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 5th. 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.
