CHAPTER SIXTEEN
In spite of - or perhaps because of the awful tension in our house my untimely confession had created - Peter Short stayed over for the first time that same night.
As if I wasn’t upset enough already, it felt like adding insult to injury as I could not help but hear his footsteps on the landing; the harder he tried to be quiet, the more noise he made. I listened to the clump, clump, of his feet as they made their way from the bathroom to the door of my mother’s bedroom. After a brief pause, I heard the handle turn, the door click open, and then close. I felt no anger, no resentment, only an infinite sadness. In that instant, my father’s death hit me with more force than ever before. The knowledge that someone else had taken his place in my mother’s bed hurt more terribly than I could have imagined. Yet, how could I begrudge my mother some happiness? I couldn’t, and didn’t. (Did I?) Even so, an ache in my heart spread to my whole body as I lay there mulling things over. So what the hell happens now? By comparison, my role in the day’s events seemed of far less importance than they had earlier.
My thoughts turned to Paul on the other side of the wall. He would not be sleeping either, I was sure of it. Poor Paul, now having to contend with a gay brother and…How would things turn out with Short and my mother, I wondered? Were they serious? Would they marry?
I began to feel physically sick.
My eyes were drawn to a photograph of my parents on my chest of drawers, an enlargement of one I had taken on a family holiday in Spain. Beside it, in a smaller frame, was one of Paul and me in a playful mood, taken in our back garden by Dad only a few months before he died. I heaved a huge sigh. Nothing stays the same for long. Even so, I felt less bitter than I expected. I grinned ruefully. Maybe, just maybe, I was growing up at last. On that reassuring note, I settled down to sleep.
At breakfast the next morning, Short occupied what had always been my father’s chair. I gulped, experienced a stab of anger, and then resolved to take things in my stride. After all, wasn’t that exactly what I was asking everyone to do regarding my sexuality? Fair’s, fair Rob, I told myself and sat down. “Good morning Peter,” I greeted him as nonchalantly as I could contrive, and even managed a smile. He smiled back and I saw that he, too, was nervous. I warmed to the man. My mouth relaxed into a genuine grin. I glimpsed relief in his eyes, and felt as if we had taken the first uncertain steps towards becoming friends. Instinctively, I knew he felt the same. He visibly relaxed while Mum hovered and handed out the toast like a trainee waitress anxious to make a good impression.
Paul chose not to put in an appearance.
Later that day I moved most of my belongings into Matthew’s flat. He had taken a few hours off work and picked me up in the car. Short had already left. Matthew exchanged pleasantries with my mother, and I was pleased to see them getting along just fine. If Mum still had reservations, she certainly kept them well hidden although I suspected I had Peter Short to thank for that.
“You will look after him and see that he eats properly?” I heard her say. “He’s too fond by half of making do with a sandwich…”
I looked away, my face crimson with embarrassment.
“I’ll look after him Mrs Young, you can rely on it,” I caught Matthew’s breezy reply, and glanced at the pair of them just as he was offering to shake hands. My mother went rigid.
Oh, no..! I prayed under my breath. Don’t let there be a scene. Not here, not now. Not in the damn street for everyone to see. Almost at once, though, Mum seemed to relax, and the resulting handshake struck me as warm enough in the circumstances. Our eyes met briefly. An understanding of sorts passed between us.
As usual, there was no sign of my brother.
“Anyone would think you were off to some far flung outpost in the middle of nowhere,” Matthew commented good- humouredly as we drove out of sight and could no longer see my mother waving and dabbing at her eyes with a tissue by the front gate. “Mothers, eh? Who’d have ’em?” We both roared with laughter while it struck me that my mother was a remarkable woman. Shaun’s too, I reflected with a twinge of self-consciousness. It had been a while since I’d given Nancy Devlin so much as a thought. Fleetingly, I recalled the silky smoothness of her skin against mine as we had made love.
Love...? My stomach gave a guilty lurch. I looked at Matthew, his eyes intent on the road ahead. That night with Shaun’s mum had been just what I needed at the time. But Matthew was all I needed now, all I had ever wanted. He glanced at me, grinned and then frowned, cursing aloud for having to avoid a cyclist cutting in directly ahead of us as we approached a junction.
I love you, I wanted to say, but didn’t. Instead, I told myself that I mustn’t distract him whilst driving. Even so, the fact returned to haunt me yet again that I hadn’t even told Billy how I much loved him. As the road ahead rushed up at Matthew and me, I found myself wondering what it was about me that I should find it so hard to express my deepest emotions. I hadn’t even cried for Billy, for heaven’s sake.
I considered Matthew’s profile as if expecting some reassurance, but he did not break his concentration even to glance in my direction. The strong outline of his jaw, the smoothness of his skin, they not only aroused me but also made me feel… ‘Safe’ was the word that instantly sprung to mind to my surprise. I am so lucky, I thought, and leaned happily back in my seat, content to put guilty feelings aside, naïve enough to think everything was hunky-dory.
…………………………………
Christmas came and went. The Connie hosted a grand Xmas Eve bash, and then stayed only partially open until a full re-run at New Year. Mum insisted that Matthew and I join her and Peter Short for lunch on Christmas Day. I thought Matthew might object, but he seemed genuinely pleased to be asked.
My old friend Ben Hallas telephoned to suggest we get together. He was full of himself, how wonderful university life was and how living on campus was just fantastic. I mentally switched off, coolly informing him that my own life had seen some major changes too, not least that I had a successful club to run. I saw no reason to mention Matthew or that I was gay, but told myself it was no big deal and I’d get around to it sometime.
I promised Ben I’d call him back, but never did.
Paul spent the entire Christmas with girlfriend, Hayley, and her family. Nor was he much missed. He, Mum and I exchanged presents early on Christmas Eve. But there was no sense of festivity or occasion about it. Mum did her best, but Paul’s sulky expression upset her and infuriated me. I had a go at him as soon as she left the room. “Mum will get over it,” he sneered, “She’s got her bloke just like you’ve got yours. Who needs me?” It was said with such venom that I barely refrained from hitting him. We nearly came to blows again seconds later when he proceeded to heap more contempt upon my relationship with Matthew.
“You could try being happy for us instead of being such a selfish bastard!” I retorted, “If Peter makes Mum happy, what’s wrong with that? The same goes for Matthew and me, for that matter.”
“Poufs, queers, shirt lifters…” he sneered before storming out of the room, leaving me wanting to laugh, cry, and scream blue murder all at the same time.
I was dreading Christmas Day, but needn’t have worried. If my mother was upset about Paul’s absence, she gave no sign. On the contrary, I hadn’t seen her so animated in ages. Oh, she fussed as usual, but entered into a non-stop banter with Short that had us all giggling and laughing like a bunch of school kids. I might even have been jealous, but for Matthew’s reassuring presence constantly reminding me that we, too, had created our own private world; admission by invitation only, viewing rights strictly limited to family and close friends.
That night, in bed, we were neither of us in the mood to make love. Instead, we relaxed in each other’s arms and rarely spoke. “I love you,” he murmured in my ear. By way of an answer, I kissed him long and hard on lips that responded with equal vigour. We stayed like that for several seconds, loath to separate, finally forced to draw breath. Words of love still did not come easy to me (why not, for heaven’s sake, when I loved him so much?) but I put all the love I had into that kiss and Matthew’s fierce response made me dizzy with happiness. I snuggled closer. His cheek nestling in my hair and arms around my waist comforted rather than aroused me. I sensed he felt the same. It was as if we had tacitly agreed to prove beyond all measure of doubt that what we felt for each other way outstripped any need for sex. Our minds touched, explored and caressed. We were happy. More than happy, we were content.
Clive took Maggie to Paris for New Year and Ed stomped around with a good word for no one and plenty of abuse for any poor soul foolish enough to get in his way.
The Crolleys, Nick and older brother Vince, took on more than they bargained for when they tried to gain entrance to The Connie on New Year’s Eve. Vince had been banned since the drunken fracas on Opening Night. Nor was Ed in any mood to let bygones be bygones. Nick, for his part, wasted no time casting aspersions on Ed’s reputed on-off relationship with Maggie. The brothers went for Ed simultaneously. Someone ran to fetch Shaun. By the time Shaun arrived on the scene, however, the brothers Crolley had been well and truly despatched. Both men lay writhing on the ground, Ed growling at them to “Get up, you toe rags, and clear off before I call the cops!” rubbing his hands with a pleasure he made no effort to conceal.
“Serves the buggers right,” was Shaun’s assessment of the situation later. But I was uneasy. I was inclined to agree with Shaun that, in spite of a mean streak, Nick presented no real threat. Unlike Shaun, though, I felt less inclined to dismiss Vince in much the same way. Vince Crolley was as nasty a piece of work as you would find anywhere. For the life of me, I couldn’t shrug off a nasty suspicion that this evening’s events would come back to haunt us yet.
The rest of that winter passed peacefully enough. Ed and Maggie avoided each other for the best part of a week after Clive returned her, glowing with Parisian chic, to The Connie. It wasn’t long, though, before they resumed their affair. No one was quite sure whether Clive knew about it or not. No one except me, that is. I was damn sure he knew. Even so, I knew better than to put out any feelers in that direction. All I wanted was a quiet life. Fat chance, my alter ego could not resist confirming my worst suspicions.
It was about this time that things began to go wrong between Matthew and me. They were such trivial incidents at first. For example, we hardly spoke to each other for three days, and all because I had helped myself to the last piece of cheese in the fridge. “Why don’t you ever replace things?” he ranted and raved, “I really feel like a cheese sandwich right now!”
“Keep your hair on,” I said lightly. “The supermarket will still be open. I’ll go and get some more now if you like, it’s no big deal.”
“Don’t bother,” he snapped, “I’ll settle for ham instead.”
“Ah, yes, well…” I felt myself blushing.
“Don’t tell me you’ve finished that off too? You are so bloody thoughtless sometimes, Rob, I could…” He checked himself, but now it was my turn to get angry.
“Could what?” I demanded, “Finish with me? Is that what you’re trying to say? Well, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing since all we seem to do is argue about nothing these days!”
“You said it,” he raged, “I’m off…”
“Off where?” I began to panic.
“To The Black Swan if you must know. I need a drink and they do a mean cheese sandwich there too.”
“I’ll come with you.” I tried to sound placatory. “It’s been ages since we had a decent game of pool.” But his reaction came as loud as it was unexpected.
“That’s another thing.” he yelled. “Just because we share a bed doesn’t mean we have to live in each other’s pockets! I’ll go to the bloody pub on my own, thanks very much!” grabbing his coat and slamming out of the flat seconds later.
I was hurt and furious. Worse, I felt threatened. Had my beautiful bubble burst? Moreover, I had no idea why and even less of a clue as to what I should do about it. Oh, we made it up. We kept making it up, one silly argument after another. Our lives assumed a painfully predictable pattern.
One night, I returned to the flat in the early hours after a hard day’s night at The Connie and could see a light under our bedroom door. It went off the instant I approached. As I climbed into bed, the whole situation became too much for me to handle. I decided that I would not, could not lie there another while the person I loved most in the world feigned sleep. I should have tried talking things through with him of course. Sadly, there are occasions, and this was one of them, when our emotions get the better of us and plain commonsense does a runner. I got dressed and went home.
I still had a front door key to the old house. Even as I turned it in the lock, I felt wretched. That I could still think of living with my mother and brother as ‘home’ spoke volumes, not only for my present state of mind but also my relationship with Matthew. (Had I really blown it this time?) By the time I had crept upstairs and into bed, I’d all but convinced myself that Matthew and I were history. I lay awake for hours, feeling wretched.
My mother asked no questions, but accepted my presence in the house as if I had never left. Peter, who practically (but not altogether) lived there now, probed gently at breakfast. Assuming a nonchalance that fooled no one, he asked politely after Matthew, took my meaningful scowl in the spirit I intended and fell silent, but for a crunching on his toast that irritated me intensely. Paul merely raised a sarcastic eyebrow and enquired whether or not I was just paying a flying visit? “Or has your precious boyfriend got himself another fuck buddy already?” he taunted maliciously.
“Paul!” my mother protested, although at my dear brother’s malice or choice of words was anyone’s guess.
“Drop dead!” I spat at Paul across the table.
“Sorry, I enjoy my life too much. Pity you can’t say the same. Mind you, I imagine being gay must feel pretty much like being dead anyway.”
I leapt to my feet. “You really are a bastard!” I meant to yell but could only make a croaking noise. “You really are bastard!” I repeated, finding my voice now as he, too, jumped up, and we confronted each other, eyes blazing.
“Stop it!” my mother wailed and began to sob.
“You dirty queer!” Paul ignored her, “For all we know you’ve got AIDS.”
“Well, I haven’t, you ignorant sod,” I found myself croaking again, “Not that I should have to deny it to my own family!”
“Stop it!” Mum sobbed.
“Methinks the queer doth protest too much!” jeered Paul. I leaned across the table and yanked on the school tie hanging loosely from his neck.
“That’s enough!” roared Peter Short before anyone could say another word. He was also on his feet and plainly meant business. “Stop it, the pair of you. Look how you’re upsetting your mother. I won’t stand for it. You should be downright ashamed of yourselves, the pair of you.”
Paul and I glanced at our mother, winced and looked hastily away. I let go of Paul’s tie and sank back into my chair.
Paul, though, remained defiantly on his feet. “Who are you to tell us what you will or won’t stand for? This is our house, not yours,” he screamed at Short, “Just who the hell do you think you are? My dad you aren’t and won’t ever be!”
“How dare you?” My mother was on her feet now, too, no longer crying but looking angrier than I had ever seen her. “Peter will never, never, replace your father. No one can or will. But Peter and I are going to be married so you had better start getting used to the idea, the pair of you,” she added, glaring at each of us in turn, “If you can’t treat Peter and me with the respect we deserve, then you can…” her voice broke and then, “You can find yourselves somewhere else to live. We’re either a family or we’re not. If not, there’s no place for you at my table or in my house.” Tears welled again in the reddened eyes, but she stood firm.
Paul’s mouth hung open in disbelief, his face a chalky white. I thought he would either let rip with another outburst, burst into tears or both. Instead, he collected himself and declared in a faltering voice, “I’ve known I’m not welcome in this house for a long time.” He paused before adding tremulously, “I’ve stuck it out because this is my home. My home, whatever, do you understand?” He paused for effect. “What’s more, I’ll go on sticking it out if only because I know damn well Dad wouldn’t have had it any other way.” There was a longer pause before he added, “If he were here now, he’d spit on the lot of you.” He looked directly at me. A look of pure hatred struck me like a kick in the groin.
“If your father were here now,” said our mother quietly, “you wouldn’t have dared speak to me like that.”
“Not you, Mum…them!” Paul cried, flinging out an arm to include Short and myself.
“If you insult them, you insult me,” she said with such simplicity that left Paul huffing, puffing and close to tears before he ran out of the room. Seconds later, the front door slammed with all the force of a small explosion.
Mum started crying again. Short went to her and attempted to put a comforting arm around the trembling shoulders, but she shrugged it off and ran upstairs.
“I should never have come back,” I said miserably.
“This is your home, Rob.” Short sighed. “I’m the cuckoo in the nest.”
I had no answer to that, but grabbed my coat and left for The Connie, leaving the poor man staring anxiously into space.
.
