CHAPTER TWENTY
I walked in ever-widening circles for hours, kept coming within sight of Matthew’s flat, but would turn around and wander the same streets, pass the same shops and cafes, engage with the same ghosts.
Billy Mack kept me company all the way.
Sometimes I’d glance in a shop window and see Nick Crolley’s face leering back at me.
“Ignore him,” Billy would whisper in my ear.
“Easier said than done,” I’d retort, only vaguely aware of getting strange looks from passers-by.
“He can’t hurt you. I won’t let him.”
“He doesn’t have to, you’ve already seen to that!” I retorted. It was only then that the enormity of what Billy had done hit me squarely between the eyes. I stumbled, momentarily blinded.
“Are you okay mate?” someone said, took my arm and helped steady me.
“Yes, thanks, I’m fine,” I lied. He or she disappeared into the swirling fog of my emotions. I picked on one and proceeded to use it as a crutch. It was not a good choice. For during those few seconds of blind anguish, I began to hate Billy Mack and wasted no time telling him so. “I hate you,” I raged, and saw his tearful, crestfallen expression as clearly as if he were standing beside me. Nor was I in the least moved by it. “I hate you,” I repeated. But it was a middle-aged man who paused to glower back at me with raised, bushy eyebrows and mutter something indistinguishable under his breath before hastening off in another direction.
I looked around as if to make sure no one was following me. There was no sign of Billy Mack. I heaved a sigh of relief. “Good riddance!” I muttered and quickened my step. Anything, rather than look too closely into the appalling void my dead lover had vacated only to surrender it to me.
A succession of car horns blasted me into a state of near sanity as I found myself having to zigzag a busy road to avoid being run over. Once safely across, I had to lean against a friendly wall for several minutes to catch my breath. Billy reappeared, frowning reproachfully. I couldn’t bear it and set off again at the same manic pace.
It began to feel like a race to the death.
Suddenly, we slowed, almost to a walking pace, Billy gliding leisurely alongside. I chanced a glance. He looked me in the eye, familiar grin in place, handsome face glowing with all the freshness and vitality of youth. The blue eyes twinkled mischievously as if to say, “You can be such an idiot sometimes, Robbie, but I love you anyway.”
We paused (to take stock?) beneath the leafy branches of a tree.
“I love you too,” I wanted to say but could not for panting, my throat parched. A fractional widening of the grin indicated that he understood.
Then, nothing at all, and Billy was gone.
How could you leave me again? I groaned wordlessly. But didn’t I already know the answer to that? Billy was dead. I had to let go. Besides, there was Matthew to consider now. Yet, I felt comforted. Maggie was right. Billy had loved me. If he had been careless, so had I. No one was to blame. Blame was a blind alley. I had to move on. A huge wave of optimism washed over me and I’d have burst into song had not a robin in the branches above my head beat me to it. (I ask you. How could I even begin to compete?)
I set off again, alone, at a gentler pace this time. I had to find Matthew. But there was no rush. Who’s going anywhere? I tried calling his mobile number but could only reach voice mail. “Please, Matthew, I need to see you. Please, please, call me as soon as you get this message,” I could have wept. But I didn’t.
Hours passed. Whenever my phone rang, it was always someone else. Whenever it beeped and I opened my In Box, pulse racing, the message was always from someone else.
I felt a sudden urge to see my mother, talk to her. But she wasn’t answering her phone either. Left with no sure alternative, I ran on again but this time with a sense of purpose and headed straight for The Connie. I hardly noticed a pregnant young mum, a toddler skipping just ahead, or two youths on skateboards streaking past.
Business at The Connie was steady even for a late afternoon. The restaurant was still serving light refreshments and snacks while one of the smaller bars was open to the usual suspects.
There was no sign of Maggie. Ed was lending a hand in the bar and grumpily informed me that Maggie had gone off somewhere with Clive at lunchtime. No sign had been seen of either since. “Just like that, not so much as a by-your-leave. We were rushed off our feet at the time too,” he grumbled.
“And you’ve no idea where she might be now?”
Ed shrugged. “You could try her mobile. Not that she’ll pick up. There’s no getting hold of Maggie when she doesn’t want to be found.”
“So why shouldn’t she want to be found?” I was instantly on my guard. “Has something happened that I should know about?”
“She’s with Rider. Isn’t that enough bad news for one day?”
I watched him pull a mean pint for an ex-military type with a shock of white hair and a red nose, answered his questioning glare with a curt nod and let my feet take me where they would, which turned out to be the penthouse flat.
Lou eventually responded to my frantic knocking. She did not look best pleased to see me, but stood aside to let me enter. Her expression remained hard and unsmiling, her voice utterly devoid of its usual warmth and good humour. “Would you like a brandy?”
“Will I need one?” I countered jokingly, but received no like response. Instead, she went to a mock antique styled cabinet and poured a generous measure before stiffly retracing her steps and handing me the glass where I perched on the edge of a new sofa. Finally, she made herself comfortable in an armchair, lips pursed, plainly in no mood for dishing out verbal crutches to any emotional cripple who happened along. I felt inclined to get up and leave but forced myself to stay put. (Besides, where else would I go?)
I swallowed some of the cognac, hoping to acquire some Dutch courage. None materialised. “I know Maggie told you I’m HIV positive and I know why,” I blurted. “If you want me to go, I’ll go.” I added lamely. Then I got angry. How dare she put me on the defensive? I glared at her. Lou glared back. I banged my glass down on an occasional table just to my right. “It’s not my fault,” I protested, “I didn’t ask for this to happen.” Even to my own ears, I sounded pathetic. “What bloody difference does it make anyway?” I demanded, surprising myself by the question that had slid so easily off my tongue.
“It seems to make a difference to you,” she said evenly, “You seem to have washed your hands of poor Matthew, for a start.”
“You’ve seen him?”
Lou nodded. “Shaun found him wandering the streets blind drunk the other night and brought him back here. We put him up for the night. He slept on that same sofa you’re sitting on now.” I winced uncomfortably as her voice assumed a knife-edged hostility. “How could you do it, Rob? How could you be so cruel? No wonder the poor man’s a mess. He couldn’t face going home to an empty flat after the way you treated him. You’re not the only one who’s suffering, Rob.”
“I know,” I groaned and buried my face in my hands.
“How could you, Rob?” she persisted relentlessly, “How could you say such things?”
“I don’t know,” I whimpered, “I had no idea then that it was all probably my fault.”
“It’s nobody’s fault,” she murmured irritably. “Whoever infected whom, it was hardly intentional. Besides, it takes two to take precautions, for heaven’s sake!” I looked up and looked hastily at my feet again. I had never seen Lou so angry. “You practically accused Matthew of murder!”
“I didn’t mean it,” I cried, somehow finding the inner strength to confront the grim expression rearing from the armchair like some dark angel, “I was upset, angry. If you want the truth, I was bloody scared too.”
“So is he,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t mean it,” I repeated, “I know I said some terrible things, but…I didn’t mean it. That’s why I have to find him, to tell him I’m sorry, try and put things right between us.”
“He deserves the truth, Rob, all of it.”
“You didn’t…?” I began to panic.
Lou shook her head. “It wasn’t my place, and it’s none of my business. Maggie won’t say anything either. Trust me. She’s not the tough bitch most people take her for. She only told me because she had no one else to turn to. She could hardly talk to Ed in the circumstances. He adored Billy, you know.”
I nodded. “There’s always Clive…” I managed a knowing grin that she returned in good measure.
“Yes, well, he’s hardly the sympathetic type is he? His sort is only out for number one.”
“Maybe he and Maggie were made for each other after all then,” I muttered without thinking.
“Maybe,” Lou agreed. She spoke with an air of .profound sadness. I suddenly realized what it was about this plain young woman that made Shaun so protective and loving towards her. She not only had spirit (Hadn’t I been the butt of it only minutes before?) but also radiated a genuine interest in and concern for others.
You’re beautiful, I thought, at first with astonishment then amusement and finally admiration. “I know I have to try and make it up to Matthew if I can,” I said loud and clear, much as if I’d taken the witness stand in a court of law and needed to make a good impression on judge and jury alike. Only, I was my own judge and jury. Lou played no part in this painful if fanciful scenario. At the same time, superimposed upon it was this revelation about my best friend’s wife that I didn’t quite know how to handle. In the event, though, it did not take long to convince myself that I’d always suspected mousey little Lou of hidden depths.
“Do you love him?” she asked with a directness that didn’t strike me as in the least intrusive. I nodded unhappily. “Even though or because he’s HIV positive too?” she persisted, but not unkindly. I flung her a despairing glance that begged her to be gentle with me. Lou, though, continued to heap misery upon misery.
“I’ve been such a fool,” I admitted. But if I thought this confession would make Lou ease up on me, I was mistaken.
“What’s this? Rob Young is conceding he’s not perfect?” From anyone else this would come across nothing less than biting sarcasm. Yet, even as she drove the knife in and twisted, I rose to her wry humour with an involuntary chuckle.
“Point taken,” I said and we both laughed.
“You do know Matthew loves you very much?”
“I know he did before... But now, well…How can I possibly know how he feels?”
“You could try asking him.”
“What, just like that?” I laughed again but with no trace of humour.
“What’s stopping you?” she parried, “If two people are close enough to be honest with one another, I say go for it.”
“We were close once,” I corrected her bitterly.
“Trust me, closeness doesn’t disintegrate. It might build a dirty great brick wall around itself but it’s still there. All you have to do is break the wall down and…Well, what happens next will depend on what each of you has in mind.”
“If it were only that easy…”
“Easy? Did I say it would be easy?” There was an edge to her voice again, but I sensed she wasn’t being judgemental.
“Nothing ventured, I suppose…” I gulped.
“At last, the penny drops!” Lou had looked, away but now turned her head to look me in the eye and I saw she was crying. I went and sat on the arm of her chair, gave her a hug and felt absurdly exhilarated, flattered even, that she chose not to pull away.
Later, as we parted, she kissed me on the cheek, something she had never done before. That kiss struck me as cementing or at least acknowledging a new intimacy in our friendship. Once again, I found myself envying Shaun.
Lou had been unable to shed any light on Matthew’s likely whereabouts other than to suggest I contact his friends and might even try the school where he worked. Guiltily, I realized I knew none of Matthew’s friends except as names in an address book that I went through painstakingly, telephoning every number I could find. Nor was the irony lost on me that I’d had my brother to thank for getting me into the flat. In desperation, I slipped a credit card through the door and managed to release the inside catch, a trick ably demonstrated by Paul when we’d found ourselves locked out once; neither of us had relished the notion of contacting either parent to confess we had mislaid our house keys.
I sighed. Paul and I had been good friends in those days. It occurred to me that there were bridges to be built there, too, or a wall to be knocked down if the truth be told. For now, though, Matthew had to be my main and only concern.
Given my method of entry, I did not feel at ease in the flat and soon left. After leaving my home and mobile number with various people, I returned to the house, leaving my mother, Paul and Peter Short in no doubt that it was of the utmost urgency I contact Matthew and if he should turn up on the doorstep (unlikely, but possible) they should keep him there and call me instantly. Likewise, any phone messages on the landline, from or concerning Matthew, were to be relayed to me immediately. Mum and Peter, I could rely on. I could but pray Paul would not revert to form and conveniently ‘forget’.
After calling at the flat once more, without letting myself in this time, I caught the next fast train to London.
I booked into a seedy hotel in King’s Cross and spent the next few days and nights wandering around the Gay Scene. In spite of his outward reticence about being gay, I felt instinctively that this was where Matthew would come. (I dare say it was nothing more than wishful thinking on my part, though, if only because Old Compton Street and its lively surrounds had often been my first port of call when intent on drowning my own sorrows.)
Mostly, I stayed in Soho, but spent one evening in Earl’s Court and part of another at a gay bar near Sloane Square that I only knew by reputation. I showed people a photograph of Matthew and me, but few even bothered to more than glance at it let alone take a second look. He had taken it at the flat with his mobile phone on the day I moved in. He had one arm flung around my neck and we were both wearing silly grins. One old queen remarked that we looked good together and wished me well, adding that if Lady Luck chose not to make an appearance, she’d be more than happy to provide cover.
I began to despair. By the time I ran into Bo Devine in Charing Cross Road, I was in a sorry state.
“Is it you, dear heart? What a sight for sore eyes and no mistake!”
I fumbled for words, but my tongue had other ideas. At first I was only vaguely aware of his presence beside me and kept walking. An orange track suit, however, and black baseball cap perched on a gargoyle-like face, is guaranteed to demand attention before too long. “Bo!” I responded warmly to a bear hug.
“Ah!” He fixed with a critical eye. “We have a crisis, I see.”
“No crisis,” I said in a slurring voice I hardly recognized as my own. “No crisis,” the voice kept repeating over and over.
“And pigs will fly. My giddy aunt, they will! You’re a mess, young Robert. And the only thing to do with a mess is clean it up. I know just the ticket. He grabbed my arm and proceeded to propel me along. Wherever, I hadn’t a clue, but made only a few token attempts to break free, so great was my relief to have someone else taking charge of my fate. Somehow, we managed to defeat a blanket conspiracy of intrusive elbows, bright lights, shifty streets and secretive windows to end up in a downstairs room drinking hot, sweet, black coffee.
“So, young Rob, what’s up?” I gave a weary shrug. “It’s no use prevaricating either. I shall find out sooner or later so you might as well save us both unnecessary grief and spill the beans now.”
It’s personal,” I muttered.
“Of course it’s personal or you wouldn’t be going around looking like a candidate for euthanasia.”
“No worse than a ladybird that’s lost its spots I’d have thought,” I retorted.
“So you like it?” He preened, “Gabby thought I should take up jogging for my health, not to mention my weight. Not my thing really, jogging. But I fell in love with the outfit. Don’t I look just the part? It keeps her happy too. No need to jog, of course. I ask you. What heart would be seen having an attack dressed like this?” He beamed. “There, you see!” he shouted, making everyone jump and look in our direction.
“What?”
“Your lips twitched. I swear I saw the faintest hint of a smile.”
I laughed aloud and began to feel almost human again. “You’re impossible.”
“I know. So come on, out with it. A trouble shared and all that…”
I told him everything. I had only intended to paint a general picture just to keep him quiet. But Bo had an eye for detail. While rarely interrupting, an unsubtle look here and comment there were sufficient to give him what he wanted.
For a while after I had finished speaking, he said nothing. Finally, he reached across the table, clasped my hands in his and squeezed. “So what now?” he probed gently, but without letting go.
“You tell me.” I realized I meant it. I so desperately wanted someone to tell me what to do. Once I find Matthew, what then? What could ether of us have to say to the other that would make any difference? We were both HIV positive.
“Do you love him?” I nodded. “Does he love you?”
“He did once.”
“Then he probably still does. You don’t stop loving someone just like that. It’s a slow, painful journey. Believe me, dear heart, I know. You must tell him how you feel and pray he hasn’t reached that particular journey’s end.”
“And if he has?”
Bo let my hands drop. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, take that martyred look of your face. It doesn’t suit you one bit. Besides, you’re far too young.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he jabbed a finger at me and shut me up. “As for Matthew, well… Why not let the mountain come to Mohammed for a change? Go back to the flat and wait for him there. He’ll have to show his face sooner or later if only for clean underwear. I’m sure, in the circumstances, he’ll overlook the little matter of your breaking and entering. The pair of you must face up to this thing, Rob. Where will running away get you? Nowhere fast, that’s where, mark my words.”
“I’m not…”
“Running away? You could have fooled me. Matthew obviously has the same idea. It’s pointless, dear heart, quite pointless. You must take control of a situation, not let it control you. As for love and happy endings, I rather think that depends on what’s left after you’ve flushed all the shit down the loo, don’t you?” I said nothing. (What could I say?) “Now, off you go and leave this spotless ladybird to his thoughts.”
“Such as…?” I found myself grinning.
“You don’t want to know, dear heart. Believe me, you don’t want to know.” He flashed me a wicked smile.
“Thanks for listening.” On impulse, I leaned across and kissed him on the cheek.
“Oh, I say! I really must try this listening lark more often.”
Bo’s mischievous chuckle washed over me. Somewhere, among its glut of hidden meanings, I discovered and latched on to a new lease of life.
