CHAPTER THREE
My eighteenth birthday
came and went. I upset my mother by refusing point blank to mark the occasion
in any way. My brother Paul and I had a blazing row. He kept on about how Dad
would have wanted me to have ‘a bit of a do’. But I stood my ground and told
him to mind his own damn business. It was my birthday and I would do as I damn
well pleased. Not that I didn’t feel as guilty as hell, I did. They meant well.
But how could I tell them I wanted to spend my birthday with Billy? They
wouldn’t have understood. Or perhaps I was afraid they might?
Mum left a
present on my bed and a card. Paul did not bother with either. For weeks
afterwards, the three of us barely spoke. I seriously considered moving out,
but not for long. A cursory glance
through the local newspapers told me I couldn’t even rent a room on my wages.
Besides, I was the main breadwinner (for now, anyway). Pipe dreams, too, were a
luxury I could not afford.
Billy and I
went up to the West End. He treated me to meal at The Spaghetti House in St
Martin’s Lane. Later, we danced at a gay club called the Half Moon. It was the
first time we had gone public, and I needed a good few pints to persuade me.
There was precious little likelihood of bumping into anyone we knew; neither of
us was quite ready for that yet.
While we were
dancing, Billy gave me my present; a platinum eternity ring on a chain that
must have cost the earth. It meant the world to me, and still does. He had
attempted several times to take me in his arms, but I’d always resisted the
temptation, content to let myself go with the music and feast my gaze on Billy’s
theatrical gyrations. After he hung the ring around my neck, though, I took the
initiative. I put my arms around his waist, and pulled him close without either
of us losing our rhythm. Seconds later, he bent and kissed my neck. I closed my
eyes. Billy’s lips found mine and his tongue aroused a heat in me as it always
did. We clung to each other, still keeping time with the frantic beat. Our
bodies joined as one, we were like any two people in love. How could this be wrong, the music
demanded? I shook my head. I didn’t know or care.
I had never
been so happy. Our kiss lasted ages, ending only when the need to draw breath
overtook us. We continued to dance cheek to cheek. I tongued the lobe of his
ear as a special thank you because I knew he loved it.
We never
discussed our feelings for each other, Billy and I. While acknowledging the
necessity for local subterfuge, we simply set out to make the most of what was,
after all, an unlikely intimacy. Even now, I find myself staring at the
platinum eternity ring, and wonder what on earth Billy Mack ever saw in me.
(The chain broke, by the way. I wear it on the third finger of my right hand
now).
If people had
known about us, we would probably have struck them as the oddest couple. We had
little in common apart from Elvis Presley and a frantic, physical need to be
together.
It was more
than sex. We were soulmates.
Subsequently, we learned to anticipate and respect each other’s moods,
and feel completely relaxed in each other’s company without becoming bogged
down with words or besotted with sex. This, even though we didn’t see anywhere
near as much of each other as we’d have liked, Billy being apprenticed to a
local print firm and my having to work most evening as well as day shifts at
the café.
We had some
wonderful times that spring, Billy Mack and me.
I managed to
cajole Doreen into swapping some of her evening shifts for my afternoons. At
first, I felt indebted to her until Sarah confided that, on these same
evenings, a man came into the café who was not Doreen’s husband, Harry. They
would chat at the counter for hours. At closing time, Doreen would invariably
drive off with him in a hatchback. I was surprised, to say the least. Doreen
and Harry had always struck me as the epitome of married bliss. But it was none
of my business, I kept telling myself, especially after Sarah conceded, when
pressed, that Doreen was in no way falling down on the job. In those days, I
had precious little conception of staff management. As long as everyone pulled
their weight, that was more than enough for me. Besides, I was far too
preoccupied with my feelings for Billy to care much about anyone else’s. If
Doreen was having an affair, who was I to pass judgement?
One Saturday
afternoon, Bananas turned up out of the blue and gave me the rest of the day
off. I deserved it, he said. He looked ill, his face as battered as the old
trilby hat he always wore. I sensed he would have liked to chat. But I was
young, in love and anxious to be off before the gaffer changed his mind. I
asked hastily after Ma B as I shed my apron. His only response was to scratch
an ear and concentrate his full attention on a tiny pool of spilt tea on the
counter. He grabbed a cloth and began scrubbing furiously away at the Formica.
I gladly left him to it. It was a glorious day and I wanted to spend it with
Billy.
I called for
Billy at his home. I was not an infrequent visitor by this time and got on well
with Billy’s mother. I felt guilty about deceiving Nora Mack. More often than
not, we would chat a while before I went up to Billy’s room, and again
afterwards. As it turned out, she knew my mother slightly. It was she who told
me that Billy’s cousin Hayley was my brother’s girlfriend. I hadn’t met the
girl, nor had Paul ever mentioned her. Not that we talked much, Paul and I, in
those days. Certainly, we didn’t exchange confidences.
On this
occasion, someone I did not recognize opened the front door. He was a
slump-shouldered, scruffy individual with close-cropped black hair and
smouldering grey eyes who looked me over and grunted. He continued to puff on a
cigarette, and raised a bushy eyebrow enquiringly without saying a word.
“Is Billy
in?” I asked more defensively than I intended.
He motioned
me inside, and Billy himself appeared on the stairs. He was jubilant when I
told him I had the rest of the day off. “I thought we might jump on a train or
something,” I suggested.
“We’ll go to
Brighton!” Billy made a fist and punched the air with undisguised glee. His
enthusiasm prompted a repeat exercise of the eyebrow from our dour observer.
“We might as well,” Billy reiterated but shuffled his feet and looked acutely
uncomfortable as if caught off-guard. “Rob, this is my brother Ed. Ed, this is
Rob Young. He’s a mate of mine.”
“Pleased to
meet you, Ed.” I offered to shake hands. Ed Mack ignored the gesture and
continued his bleak appraisal of my appearance from head to toe. Was it
obvious, I wondered? Were we so transparent, Billy and I? My stomach gave a
sickening lurch. Ed Mack’s expression stopped just short of open hostility.
“Ed is…”
Billy began.
“On parole,”
growled his brother. A light in the grey eyes flared as if daring me to
comment. My hackles rose to the
challenge, but a warning glance from Billy kept me silent.
“I’ll be
right with you Rob. I’ll just get my jacket.” Billy disappeared. Ed and I
regarded each other warily. It was hard to believe that this morose, unshaven
ape was Billy’s brother.
“Have you
managed to find a job yet?” I asked when I could bear the heavy silence no
longer.
“What do you
think?” he snapped.
“Just
asking…”I floundered, desperate to ease the tension between us, wishing he
would take himself off to watch TV or something. Eventually I gave what I hoped
would pass for a sympathetic shrug. “I hope things work out okay for you.”
There was
something indefinable about Ed Mack. I didn’t care for his surly manner, but
neither did I find myself actively disliking the man. He began puffing hard to
rekindle the cigarette.
“Maybe they
will, maybe they won’t,” he volunteered at last, “What’s it to you?” He
glowered at me, and then blew a derisory cloud of smoke in my face. More
hackles snaked up my spine just as Billy came dashing down the stairs, arms
wrestling with the sleeves of a faded denim jacket. I noted, inconsequentially,
that he rarely wore his leather biker jacket when we were out together. On
impulse, I held out my hand to Ed Mack a second time. We parried baleful
expressions. Suddenly, he smiled and took my hand. The grip was firm. His
smile, not unlike his mother’s, transformed the craggy features that shed years
on the spot and even took on a certain charm.
Ed withdrew
his hand, turned abruptly and headed towards the kitchen without another word.
“A bundle of
laughs, your brother,” I remarked dryly as Billy slammed the front door behind
us.
“He’s not so
bad,” was the short response.
“So how come
he went down for a robbery?” I was curious.
“It’s usual
if you get caught,” said Billy gruffly. His mouth tightened and he ran a hand
through his hair. I changed the subject. It didn’t take a genius to understand
that Billy did not want to be reminded of the Crolleys. Even as we talked, Nick
Crolley was not only usurping Billy’s place as leader of the biker pack, but
had also attached himself to Maggie Dillon as her self-styled consort. Billy
adamantly refused to discuss the situation with me. Maggie Dillon remained, by
tacit agreement, a strictly taboo subject.
All that day,
I had the feeling of shutting and bolting a door on the past; the two of us
were in a world of our own. Even so, at heart we both always knew the bolts
hadn’t quite shot home.
Nothing,
though, could spoil that day in Brighton. We swam and splashed in the sea
wearing only our boxer shorts, and then let the sun dry us out on the shingle
while we exchanged banter and giggled a lot. We buried our noses in candyfloss,
played fruit machines on the pier, shared a Ploughman’s lunch and drank real
ale in a shadowy bar whose brass horseshoes on its walls and low oak beams
would catch the sun and make us blink.
To help us
sober up, we took a bus to the Devil’s Dyke, and strolled for a good half hour
before lying down in the long grass to watch hang-gliders and multi-coloured
kites vying for supremacy in a dreamy cumulous sky. His hand reached for mine.
We were happy, contented. Adrenalin flowed through our fingers. We made love,
without even wanting sex.
Twilight
found us scoffing fish and chips as we wandered along the beach at the water’s
edge. The sun was a ball of fire, slowly but surely burning itself out as
darkness crept up on us. In no time at all, a full moon was queening it over
starry clusters, having torn the last thin veil of sunset to shreds and
disposed of those on the horizon.
We kept an
easy, companionable silence as we walked. I was conscious of waves rising and
falling; now rushing to lick my bare toes, now beating a hasty retreat as if
anxious not to disturb our reverie. There was an intrusive yet splendid
inevitability about it all, Mother Nature at her kindest.
Only once, as
I regarded the burnt out shell of the West pier, did a profound sadness come
over me, but it quickly ebbed, washed away by the sheer delight of my being
there, incredible and surreal an experience though it was; the sea, moonlight,
Billy Mack, and me pre-empting eternity.
Two gulls
screeched overhead. We watched them glide, descend and ascend again in a wide,
graceful arc, like wistful angels, curious about us but reconciled to no longer
having a part to play in the comings and shortcomings of humankind. Anonymous
shadows of all shapes and sizes kept us company, and I had a sense of
participating in a grand, celebratory event.
“A penny for
them…?”
I confided my
whimsical thoughts to Billy, expecting him to roar with laughter. Instead, he
drew me close, held me tight and kissed me full on the mouth with a passion so
intense it scared me. Breathless, I broke away.
“What was that for?” keeping my tone light with some difficulty.
Billy
shrugged. “Life, death, love, you name it.” Only then did he burst into peals
of laughter. But I wasn’t fooled. There was more, much more to Billy Mack than
met the eye.
In seconds,
this tangible but not uneasy tension had lifted. In its place, a comfortable
silence spread over us like a snug duvet at bedtime. Simultaneously stifling a
yawn, we made our way to the railway station.
On the return
journey, Billy dozed. He rested his blond head on my shoulder, snuggling closer
whenever the train gave an unexpected jolt. The silky caress of his hair
against my cheek was very reassuring. I amused myself by imagining the likely
reactions of our fellow passengers had I been unable to resist a mounting
desire to slip a hand inside my lover’s shirt, tease a nipple, plant a long,
passionate kiss on his slightly parted lips. Confidently, I predicted that the
old dear sitting opposite, busy at her knitting, would drop a stitch or two
while an elderly ex-army type next to her might well attempt to shield her eyes
with his flat cap before blustering his way into a state of apoplexy. A young couple in the corner, I decided,
would probably not even notice; the girl’s tongue was clearly as intrigued by
the youth’s own as his left hand with her breasts.
We reached my
house first. It was late, and we ducked behind some garages to kiss goodnight.
I showed Billy the stars and he recited their names after me; The Plough, Great
Bear, Little Bear and Cassiopeia.
Once we heard
a noise, and it crossed both our minds it might be an inquisitive copper. Billy
burst into a fit of giggles. I held a hand over his mouth, panic-stricken. He
promptly found a ticklish spot under my armpit. Seconds later, we collapsed
upon each other in a heap of uncontrollable but silent mirth, tears stinging
our eyes. Hugging, kissing, holding each
other tight, we soon forgot any fear of being arrested for indecent behaviour,
or whatever.
By the time
we had adjusted out clothes and put on a public face again, it was well into
the early hours of Sunday morning. We touched only briefly before going our
separate ways. As I turned the key in my front door, I glanced up again at the
night sky. It struck me that the same stars winking at me would be winking at
Billy, at other lovers too, gay and straight alike.
The stars, I
reflected wistfully, did not discriminate.
I looked away
and put one foot inside the door. Yet, I could not resist one final glance at
that starry heaven, found myself responding to its sheer magnificence in a way
I never had before. It was as if, in the course of one incredible day, Billy
and I had won a place there. Whimsically, I chose a star among those that
formed the Milky Way. Tomorrow, I would show Billy. This was our star, I told
myself, for as long as we both shall live - and beyond. Instantly stifling a
peal of self-ridicule, I closed the door quietly behind me.
The next
morning, it was business as usual over the breakfast table with Mum and Paul
occasionally exchanging a few sentences, and leaving me feeling as if I was
invisible.
I doubt
whether anyone outside the family appreciated that my brother’s natural flair
for sports did not apply to the academic world. He was bright enough, but
homework was a slog. Since our mother seemed to think he could do no wrong, the
role of taskmaster invariably fell to me. There were endless rows that
invariably followed the same predictable pattern. Paul’s fresh complexion would
turn puce, and then Mum would intercede, sobbing, on his behalf. She would rail
at me for bullying him, and proceed to rant on about how different things would
be if our father were still alive. In other words, I was making a poor show of
filling my father’s boots, as if I needed reminding! It was hardly surprising,
therefore, that the tension at mealtimes was unbearable.
“Sarah
phoned,” Mum informed me matter-of-factly, no inflexion in her voice
whatsoever, “She’s not feeling well and won’t be able to do the evening shift.
She said she thought Doreen would be able to cope on her own, but that’s up to
you of course.”
“Did she say
what was wrong?”
My mother
shrugged. “Women’s problems….”
“That time of
the month, eh?” I responded lightly. My mother, however, chose to make heavy
weather of the remark, glowered at me as if I had uttered a profanity and left
the room. “So what did I say?” But it was a rhetorical question and I did not
expect my brother to answer. Nor did he surprise me by doing so, but continued
to tuck into his cornflakes.
I sighed. It
had been such a wonderful weekend. The prospect of working on a Sunday did not
appeal in the least, especially as I would be working the afternoon shift too.
Although I often worked evenings on my own, the same did not apply to the
women. Bananas absolutely forbade it. Nor was it an issue with which I felt
inclined to argue. Only the week before, a young woman working in the local
fish and chip shop had been badly slashed with a knife at around 11.00pm by a
drunken lout attempting to avoid payment. Sadly, this kind of incident was not
unusual once the local bars began to empty.
Paul left the
table without a word and my mother did not reappear. For my own part, I tucked
in hungrily, much preferring to be left alone. Imagine my surprise and
discomfort then to find Paul sitting on my bed when I returned to my room. He
was pretending to study my posters while chewing on his nails, a habit that
never failed to get under my skin, not least because it inevitably meant there
was trouble brewing.
“What are you
doing in my room?”
“I live here
too, remember?”
“That doesn’t
give you the right to come into my room without asking, and poke among my
things.”
“I’ll go
then, shall I?”
“Suit
yourself.”
I suspect
neither of us really expected him to leave, and nor did he. I waited.
Eventually he turned our father’s hazel eyes on me, like twin pistols, firing
accusation and dismay. “Mum’s got a boyfriend,” he flung at me. Tremors ran
visibly through his rangy, muscular frame. Suddenly, he looked very vulnerable.
I could see he was close to tears and was forcibly reminded that this
pain-in-the arse brother of mine was, after all, still a freckle faced school
kid.
“Oh?” I
responded thoughtfully. I was playing for time. My insides were churning over,
and I felt sick. But I had no intention of handing over my own vulnerability on
a plate, only to have it thrown back at me the next time we had a blazing row.
“So who is he?”
“What do you
care?” Paul glared. His face wore a look of sullen hostility that was no
stranger to me. “You haven’t even noticed what’s going on.”
“So tell me.”
I sat on the bed beside him but he wouldn’t look at me, keeping his eyes
instead on the floor. “Who is this guy?”
“Like you
give a toss,” he growled and glanced up at me, “I can’t believe you haven’t
noticed a damn thing!”
“Like what?”
“Like…Everything.”
He was choking back sobs now. “How she’s started to have her hair done again,
for a start, the way she did before Dad died, instead of doing it herself. How
she often goes to work dolled up like a dog’s dinner and gets home really late.
For crying out loud, she’s only a part-time Library Assistant. Since when did public libraries open till
nearly midnight, eh? Honestly, Rob, are you blind or what?” His expression hardened.
“Sorry, I forgot. You spend more time at the café than you do at home. How can
you be expected to have a clue about what’s going on under your nose? You care
more about that dump than you do your own family!”
I winced
involuntarily. Paul’s outburst had hit home. Even so, his anguished expression
managed to covey more of a challenge than an accusation. His face was very
flushed now, and I couldn’t help noticing how spotty it had become. “Getting
your knickers in a twist won’t help anyone,” I remarked acidly, “so suppose you
calm down and tell me what you know?”
I waited
patiently, apprehensively.
