy jumping to his beck and call?
No, he actually sounded worried, damn it. I have to go.
She gave it no more thought. Luckily she hadn’t had too much to drink.

Two Coronas and a sip of voddie and Coke, no worries.

And with the roads clear, Barnet would be a breeze. She went back inside to grab her coat and was off, not even bothering to tell Ollie she was going, but was spied at the cloakroom. He was already making his way over.

‘What’s up?’ he slurred, squinting through one eye.
Jez groaned inwardly. ‘Nothing, Ol. I’m leaving, is all. Just had enough. Tired.’
‘Are you sure? Who was on the phone, then? You look worried about something. Tell me.’

She sighed. There’s nothing more irritating than gruff, drunken concern from a swaying piss-head. It usually translated into Let me show you how much I care with my penis. There was no point lying, though. Ollie was her friend, after all, and she had promised to give him a lift home after the party. It was why he allowed himself to get so shit-faced, not that he ever needed a reason. ‘It was Chan. He needs me up in Barnet.’

He smirked. ‘Chan, eh? Mmmm. Going for a bit of West Indian flavour, are we?’ He said, winking and then guffawing. Jez didn’t let him get away with it

‘Yeah I am, actually. And I’m going to let him put it anywhere he wants as well. Ooh, I can’t wait!’

Ollie managed to look satisfactorily wounded and jealous at the same time.

Take that, you little shit.
‘So you’re leaving me here, then, are you?’ he asked petulantly.
Jez sighed again. ‘No, Ol. Come if you want. We’ll even let you look if you behave,’ she said, smiling sweetly.
‘Fuck off, Jezebelle,’ he grumbled, immaturely stressing her name in full as she walked, and he stumbled, to her parked Golf. She bit her tongue and said nothing. He knew how she hated to be called by her full name, the result of a lapse in good sense by her then hippie parents, and that was on purpose.

She texted Chan on the way to the car to let him know that she now had Ollie in tow. It was only after she had started the car and was pulling out of the parking lot that she received a return text saying that it was okay. He had obviously had to think about it. What was going on?

Maybe he finally wants to profess to me how much he loves me and requires privacy?

She laughed out loud in spite of herself, but Ollie was already asleep, drooling on himself in the passenger seat, and so didn’t make comment.

That would be the day.

Chan’s emotions were certainly intact, but his ability to express them was constipated at the best of times.

Stuck in the anal phase, as Freud would have adequately put it.

No, this was something else. She shifted gears and was off.

Five minutes into the journey, Ollie started to snore the deep rumbling snore of the inebriated. Jez shook her head and could not help but smile. As incongruous as he was at times, he was a good sort, and loyal if nothing else. Besides, it was he who had introduced Chan and her to each other in the first place, so she guessed she owed him that at the very least.

It was the very night at the Jeremy Bentham when Chan and Ollie had first become mates when Jez was first introduced to him. Jez was working at the University College of London Hospital just down the road at the time, and had strolled in after her shift to meet Ollie whom she hadn’t seen in ages. They had met in university when they were both undergrads at UCL, and had dated for just over a year. It had been a bit of a manic year for her, with her medical finals looming and all, and her almost total focus on her books to the near exclusion of everything else ultimately took its toll on the relationship. Ollie, though a very attentive boyfriend, was also a megalomaniac of sorts even then and needed a lot of attention in return. Insanely driven by the determination to get through her exams, Jez was the wrong person to ask. After a bout of sulking on his part, she rashly decided to end things, saying that she needed all the time she could get with finals in sight, and needed to be selfish just this once. They were young and he took it badly at first, but in a typical show of magnanimousness, one of his endearing features, he bowed out gracefully in the end, dramatically professing undying love nonetheless. And so, as Jez nosed into her medical tomes, Ollie nursed his broken heart with booze and random, wanton sex, making a general tit of himself around campus. He remained true to his word, however, and never once slandered her name, always defending her honour, blaming the break-up on himself. Jez had always respected him for that, despite his antics.

After graduating with honours, her first placement as an official doctor was outside of London in coastal Southampton for a year of house jobs, where she had her own bouts of boozing and random, wanton sex. Inevitably, they drifted apart, fell out of touch. But on returning to London one year later to start her basic surgical training at the UCLH, within the first week of arriving, she and Ollie had met up. They both got trollied on tequila, professed how much they had missed each other, and predictably, had sex. In the wretched post-coital period that followed, they lay there basking not in a luminous afterglow, but in the awkward, regrettable cheapness of the whole affair. Ollie managed to cheapen things further by constantly expressing his heartfelt desire that she not feel in any way used and other such patronizing drivel, further augmenting Jez’s general disgust and self-loathing. She decided right there and then that they would either have a strictly platonic relationship, or never see each other again. She was actually keen on the latter, but Ollie pleaded for the former, whether out of guilt or needing Jez would never know. But she acceded in the end, more out of pity for him than anything else. He had been trying to shag her ever since. She had stopped drinking tequila.

Chan was therefore a pleasant and welcome surprise. He and Ollie had met a mere two hours before she arrived at the pub, but already they seemed to be in a groove with each other, sharing friendly banter and sending each other into gales of laughter. She envied men that sometimes. Ollie spotted her almost immediately and hailed her over.

‘Jez! How the devil are you, darling?’ He was already drunk and expansive as ever, acting as if they had seen each other only last week as opposed to last year.
‘Not to bad, Ol,’ she replied, squeezing him to her. ‘Well done on getting into the Masters programme, by the way. You must be chuffed.’ She was looking at Ollie, but could feel Chan’s eyes boring into her, causing her to flush.
‘Oh, you know...’ She didn’t, but he offered no further explanation, so she left it at that. ‘This is Chan, Jez. He’s on the programme with me.’ Jez looked up at Chan who was leaning against the bar next to them and extended her hand.

He was very tall with an olive-brown complexion and strangely slanted eyes that partially concealed a dark, smouldering gaze which stood out from the rest of his soft features, giving him a decidedly boyish look. His countenance was a serious, contemplative one overall, but at that moment his lips betrayed a bemused expression. His hair was closely cropped, keeping its true nature secret, and his skin flawless.

‘Hi, Chan. It’s Jez.’
‘A pleasure.’
‘Chan’s from the West Indies. Trinidad to be exact,’ Ollie supplied. ‘It means he has a big knob, Jezzie.' This last fact he pretend-whispered to Jez, but did so purposely loud enough for Chan, and possibly the whole pub to hear as well. Gently, he elbowed her in the ribs and winked his filthy Ollie wink at her knowingly. If Jez had not been blushing before, she was now the colour of a baby’s freshly slapped bottom. She could always trust Ollie to say something as anus-clenchingly embarrassing as that, and at the most inappropriate of times as well.

Chan laughed a nervous laugh, saying, ‘Don’t believe all you hear.’

Ollie sniggered, slapped them both on the back and charmingly announced that he was off for a piss, and that they were to resist the urge to shag each other at all costs whilst he was away. Jez would cringe at the memory for years to come.

Ollie never did return, though, having found someone else to amuse him at the other end of the pub, but it didn’t matter to Jez. The conversation was liquid. Chan was charming and attentive, well spoken on a wide range of things and had a delightful, dry sense of humour. His accent was soft and alluring in a sing-song, lilting sort of way, not as harsh as the one she would hear off the Jamaican porters working at the hospital. By the time the pub announced last orders, Chan had asked her out on a date, which she accepted.

It was the beginning of a whirlwind romance. They had slept together on the first date, a mad, romping affair, and seemed to be at it constantly for two months following, him teaching her how to wine her waist, driving her nearly insane with his West Indian rhythms. But then it all seemed to fizz out a bit once he got into his thesis project and started travelling back and forth between London, Africa and the Caribbean. He had invited her on his first trip to Ghana, where he ravished her so many times in the hotel room that she literally thought she would lose her mind, but never on his countless others. Jez tried not to take in personally, death being a preferable option to her seeming needy in front of any man. But he was always reassuring, saying that it was only for a time, and joked that he found it hard to concentrate on his work with her tarting herself up for him on every possible occasion. She refused to apologize for it, though. He simply had that effect on her.

Yet she could not help but feel that there was something more, something to do with the fact that she was white and he was not. It seemed to be an issue with him, but one that he was never fully open with. He would sometimes make jokes while they were in the act of love-making, saying that he felt like he was in a black-on-white-action porn film, or more horridly that he was a slave having his way with the massa’s wife. He even made the comment once that his having sex with her was his little contribution to the freed slaves’ mission to get back at the Empire for its years of oppression, before laughing delightedly. Yet, puzzlingly for Jez, when she referred to him as black or Afro-Caribbean, a term that crawled his blood, he would vehemently denounce it, proclaiming that he was the mixed-race result of a Chinese father and a mixed, black and white mother. Further, he felt it an insult to be presumed black just because he was from a predominantly black region, despite Trinidad being exceedingly multiethnic, more so than Tobago and the rest of the Caribbean for that matter, save Jamaica and Guyana, as he would endlessly lecture. He called it modern day white ignorance. But despite being mixed and belonging to a mixed-race couple, when he and Jez were out and about together, he would stare disbelievingly at black African and white couples, or at white mothers pushing their half-white babies in push-chairs and mutter snide remarks before snorting to himself in what Jez could only describe as amused disgust bordering on frank outrage. It fascinated him to see white people with anyone else that other white people. This would then lead him to openly wonder if he and Jez were looked at in the same way he looked at others, to which Jez would in turn wonder What way? Who’s looking? This is London!

She didn’t understand it then and didn’t understand it now. It seemed to her that Chan was dealing with some type of inferiority complex about being ethnic, being from the West Indies, and being seen as ‘black’. To add to his double standards, he was also adamant that if he was to be considered black, he should under no circumstances be grouped with Africans, which was even worse. If Chan was anything to go by, Jez’s impression of Trinidadians was that they were a people obsessed with race. She had even called him racist once, to which he replied Who isn’t? However, he argued that because he was mixed with ‘a bit of everything’ in him anyway, he somehow had the ‘right’ to make bigoted comments. To Jez it was all preposterous, but she managed to ignore it all, simply humouring his rants, even laughing at them. As long as she continued to be his muse, she did not care what his issues were. He enthralled her. She wanted to be in his company all the time. And, as far as she was concerned, having a tall, dark, handsome man with a fantastic accent on her arm was simply fantastic.

But things changed and all of a sudden, she was the one pining for attention from a lover who seemed too caught up in his own affairs instead of the other way around. She balked at the irony. Yet, she couldn’t get upset with him, no matter how hard she tried.

The bastard knows he can do what the hell he wants and I’ll still come running. Damn him for being such a brilliant, gorgeous man.