Dog Roses - Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

Although I enjoyed my work at the café, it took up a huge slice of my time. When I wasn’t there, I seemed to be constantly trying to balance the books at home or chasing up suppliers for this and that. I felt too tired to do much else other than watch TV or take a book to bed, only to fall asleep after a few pages. As my eighteenth birthday approached, I realised almost despairingly that I rarely saw anyone outside work any more. So when my mother started harping on about a party, I began wondering who on earth I could invite.

I’d seen less and less of Shaun Devlin except at the café, and that hardly counted because he was always with Billy Mack’s crowd. There was Ben, of course. Ben Hallas and I had played at nursery school together. I was the older by ten days. For some reason, Ben and Shaun had never hit it off. He had been accepted for a place at one of the red brick universities subject to good A-level grades that, in Ben’s case, were a foregone conclusion. It wasn’t so much that Ben was particularly bright, but that he had a natural enthusiasm for knowledge and a gift for assimilating it.

We were more comfortable with each other than close, Ben and I. It came as no surprise when he called round one evening and suggested we throw a joint eighteenth at our house. He lived with his parents and sister in a damp, high-rise flat.

It was good to see him again. He was a quiet, intelligent person but never dull or boring. He had done his utmost to persuade me to stay on at school but no longer nagged me about it, unlike my mother who seemed to have forgotten that she had been all for it at the time. Lately, my mother appeared to have developed something of a conscience about my future, or lack of one, especially as my brother’s was well laid out and assured.  She kept telling me how I could do so much better than working in some back street café, as if I didn’t know.

“So how does it feel to be a working man of the world?” Ben teased. I could only manage a rueful grin, confessing that I saw little real potential in it as things stood. “So why chuck your life away in some crap café?”

“It has its compensations,” I responded gamely, and Billy Mack’s face appeared again like the Cheshire cat’s in my mind’s eye.

“Oh? What’s her name?” Ben grinned.

We were in my bedroom. I lay, sprawled out on the bed while he slumped in an armchair that had once belonged to my grandpa. I flung a pillow at him and he threw it back, laughing. Even so, I began to feel tense and irritable, my pleasure at seeing him diminished. “At least I’m living in the real world,” I muttered, “How long before you make it?”

Ben looked embarrassed and hurt. Immediately, I regretted my churlishness. Not so long ago, I’d have offered a light-hearted apology, and he’d have accepted with customary good grace. Instead, something in me snapped. “I may not be running a five-star hotel, but, before you knock it, you might give some thought to how we’re going to pay for this birthday bash. My mum can’t afford much and I’ve never known your parents to lift a finger. Well, have you?” Ben’s father was an alcoholic and it had been common knowledge for years that his mother was on the game to make ends meet.

“You’ve changed Rob,” was all he said. He was close to tears, his eyes full of sad reproach, face very pale.

I would gladly have swallowed my tongue. Yet, perversely, I continued to lash out with it as all the pent-up frustration of recent months boiled over. “It’s called growing up,” I retorted, “...something you still have to look forward to. In a few years time maybe, when you finally get to exchange your precious text books for a regular wage packet.”

He gave me a long, unhappy look and left without another word.

I heard the front door slam and spent the next half an hour trying to convince myself that he deserved to be taken down a peg or two. I did not succeed. My behaviour had been nothing short of mean and petty, not to mention downright rude.  I was sick at heart. In turn, I resented this. It wasn’t difficult, therefore, to blame Ben for my feeling an emotional wreck.

I lacked any clear perception of myself in those days. Sorely tempted though I was, I did not go after Ben. Nor did we share our eighteenth birthdays.

The following Saturday, it rained non-stop. The café, busy until late afternoon, might as well have shut after that for all the business we did. No one wanted to venture outdoors unless they had to. I considered closing early but it seemed disloyal to Bananas. After all, it was he who paid my wages. So I stuck it out, and when Doreen called in sick I made no attempt to get anyone else. I was so bored. It was a pleasure to serve the occasional tramp and a loud American couple who waxed lyrical about my ham and pickle sandwiches.  Early evening found me playing a sentimental Elvis Presley track on the juke box to an apathetic audience consisting of Marge, the local bag lady and her sorry-looking dachshund, Clancy

Then Billy Mack came in, alone. “They’ve all gone to the concert,” he muttered in response to my quizzical expression while I prepared his cappuccino. He sat on one of the counter stools, draping a dripping wet leather jacket and helmet over another. I handed him a clean towel. He flashed me an appreciative grin then wiped his face and neck before rubbing furiously at his hair. “I can’t have been off the bike for more than a minute and look at me, I’m soaked!”  He searched his pockets then produced a sheepish grin. “Can you lend me a comb, Rob?” I obliged, feeling awkward but pleased. Billy rarely called me by name, no one did, not customers anyway. I usually answered to “Hey there, how about some service?”

 “What concert?” I asked blankly.

“Why, the big rock concert at the Dome of course. What planet are you on?” I slapped my cheek in mock despair. The much-hyped event at the local football stadium had gone clean out of my head. Had I really become so caught up in the narrow world of a back street café, I remonstrated with myself? Such was my agitation that I spilled coffee not only on the counter but also on my apron. “Shit! I swore under my breath.

“I’d prefer it in a mug,” said Billy good-humouredly.

“Sorry, it’s been one of those days!” I groaned.

“I know the feeling,” he laughed. I thought I caught a sombre note in his voice and looked up from removing my apron. Billy’s engaging expression had been replaced by an uncharacteristic frown. “I smashed up the bike,” he confided grimly. “This damn dog…should have been on a lead…skidded…met up with wall, didn’t I?  The bike’s a write-off. I should have run the stupid mutt over…” He continued, much in the same vein, for some time. I empathised with his despair. At the same time, I listened admiringly to a graphic account of his futile battle with the skid, ending with his being thrown miraculously clear seconds before impact with a factory wall. “The bike’s a write-off,” he lamented and kept repeating it over and over.

I wanted to put an arm around him and comfort him. Naturally, I did no such thing. Instead, I treated him to another coffee on the house. His face lit up. I continued to commiserate, but remained curious as to why he hadn’t gone to the concert with the others. “Surely, you could have rode pillion with Shaun? I can’t imagine “Loopy” Lou objecting.”

I realized my mistake at once, mirrored at it was in the contemptuous look he gave me.  A badly bruised ego stared me full in the face. I tried a different approach, “At least you’re still in one piece, thank God!” I pointed out, if a shade more passionately than I intended.

A hot flush rose from Billy’s neck to his tousled brow. His wide blue eyes darkened like a summer storm. The penny dropped. Poor Billy had nothing to show for the loss of his beloved machine, not even a morale-boosting elevation to hero status. Now, if it had been a child or an old lady, that would have been something else…but a dog? Where was the glory in that?

“Maybe the concert will be rained off,” I suggested lamely.

Billy shook his head, gave a long, heartfelt sigh and closed his eyes as if to shut out the world and hug his misery to himself. He had incredibly long eyelashes, I noticed for the first time; a silky blond, like his hair. “Jesus,” I thought irreverently, “you’re beautiful!”

Billy opened his eyes. Immediately, I became self-conscious of my acne. Mum was always telling me it didn’t look half as bad as I thought. But what do mothers know about such things? Averting my gaze, I yelled at old Marge to wake up. The dog started yapping. Marge neither stirred nor woke. I was moved by a passing pity I glimpsed in Billy’s eyes. Together, we contemplated the old woman. He knelt and held out a hand laced with a few crumbs to the dachshund. The little fog fidgeted and appeared tempted, but loyally refused to budge.

“I might as well shut up shop and go home,” I muttered irritably.

“It must be great to be your own boss,” Billy observed.

I started in surprise, thought I detected a note of genuine envy, even respect, in his tone and gave him a long, searching look. If he was poking fun at me, he concealed it well. All of a sudden I felt absurdly light-headed. “Its only while Ma B is ill,” I confided, “Bananas is still the gaffer here.”

“All the more reason to make the most of it then, eh?” he chuckled, “So how about we go back to my place and play my Elvis tapes, or whatever you like. You do like Elvis?” He was grinning broadly. Whenever I played the jukebox, it was invariably an Elvis number. My dad had adored The King. There had been many a wet weekend we’d sit and play his old records and my CDs. Compared to Presley, Michael Jackson was nothing more or less than an also-ran in our book. .

Billy Mack is asking me back to his place.

I couldn’t believe my luck. In no time at all, I was easing old Marge out of her chair while Clancy growled anxiously. For her part, Marge did not so much complain as grunt and groan. Soon, dog and owner were trudging off down the street, heading for their patch under the railway arches. I checked everything twice, turned out all the lights except for a single strip in the front window and double-locked the front door. Adrenalin flowing like a river in flood, I turned and nodded to Billy. I was ready to go.

In spite of the rain, we didn’t hurry. We took the opposite direction to old Marge, turning right at St Mark’s church and right again at The King’s Head. All this time, Billy kept up a heated diatribe on the malevolence of fate. It ceased only when I suggested we make a run for it. By now the rain was pouring down even harder. We were already soaked to the skin. Even so, I reasoned that pelting hell for leather through the blinding sheets would at least provide a welcome diversion. It certainly did. I will never forget our mad dash across two main roads, regularly punctuated by   screaming tyres and a furious blaring of horns.

We arrived at Billy’s house breathless, and flushed with excitement. Once inside, Billy’s mum took over. I liked Nora Mack. She was a big woman, a shock of blue-rinse piled high and a huge smile on her face.

“Mum, this is Rob,” Billy introduced us.

“You’re very welcome Rob,” enthused Billy’s mum as if she meant every word, and swamping my hands in hers. “Now, both of you, get out of those wet things before you catch pneumonia,” then to me, “William will find you towel and some clean clothes in the airing cupboard. You can change upstairs and I will dry your things around the gas fire. Move yourself, William, don’t just stand there. Show your friend the bathroom and sort yourselves out.”

Billy darted upstairs. His mother winked at me as I made to follow, and I grinned in appreciation. It amused me to hear Billy called William, even more so to see the tough guy as putty in his mother’s hands. I laughed aloud and took the stairs two at a time. My own mother, I reflected wryly, would never have let me drip rain on our stair carpet.

Later, we settled on the floor in Billy’s room sorting through his collection of CDs. I wore a faded denim shirt and jeans that apparently belonged to Billy’s older brother, Ed. He, I knew, was currently serving time for his part in a raid on one of the High Street bookies. Nick Crolley’s brother, Vince and their father, Tom, had gone down for the same offence. The local grapevine insisted that Nick, too, was involved. In spite of being questioned by the police on more than one occasion, however, no formal charges were brought against him.

Billy wore only boxer shorts. The sight of silky blond hairs on his chest and legs made my spine tingle. We sprawled, barefoot, completely at ease with one another.

It turned out that all Billy’s favourite tracks were mine too. Twice we heard a thumping sound and Billy, dutifully, turned the volume down a fraction. I felt more relaxed than I had in ages. Billy leaned across me to retrieve a pop magazine I had been idly scanning. His bare arm lightly brushed my cheek. Suddenly, that same awareness of him that had smouldered in me for weeks finally erupted. It took on a whole new dimension. More than ever, I was conscious of his body, his smell, his habit of tossing the hair out of his eyes and the way he grinned a lot. The room swam. All at once, I felt ridiculously self-conscious about wearing someone else’s clothes.

I shut my eyes and fought of an attack of nausea. When I opened them again, Billy was observing me with concern and…something else. His mouth opened soundlessly. The tip of his tongue moistened full, trembling lips. I managed a weak smile. He smiled back. Neither of us remembered afterwards just how it happened that our faces homed in on each other for that first, incredibly tender kiss.

It was Billy who broke away, alarm and confusion written all over his face. Neither of us dared speak. There were still three tracks left on the player. We heard them without listening.  “I’m sorry,” he blurted, “I don’t know why I did that. I’m no pouf, you know.” He glared at me. “Let on to a living soul and I’ll break your damn neck,” he said quietly.

I was in a daze, my senses still grappling with the shock of his tongue forcing an entry between my lips. My heart was pounding so hard against my chest it hurt.  Breathing became difficult. I was panting as if I had just run a marathon.  Gradually, I recovered my composure. The reality of what had passed between us began to sink in. One impression dominated all else. I had enjoyed the experience. The warmth of his kiss, the intrusion of his tongue…I had neither resisted nor wanted to.

Billy attempted a grin. It did not quite come off. A wall between us, though, suddenly disintegrated into a heap of rubble.

I panicked. “I’d better go!” I scrambled up and moved towards the door, absurdly intent on keeping to a blue line in the carpet pattern.

Billy jumped up. He came after me, grabbed first one arm then the other and spun me round. Neither of us had a clue what to say. The blue of his eyes seemed to swallow my face. He released one arm while his grip on the other tightened. Taking my chin firmly between thumb and forefinger, he tilted my head and kissed me a second time. Now hesitantly; now searchingly; now with growing confidence as I responded with a passion that surprised us both. For this time I was ready for him. I parted my lips to let in his tongue and eagerly explored inside his mouth with my own. Our arms went around each other. I felt a hardening in his shorts press against my crotch. Letting one hand absorb the heat of his bare back, I thrust thrilling fingers into the untidy mop of blond hair.

At last, reluctantly, we parted, but only slightly. For a while, we clung to each other, afraid to move, as if doing so would break the spell. I was burning up. The touch of his cheek against mine felt like a brand, penetrating not only my skin but also every fibre of my being. “What do we do now?” I murmured into his neck.

“I’m open to suggestions,” he murmured. When I looked, the familiar grin was back in place, blue eyes teasing. The tension between us was electric. “I want you,” he murmured huskily.

“But…” I began. He removed one hand from around my waist and laid a sweaty palm lightly over my mouth.

“No buts. Not now, okay?”

I felt my knees weaken. “I’ve never…” I stammered as he slid a hand inside a green top he’d lent me and stroked the few hairs on my chest before pulling it over my head. .

“Me neither…” He paused to kiss me once more on the lips. I nearly passed out for the sheer sensuality of it. My nervousness dissolved into a frank, all-encompassing desire.

“What about AIDS?”  I gulped as the shirt dropped to the floor. He guided me to the bed.

“What about it?” smothering any reply I might have made with another long, incredible kiss then mumbling “I don’t make a habit of sleeping around, do you?” he retorted before kissing me again. Maggie Dillon’s face appeared fleetingly in my mind’s eye. It wore a curiously sad expression. I shook my head slightly, dismissing its intrusive presence. My dream-like state fully restored, Billy eased down my briefs. Every nuance of my being thrilled to his touch; nothing else mattered. He removed his shorts and lay against me, his nude body like a balm to my troubled mind and spirit. Effortlessly, I put everything aside except a deep hunger that had haunted me for so long but hadn’t dared confront head-on.

Our lovemaking was clumsy and self-conscious. But none of that mattered. We laughed at ourselves, let hands and tongue explore those parts of our bodies best responsive to the fire within. The splendour of our nakedness covered us like a benediction.

I put my tongue to the lobe of his ear and wondered how on earth this could be wrong? A tickling of his finger excited a nipple. Wave after wave of sexuality brought us, panting, to each other’s mouths.

 “I’ve wanted this for so long Rob,” he whispered in my ear, “I never thought I could feel like this about anyone.” More kisses followed, some gentle, others hotly demanding.

Briefly, vivid images of Maggie Dillon strutted across my brain. I dismissed them by fiercely scraping Billy’s lower lip with my teeth, drawing a pinprick of blood that tasted salty on my tongue.

“I love you,” he moaned.

His intensity frightened me. Before I had time to consider this, we were soaring on the crest of another massive wave of passion. I tried to repeat Billy’s words before it dragged me under and dashed them to pieces, but…too late. Our next kiss all but drowning my panic, my sex exploded. Moments later, his orgasm tore into me.

Pain transcended all fear, all loneliness.

I bled a little. Billy was attentive and reassuring. He cleaned me up with tissues while I lay on the bed like rag doll, shifting my body only as and when his hands gently persuaded me. I love you. He had said that. How could that be true? We had known each other all our lives yet we hardly knew each other at all. Besides, I was very confused about love. You loved someone and they hurt you. Or they left you. Or they shut you out. Who needs love?

I did.

Yet, even as Billy’s every touch continued to send shivers down my spine, I told myself, “No!” I didn’t want this thing called love; at least, not without some protection. Perhaps, if I distanced myself, I would be safe? But wasn’t it this very closeness that I longed for? Oh, the physical nearness, yes, of course, but more than that, much more. I briefly entertained a notion of spirituality but that only added to my confusion. (Wasn’t I confused enough already, for heaven’s sake?)  I had heard about Gay Rights and all that stuff, of course I had - but this…this was something else.

I let myself float like a leaf but couldn’t imagine from which tree it fell, only an inevitable spiralling downwards to top the same miserable heap as all the rest.  I didn’t want that. I started to get angry. Then I caught Billy looking at me oddly and smiled reassuringly. Billy’s fingers, and occasionally his tongue, continued to massage my private parts.

Guiltily, I thought about my mother and Paul. How they would have disapproved if they could see me now!  Yet…what the heck did it matter anyhow? They had each other. They didn’t need me, not the way I needed them, needed someone… needed Billy.  Even so, I had to find a way of loving that would protect me from its loss. Loss hurts. It gnaws your insides raw. I closed my eyes and wished I hadn’t. A host of familiar, cartoon faces hurled themselves at me. I opened them again. Yes, I vowed, I would protect myself. If that meant keeping certain people in their place, so be it. They could love me, hate me, whatever… but I would not let them hurt me.

Feeling better for what I foolishly imagined was a giant leap to maturity, I interrupted Billy’s ministrations to pull his head to mine and write I love you on his lower lip with the tip of my tongue, seizing on his tender kiss that followed as both an acceptance and endorsement of my resolve.

It also helped ease my conscience.