Not PG rated
Sam was on page 52 when Greg turned up with the tea. ‘Don’t you look gorgeous today,’ he faux-gasped, a be-ringed hand on his chest, the other splayed neatly against his hip. Tall, model-slim Greg with the bright blue sleeves flashing underneath the cuffs of his black-striped shirt, Greg who looked far too cute in everything he wore.
‘Greg, you know I look awful right now,’ Sam rolled her eyes.
‘Awful shmawful, you know you’re always lovely, darling. Fab earrings you got there. They new?’
‘Yeah, got them last week,’ Sam smiled, somehow proud of having über-fashionista Greg acknowledge them at all.
‘Look at you, treatin’ yourself like a grown up,’ Greg smiled, and he meant that smile. ‘By the way, El Gringo thinks my pantaloons are too cute.’
‘Really?’ Sam asked, eyeing the super-tight purple fake leather Greg was sporting.
‘Nearly shit himself, the sod,’ Greg grinned nastily. ‘Probably thought I was about to infect him with some sex-lurgy. Next time I’ll throw some glitter on him just to see what happens.’
Sam couldn’t help laugh, shaking her head, ‘Greg, you’re too much.’
‘What? That phobic phobe of the phobes deserves everything he gets,’ Greg sniffed, looking like the poshboy he really was. ‘Anyway, just wanted to warn you if something epic happens.
‘You think it might?’
‘My goal is to make the boy cry,’ Greg sighed dreamily, before whispering, ‘Sob, mothafucka, sob.’
Greg flashed a devious grin, twirled a perfect 90° that showed just how professional his dancing once had been, and catwalked back to the counter like a prima donna, making those new to Beanie’s stare and the old crowd smile into their drinks.
*
Sam shook her head, smiling, Greg really was one of a kind, Greg who was actually Agregán, ‘cos mother was shagging some post-cubist madman or something. Nah, don’t ask me, Mater and Pater’re just mental,’ Greg who’s Dad was some double-named City banker, his Mum a minor ’80s socialite, and Greg their ‘super-duper-gay’ third son who co-owned Beanie’s. Only Sam knew about that, though, because Greg told her once when they were fabulously drunk at his brother’s birthday bash somewhere ridiculously expensive in Mayfair. Sam had been Greg’s date since ‘the family’ didn’t like witnessing Greg’s ‘habits and ways’, so he needed ‘a legit woman who looks good in a sparkly dress.’ So Sam it was, though Sam knew Sonia would have loved to come.
It was in that niche with the comfy cushions, sipping genuine champagne from the Champagne while Dr Dre’s samples thumped through the walls, it was there that Greg gave her the 411: he’d given Marion the money. He didn’t want it back, at all, ‘I wasn’t joking. Look, I have way too much of it already, so, y’know, if it helped sweet Mareyon, pourquois pas?’ So Marion got the money she needed to start her dream, all Greg wanted was for her to get Beanie’s up and running, but Marion refused to take it without giving something back, so Greg got some shares. ‘Thirty percent, that’s what. Marion said I can’t be trusted with more, and she’s right. Imagine me as a bossman.’ Greg burst out laughing before squishing a kiss against Sam’s cheek and sighing, ‘I love you, Sam-I-am, I love you so much,’ with tears in his eyes.
That was during the god-awful Weston time. Everyone in Beanie’s hated Weston, from the staff to the regulars to Aboyemi who brought the blends from St John Roast once a week. Weston was evil, Weston was wrong, Weston broke Greg’s heart really bad and it took way too long until Greg got away from him. Thank God Marion threw Weston out that time he attacked Greg in the middle of Beanie’s, punching Greg because Greg refused to give him more money, Greg who looked terrified and unable to flee, beautiful, salty Greg who suddenly looked so helpless. Marion raced around the counter, yelling, looking like a mother bear who just saw her cub get mauled, Marion who hit Weston over and over, shoving him across Beanie’s, yelling, ‘Get out! Get out! Get out!‘ Weston who didn’t know what hit him, he looked just as shocked as everyone else.
It happened so fast, suddenly Weston was just gone, Marion yelling down the street, ‘I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you piece o’ shit! Mothafucka! Yeah, run, before I cut your fuckin’ balls off! Run, mothafucka, run!’Â When she came back into Beanie’s, she looked furious, embarrassed, and defiant, gave their shocked faces one look and said, ‘What? Greg’s my baby, you know that.’ And that somehow broke the spell. They all smiled with relief, the emergency was over and Weston, who scared everybody, was finally gone.
It was Marion who threatened Weston with the police when he tried to come back a week later, because everyone knew Weston always had some coke on him. It was Marion who basically locked Greg into her flat down near Shepherd’s Bush to save him from himself, because Greg had started saying things like, ‘He didn’t really mean it that way, he was just upset’, Marion who finally talked some sense into Greg after they all had an intervention with muffins, coffee, and very many hugs, and about three weeks later the mess was finally over: 
Marion had called the police on Weston who somehow knew exactly where his stash was and that was the end of the evil bastard.
It still took about a year until Greg was back on track again, a year until Greg really started laughing again, a year until Greg stopped with the lines and started getting healthy again, though the vegan-thing only lasted six weeks, probably because Marion’s pancakes and waffles were to die for. Now he was smiling again, Greg who loved bamboozling Darren, Greg who flirted shamelessly with women, Greg who was currently seeing a Colin, fresh out of Oxbridge and working for some Attaché or something, and so part of Greg’s posh crowd, except that Colin was surprisingly the sweetest, shyest, and prettiest sweetheart Sam had ever seen. Everyone liked Colin. Everyone told Greg this was the best one yet, everyone agreed with Marion who spelled it out, ‘He’s cute. Don’t fuck it up. Y’know, just enjoy it for once.’ And by the look of it Greg was really trying to do just that.
*
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