Dog Roses - Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was nearly 3.00 am by the time I let myself into Matthew’s flat, having told my mother I would be crashing down on a mattress in the penthouse apartment above The Connie. (Shaun and Lou had already moved in although it was not quite ready yet.)

Matthew was sprawled on the bed, fast asleep.  Lights had been left on everywhere. Too tired even to clean my teeth, I turned them off as I crept into the bedroom and lay beside Matthew.  The shiny cover of a paperback novel caught my attention and I leaned to retrieve it from the floor where weary fingers had let it drop. Matthew stirred and opened his eyes. “What time is it?” he yawned.  I told him. He swore and watched me undress. “You said you’d be late but not this late,” he murmured, letting his gaze linger on my private parts.

“Would you rather I left?” I gladly eased my body into his warm embrace.

“I’ll think about it,” he chuckled, wide awake now, just seconds before thrusting an eager tongue between my lips. I vaguely recalled reading somewhere that this was considered crass, and wondered why.

All the anxieties and tensions of the past few days dissolved in the heat of Matthew’s renewed vitality. The first welcoming pressure of his mouth on mine seemed to release a spring in us both.  Our bodies came together in rapturous harmony, an escalating passion breathing fire into every quivering ounce of flesh.  I relished the touch of his hands and lips, the silky wetness of his tongue, every ripple through his body invading mine. I was in heaven, a willing captive of a mutual, feverish imagination.

As I had turned the key in the lock, all but overcome by nervous exhaustion, I’d have settled for a cuddle. Not any more. Any lingering reservations we may have once harboured towards one another were abandoned. We made love with a heady mixture of tenderness and lust. I felt as though I were freefalling, caught up in a delirium of total release. Later, as I lay in his arms, listening to the hushed sounds of his breathing while he slept, a stray thread of half light filtering through the curtains and homing in on us like a laser beam, it suddenly struck me that Matthew hadn’t used a condom. 

A momentary panic flared in me, only to flicker and die almost in the same instant.  Matthew, I knew instinctively, would never do anything to hurt me. Hadn’t he told me over and over again during out lovemaking how much he cared for me? 

Not for the first time, I wondered whether I truly loved him and thought I probably did.  I snuggled up to him and let his warm breath ruffle my hair. The gentle heaving of his bare chest was like a lullaby to my weary, contented body. I started to whisper, “I love you” in his ear. But he was dead to the world so what was the point?  Even so, I felt better for at least having thought it, and drifted into a sounder sleep than I deserved.

It was past noon when I awoke to find myself alone in the brand new, sumptuous double bed. I sat bolt upright in a cold sweat but relaxed almost at once as Matthew entered wheeling a tea trolley. “Brunch is served,” he announced with a wickedly beguiling twinkle in each eye.  I was so glad to see him that I flung my arms wide and he hurled himself at me. One flying foot sent the trolley shooting crazily across the room as he landed in my embrace and almost knocked the stuffing out of me. We collapsed in fits of laughter, but eventually settled down long enough to enjoy a kiss. It was nothing passionate, just a kiss, pure and simple. He is my best friend, I thought, and I love him.

While Matthew rescued the trolley, I savoured the moment. It crossed my mind that I could never have kissed Billy without being sexually aroused. This, between Matthew and me, was something different, something special, something good, and something with which I felt completely at ease.  Billy and I had been more than just lovers. We had been close friends too…Well, hadn’t we? The mutual thrill of our awakening sexuality had bound us like an umbilical cord. But this, with Matthew ... This was new, special, better, and forever. Or so I wanted to believe.

Matthew handed me a tray on which rested a sunny yellow plate heaped with fried eggs, rashers of bacon, fried bread, tomatoes and baked beans. Not before pouring two mugs of tea from a stainless steel pot and placing them on a bedside cupboard did he take a second plate of fry-up and slip effortlessly into bed beside me. We tucked in with relish.

The weeks that followed were hectic but immensely enjoyable.  The Connie was fast becoming popular with all sorts, not just the young crowd we had anticipated. Liam, our chef, went for simplicity and quality. Gary, our regular DJ went for just about anything; pop, rave, reggae, heavy metal, C&W…you name it. Both went down a treat with the punters, who turned out to be a mixed bag; mostly young people, but some not-so-young ones too.

“Keep the locals happy, dear heart,” Bo warned on a flying visit, “and be sure to pamper any golden oldies you may have on your doorstep. Get their danders up, bless ’em, and you’ll have the cops breathing down your neck before you know it, looking for drugs and heaven knows what else. Besides,” he added wryly, “they do a far better job of keeping the hotheads down than a dozen beefy bouncers, believe you me.”

I had practically moved in with Matthew, and it was only a matter of time before my mother smelled a rat. Matthew was reluctant to discuss the situation. “You must make you own mind up,” he’d say, and then change the subject. But I wasn’t easily put off. This is our future we’re talking about here, damn it.

“My mother,” I protested, will say I’m too young, even though I’m nineteen and legal.”

“Parents always say that. If they had their way, we’d never be allowed to grow up and make our own decisions. It’s understandable where same sex relationships are concerned, I suppose. It’s a generation thing. Most of them are leftovers from the Dark Ages, for heaven’s sake. Gay sex was a taboo, and now it’s not. We’ve moved on. They can either move on too or…”

“Throw us out on the street and disown us!” I reflected bitterly.

“Some do, it’s true, but do you honestly think your mother would do that?” I shook my head after only the briefest pause. “So credit her with some understanding,  and tell her about us. I’ll support you, of course I will, just don’t expect me to hold your hand while you do the dirty deed.”

“There’s nothing dirty about us!”

“Exactly…” Matthew would grin, take me in his arms and kiss away my worst misgivings. Only, they kept returning to haunt me.

I talked to Lou about telling my mother about Matthew and me. She took much the same view as he did, insisting it was down to me if and when I chose to break the news. “We’re living in the twenty-first century for heaven’s sake. Gay rights and all that…”

“Yes, but…”

“There will always be buts, Rob. We just have to find ways round them.”

“Easier said than done,” I sighed.

“So what isn’t?” she retorted with an insight that should not have surprised me but did. She went on to invite Matthew and myself for a meal one evening and we’d already settled on the following Wednesday before I had time to consider Matthew’s likely reaction. As it turned out, he seemed genuinely pleased. Any doubts I might have had were more than compensated for by the knowledge that The Connie would be fairly quiet at mid-week. In any case, Shaun and I would be on hand if needed.

I had begun to look on Shaun as a deputy manager.  From the start, he demonstrated a flair for organizational as well as excellent interpersonal skills.  Members of staff were as likely to discuss any work-related problems with him as with me, if not more so.  We saw little of Clive Rider but for his turning up, not infrequently, to whisk Maggie away at the drop of a hat with no regard for duty rosters. Maggie never demurred. Oh, she was a good worker and more of an asset to the place than I’d have thought possible. But her relationship with the owner did nothing to endear her to many colleagues.

I was nervous about the meal although I kept telling myself I had no cause. It wasn’t as if Shaun and Lou didn’t already know and appear to like Matthew. Yet, rightly or wrongly, it felt like a formal declaration that we were a couple, and I was desperately anxious that nothing should happen to spoil things between us. It’s one thing to tell people, even friends, that you’re gay, but quite another to turn up for dinner with a boyfriend on your arm.  Everyone, though, was relaxed and natural. Everyone, that is, except me.

Lou did us proud with melon for starters then a tasty sirloin of beef and vegetables followed by a delicious zabaglione dessert. She and Matthew discovered a mutual love of the countryside, and spent a good part of the evening trying to convince Sean and me there was nothing more relaxing than a good ramble.

Shaun pricked up his ears when Matthew confided that he planned to buy a motorbike, and so did I.

“But you already have a car!” I could not believe my ears.

“It’s not the same,” Matthew attempted to explain, “Compared with riding a bike, driving a car is so…dull, uninspiring.”

“You bet, absolutely!” I had rarely seen Shaun so animated.

As the conversation buzzed around me I only caught the occasional word but kept thinking, involuntarily, how I had never so much as got to ride pillion with Billy.  He had worshipped that bike. I would never forget the look on his face when he came into the café alone that night after crashing it. Nor was the prevailing irony lost on me. But for Billy’s misfortune, I couldn’t help reflecting with a guilty start, I might never have found the courage to confront my sexuality.

“So, how about it Rob...?” Shaun was asking and I had to confess to being miles away. “We take a trip to the New Forest when Matt gets his bike? The four of us…”

 I barely managed to stay with the conversation. Moreover, my hackles rose sharply (if irrationally, I vaguely conceded) at Shaun’s use of the diminutive. I did not see Matthew as a Matt. He was Matthew, solid and dependable. Yet, here was Shaun not only making my Matthew out to be a Matt, but also turning him into some kind of motorcycle freak. My hackles rose even further, and it did no good to keep reminding myself that it was Matthew who had raised the subject in the first place.  I felt like pointing out that The Connie could not be left to run itself, but even to me it smacked sufficiently of killjoy to persuade me to keep quiet.

“They make a great couple,” Matthew remarked as we made our way back to the flat. “I like them a lot.”

“Good,” was all I said, ignoring the old-fashioned look Matthew flung at me although he said nothing. We walked the rest of the way in an increasingly strained silence. Suddenly, I wanted to go home, to my mother’s house, rather than spend the night with Matthew. I couldn’t for the life of me have explained why, I just did.  I tried to frame the words, but they sounded petty in my head, as if I was sulking, and I wasn’t, or so I managed to convince myself.

Back at the flat, Matthew offered to pour us both a brandy. I declined, and could barely contain a growing resentment as I watched him pour one for himself and plainly relish every sip. What’s the matter with me?  Not caring to look too closely for an answer, I went to the bathroom and cleaned my teeth so hard my gums bled. We often shared the bathroom, but not this time. As I passed him on the way back to the bedroom, we stubbornly ignored each other.

I was already half undressed when Matthew joined me. “I hope you’ll make a damn sight more of an effort when you get to meet some of my friends,” he said testily as he sat on the bed, his back to me while unbuttoning his shirt front before proceeding to wrestle with the cuff links as he always did. I heard him curse. A wry grin crept up on my lips, but had second thoughts and beat a hasty retreat. “Damn cufflinks!” he swore again. I usually leapt to his recue, but not tonight.

Neither of us could even bear to look at each other. “Meaning what?” I demanded without turning to face him. “I thought the evening went pretty well.” I lied.

“You weren’t exactly the life and soul, were you?  They’re your friends but you left everything up to me!”

“So? You put on a good enough show for the both of us,” I commented acidly and instantly wanted to retract but didn’t know how.

“What show?”  Now it was his turn to get angry. “I really like Lou and Shaun. I thought that’s what you wanted, for us all to get along.  I guess we did, although your sulking most of the evening didn’t help!”

I turned round and faced him. “I was not sulking!”

“No? You could have fooled me.”

“It was embarrassing,” I mumbled and could not meet his steady gaze, “You and Shaun. It was Sean this and Matt that, like a couple of school kids.”

To my horror, Matthew burst out laughing. “You were jealous. That’s it, isn’t it? You were jealous because we got on so well. Bloody hell, Rob, you can be such a baby sometimes!” 

A huge grin did little to take the sting out of his words and I could have hit him. Instead, I leapt up from the bed and started to get dressed. “I don’t have to stay and listen to this crap!” I yelled. “If you must know…”

“Yes?”  Matthew was on his feet now too. We confronted each other like enemies poised for battle across the bed. The grin had left his face, his whole body coiled like a wild beast poised to spring.

I swallowed hard. There was no going back. Or was there?

“If I must know, what...?”

“I thought you were as loud and defensive as they were bloody patronising!” I blurted. Having had already convinced myself it was the case, the words rang true enough in my ears at the time. He seemed to relax, even smiled but it was a hurt smile that made me want to take it all back, tell him how sorry I was for behaving like an idiot, and make love. I hadn’t wanted to earlier, but now I did, and with a passion that all but overwhelmed me where I stood, just staring at him blankly, saying nothing.

“Better to find out soon rather than later, I suppose,” he said softly, paused and then, “Just my luck. I think I’m madly in love with a really nice guy who feels the same, and he turns out to be an ignorant little fart who doesn’t give a monkey’s about anyone but himself.”

Every word cut me to the quick. “Oh, suit yourself,” I snapped. “I’m off.”  I hurriedly continued dressing.

“How right you are,” said Matthew in that same soft, cutting voice, “You’re off, alright, off as in way off the mark, off as in knickers in a twist over nothing. We’re gay, Rob, that’s all. So stop being so bloody defensive about it. Get down off that high horse of yours and lighten up or…”

“Or...?”

“You and I are finished.”

I digested this with some difficulty, but anger got the better of any self-reproach. “How dare you?” I exploded. “So maybe I am defensive, so what?  At least I’m not a fucking closet! Nowhere near as much as you are, anyway. Even teachers can’t get sacked for being gay these days so what’s your problem about coming out?”

“Oh, and you’re ‘out’ are you? A few people know you’re gay so that makes everything okay, and if the rest guess, what the heck, eh? You are joking? For heaven’s sake, Rob, you haven’t even told your own family!”

“And you have?”

      “As it happens, yes, and they don’t want anything more to do with me.” He gave a despairing shrug that cut me to the quick, “So much for twenty-first century liberal thinking, eh?” He laughed, but it was a very hollow, self-mocking sound that ripped the guts out of me. I wanted to fling myself at him and give him a cuddle. But the moment passed.

        You and I are finished. His words had the effect of a bucket of icy cold water emptying over me. I suddenly felt very cold, could not stop shivering or stop a sickening fear taking over my whole body. I took deep breaths. Each one invoked a different snapshot of that evening, punctuated with more than a word of truth in what Matthew had said. 

       As I stared at Matthews’s flushed profile, I saw that he was right. I was jealous. All evening I had listened to the three of them chatting away like old friends and shutting me out. No, not shutting me out. Rather, I had stubbornly refused to join in.  I had so wanted things to go well and they had, but with precious little help from me. They had cheated me out of the leading role I’d expected to play. “I’m sorry!” I burst into tears. “I’m just not up to all this. I thought I was, but I’m not,” I mumbled, tears streaming down my face.

“All what?” he demanded icily. Even so, I thought I detected a slight thawing in his tone.

“You, me, this whole gay thing,” I gestured helplessly, “I thought I could handle it but now I’m not so sure.  I was completely out of my depth tonight, with people I’ve known for years dammit.” I had to look away and was instantly distracted by the sight of a moth stuck to a patch of moonlight on a curtain at the window, flapping its wings like a mad thing.

Matthew dived across the bed and grabbed me. Not until his arms folded around me and I could feel his hot, quick breath on my neck, did the moth fly away nor did I give a damn where.

“I only wanted to do you proud,” he whispered.

“You did. I was the one who let everyone down.”

“I don’t think anyone noticed, except me. Shaun and Lou are probably used to your little sulks. What’s one more between friends?” I stiffened, hackles rising again. But he chuckled in my ear, and I relaxed. “I was shit scared too, you know.”

I wriggled swung round in his embrace until I was could have looked into his eyes, but kept mine slightly averted, hands resting gently if not a shade nervously on his shoulders. You were scared?” I was incredulous.

“You bet. Oh, I like Shaun and Lou a lot, I really do. But that didn’t stop me feeling as if I were on trial the whole evening. The look on your face didn’t help. Go on, it said, be my guest and make a complete hash of things. See if I care…”

“But you were great!” I felt suddenly light-headed, “I could tell they thought so and…Well, maybe you’re right. Maybe I was jealous. I just kept wishing I had half your self-confidence.” I had to look away, ashamed.

“It’s a mirage, believe me!” he joked. Taking my chin firmly in one hand, he gently tilted it so I was forced to meet the wicked twinkle in his eyes. “I did it for you. I only went to please you. I did it for us,” he corrected himself, and I felt my head swim. There was a long pause while we both did brief battle with wary alter egos. “I love you,” he said at last.

I kissed him, lightly at first because I wasn’t convinced he had forgiven me.  I needn’t have worried. His mouth was gently insisting, infinitely tender, and sent shivers of relief down my spine. I let him pull me down against him, and lay there for a long time, blissfully content just to feel his arms around me in the still, sweet silence of an ecstasy that would later swallow us up, body and soul, as we made love.

Dog Roses - Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Halloween was a great success. Trade was brisk. Comments from punters were mostly favourable on just about everything from décor to the choice of food and drinks available. Music provided by an up-and-coming local group comprising three guys and a female vocalist, calling themselves Streetwise, was also a big hit.

Bo and Gabby Devine came to wish us luck before we threw open the doors although Bo brushed aside my expressions of genuine delight at seeing them. “Never be complacent. Always be on the lookout for new ideas, dear heart!” Later, he assured me with telling warmth that I had a huge success on my hands. I could feel my face glowing with pleasure.

“It’s Clive’s baby,” I felt bound to say, “I’m just the midwife.”

“Ah, but delivery is everything, dear heart, as wily bird Clive knows only too well!” Bo beamed and gave me a paternal hug. “I have every faith in you, young Rob, every faith!” Suddenly, I felt shy and awkward. Shaun could not have chosen a more opportune moment to appear with a bottle of champagne.

Amongst all the fizz and excitement, I my only regret was that Matthew was not there to share it with me. He had muttered something unconvincing about having to work late. “You can be such a damp squib sometimes!” I accused him, but managed to keep my tone light, hugging my huge disappointment to myself.

As the evening progressed, I could not help noticing that Clive was dancing with and practically monopolizing Maggie who looked ravishing in turquoise but was, after all, supposed to be on duty. (But wasn’t I?) At one time, after Bo had gone walkabout, Gabby and I watched them from a corner table. “Watch out for that one darling,” she murmured while munching on a stick of celery, “She’s gorgeous, of course, and doesn’t she know it! Women like that love nothing better than to turn lives upside down. Just be sure it isn’t yours, darling!”

“She should stay behind the bar where she belongs,” I growled.

Gabby burst out laughing. “Belongs? Darling, you’re sounding just like some punctilious prick of a manager already for heaven’s sake. But Clive…Well, Clive’s the boss. Dear Clive, he does so like to think he’s master of his own fate and can pull rank whenever he likes.” She continued to munch on the celery with relish. “He’s quite impossible, of course. As for pulling rank, well…Led by the nose, would be a better description, invariably by a woman years younger than him.” She saw my puzzled expression and laughed again. “Don’t be in awe of Clive, darling. Make that mistake, and you’ll fall flat on your face I promise you. Oh, he has an eye for a good horse, I grant you that. He picked you, after all…” She took a sip of champagne. “But it’s the horses that bring in the money, darling, not any hidden talent of his own. Oh, he has his little triumphs, but precious few when it comes to women. He treats them like whores all the while he can get his cock up, and then dumps them when he feels the urge to take a long rest and whine about how they were only after his wallet!”  She took another sip of champagne and the lovely eyes twinkled over the rim of her glass. “Do I shock you?”

“I just never…” I stammered.

“Saw your boss in quite that light? Men never do, darling. It takes a woman to see what’s what in this life. Men only see what they want to see. Now, take Mt Clive Rider. You see a successful businessman who has charm, in spite of a middle age paunch and bald patch. Oh, and such a way with the ladies, not to mention a useful meal ticket! Myself, I only see a fat, ugly toad that turns my stomach.”

For an instant, her pupils rounded with pure malice and I felt my blood run cold. She hates him, I thought, and wondered why? Did she and Clive have a history, surely not?

“Mark my words, your friend Maggie…” Gabby persisted, munching away again, “will tuck into Clive and thoroughly enjoy the meal, only to spit him out when she’s good and ready. By that time, he’ll be well and truly hooked if he’s not careful.”  I suddenly realised that what I had mistaken for contempt for Maggie in her voice was in fact admiration. “Not that…” She rose and grabbed my hand, “...there was ever a man born who had a clue how to take care of a woman. Fortunately, we are more than capable of taking care of ourselves.” She proceeded to drag me, protesting, to the dance floor, pressing her lithe, sensual body against me while the band played one of their more subdued numbers. For the first time in ages, I found myself thinking about Nancy Devlin.

Gabby and I soon found ourselves alongside my mother and Peter Short. I sensed rather than caught my mother’s critical appraisal of Bo’s wife, and struggled to appear relaxed while I made the introductions.

“Oh, but you never let that on your mother is here,” Gabby scolded me. To my mother she said, “You’ve not done a bad job on our Rob, not bad at all. He has potential. Oh, yes, very much so, even if he is a little rough around the edges still,” she added mischievously. Her teasing smile made me profoundly grateful for a smoky haze given off by the pumpkin lanterns.

“You and me both,” my mother laughingly agreed.

When the music stopped, Gabby insisted the pair join us. By this time, Bo had returned to our table and seemed genuinely pleased to meet my mother and Short. Rather to my surprise, Mum appeared to be enjoying herself. She and Bo got along famously.  If either were slightly embarrassed by Gabby’s flirty manner with Short, they not only took it in their stride but also treated it as a huge private joke. When the red-faced librarian finally fled to the loo, Bo insisted my mother take to the dance floor again where he proceeded to engage her, with as much hilarity as dexterity, in a rock ‘n’ roll throwback from the 1960s.

“I adore your mother!” Gabby exclaimed. “Now I see where you get your brass cheek from. Look how she has my Bo just where she wants him!”

“It looks to me like it’s the other way around,” I protested mildly.

“Then you need glasses darling!” She picked up another stick of celery, nibbled thoughtfully and then, “I shouldn’t think she minds in the least that you’re gay, does she? Well, the teeniest bit maybe….”

I was furious. “She doesn’t know,” I said sharply, “and I’ll thank you not to mention it either.”

Gabby treated me to the full blast of a radiant smile. “You’re a fool, Rob,” she said with quiet deliberation, “Women like Patricia are one in a million. She’ll be your Rock of Gibraltar and don’t tell me you don’t need one because I know better.  Let her find out some other way and…Who knows? Gibraltar may crumble.”

“Prettily put,” I seethed.

“I thought so too,” she agreed placidly, her tense expression vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Without relinquishing the celery, she steered me to the dance floor yet again. “We can’t let Bo and Patricia hog the limelight, now, can we?” she giggled. “I say, Peter is taking an awfully long time in the loo isn’t he? I do hope he hasn’t got lost. You have to admit this place is a bit of a maze. Bars here, bars there, restaurant with dance floor and a cosy café with help-yourself buffet...  I’m impressed.”

“The café closes at six,” I replied tartly and we only plan to open all the bars at weekends.

“Even so, you’ll have your hands full. Staff, darling, they’ll grind you down if you let them.  As Bo always says, good staff may well be the life blood of any business, but one bad egg can land you in the shit.”

I thought I detected a lecturing tone and resented it. I knew my job. (Well, didn’t I?). We danced but this time my body, especially my feet, refused to be led by the dictates of either music or Gabby Devine’s perfect rhythm. She finally lost patience although not her temper. A despairing shrug said it all. She made her way leisurely back to the table, leaving me to follow somewhat sheepishly in her wake. But I started to get angry and made off in another direction. How dare the woman presume to tell me how to manage my private life?

A welcome diversion presented itself when one of the wine waiters came and whispered in my ear that there was some kind of plumbing emergency in the Ladies loo. I arrived on the scene to find Ed Mack completing adequate if stopgap repairs to a leaking cistern. “My, aren’t we a jack of all trades?”  I sneered and despised myself for taking out the ever-increasing resentment I was feeling towards Gabby Devine on poor Ed. But the devil had my tongue. “You’re wasted as a bouncer,” I added for good measure, “Talking of which, shouldn’t you be on the door?”

He threw me a hurt look that infuriated me even further.  “Anything you say boss,” was all he said before thrusting a wrench in my hand and making an abrupt exit.

“Honestly, Rob!” Liz Daniels appeared from nowhere, “You nearly had a flood on your hands. But for Ed we’d all have bloody drowned!” She was dressed as a witch and kept poking a finger at me as if casting a spell.

“So?” I snapped.

But Liz was not easily intimidated. “So you may be his boss, but you sure as hell ain’t mine. If you were, I’d tell you to get stuffed, you ungrateful pig. As it is, I’ll settle for telling you what a pompous, insufferable arsehole you’re turning into, Rob Young! Now, if you don’t mind, this is a Ladies loo so get your skates on before I lose my temper.”

It was my turn to exit abruptly. In my haste, I literally bumped into Bo who was sharing a hearty guffaw with the mayor of all people and exchanging fishing anecdotes. “I didn’t know you fished,” I remarked as the mayoral chain rattled on its way.

“Oh, yes, but all the time, dear heart, all the time. I always have and always will. That is, when I can find the damn the time. You can’t beat it for keeping the old blood pressure down, talking of which yours looks well and truly on the up. Do I smell a crisis?”

“Nearly,” I had to confess.

“Oh, nearly doesn’t count!” He waved a hand airily.

“Staff problems,” I mumbled.

“Ah! Then a crisis you well may have, young Rob, if you don’t get your finger out and sort things pronto,” wagging a warning finger at me much as Liz Daniels had done only minutes earlier. “Look after your staff, and the punters will look after themselves,” is what I always say,” repeating the maxim I must have heard a good dozen times a day in the course of my training  at The Pav. Now, as then, I had to concede the point.  Bo swept an arm vaguely in all directions. “I have to say, dear heart, everyone seems to be doing you proud tonight,” and then, “Don’t go and spoil things.” A familiar grimace gave him the appearance of a friendly gargoyle.

“I suppose you’re right,” I mumbled, already regretting the way I had spoken to Ed.

“Of course I’m right, I’m always right!” Bo slapped me jocularly on the back. “And there’s no such word as ‘suppose’. Not in a good manager’s vocabulary there isn’t…” He gave a long sigh and the backslapping evaporated into a hug. “Put yourself in the wrong, did you?” I nodded miserably. “I thought so. You have that cringing look about you, dear heart, like a pup expecting to be walloped for doing what comes naturally!” I couldn’t help but laugh at the preposterous if apt description. “Now, that’s much better. Never waste time sulking, dear heart, when a smile will do the business in a jiffy.”

Someone called his name. Bo glanced into the milling crowd and then back at me.  “Run along now and make good whatever damage it is you’ve done. Oh, and keep smiling. Never but never, dear heart, be caught out whingeing. By all means, show the peasants you’re in charge and that you have their measure, but always keep them on your side.”

Bo tossed me a broad wink and began to walk away only to pause after just a few steps, swing round and fix me with a wicked grin. “That Ma of yours, dear heart, she’s a sweetie, an absolute sweetie!” Then he was gone. I watched his bobbing head for a moment until that, too, had vanished.

I sighed, not wanting to think about my mother just then, Gabby’s words still making my head spin. I should have been glad she’d made such a big hit with everyone. Instead, I was jealous although I hadn’t quite worked that one out yet.

I went to find Ed.  He was in the process of ejecting a couple of drunks with a mixture of brute force and candid humour. The hapless pair were suitably despatched, with handshakes all round and much carousing. Ed turned, saw me and frowned. Checking up on me?” he asked conversationally.

“I came to apologize.” It seemed the better part of valour to come right out with it, and the look of frank surprise on Ed’s face encouraged me to press on. “I was well out of order back there. I’m sorry. Thanks for helping out. I…” But my voice trailed off as he suddenly dived into a crowd milling around by the door and hauled out a skinny, ferret-faced character clutching a handsome wallet that, almost immediately, someone else darted forward to claim as his own.

“Mine, I believe!” exclaimed Clive Rider.

“What shall I do with him Mr Rider?” demanded Ed, still holding the squirming ferret by the collar of his coat.  The menace in his voice left the audience that has quickly gathered in no doubt as to what course of action he would have dearly liked to take.

“Let me go. You can’t prove a thing,” the culprit snarled. He had clearly been drinking heavily and was protesting with all the loud bravado of someone well over the limit. Something about him struck me as vaguely familiar. But, try as I might, I could not place the miserable little pickpocket.  I groaned. The last thing I needed on Opening Night was a bad press.

Clive fixed a beady gaze briefly on the dishevelled crook then barked at Ed, Search him for any other little souvenirs then let him go. To the pickpocket, pinched face sweating buckets in Ed’s arm lock, “You would so well to pray we never meet again, you nasty, smelly creature. Or I shall personally see to it that you take a well-deserved break at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Did I say break? Silly me, I meant convalescence. Do you understand?” The belligerent thief threw back his head and opened his mouth as if to hurl a torrent of abuse. But all that emerged was a squeal, prompted perhaps by a sharp twist given to his arm by Ed.

“Okay,” he nodded, more squeals uttering from protruding nicotine-stained gap teeth.  Ed slackened his hold.

It was at this juncture that Maggie arrived on the scene. Clive promptly bundled her clear before she could even begin to appreciate what was taking place. I heard her voice, demanding this and protesting at that, over and above a cacophony of music and general hubbub. Clive did not falter, but proceeded to steer her through the crowd, a protective arm around her waist. I watched them go, saw his hand stray to Maggie’s buttocks. A glance at Ed warned me that he, too, had witnessed the gesture. A scowl crossed the saturnine face.

Several of the pumpkin lanterns decorating the path leading to the main entrance went out.

“You heard the man. Search him,” Ed growled at me, “and be thorough. This little prick is full of surprises. Isn’t that so Vince?”

“Me?” I started.

“I’d see to it myself, only I sort of have my hands full in case you haven’t noticed,” he growled again, “So what are you waiting for, Christmas? I know this little creep,” he added, “A nasty piece of work if ever there was, eh, Vince?”

Recognition finally dawned. “Vince Crolley, Nick’s brother!”

“Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” muttered the pickpocket as I searched every inch of his clothing, anxious to be done as soon as possible.

Vince, I could only assume, must be on parole. Like Ed, I had to remind myself with a nasty jolt since I hadn’t given that fact much thought in ages.  He was older than Nick by a good five years, maybe more. There was, I saw it more clearly now, a family resemblance, not least in the way his eyes slanted either side of a Roman nose and thin lips curled contemptuously. I wondered if Clive Rider had made the same connection. It would explain his manoeuvring Maggie away from the scene with such urgency. She was, after all, no stranger to a spot of bother. Moreover, as far as I knew, she was still sharing a bed with Nick Crolley. In that case, I pondered wryly, Clive won’t be too happy about Vince making connections of his own.

My search yielded nothing apart from everyday effects. These included a grubby handkerchief, a comb thick with hairs and some loose change. I winced at having to handle these. Crolley noticed and giggled. The dribbling mouth twisted into a sick grin. Simultaneously, he jerked his head forward and spat in my face.  Ed wasted no time exerting maximum leverage on the arm caught in his grip.

Vince howled in agony.

Without waiting for me to complete my search, Ed heaved the kicking, screaming figure practically off its feet, bringing the full weight of his body to bear in propelling it through the crowd. Vince landed ignominiously in a patch of dog mess plainly illuminated by a swinging pumpkin. Everyone roared with laughter. A stream of obscenities and wild threats rolled with scarcely a pause for breath off his tongue.

“Apology accepted,” Ed yelled

I wiped the spittle from my face with a handkerchief, Crolley’s shrieks of abuse ringing in my ears.

“I’ll get you. You’ll see. I’ll get the lot of you, just you see if I don’t!” Vince screamed.

Shaun arrived, took in the situation at a glance and motioned to Ed that he would take over on the door for a while. Ed gave a curt but appreciative nod and was soon ushering me inside. Angry and upset, I was content to let him steer me towards the nearest bar.

Try as I might, I couldn’t shake off a gut feeling that I hadn’t heard the last of Vince Crolley, not by a long chalk.

.

Dog Roses - Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

Bryan Chester pleaded guilty to manslaughter.

      The trial only lasted a week.  Most of the time was taken up with character witnesses for the defence testifying that Chester was, essentially, a nice guy provoked into committing a crime of passion that went tragically wrong.  I, for one, was not impressed, especially since Billy was being portrayed as an arrogant yob whose motives for intervening had been less than altruistic. According to the defence and some prosecution witnesses, you’d have thought Billy’s set-to with death had been nothing more than an attention-seeking stunt. True, he had paid a terrible price. Such, though, these good people would have us believe, is the attitude of many young men to mortality in so far as they think they are invincible and will grab any opportunity to prove it.

      I was upset, angry and felt physically sick. At the same time, I was relieved that no one seemed to be paying much attention to my own role in events.

      Time and again I almost leapt to my feet and shouted, “Billy gave his life to save mine, you bastards! He was no yob. He was a wonderful, wonderful person. I loved him and he loved me.”  In my mind’s eye, I became passionate and past caring in the witness box. Instead, I did and said nothing above and beyond what I was asked and played the passive, impartial eyewitness to perfection. No one would ever know the true extent of Billy’s sacrifice. I would have to live with that for the rest of my life.

      Oh, but how dare Billy do this to me, how dare he? 

      So it was throughout the trial. Outwardly calm, inwardly I ran the whole gamut of love and hate, saved only from frequent hysterical outbursts by imagining Matthew Jordan’s smile and clinging to it for dear life.

The prosecution made poor Doreen out to be the very kind of “floozy” she despised. I felt sorry for her. Nor did I have less sympathy for Harry, portrayed as the wronged husband, latest victim of a serial womaniser. The prosecution produced several women eager to relate every lurid detail of affairs with Chester over a period of years. While the defence was anxious to emphasize he was single and fancy free, this argument carried little weight since it transpired that all his former lovers were married at the time.

Chester, it has to be said, cut a tragic figure in the dock. He kept his eyes rooted to the floor and only looked up, briefly, when Doreen took the witness box.  Dressed in a red shirt wide open at the neck and a brown suit, red socks glaring from black shoes, he reminded me of a picture I’d once seen, in some anonymous book, of a witch being burned alive at a stake. Had there ever been a male witch, I wondered? I felt stirrings of pity for the man. But these did not last long. Scenes Billy and I had shared kept running through my head like a silent newsreel.

The jury took less than three hours to find Chester guilty. The judge spoke of ‘extenuating circumstances’ and wasted little time sentencing him to seven years in prison.

As in the witness box, it was thoughts of Matthew Jordan that helped me through the hustle and bustle of aggressive reporters and cameramen swarming across the court steps once sentence had been passed, leaving us free to get on with our lives as best we could. 

It was chaos on those steps. Clive, never one to miss a photo opportunity or contrive others, grabbed my arm and wasted no time telling everyone how he had rescued me from the horror of witnessing a friend’s cold-blooded murder by appointing me manager of his latest enterprise, The Constellation. “Everyone is calling it The Connie already,” he informed a growing audience. “It will be just what this town needs to restore life after…Well, death.” The pun surprised even him but he kept a straight face and everyone looked suitably impressed. The local rag even used it as a headline the morning after The Connie’s opening night.

I saw Maggie Dillon posing for photographers in a slinky green dress of crushed velvet. I looked around for Nick Crolley. Thankfully, there was no sign of him.  Once or twice I spotted Maggie and Clive apparently in earnest conversation. She was plainly flirting with him. I frowned. My respect for Clive’s business acumen was healthy enough, but Maggie was no mean force to be reckoned with, especially when dressed to kill.

Shaun and Lou hadn’t been in court to hear sentence passed. Shaun’s evidence had been brief, clear and to the point. Only someone who knew him as well as I did could tell that his insides were being cut up for mincemeat by every word spoken, just as mine were. Whenever Billy’s name came up, his eyes would mist over but his voice never faltered and I dare say few people even noticed. I only did because I was looking for it…and sharing every gut-wrenching second of that day with him.

The pain of that day in court was almost too much to bear. I vowed afterwards that I would not let Billy’s memory touch me like that again. It was time, I decided, to let go. But could I really do that, I wondered? Did I really want to? My head urged me to take the commonsense view and my heart was only too willing to let Matthew Jordan slip into the empty space Billy’s death had left there. Nor did I believe in ghosts. Yet, it was as if Billy’s ghost was even less willing to let me go than I him.  At the same time, a fierce, instinctive loyalty to Billy left me powerless to fight it.  I felt as though I were being hounded into a corner and bitterly resented it. Hadn’t my system taken enough of a battering for one day, one lifetime even?

 I looked around for Doreen, intending to offer some encouragement although just what form of words this might take, I hadn’t a clue. In the event, it turned out that she and Harry had been bundled unceremoniously out of a little known side-exit, the motive for which proved to be less obvious than I at first naively supposed. All would soon be revealed in one of the more vociferous, not to mention gossipy Sunday newspapers.

Meanwhile, I had a club to run.

The next few days were a mad rush to get everything ready for Opening Night. I saw little of Matthew apart from the odd hour or so at his flat when I was invariably too exhausted, excited (or both) to handle more than a cuddle. It was enough. We talked a lot or, rather, he talked and I listened. Sometimes we would discover likes and dislikes in common that we hadn’t expected and this would reinforce a bonding process to which we were gladly if tacitly committed. When we kissed, it was with more than passion but a feeling that we belonged to each other, a sense of coming home…

I felt under no pressure to have sex with Matthew, although a flawed reasoning argued how it had to be as effective a way as any of letting Billy’s ghost see I had moved on. Whenever Matthew and I made love, I was so happy I wanted to cry, but never did. His lips would brush mine with disarming seductiveness yet with such caring and kindness that, as his arms closed around me, all I wanted was to stay that way forever.  Within the parameters of forever, though, Billy Mack was never far away.

Matthew would often tell me that he loved me. He knew I felt the same way about him, I was sure of it.  What need for words? At least, that is what I’d always tell myself whenever they tickled my throat, stuck to my tongue, stubbornly refusing to be spoken while tugging at every nerve. Sometimes, on a pebble beach at the back of my mind, I fancied I could almost see and hear Billy Mack laughing at me. It was a light, fond, teasing sound. At the same time, I thought I detected a possessive note. I didn’t feel in the least threatened by it, and only vaguely disturbed. Billy would never hurt me, ghost or whatever. So could it be that he was just watching out for what was his?

Oh, I’d shrug off such imaginings quickly enough and reprimand myself for being a nerd. Even so, if Billy’s ghost intended that I shouldn’t tell Matthew how much I loved him, it succeeded.

Sandwiched between the trial and Halloween celebrations at The Connie (people were, as predicted and encouraged, already calling it that) Clive casually dropped another bombshell.  I was having to co-ordinate both a catering and brewery delivery at the time. It was bad enough that each should turn up much earlier than arranged, but arriving within minutes of each other meant I had to take charge of things myself until Shaun and Lance, our chef, could be located.

Clive’s arrival was both unexpected and ill timed. Nor did it allay either my suspicion or my temper that, hanging proprietarily on his arm, grey-green eyes darting everywhere, was none other than Maggie Dillon. “Everything looking good, eh, Rob?” he demanded ebulliently, following this up with a broad, patronising smile.

I frowned. Clive in this mood was always a sure sign something was up. “I’m busy,” growled.

“That’s why I like to see, my staff earning their keep.”

“This really isn’t a good time,” I protested.

I can see that. So I’ll come straight to the point.” The foxy eyes were sharper than ever, “I’ve just hired this young lady.”

“You’ve what?” I exploded.

“Keep your hair on, Rob. You’ll get your money’s worth,” said Maggie with a dry laugh.

“Excuse me, but it’s my money’s worth we’re talking about here. Let’s not forget that, eh?” Clive glared briefly from one to the other of us before breaking into an ominous smile.

“Can we discuss this?” I was furious.

“Of course we can, but not here. In my office...”

“Not now. You can see how busy I am!”

“So get un-busy,” Clive snapped and promptly waved Shaun over, who had just appeared. “Ah, Shaun, just the man we need. Deal with this little lot, will you?” It was not a question nor did Shaun imagine it was and nodded. “Good man.” He turned to me. “You have to delegate, Rob, delegate. How do you expect to run a show like this if you don’t delegate? What’s the first rule of management, eh? I’ll tell you. Delegate, or be buggered. So, suppose you tell Shaun here everything he needs to know then join us in my office, okay…in, say, five minutes?” Without waiting for a response, he turned to Maggie, “I’ll call you later.”

“Do I still have a job?”

“I said so, didn’t I?” with which parting shot he turned his back on all three of us and strode purposefully away.  

If I expected Maggie to react angrily to this summary dismissal and stand up to Clive, I was in for a big disappointment. She stood stock still for a moment, icily regarding Clive’s retreating back. Abruptly, with a nod first to Shaun then me, lips quivering with what might have been anger or amusement, it was impossible to tell, she wandered off in the opposite direction, hips swinging.

Shaun and I regarded each other open-mouthed, and then burst out laughing. I relaxed. Delegation was not, I reflected, such a bad idea after all. As for Maggie Dillon, time would tell how things would turn out there.
In my mind, I had already conceded nothing I could say would make Clive back down. It took only a few minutes to brief Shaun, who had not only sussed the situation at once but also summoned the absent Lance on his mobile phone. “Give me the damn delivery notes and leave this little lot with me. Lance will be here pronto to deal with caterers and I’ll see to everything until he shows his ugly face.  He glanced at his watch and back at me with a grin. You have about forty seconds…

It was my first major run-in with Clive.  Needless to say, just as I’d anticipated, I lost hands down both to his temper and experience. “You can’t do it,” I protested, “You cannot hire Maggie Dillon. She’s a troublemaker, and I don’t want her on my team.”

“Oh, really, is that so?” He glared at me behind a desk in his own private office, podgy fingers tapping irritatingly on its stained wood surface.

“Yes, it damn well is!” I retorted and glared back. “And what about her boyfriend, have you thought about that?  Trust me. Nick Crolley is poison.”

“He’s a nasty piece of work by all accounts,” Clive agreed smoothly, “All the more credit to you for hiring a good bouncer. Besides,” he added pointedly, “I think you’ll find Crolley’s on his way out as far as Maggie’s concerned.”

“Oh?” But he refused to be drawn.

“Was there anything else, Rob, before I have my say?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is,” I fumed, “You should have discussed it with me first. Nor do I appreciate being rubbished in front of my staff. I either run things here or I don’t.”

“So who’s suggesting you don’t?” His tone was deceptively mild. I could only bluster and would have stormed out if he hadn’t suddenly risen to his feet with an alacrity and expression that kept me glued to my chair. “It’s my staff, we are talking about, my staff, and that includes you,” he snarled without raising his voice, “Watch my lips, Rob. Without me, it’s you who’s the rubbish around here and you’ll do well to remember that.”

He sat down again, a wicked glitter in his beady eyes giving the lie to a benign smile. “Ever heard the one about who pays the piper plays the tune?”  It was not a rhetorical question. I nodded, dumbly. “Good. Now, I’ve enjoyed our little chat, Rob. Oh, and do me a favour, will you? Keep an eye on Maggie and see that she settles in nicely. She’ll be a great asset to the place, you’ll see.  Now, don’t slam the door on your way out. We don’t want the staff getting any rubbish ideas, do we?”

“You’re the boss,” I muttered between clenched teeth.

“Got it in one,” he giggled.  It was an almost girlish sound although nothing in the least effeminate about it. Moreover, it sounded a warning in my head that I’d be a fool to attempt having the last word. Even so, I stubbornly refused to flinch from his direct, speculative gaze.  Yes, I felt humiliated. But hadn’t I seen Bo Devine reduce staff to cringing spectres of their usual selves with a single curl of the lip? Such memories came to my rescue now, inspiring me with an iron determination to salvage a vestige of self-respect.

“Will that be all?” I asked quietly, drawing on those same survival instincts that had seen me through the trial. .

“For now,” he agreed and licked his lips with such self-satisfaction that I suspected he meant to provoke me further. Instead, I even managed a smile before leaving the room at a leisurely if exaggeratedly nonchalant pace. 

I thought I heard more giggling as I closed the door quietly behind me. “Damn you Clive!” I muttered, close to tears, but not before making sure no one was within earshot.  To distract myself, I proceeded to examine my objections to Maggie joining a team I had already begun to think of as my extended family if not consciously until now. Her presence would be sure to spoil everything. Yet, even as I all but convinced myself this was true, I couldn’t help wondering if it was Maggie herself to whom I was objecting or her continuing association in my mind with Billy. Clive Rider was right about one thing. Ed Mack was more than a match for the likes of Nick Crolley.  It remained to be seen, however, whether or not I was more than a match for Billy’s ghost.

I sought out Shaun. “What on earth’s got into the man?” I wanted to know, “It’s always business first and last with him. So why is he messing with Maggie? He’s old enough to be her father, for crying out loud.”

“No one messes with Maggie,” Shaun observed with a grin, “But that’s his funeral. You know what they say, there’s no fool like an old fool.” Before I could reply, he mumbled something about things to do in the cellar and was already on his way. My head chef, Lance Porter, chose that moment to descend on me, waving his arms frantically and demanding to know why there was no hot running water in the kitchen. I judged it was no time to ask where the hell he had been earlier when I needed him and promised to see to it at once.

I groaned, asked myself how could be expected to open on time at this sorry rate, and went in search of the plumber, last seen in the Ladies loo.  Maggie Dillon, I was beginning to realize, for now at least, was the least of my concerns.

A sense of impending disaster followed me about like a playful leopard all day. Everyone mugged in and worked like Trojans to get the Halloween decorations up and ready…Shaun, Lou, Ed, bar hands and restaurant staff alike. Even Clive entered into the spirit of things by clambering up stepladders to hang pumpkins, encouraged no doubt by Maggie’s reappearance and her obvious delight in shouting directions. “Right a bit. No, now left a bit. Nearly there, it just needs to be a teeny bit to the right. Yes, spot on!” Her voice, bubbling with enthusiasm had the effect of egging everyone else on too. Had I perhaps misjudged her, I wondered?

Shaun joined me. Together, we watched Clive descend and fall into Maggie’s open arms.

 “She’s after his money,” Shaun hissed in my ear, “Mind you, who can blame her? Let’s face it, Rob. The guy’s loaded. Maggie’s never had it so good.”

“Nor has he by the look of things,” I observed drily. We both burst out laughing. Clive spotted us and gave a cheery wave, our earlier altercation clearly put aside. I waved back, ignoring Maggie’s self-congratulatory smile. As I watched them move away, hand in hand, an awful premonition came over me that I could not identify except by its presence. Briefly, it kept company with a pumpkin dangling from the ceiling directly above my head.

I shook my head, blamed a gut-wrenching, nauseous sensation on Opening Night nerves and followed Shaun into the front bar.

Dog Roses - Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It hadn’t been a bad day. I had got my own way with Clive and seeing Ed Mack again has proven less of an ordeal than I’d anticipated. I sensed an uneasy truce with Billy’s brother and that far outweighed any lingering reservations I had about hiring him. Basic instinct told me Ed was the right man for the job, but there had to be more to it than that…Well, didn’t there?  But if I felt I owed Ed or anyone else some kind of payback for my role in Billy’s death, I wasn’t ready to get that close to my conscience just yet.

     To top everything, I was waiting at a bus stop in pouring rain when Matthew Jordan pulled up and told me to  “Jump in!” I did not need telling twice.

     I had got used to being attracted to men. My affair with Billy had taught me to understand my own body language. By now, I was no novice at reading other people’s either. In Matthew’s case, however, I found it hard to decide just what it was my body hankered after. Sex, yes. His very nearness gave me an erection, concealed only by strategically placing my backpack on my lap. Yet, it was more than a desire for sex coursing through my veins.

     Is this love, I wondered? Was I in love with Matthew Jordan or being a romantic fool? I didn’t even attempt to answer these questions except to concede that I had fantasized about Matthew since the first time I’d spotted him in the mirror at The Half Moon. It unsettled me to the brink of tears that I should still feel compelled to hang fire in spite of (or perhaps because of?) his kindness towards me.  Instead, I had to settle for an exchange of glances that gave me goose pimples.

     Mathew had lovely eyes, and right now they weren’t giving much away.  The touch of his hand as he helped with my seat belt brought an instant rush of colour to my face, but if he noticed he gave no sign. As we drove on, there was no discreet brushing of his leg against mine nor did he even smile much. Even so, I kept telling myself as if my life depended on it that he must be pleased to see me…Or why offer me a lift?

     “How old are you Rob?” he asked unexpectedly.

     “Nearly nineteen,” I said without thinking. “Why do you ask?”

     “No reason, just curious,” he responded evenly and kept his eyes on the road ahead.

     “How old are you?” I asked, testily. What does age have to do with anything?

     “Twenty-two,” he replied evenly and didn’t seem in the least ruffled by the question.

     I lapsed into a moody silence. Did he think I was a virgin, I wondered with growing irritation until the implications of the question dawned and my cock began to throb? Now, what? Should I reassure him, maybe toss my backpack on the back seat and let him see I was rock hard under my jeans?  I smothered a giggle by hastily producing a tissue and blowing my nose. The backpack remained firmly in place. Suppose I had got it all wrong and all our being together meant to him was the simple act of two friends meeting up again? Two gay friends, I reminded myself.  Why not? It happens all the time. To other people, I reflected grimly, not to me. I had no gay friends, to speak of. This home truth, to which I had previously given little thought, lay heavily on my stomach for the rest of the journey.

     Following my directions, Matthew parked near my house, gave a long sigh and seemed to relax. He gave me a dazzling smile that raised my hopes, but a stream of innocuous conversation quickly dashed them.

     “Lighten up, Rob, you’re as prickly as a damn hedgehog!” He laughed and I would have opened the door and walked off in a huff if he hadn’t placed a hand on my knee and squeezed. Tension I would not have willingly acknowledged seconds before drained out of me, and left me feeling extraordinarily relaxed. I began to feel more comfortable with Matthew’s cheerful, platonic conversation. I discovered that it was no big deal to talk, laugh and feel at ease with a good-looking guy just for the pleasure of being in his company. Even the hard in my jeans subsided if not entirely.

     Matthew talked a lot about his eccentric aunt Dorothy and her habit of chatting nineteen to the dozen with her vast array of pot plants, each one named after a friend or relative.  “You think you’re looking at a cheese plant,” he laughed, “and it turns out to be great uncle Wilbur. Wilbur,” he added with a wicked twinkle in each eye, “gets toasted twice a year, once on his birthday and again on the anniversary of his death. You must meet auntie Dot one day. She’s a dear. As for great uncle Wilbur, he’ll have you laughing your rocks off.”

     “I’d like that,” I said, and meant it.

     “Did you report our friend the chameleon to the police?” he asked, changing tack so abruptly that I felt physically hurt by it.  I had begun to feel almost happy. Now, I was thrust back into a nightmare I wanted to forget.

     “No,” I said sulkily.

     “You should have,” declared Matthew in a tone that openly rebuked me. “He’s probably got some other poor sod in his sights even as we speak.”

     “So you’d have reported him would you?” I rounded on him angrily, “Wouldn’t that have been a bit risky for a closet teacher?”  I instantly regretted the childish jibe. It wasn’t even as if I could claim to be a gay activist on the strength of a few one-night stands or coming out to Shaun and Lou. The only other people who knew were Ed Beck and Maggie Dillon if no thanks to me.

     Mathew was pensive for several minutes before answering. “You could be right. Maybe I’m too much of a moral coward to practice what I preach. I mean, Section 28 was repealed ages ago and there’s even a ‘Schools Out’ forum for teachers now. So why don’t I just stick two fingers up at the world and say I’m gay?” He sighed again. “Sometimes I hate myself.  Not for being gay, I love it, but for being such a…wimp.”

     “If you’re a wimp, I’m great uncle Wilbur,” I laughed, and he joined in. But our earlier sense of easy companionship had gone. In its place, a mutual embarrassment left us feeling out on a limb.

     “I had better get off,” he said briskly and offered his hand. I shook it and all I had felt for Billy paled into insignificance beside a white heat in my blood.  Clumsily, I scrambled out of the door, anxious he shouldn’t see that I had a massive hard on. I was about to walk away when he called me back. “Do you fancy meeting up for a drink sometime?”  My heart missed a beat as he suggested The Black Swan. I imagined knowing looks from Shaun and named a pub on the other side of town, recently refurbished and already establishing a reputation for its gigs. It could do no harm, I thought, to size up the opposition. “So how about we meet up tomorrow night?”

     “Okay,” I said lightly, heart pounding. “Besides, I need to return your clothes,” I added, contriving an airy wave. I forced myself not to look back, but focused on our front gate and made a beeline for it. I heard the car pull away and re-enacted the last few minutes in my head, but with additional footage during which I leaned forward and planted a long, sloppy kiss on Matthew Jordan’s full, sensual mouth.  “I wish!” I told the creaking gate, almost slamming it off its hinges in my haste to reach the front door. 

     Soon, I was enjoying a hot shower and making a poor job of convincing myself that Matthew Jordan and I were not meant to be any more than friends. “Maybe not even that,” I muttered crossly to a hand towel later, “After all…” but it leapt up at me and swallowed my words as if of its own accord.

     That night I hardly slept a wink. The early hours found me at the kitchen table cradling a mug of tea.  Inclined to scoff at the way my mother would invariably resort to endless cups of tea in a crisis, I was no less a culprit myself.  My brother, on the other hand, health freak that he was, always found solace in cranberry juice.

     I felt emotionally drained and wondered about that.  Beyond the parameters of family life, my emotions were unused to anything more than a token involvement with other people. As home truths go, it hit hard. I began to see that I had all but stored my feelings away as if saving them for the proverbial rainy day or, worse, just as someone might keep their life savings stored under a mattress. Whatever, I did not care to speculate and felt wretched. The longer I mulled things over, the clearer I recalled and thought I understood what Matthew had meant about sometimes hating himself. Do I use people, I asked myself?  If so, I took some comfort in concluding it had always been a reciprocal arrangement.

     Oh, and what of Billy, I was forced to consider? Had Billy and I merely used each other? “No!” I protested aloud. Billy and I loved each other. Well, hadn’t we?

     I went back to bed. Sleep continued to tease my heavy eyelids, promising some respite from this unexpected emotional assault on mind and body. Eventually, I nodded off.  Even so, it seemed minutes rather than hours before I woke to find my mother flinging back the curtains with an excess of maternal zeal and demanding in an obscenely cheerful voice that I rise and shine.

     There was, thankfully, much to do. I had to see my solicitor about the trial, scheduled for the following week, interview prospective staff for The Connie, check up on the decorators and make sure the plumbers had corrected problems with the Ladies loo as well as various other time-consuming matters. Even just thinking about Matthew Jordan made me blush. It was in everyone’s best interest that I should keep busy.  Besides, in my role as a manager, or so I tried to convince myself, I could ill afford such distractions.

In the event, Matthew telephoned to say that he was sorry, but he could not make our next meeting. The possibility of buying a flat had arisen and he could not risk losing it. I couldn’t help but be short with him, words issuing staccato-like into my mobile phone. Belatedly, I wished him good luck before hastily saying goodbye in a matter that I instantly regretted and which, even to my own ears, reflected none of the acute disappointment I was feeling.

     I threw myself into the business of getting The Connie ready for its grand opening scheduled for Halloween. I had booked a popular local rock band and the chef I’d hired promised a mouth-watering choice of menu in the dining area as well as light snacks that could be purchased at the main bar. All was designed to put us on the map from the start. I was tired, nervous and not a little apprehensive. So much could still go wrong! During the day, it was easy enough to put Bryan Chester’s trial, imminent now, out of my mind. At night, it returned to haunt me with a vengeance. But the show had to go on...

     Clive insisted I buy a dinner suit and it did nothing for my frayed nerves when Paul caught me trying it on in my room and burst out laughing. “You look a complete prat!” was my brother’s uncompromising verdict and my heart sank, not least because it coincided with my own. My mother, for her part, was excessively reassuring about my appearance in one breath, only to announce in the next that she and Peter Short would be there to give moral support on Opening Night. I hadn’t the energy to protest. All the same, my fragile self-confidence plummeted to new depths.

     Matthew did not call again until the evening before Bryan Chester’s trial, just three days before The Connie was due to throw open its doors; by all accounts, to the growing despair of many local residents. I was dreading the trial and having to give evidence. At the same time, although I longed for the whole grim business to be over and done with, I felt it was something I had to do for Billy. Moreover, my having a part to play in events about to unfold, a major if supporting role at that, brought me closer to him. It was with very mixed feelings, therefore, that I heard Matthew’s voice wishing me luck.

     My mother answered the land line to Matthew and tossed the receiver at me before dashing out the front door to catch the corner shop before it closed. She was a great believer in the support-your-corner-shop ethic and saw it as an endangered species unequal to the challenge of High Street supermarkets. “If we don’t support the little people, the giants will swallow us whole,” was one of her favourite sayings, and most of our neighbours seemed to agree in principle if not in practice. Did they see The Connie as yet another giant, I wondered? I would never know as I never quite summoned up the nerve to ask.

     “Rob? It’s Matthew…” but I missed the next few words for the very sound of his voice scoring a direct hit on an increasing vulnerability I would not have confessed to anyone. It was all I could do to pitch my tone at a normal, conversational level. It appeared that the aunt with whom he had been staying had not been well. As well as working and moving into a flat on Forty Acres Road, much of his time had been spent caring for the old lady or seeing to it that someone else was able to do so when he was not on hand. My pulse quickened as I listened to this perfectly ordinary explanation. I had all but convinced myself he must have taken offence at the childish way I’d so curtly ended our conversation the last time we spoke.  Not so much, though, my alter ego dryly observed, that I had taken the trouble to call him back.

     “Auntie’s on the mend…” he was saying, but I was only half listening. My ears pricked up, however, at an invitation to visit his new flat. I was hard pressed to stay calm. “Okay, why not?” I agreed. “Give me the address. Oh, and what time did you have in mind?” I grabbed a biro that, for once, not only lay beside a note pad next to the telephone but hadn’t even run out of ink. He told me the address. I felt like an excited schoolboy buying his first packet of condoms as I scribbled it down. “I’m at the flat now. Come over whenever you like.” He hesitated and then, “Unless you’d rather be on your own. I just thought…Well, if it were me in court tomorrow…”

     “I’ll be there in about half an hour” I cut him off abruptly, letting his sigh of relief make my spine tingle for several seconds before I replaced the receiver without even saying goodbye.

It took me twenty minutes to reach the flat. Within another ten, I was sitting next to Matthew on a shabby sofa the previous owner had left, his arm around me and my head on his shoulder.  For the first time in ages I felt relaxed and content.

     During the course of the evening, Matthew revealed that a chat with his bank manager earlier in the day had gone better than expected so now he planned to buy a new car. “The old one’s had its day,” he commented, adding with a smile that all but reduced me to pulp, “rather like this sofa!” We laughed companionably, and his arm around me tightened.  I lifted my face expectantly. Even so, his kiss came as a shock to my whole system.

     His mouth tasted like honey on my lips. At the same time, my throat went dry and a feeling not unlike panic invaded every nuance of my being. He released me, his face still close to mine. I returned his smile. He kissed me again. This time I was ready for him and kissed him back with a searing passion I had never experienced before. Not even, I reflected guiltily, with Billy. I slid one hand inside Matthew’s shirt and stroked a nipple with my palm while the other pressed hard against the back of his head, anxious to keep his mouth on mine and let my parting lips receive the silky wetness of his tongue. “Wow!” he murmured at last as we drew, reluctantly, apart.

     “I wish I could drive,” I said inanely for want of something to say that could even begin to express how I was feeling.

     “I can give you a few lessons if you like,” he offered, looking embarrassed as his fingers flew to his chest and proceeded to button up the blue shirt I had feverishly tugged open.

     “You’re on,” I mumbled. Any awkwardness between us quickly passed and I found myself confiding in Matthew a host of misgivings about going into the witness box.  Not for the first time, he proved to be a good listener. I kept talking as I followed him into the kitchen and watched him prepare snacks for us both.  Nor did he at any time stop listening, but made encouraging noises in all the right places and helped restore me to a sense of general well-being. “About those driving lessons, are you sure?” I felt obliged to change the conversation and lighten the mood.

     “It will be my pleasure,” he assured me with such warmth that, to my horror, I found myself blushing. 

     “That’s great!” was all I could say as it dawned on me, inconsequentially to say the least, how my appetite had returned and I found myself spreading a generous portion of mayonnaise on some French bread before tucking in.  Later, I was taken on a grand tour. The flat was nothing special but habitable, a through dining room and bedroom that was spacious if a little gloomy. The previous owners had been only too happy to sell Matthew most of their furniture, an odd mixture of mock antique and genuine DIY.  “A few coats of paint here and there, some jazzy rugs on the floor…get rid of those awful curtains in the bedroom and you’re laughing!” I said, letting my flair for understatement slip into freewheel mode.

     We were both laughing by the time we began tackling the washing up in a small but adequate kitchen.      

     “Hey, you’ve got mayonnaise on your chin,” he chuckled and wiped it with a tea towel. Our eyes met. I looked for signs of our earlier intimacy but saw only kindness and friendship. His mouth was so close to mine, I could so easily have brushed it with my lips.  The desire in me to do just that was so intense, it was physically painful. I winced and forced myself to look away.  I had to take this slowly, I kept telling myself, or risk losing everything. “Are you okay?” his voice was full of concern.

     “Just a touch of indigestion,” I mumbled, “That what comes of eating stale bread.”

     “I only bought it at lunchtime,” he protested then saw that I was joking and grinned. Dimples I hadn’t noticed before pricked the corners of his mouth. I hastily returned to the washing-up before my pulse rate went into overdrive. It was so good to see him again. Good, just to be here with him.

Back in the awful lounge, we sat on the same sofa but at either end. Even so, we were fairly relaxed and attempted to put a sorry world to rights until I finally made the excuse that I needed my beauty sleep for the next day’s appearance in court.

     “Fair enough,” he agreed rather too hastily for my liking. He leaned towards me slightly and for one dizzy moment I thought he was going to kiss me again, but if that was his intention he changed his mind.

Matthew showed me to the front door, genially remarked how nice it had been to see me again and how he was looking forward to the driving lessons. “Just keep your eyes and your hands where they should be, and we’ll have you passing the test in no time.”

     “What test would that be?” I teased, but he seemed preoccupied and gave a smile so mechanical that I guessed he hadn’t even heard.  He seemed to rally, shook my hand and we exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries. Have I completely misjudged the situation, I kept asking myself.  A voice in my head answered, No, you haven’t. So, go for it. Still holding his hand, I moved in for what was meant to be a light, fleeting kiss on the lips. I intended only to give him food for thought and then make a quick get-away, but it met with an uncompromising response. 

     Of one accord, our hands went around each other’s waist and we were kissing with a passion that put what had passed between us on the sofa in the shade. Passers-by…Well, they continued to pass by if audibly quickening their steps. Several motorists hooted their horns at us. Matthew adroitly manoeuvred us inside again and kicked the door shut without once releasing me or interrupting that incredible kiss.

     “For someone who doesn’t want the world to know he’s gay, you’re something else,” I panted at last. 

     He blushed and gave a dry laugh. “I wasn’t sure you were really interested.”

     “Oh, yes, and now?” For an answer, he kissed me again with even more intensity than the last time. It aroused me, but scared me a little too.  I could do intensity. Hadn’t I proved that with Billy? Even so, I remained almost as disturbed as I was excited. It wasn’t anything I could put my finger on, but like storm clouds too far away to pose an imminent threat yet homing in on the sun like a cat stalking a bird that’s singing its heart out.

     “I wanted you the first time I saw you,” I confessed.

     “Hmm, I thought so. I felt the same way.” He gently pushed me away without quite letting go. “Can you stay the night? The bed creaks, but as you saw, I made it up…just in case,” he finished lamely.

It was my turn to grin. “I had better not. Mum will only worry. She knows how anxious I am about tomorrow.”

     “Fair enough,” he said, and kissed me again.

     Mathew and I clung to each other, exhilarated, the wicked chemistry of body contact charging our bodies with a high voltage current. Need and desire flared in me as one. A picture formed in my head of celebrating Guy Fawkes one November 5^th. Only, it was no rag dummy burning up and bonding with a wide-eyed kid the spitting image of my younger myself. Nor was there anything destructive about the flames licking madly at my sexuality. “Mum won’t start worrying for ages yet,” I murmured hoarsely.

     We went into the bedroom and I discovered how little I really knew about the art of lovemaking. My entire body bathed in Matthew’s hot breath as he undressed me, my nipples responding achingly to the silky caress of his tongue as he pulled the sweat shirt over my head, the hairs on my body gently fanned by his kisses as expert fingers tugged at my jeans.  All of my strained in an agony of pleasure at his hands on my buttocks, now easing my briefs down and letting my sex go free.  Later, as my eyes devoured his nakedness, he even made a ritual of putting on a condom, none of the pantomime it had been with others.

     Making love with Matthew that first time was not only a beautiful experience but also spiritually uplifting. I felt as if we were participating in a sacred act, yielding to an all-consuming force far greater and more deserving than either of us.

     Later, as we kissed goodbye, I wanted to tell Matthew how much I loved him. Then I reminded myself that I hardly knew the man. It didn’t matter. I was in love. Yet, I said nothing. There would be other times…

     “I love you,” he whispered in my ear.

     Some things, I decided, could not wait. I’d have gladly said those same words back at him had his mouth not begun to smother them until, in the heady swim of kissing him back, they dropped unwittingly out of sight.