Homesick Halloween

For my followers: this story is about two people slowly falling for each other. If you’re hoping for my usual quota of filthy sex, you’ll be disappointed.

For new readers: this is my first attempt at romance. I hope you enjoy it; wade carefully if you explore my back catalogue.

Ellie and Liz were minor characters in my story ‘Gas Station Guy’, living with their housemate Rachel.

This is an entry in the Literotica 2021 Halloween contest. If you enjoy it, please vote.

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A homesick American finds his London housemates get Hallowe’en totally wrong.

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“You’re moving out, Rach?”

“Sorry, Ellie. Yeah, I have to. My funding runs out next month and I should be finishing my thesis soon. I’ve got that postdoc position lined up in Barcelona as soon as I submit it, so moving in with my great-aunt for the duration and saving money just makes sense. I’ll be round at Emma’s, most of the time, anyway.”

Shagging the woman every night, more like. After over two years of living with Rachel, quiet Ellie had been enlightened about a lot of sexual practices she’d never previously thought about.

Ellie was a PhD student at a research outpost of the University of London, based in London’s suburban outskirts, where she’d soon moved into a shared house with Liz, an experienced lab tech in her late twenties, and Rachel, another student in her year.

Ellie had grown up in rural Wales. She wasn’t short, there, but at 5’2″ Londoners called her petite. Or short-arse, if they weren’t charmed by her long dark curls and deep brown eyes, which were admittedly obscured by glasses. Having completed her first degree at Bath, a small campus university miles outside the tourist town for which it was named, Ellie had found heaving noisy London a big shock, though the cosmopolitan mix of researchers at the institute was less so.

The calm house with its large green garden was just the balance she needed. Practical Scottish Liz and sarcastic leather-jacketed Rachel had been good housemates for her for nearly three years. Clean, generous with their cooking, quiet after 11 pm, but otherwise just welcome friendly faces to chat to in passing. Slowly, the three contrasting personalities had become close friends, supporting each other.

Especially when Ellie had had yet another break-up.

She wasn’t aware how she did it. She seemed to have a genius for attracting guys who appeared kind and friendly to begin with, but soon showed themselves to be far more interested in their own hobbies and mates than in her, regarding her as an optional extra for getting sex on tap.

If nothing else, she’d got a bit better at dumping them more quickly.

It stung when they broke up with her, with claims that she was too demanding. Liz and Rachel had both assured Ellie that no, she really wasn’t. Just that Rob, or Chris, or Steven, or whatever the latest one was called, was taking the piss: expecting her to hang around while he and his mates went rock-climbing, or played Dungeons and Dragons, or rugby, or just bantered in the pub, then assuming he’d still be able to get his leg over when he wanted it.

Ellie shook herself grumpily. It wasn’t that she didn’t like sex — possibly sex was why some of those guys had lasted as long as they had — but doing it with someone she wasn’t in a relationship with?

She couldn’t see herself doing that. It might make her an incurable romantic, but while the idea of casual sex obviously occasionally appealed, she knew she just wasn’t that kind of girl.

In contrast, Rachel had had a series of tempestuous relationships with women, and a few flings with men — just because she could, she claimed. She’d also claimed to be totally serious when she’d offered a heartbroken Ellie the chance to try out a woman, should Ellie ever be interested. Ellie had assured her she really, really, wasn’t, but appreciated the gesture for the kindness the mad woman had intended.

Their third housemate Liz had helped both Ellie and Rach drown their sorrows a few times. She’d been seeing an amiable chap called Paul for well over five years. He seemed quite amenable to her calling the shots. As long as she let him get on with managing an amateur football team which played every Tuesday, he turned up whenever she wanted him to, around her erratic shifts. When Ellie and Rachel finished their doctorates, the plan was for Paul to move into the house with her. Possibly they’d buy it, if the landlord who lived next door still wanted to sell.

Ellie was glad that Rachel’s new squeeze Emma seemed a more stable bet, though they’d only known each other six months. If Rach was moving to Spain after her doctorate she wasn’t sure how that would work, but that wasn’t her problem.

What would be Ellie and Liz’s problem would be paying the rent.

On the other hand, Ellie could move into the larger bedroom, Rachel’s one. The cheaper small box-room hadn’t been an issue for her, seeing as there was plenty of storage space in the front room downstairs, except for it only having a single bed. She’d mostly gone over to Rob or Steven or other boyfriends’ houses for their dates. Whereas the left-hand bedroom had been set up with twin zip-link beds. Rachel had immediately turned them into a permanent king-size.

“Do you know anyone who would want to rent the small room?”

Rachel cottoned on immediately. “Do you want a hand, shifting your stuff across the landing?”

Ellie was glad Rachel didn’t say, ‘What do you want the room with a double bed for? When was the last time you pulled?’

Though Ellie could see her thinking it, even if Rach was kind enough not to say it out loud.

Ellie didn’t know how she kept attracting men who probably believed they were nice and caring, but their behaviour demonstrated she was only worth fitting round the rest of their lives, to hang around while they did other things or to wait until they turned up late or forgot dates arranged because they were having fun down the pub. There had been Rob, who’d really shaken her confidence until both Rach and Liz had encouraged her to ditch him, soon after they’d moved in together. Then Scott. And Steven. Rachel and Liz had got her to ‘woman up’ and eventually tell them where to go, too. Then Chris.

Over the last year, Ellie hadn’t brought anyone back to their house, partly because she’d had a couple months seeing Declan from work, who had a house nearby — and an ex who’d turned out not to be an ex at all…

Partly, also, because she’d been working hard to finish her PhD just like Rachel was, and didn’t have much spare time. And partly, she had to admit, because the small box-room with its single bed seemed rather sad for a woman turning twenty-five.

If she ever decided to have a one-night stand involving someone from work, she might as well use the on-site ‘rest room’ or one of the lockable darkrooms that was mostly used for storage or radiation work nowadays — goodness knows enough people did! Ellie had had a terrible time one Friday night, trying to find a designated radioactive room to use to photograph her hard-won results, only for the first four she tried to be occupied by people refusing to let her in.

Despite the occasional fantasy, Ellie knew she wouldn’t actually enjoy that kind of thing. Unlike Rachel who would damn well have sex whenever she wanted, Ellie was adamant she didn’t really do casual sex. She wanted romance and love, first, she supposed. Always hoping the guys would want her, her personality, not just her body. Though most of them, it seemed, only cared about that, even months later! She wasn’t sure if they were disguising it even from themselves.

All she wanted was a guy she could chat to, do things with, enjoy spending time with. And then the sex. Was that so bad? Maybe it was science: did the unstable nature of a research career turn all men into bastards, or just deter the good ones? Ellie sighed. She vowed not to even consider a man until she was living in a new country, as a junior post-doctoral fellow. It was routine; do at least one of your two postdocs abroad, two stints of three years, hope to settle down in the country of your choice after that. No wonder so many researchers were single or reluctant to get involved.

Liz’s Paul couldn’t move in; he was stuck in a contract for another six months. Liz and Ellie debated how to find a congenial short-term housemate in the meantime.

Then Rachel mentioned to Ellie one lunchtime, “There’s a foreign junior postdoc coming over to work in Dmitri’s lab, for about six months. They’ll need a place to live.”

Six months was about as long as Ellie hoped to need, too.

“Could work. I’ll check with Liz.”

Liz, who’d worked in the institute for years, confirmed that someone Dmitri was willing to teach was probably a better bet for a housemate than anyone they could find elsewhere. Especially compared to anyone from outside, who wouldn’t understand the need to have a rocking platform on the dining table for a weekend, rolling tissue samples in various concentrations of saline fluid. Or the occasional foil-wrapped bottle in the fridge. Why go to work every couple hours if you could simply bring work home with you?

Another scientist would also understand the need to work odd hours sometimes — Liz in particular, nurturing her team’s cell cultures during the night.

Ellie emailed Dmitri to let him know there was a cheap room nearby, available for up to six months, sharing the house with two colleagues. Small room but nice house.

Two days later she had a reply from the student, accepting the offer.

His name was Chad.

Ellie supposed she’d been naive to assume the student would be female. Suddenly she’d be sharing her house with a man.

Oh, well. It wasn’t like the guy could help having a name like a frat house cliché. Or the jock rapists who hit the UK news sometimes. She reminded herself, he was a scientist. Just another young researcher, like the lads in her PhD year and the other guys at work. She clawed through her long frizzy hair — her chestnut coils were having a bad day — and tried to get her head round the idea of a bloke in her home.

It shouldn’t be too hard to get used to — Paul was there more often than not, after all. But she knew Paul…

She and Liz exchanged a few emails with Chad. He claimed to occasionally clean and cook, never drink to the point of vomiting, and offered up references from a couple ‘roommates’ as well as from his doctoral supervisor. So far, so good.

One of the London post-docs gave Ellie a file to send to him. ‘Culture shocks for Americans’, it was titled.

“You think he needs this?”

“Ellie, love, I’m married to an American,” Claire the post-doc said. “They think we speak the same language and they won’t have culture shock. And we don’t give them benefit of the doubt because we think we understand their culture. So people get all pissy at them, while the French and Germans and Chinese get a second chance and people question whether they intended to come across badly or not. And the jokes…”

Claire shook her head, despairingly. “I know, up to the Eighties America was this rich land of plenty and technology, and the Brits were the poor relation. Now, if anything, it’s the other way round, but people snipe at Yanks in a way they don’t for other foreigners. I’m not saying there aren’t plenty of wide-ass stupid Americans who are totally ignorant of the rest of the world — half of them are related to my in-laws, I swear — but anyone who’s managed to get a degree and arrange to work over here? They aren’t the ones deserving the bashing, right?”

Ellie supposed so. Though it wasn’t like English was even her first language, and she’d been expected to cope.

Ellie flipped through the guide. First up was a recommendation to ‘Avoid talking politics. Never express any criticism of the National Health Service. Mention near the start of a conversation with Brits that you didn’t vote (UK: vote for) the Republicans, whether true or not.’ And that if you had, recommending not bothering to come over.

Second, explanation of pub culture. Don’t wait for table service, don’t throw tips around, watch carefully and ‘stand your round’ (explained in detail). Don’t accuse anyone of a drink problem just because they down a bottle of wine with a meal. Ellie giggled at that. The very idea!

‘Swearing. Deal with it. Don’t try too much yourself. Mostly, it’s affectionate or just punctuation. If someone means to insult you, they’ll make it obvious.’ Bloody hell, Ellie thought, then chuckled again at the irony.

Next, the difference between England and the UK. Ellie grimaced at that. It was something she’d bonded with Liz over — the Welsh lass and the proud Scot, living in the capital of both England and the UK.

Don’t be loud, brash, or insult any part of the UK or its culture, ‘Even its food. There is plenty of good food but it can be hard to find. Note: Indian food is British food. Enjoy.’

Finally, ‘Find some fellow Americans to complain to and go WTF??!! with, over some beers. Lots of beers.’ There were email addresses for a few American post-docs, followed by instructions on how to use the Tube and local buses and trains, advice on setting up a bank account, and key vocabulary differences.

Ellie laughed again at some of the sage advice there. ‘Do not panic if someone asks if they ‘can bum a fag off you’. They’re only asking if you will give them a cigarette!’ and ‘If your name is Randy, change it. Seriously. It’s like being called Horny, or Sex-Crazed.’

She figured the info pack would probably give this Chad a good start.

Especially when he proved he’d read it, replying, “I really did vote for Obama. Honest. I look forward to pubs and this Indian food.”

Three weeks later, Chad arrived. Between the jet lag from the five hours time difference, and Dmitri’s intense tuition and expectations that he’d read every article in the field, his head was in a spin for the first few weeks.

He couldn’t fault the efforts Liz, Ellie, Dmitri and colleagues made to make him feel welcome, taking him to pubs and a ‘football’ match, and for a fried English breakfast after a night involving too many pubs, karaoke and a doner kebab. He’d had to plead exhaustion in order to have a peaceful Sunday reading. He hoped to explore London and its history soon, but that would have to be done alone, he concluded.

He got used to Dmitri, Marion and the other lab characters quickly. At least that was familiar. Labs were labs the world over, all with their own quirks, but not affected by country.

A quirk of his had been Jenna. He’d actually managed to get funding to stay in the same lab he’d done his doctorate in, which she’d taken as a sign they should get married. He’d panicked and split up with her less nicely than perhaps he should have, but he’d always said he wasn’t planning to settle down, certainly not while still a student. He’d had a couple flings since, which she hadn’t taken well. He sincerely hoped she’d manage to find a job elsewhere by the time he returned to Boston.

Besides, he’d never lived abroad, only been to Europe once, and he’d always wanted to see England.

One Saturday he snuck off to the British Museum, much to Liz’s amusement. “It’s full of old stuff! See one bit of broken stone from Roman times or the Egyptians, seen them all!”

Even the periods he wasn’t interested in proved impressive for the scale of the displays, but all the exhibits explaining Roman Britain, he found fascinating. Endless coins and pottery and finds nearly five times older than his country.

Plenty of London captured his interest, and he liked having a few evenings out a week, being taken to all the local bars and restaurants and other haunts. After five weeks, however, he had to admit he was really missing home.

He tried making friends with some other Americans at the institute — Shannon was from Texas, her husband Mike from out West, but suddenly they seemed like familiar next-door neighbors.

At home, Liz could be grumpy, but Paul explained this was in direct relation to how much sleep she’d had that week. Night shifts meant avoiding her, Chad decided. The rest of the time she was brisk but friendly enough. Ellie, on the other hand, was sweet and polite and always patient at explaining obscure phrases, like “the side” meaning a kitchen counter, or “have a butch” meaning to look at. It was a shame she kept working so late, trying to get the results she needed.

Apart from her kindness, she was pretty. Maybe not knock-out looks, and never made-up to look glamorous, but her shy freckled face and little pink lips under shiny curly hair were charming. A classic ‘English rose’. Only she wasn’t — he’d made that mistake once, and only once.

“I am not English,” she’d spoken more firmly than he’d ever heard, in her musical voice. “I’m Welsh!”

Wales had roses too, he was sure. And presumably so did Scotland. Liz had made sure he didn’t mistake her for English, either.

One night he was channel-hopping in the lounge. He was giving up and left a cooking show on quietly, when Ellie wandered in, chattering on the phone. She was about to withdraw again, but he gestured for her to feel free — he just wanted to eat his dinner.

He thought he’d mastered understanding the Brits’ rapid-fire speech, accents, and unfamiliar colloquialisms, but all he could make out from Ellie’s excited giggling was a bit of cursing.

Chad sighed, homesickness wafting over him again, and went to take his dishes to the kitchen.

“Why the long face, mate? Want a glass? I’ve just cracked open this bottle of red?”

Liz pushed a glass of wine at him and poured herself another.

Chad decided he might as well. “Thanks.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Just homesick, I guess. Everything just keeps being alien.”

“Aw, mate! They say it’s worst at five or six weeks in. Suppose you’re in the midst of it. I remember when I first moved down — I was this close to scurrying back home to Leith! It gets better, though, love. It does.”

“I hope so. I mean, there’s nothing wrong. Everyone’s real nice. Just, like, I thought I could finally understand you guys — even with you talking fast and when you don’t explain stuff to me — but then Ellie came in, talking, and I swear I can’t understand a word!”

“Ellie? Is she on the phone to her mum? Or sister?”

“I think so. She said Mum. Mam. Mem? Whatever.”

“And you couldn’t understand?” Liz looked amused.

“No. Why’s that funny?”

Liz burst into loud laughter, setting her wine glass down hard on the counter while she lost it.

“The reason you cannae understand, pal, is that she’s talking Welsh.”

“Her accent’s not usually that strong.”

“No, she’s speaking Welsh! The language! It’s her first language! I can’t understand a word of it, either!”

Ellie herself wandered in. “How’s it going, alright?”

Liz was recovering. “Just been reassuring Chad it’s not him failing at British accents — there’s a reason he couldn’t understand you chatting at your folks!”

“Oh! Sorry. Right. Well, I’m not going to be talking English at them, am I?”

Her accent was stronger than usual.

“That was Welsh you were speaking? I didn’t know people still spoke it.”

Liz chuckled. “One political rant, coming right up!”

Ellie stuck out her small pink tongue. “Yes. Lots of people speak Welsh, especially in North and West Wales, you know. Not so much around Cardiff. But until very recently it was banned in schools — my parents would be hit for speaking it — and the English Government tried to get rid of it. Which makes it a sensitive issue, do you see? My local primary school was Welsh medium, but after that, high school, we were taught in English.”

He nodded. “Right. But, tell me — do they not have curse words in Welsh?” Suddenly her furious ‘blah blah fucking PCR something CRISPR something bloody hell’ made perfect sense, as an exasperated rant about work.

Ellie giggled, which was adorable. “Of course we do! But I can hardly say them in front of my mum, can I now?”

“‘Pardon my French, sorry, English?'” Chad joked, feeling better than he had done all week. Though Paul arriving and switching the conversation to soccer reminded him how much he missed American sports. He wasn’t a big fan of any, just liked the routine of hearing the baseball stats and the football news more than he’d thought.

He was most grateful when Mike and Shannon invited him over for an afternoon of American sports TV. “There’ll be cold beer.”

With doses of familiarity from them and from Claire’s husband Bill, Chad started to feel a bit more settled in his new country. He felt welcome in their ‘local’ where he enjoyed pub lunches, and liked the curry house his colleagues took him to. The Indian food almost filled the gap left by the lack of Mexican.

Come October, he looked forward to the Halloween party at work: finally a familiar concept! Until the other Americans told him not to get his hopes up.

“Hokey decorations, a few masks, punch and red wine and warm beer, sorry, ‘room temperature’…” Mike apologised.

That was when the homesickness really kicked in. The final straw was yet another Coke served without ice — Dr Pepper wasn’t available in any local stores, let alone pubs or the work cafeteria. At least he’d remembered in time to pay for the second one, the concept of free refills having not made it to this side of the Atlantic. It might be a small thing, but having to plead, ‘more ice, please. And some more, please?’ every time he ordered a drink anywhere, made him feel an outsider more than anything else.

He confided in Ellie, who seemed to actually want to check he was okay.

“They say it’s a few plastic cups of punch in the office on a Friday night? I’m just feeling I’m missing out, I guess. It’s Hallowe’en! It’s this big holiday! Everyone celebrates it.” He sighed. “Normally, it’s my favourite day of the year.” He didn’t mention that the costumes on the girls, many dressing outrageously for one night only, was a big part of that.

Ellie confided in Liz. Who had a practical answer, as usual. “Sorted. We’ll have to plan an actual Hallowe’en party to cheer him up!”

They called the other students and various friends to make it happen.

Chad’s happy face when she told him the plan for Saturday night made the effort all worthwhile, Ellie thought. He really was a fine-looking guy: broad-shouldered, golden blond, with a ‘chiselled jaw’ like they said in the movies. Not that tall, but then she wouldn’t want anyone too tall, being below-average height herself.

What was she saying? Any relationship with a housemate was always a bad idea; everybody knew that. And he was only here for a few months. So she reminded herself firmly she wasn’t interested. She didn’t even know what country she’d be in this time next year!

She’d started on her rounds of applications, and even filled in forms to apply for a couple prestigious funds which would enable her to work anywhere. Chance would be a fine thing!

In the meantime, she’d just subtly enjoy the glimpses of Chad emerging from the bathroom in a towel or his shorts…

Come Saturday, Liz hit the supermarket for food and drink, Ellie picked up some items from Poundland. A giant skeleton poster for the front room and some plastic bats on a string for the lounge should do it, plus a strand of purple felt vampire elephants she couldn’t resist, along with few streamers and fake cobwebs.

Ellie greeted him after taking twenty minutes to decorate. “Chad! What do you think?

“Decor looks good! And you’ve got the pumpkin outside with candles, to alert trick-or-treaters.”

He’d actually seen better decorations done last-minute in a kindergarten classroom, but didn’t like to say.

Rachel arrived, bearing a pumpkin pie for some reason.

“Hi, Rach. Why the pumpkin pie?”

“You can get Libby’s canned pumpkin in Waitrose, now,” she said as some sort of explanation. “See, we really have adopted the whole pumpkin festival thing!”

Trying not to roll his eyes, Chad disappeared to change into his costume, and came back down in a carefully-folded white sheet. It was a skill he’d mastered during his bachelor degree.

“Do you want more bog roll for your mummy costume?” Liz asked.

“It’s a toga,” he retorted.

“I thought it was a toga. It’s a good toga! Why a toga, though?”

Chad didn’t seem to understand the question.

“I suppose those mad Roman emperors were pretty scary,” Ellie tried to make sense of it.

Chad added a wreath of ivy to make it more obviously a toga. Romans in togas were traditional Hallowe’en costumes, just like soldiers and sluts and Little Red Riding Hood…

Various of the other students arrived. Some had token zombie facepaint or a Darth Vader robe, others were just in normal clothes. “What’s the plan?”

“Typical Halloween party — help Chad here feel a bit more at home. We’ll put Rocky Horror on shortly, then set up the donut bobbing and apples. Then Paul said he’d bring a couple horror movies for later. Mulled wine for when it gets cold.”

“Sounds good, Liz. Hi, you must be Chad.”

The doorbell rang. Chad decided he’d answer it.

“Trick or treat!”

Three small children in ghost and zombie outfits chorused and waved their buckets up at him, while a man hovered paternally back by the gate.

At last, a proper bit of Hallowe’en. Chad reached for the bowl of candy and held it out, wanted to hug the kids for being so familiar.

“What sweets you got, mister?”

“Why you wearin’ a sheet? Did your mummy head fall off?”

“Ta, mate!”

So much for the familiarity. Chad sighed, and picked out a piece of candy. It proved to be a foil-wrapped chocolate eyeball.

The next to arrive was Shannon and her husband.

“Hey, sweetheart! How ya doing!”

Chad never thought he’d be so glad to hear a Texan accent.

“Fine.”

“Come on, show me where the beers are.”

Shannon clearly knew damn well where the kitchen was, pulling Chad by the arm into it, acquiring a bottle of lager for each of them from the bottom of the refrigerator, then hauling him out the back door into the back yard. Garden, the Brits called it. It had a patio, then steps to a lush green lawn with flowerbeds at each side. Liz had explained they’d had to convince their landlord not to mow the lawn early on weekend mornings — he lived next door so frequently appeared to dead-head the roses or otherwise keep the place up to the standard he wished to see out of his window. Chad had to admit it made for a nice view from his bedroom window, with the stereotypical English flowers and hedges.

He sighed.

“Spill,” Shannon told him. “Actually, don’t bother. You’re homesick and they’re doing Hallowe’en all wrong. Right?”

He nodded, and sat on a cast-iron patio chair.

“Yeah. They’re being so kind, trying to hold a good party for me, but it’s just… weird.”

“Even if they got it right, it’d be weird anyways, how they all talk. You know?”

Shannon’s husband Mike appeared. She continued, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do. And I don’t mean wear a toga. Have you noticed, the Brits only wear scary costumes — witches, zombies, monsters, perhaps a politician if they’re being edgy?”

Suddenly Chad realised it was true, and cringed in embarrassment.

“Don’t worry about it, honey. You’ve got the body for it. As I was saying, if you can’t beat em, join em.”

“She means,” Mike interjected, “get roaring drunk.”

“No, just a little bit buzzed!” Shannon protested. “Okay, drunk as a skunk helps!”

“Whatever. Come try their mulled wine — you’ll need to warm up — and watch some Rocky Horror. There is no escape…” Mike added, “If you’re lucky, some of the girls will be getting into the spirit of the thing with corsets and stockings and garters…”

“They invited Marion.” Shannon predicted how the lairy Frenchwoman would be dressed.

“And Nadine. Ooh la la…” She was another French post-doc in the lab next to Chad’s, with breasts to die for. “Should be some eye candy, if you like that sort of thing.”

“Here you go, honey — knock that back.”

It tasted like mulled wine the world over. Only when he finished the cup did Chad detect much more alcohol than he was used to.

“Hey, Chad! Come watch a bit of the film! You know Rocky Horror, right?”

“Sure. I’ve taken my turn calling out at a big screen.”

“Cool. Oi, move up guys, let our guest of honour sit down on the sofa!”

Chad sat, gratefully, in the middle of the couch, Ellie on one side, Paul on the other. He realised that Marion really had gone for the Magenta look, and tried not to shudder. He’d never be able to un-see, now. It wasn’t that she was bad-looking — quite the opposite, despite nearing forty — but he’d never be able to see her as a wise authority figure again.

Someone passed him popcorn and another beer; people shouted abuse at the characters on-screen.

“Ooh, Brad!” Susan Sarandon cooed.

“Asshole,” came a chorus of fake American accents.

“Ooh, Chad,” shouted a wag.

“Okay!” yelled someone else, with the same intonation.

“Yeah!” came a chorus.

Chad relaxed slightly as he sipped his beer. These Brits — and the other foreigners, like the madly-gyrating Marion — were all mad, but they seemed to like him.

“A laser — of pure anti-matter!”

“Then it’s not a laser!” Chad exclaimed, realising happily that everyone else in the room had just called out the same words, and at least some things were the same the world over. Ellie held up her wine glass and clinked it against his beer bottle.

The final credits rolled.

Oh Cha-ad, Marion sang, just because he had a New England accent, he supposed. She was clearly hoping to pull him up for a close dance.

In terror, Chad glanced at Ellie, who put her arm round him.

“Bog off, Marion!” It was the closest to swearing at anyone he’d ever heard from Ellie.

“Ah, of course. You can be his Janet. Magenta would be all wrong for our sweet innocent Brad. Chad. Whatever.”

Ellie looked nervously at Chad.

“Oh, so sweet!”

“Shut up, Marion,” said Shannon, and Chad’s voice chimed in.

Though now he thought about it, Ellie’s soft wavy hair was reminiscent of the innocent young Susan Sarandon.

Though the way she was knocking back her wine wasn’t. Chad shrugged, and forced himself to stop thinking about it.

Any dalliance with someone he had to live with for another three to five months would be a terrible idea. Or work with, which he would tell Marion if she kept at it.

“Guys! We’ve got the donut bobbing ready! Chad, you should be the expert — show them how to do it.”

Chad stood up, ensuring his sheet kept him decent over his shorts and wife-beater.

Time to try out that British swearing.

“What the everlasting bloody fuck is donut bobbing?”

Liz and Paul looked up in surprise. “We thought it was what you did… ”

Back in the front room, two dining chairs were six feet apart, back to back, with a string between their top rungs. Hanging down from this were three more short strings, suspending a trio of sugared ring donuts in the air.

“You don’t do this at your Hallowe’en parties?

Chad thought wistfully of candy corn, porches decorated for a week, girls dressed as sexy pizza slices, sexy princesses, sexy anything, and kegs of familiar beer.

“No. I’ve heard of apple bobbing, though,” he added politely, seeing as they’d gone to the effort for him. Apple bobbing was the kind of thing a party for little kids might do.

“Ah, well. Have more punch and give it a go. Shannon, Mike, show him how it’s done?”

Paul had to give instructions. The three of them knelt in front of their donuts. “OK, you have to eat it all without dropping any on the floor. No hands or arms allowed! Fastest wins, or least dropped if everyone fails. Three, two, one, munch!”

“She’s good at licking holes out, eh, Mike!”

“Looks like he’s used to getting a big fat round thing in his mouth!”

Mike, distracted by the rude heckling, bit his donut too hard. It cracked and fell to the newspapers on the floor. He raised a middle finger and proceeded to pick up his donut and eat it, sitting back to watch his wife nibbling round the edge of her own donut, presumably before an attempt to engulf the centre.

More crude comments about what she could do with her mouth distracted Chad, who had been trying to eat from the bottom up, but knocked the balancing semi-circle with his chin.

Chad shook his head sadly as his final chunk of donut fell to the floor rather than into his mouth. He picked it up and ate it, whilst Shannon managed to get one end of the remainder into her mouth, lie back, and slowly imbibe it all, minus large crumbs falling about her face, much to the amusement of the audience.

“Who’s up next?”

There was a clamour of enthusiasm, more because it was time for everyone to appreciate sweet carbohydrate than a desire to make idiots of themselves. Marion and Shannon were taking pictures now; Chad was relieved to have escaped that.

Rachel did terribly, her donut batting her in the face repeatedly before falling to the floor, but her competition were little better. In the third round, Ellie was up against two other students Chad vaguely recognised.

She removed her glasses. In movie-like fashion, this suddenly revealed the shape of her face much better, especially with the various lamps casting shadows. Chad realised she really was pretty — not that he hadn’t noticed that before, but she’d made clear shortly after his arrival that she’d had enough of men and was going to be going free and single until her thesis was submitted, thank you very much.

He knew any messing around with someone he had to live with for another few months would be a terrible idea. He’d ended up in one woman’s bed after a night out — a Dutch colleague from another lab — but the next day decided a one-night stand wasn’t something he wanted to repeat.

He didn’t want marriage at his age, mid-twenties, but neither did he want an emotionless encounter. Might just as well use his own hand.

He used his own hand a lot. Among the faces that passed through his mind were some of his new colleagues, but he felt his housemate should be off limits.

So far, he’d managed to avoid even thinking about it in the bathroom.

Chad accepted another drink and continued watching the entertainment.

A guy called Dave earned cheers for sending a donut swinging over the string and knocking Ellie’s off before she’d got near it. Liz swiftly provided a replacement and loud bickering was heard over whether Dave should be disqualified.

“Doesn’t make any difference. It’s not like there’s any prize,” Paul spoke in Chad’s ear.

Some “ooh!”s alerted Chad to watching events again.

Ellie had captured her donut in her lips, and was carefully nibbling all around it, especially on the underside, raising her head to show off her delicate throat. More tiny bites over the top of the baked ring had everyone in the room watching, mesmerised, at the controlled movements of her mouth. Dave and the other student were long out of the competition.

Finally, there was a fragile thin ring of dough on the string. Ellie knelt down, bent back like a limbo dancer, shuffled forwards until it hovered over her mouth — then opened wide and gulped the circle into between her lips.

She closed her eyes and pulled backwards, her mouth still stretched open. A quiet nervous laugh came from somewhere in the room, but it was drowned in huge applause.

Mostly for the virtuoso donut-mastery performance, but Chad guessed he wasn’t the only guy there who’d noticed the uncanny resemblance to a girl giving an expert blow job and showing off an ability to deep throat! He was quite relieved that his toga was loose over his lap, because his shorts underneath no longer were.

What made Ellie’s actions so erotic was the certain knowledge that she was doing it totally innocently, her soft cocoa-brown hair falling back from her face, her look of concentration solely devoted to bakery product.

It wasn’t that the girl was a total innocent — she’d admitted on one of the household’s many evening drinking sessions that she’d stayed longer than she should have with more than one of her crap boyfriends just so she could keep having sex of varying quality. She’d probably sucked off at least a couple guys. But sex wasn’t something that you’d particularly associate with her, and kinks or sluttiness really weren’t going to be her thing. It was clear to anyone that she was looking only for a nice boy for some sweet, nice sex, if he would actually be nice to her.

For the first time, Chad contemplated whether he might be that sort of guy.

In the meantime, the energetic Liz had had another great idea.

Apple bobbing. At least this was a familiar concept. Though instead of the dusty half a wooden barrel from someone’s back yard, she’d nicked an old plastic distilled-water barrel from work, so it was a cylinder a couple feet across and somewhat more deep.

Marion was failing to sink her teeth into any of the apples in the barrel. Her glittery corset probably didn’t help. Mike and various others similarly gave up after their own couple minutes of providing hilarity. Shannon clearly felt the need to impress the Brits — not English, he had to remember that — and determinedly shoved one apple into the side, took a deep breath and managed to capture it. Only it fell back into the water when she sat up in victory, splashing everywhere.

A few more failures, one eventual success biting into a stalk, and three apples remained.

“Come on, Chad!”

“Go on! Show them how it’s done!” Shannon urged.

He noticed Ellie, her face still dripping, looking at him with a soft smile.

In that case, there was only one thing to do.

He downed his beer, set his sights on a rosy apple, took a deep breath, dived upon it from above, and pushed it to the bottom of the barrel, whereupon he could secure it in his teeth.

He rose up, feeling like a Greek god emerging from the sea. The toga might add to the effect, though in retrospect gods seemed to have magic automatic-drying fabric, whereas he didn’t.

A round of applause.

“You are soaked, mate,” Paul stated the obvious. “Best get that off before you catch your death!”

And this was why sensible guys like him wore T-shirt and shorts underneath. Chad tugged off the wet cloth that was tangling all round him, and hung it over the bannister to dry.

“You’ll need to take that top off, too,” Liz pointed out. “Don’t want you getting a cold. What would I say to your mum, next time she calls?”

Chad obeyed. Someone tossed a towel to him, and he mopped his face and shoulders gratefully.

Suddenly conscious of his bare torso, he turned to run upstairs for a dry shirt, but was interrupted.

“The horror movie’s starting!”

The original Hellraiser. What the hell. Watching it was clearly expected of him. He had seen it, years ago, but couldn’t remember much. On the other hand, with the amount he’d drunk, he doubted he’d remember any more now. Sitting back quietly wasn’t such a bad plan.

At least the Brits had popcorn.

“Come on! We’re the hosts, we can bag the sofa!”

Ellie was gesturing him back into the living room. She shooed a couple people off her couch, claiming Chad was the guest of honour.

“Oh, yeah?” Paul replied sarcastically, while shifting himself to sit between Liz’s feet on the floor.

Ellie felt her face burn hot, but she hoped the dark room was dim enough to hide it. She squeezed in between Chad and Liz, a post-doc with an injured leg remaining on Liz’s other side.

It occurred to her that it did look like she’d engineered a chance to get up close and personal with Chad’s bare chest.

She hadn’t, honestly.

Though, given things had ended up that way, it was hardly a hardship.