I was in bed with a man whose name I’d forgotten when the phone rang in the kitchen.

‘I should get that,’ I said. ‘It might be work.’
He sat up. ‘On a Sunday?’

Ignoring him, I left the room and found myself hoping that it was Kurt, calling me in for a last minute video edit. Though I favour the anonymity of one night stands, I find the morning after excruciating. I don’t want to make idle chit chat with someone I’ll no doubt have more in common with than my sexuality. And I’m sure the feeling is mutual.

I picked up the phone and a woman’s voice asked, ‘Eric?’

Classical music played in the background at the other end of the line.

‘Who’s this?’

‘My name’s Margaret Mason. We’ve never met, but I’m your mother’s neighbour. I wasn’t sure I had the right number for you. You weren’t listed in her address book and I-,’

‘Can I help?’ I asked.

‘I’m sorry. It’s about your mother. She had a heart attack in the early hours of this morning. She’s in hospital. She was asking for you.’

I froze. ‘She wants me to visit?’ I asked, disbelieving.

‘Well, yes, of course. Do you have a pen?’

I wrote the name of the hospital and ward on the back of an envelope, then hung up the phone.

‘Is everything okay?’

I turned to see the man from last night standing in the doorway. He was wearing last night’s tight t-shirt that clung to his toned arms and pumped chest. His body suddenly seemed futile.

‘Fine,’ I said quickly, then busied myself with filling the kettle. ‘Coffee? I’d offer you breakfast, but-,’

‘What’s this?’

He was reading the envelope I’d left on the worktop.

‘That’s personal,’ I said, snatching it from his fingers.

‘It’s none of your business.’

There was silence while I prepared a cafetiere which I placed on a tray and took out to the balcony.

When we sat down at the breakfast table, he looked at me again, his hand covering his eyes from the sun. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? I don’t mean to pry, but you seem a little distracted.’

A moment passed before I answered. ‘Do your parents know about you?’ I asked.

‘Being gay? Sure. I told them when I was 17, but I think they knew all along. Parents do, don’t they?’
I looked into my coffee cup. ‘My mother had a heart attack this morning.’

The man rested his hand on mine. The touch felt more intimate than the sex last night.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘How is she?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Aren’t you close?’

‘She doesn’t approve of me. She’s Jamaican,’ I added, as if this explained everything.

‘Where is she?’

‘In Birmingham.’

‘Are you going to see her?’

‘It’s a long way.’

‘It’s a couple of hours drive.’

‘I don’t have a car.’

‘I can drive you. If you like.’

I frowned. ‘You don’t even know me.’

‘We slept together, Eric. I’d like the chance to get to know you.’ He smiled a half smile. ‘Even if the circumstances aren’t exactly orthodox.’

I held his gaze and considered what he was saying. If I took the train, I would be alone at a time in which I couldn’t face my own company.

‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘I mean, I can pay for petrol.’

He smiled again. ‘Let’s sort that out later,’ he said. ‘Mind if I grab a shower?’

I shook my head and stood up. ‘I’ll get you the spare towel. If I can find it.’