Spencer bangs the bottle on Thomas’s desk. ‘Look at me, Tommo.’

‘I’m busy, Spence.’ Thomas tries to focus on his book, ignoring the surge of arousal that threatens to break his defences.

‘Look at me, Tommo.’

Thomas sighs and looks up at Spence’s pool blue eyes. ‘What is it?’

‘I love you, mate.’

Thomas chuckles and suddenly Spence grabs his face and kisses him full on the lips. His breath is stale, a mixture of cigarettes, vodka, olives and garlic. Thomas wrestles himself free and pushes Spencer away. ‘What the fuck, Spence!’

Spencer howls with laughter, grabs the Grey Goose and stumbles backwards onto Thomas’s bed. He balances himself on the edge and takes a large swig of vodka.

‘Binks thinks you’re gay,’ says Spencer, matter-of-factly.

‘Binks can go fuck herself.’

Spencer falls back on the bed laughing and scratches his balls. ‘Mate, I tell her that all the time.’

The thought of Binks and Spence discussing his sexuality rattles Thomas and makes him feel horribly exposed. His semi shrinks like a retreating mouse. What the fuck? Hasn’t he done enough to hide who he is?

He closes his book, knowing he won’t be able to concentrate and starts tidying his desk, nervously stacking books and binning old notes.

After a moment Spence asks, ‘Is she right?’

Thomas shrivels inside. ‘About what?’

‘Come on, Tommo! Is she right about you? Do you play the pink oboe?’

‘Play the what?’

‘Are you a fucking poof, mate?’

‘No, I’m fucking not!’

Spencer sits up and waves the vodka bottle. ‘That’s what I said to her. He’s the reigning fucking captain and champ of the first fifteen. He is a super stud. He isn’t a fucking queer, Binks. Jesus, what a bitch!’

Thomas tries to think. He needs to get out of here. Knowing Spence, this topic will not be over just yet.

‘Let’s go out tonight. You and me,’ says Spencer.

‘You are in no state to go anywhere.’

‘No, listen. Let’s go out for a few beers tonight. We’ll go to the Boars Head and pick up that tart who works there. The one that’s always flirting with us. Little Nancy from Oliver! You know her. All tits, makeup and “Alroight, boyz, wot can oi git ya?”’

‘Not tonight, mate,’ says Thomas, who feels affronted by Spencer’s description of the girl who has been nothing but polite and friendly to them.

‘We’ll bring her back here and spit roast that boar. You me, flankers in arms, bro. I’ll even let you touch my old man again.’ Spence howls with laughter.

‘Fuck off, Spence.’