Love and Tea Bags

by C F White

  “Who now?”

  “Never mind.” Mark shook his head and glared at the upside-down cup. He really wanted a refill. “Care to…”

  “Oh, right.” Bradley leapt forward and picked up the cup. He stroked his chin all the while staring into it as if it was some crystal ball. “You got rid of something recently, Mark?”

  “My sanity?”

  Bradley smiled, eyes still fixed at the dregs in Mark’s mug. “There’s a lot of stuff in here, but it’s all in the past.” He showed the cup over the table at Mark. “All those shapes are to the left of the handle. At a guess, I’d say it was your burden. And the wings signify it’s flown away. Gone. The clusters, there, look like it had been weighing you down and so the bits heading up to the edge are showing you it’s leaving. Gone.”

  “Right.” Mark still wasn’t sure he believed in any of this mumbo-jumbo, but Bradley looked so intrigued, so wide-eyed, so blinking beautiful. So he peered in closer. “What’s that by the handle?”

  Bradley shifted in his seat, his cheeks tinging pink to match his flip-flops. “Well, what does it look like to you?”

  Mark, Damian and Macy all leaned forward, staring into the abyss of the cup.

  Surely not!

  “Looks like you were right all along, Mark.” Damian sat back in his chair. “Tea is your one true love.” He formed a heart with his hands and bumped it against his chest.

  “The shapes by the handle are the ones that are the present, the now, and what’s affecting you at this moment.” Bradley didn’t look at Mark while he spoke, instead fixating on the cup. “But it can be interpreted how you want it. That to the right of the cup is your future.”

  “What on earth are two circles meant to mean?” Mark swiped a hand over his perspiring forehead.

  “Rings, Mark.” Bradley dropped the cup to the saucer. “I’d say they were rings.”

  Mark lifted his gaze to Bradley across the table. Bradley shrugged.

  “Mark, I can see your brain cells ticking.” Macy slid her hand on top of Mark’s and patted. “This is good for you. To get away from all this. To do what you always wanted to do. To sell that blasted antique house of yours—”

  “Mine!” Damian waved his hand in the air like a child with the right answer.

  “And to start fresh,” Macy continued. “Forgetting the past and moving forward. Like the leaves, your blasted tea, is telling you. You are not too old. You are not past your prime, yet. And now you have Bradley.”

  “That you do.” Bradley grinned. “It’s why you’ve been so miserable, Mark! You’ve not been following your true destiny. You’ve been stuck here. You’re a traveller. An adventurer. You need fun and excitement to make you feel whole again.”

  Mark inhaled through a distinct fluttering in his chest. That was remarkably…accurate? But he turned his attention back to Macy to address the less floaty reasons. “What about all that stuff you said about him being so young, your cousin no less?”

  “I admit I was a little shocked. But to be honest with you, Mark, he’s good for you. I see a little sparkle in your eyes and he put it there. And he’s told me how he feels about you.”

  Mark shifted his gaze back to Bradley, cocking his head. “And how is that?”

  “I’m in love with you, Mark.” Bradley shrugged, as if that was the most natural thing in the world to utter over the breakfast table amongst his nearest and dearest.

  “You’re what now?”

  “I’m. In. Love. With. You.” Bradley enunciated each word, raising his voice, probably in mockery that Mark might have been hard of hearing. “That moment you stepped in here, with that hair, and the tea bag on your face, I knew it. I was told I would. I read it everywhere. Tea leaves, the zodiac, I even tried the eight-ball. We’re perfect for each other. It all fits, Mark. This time, it all fits. Every sign pointed us this way. The tea bag, the roof, the bike, the gulls, the hair, the airline. Go back. Check it. You’ll see I’m right.”

  “Because the stars, the tea leaves, tell you you’re in love?”

  “No.” Bradley leaned across the table and grabbed Mark’s hand to pull it toward his chest. “Because, this time, I feel it too.”

  “But it’s been days, only days!” Mark had no idea why he felt the need to shout that. But he did.

  “I fell in love with Tom Hardy immediately.” Damian slapped a hand to his chest with a whimsical flutter of his eyelashes.

  “You’ve never met him!” Mark declared, losing his resolve. Not that he had any, mind.

  “And that, my dear Marky Mark and the funky bunch, is his problem.” Damian pouted. “Because the day we do meet, I’m taking him up that aisle.”

  “Dirty.” Bradley snorted.

  “Better believe it, darling.”

  Mark held up a hand, shaking his head to release some words. “I’m…I’m at a loss. I have no idea… How did you even get into my house?” Yes, because they were obviously the most pressing words to utter right then. Way to go, Mark!

  “Macy had a key,” Bradley replied, deadpan.

  “And not one of you lovely people, oh solid friends of mine, thought to call me back yesterday?”

  “How could we have achieved all this with you flittering around?” Macy cut in. “Dithering on and on that you can’t leave, you’re too old, you need to keep the house for your parents because your dad gambled away all the money. Blah, blah, blah!”

  Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. My parents!

  “Now stop that!” Macy slapped the table. “They are not for you to worry about. Your mum is perfectly capable of downsizing that house, selling that car, if things are really as bad as they make out. Which, by the way, I don’t think is true with the amount of cakes she bought for the Women’s Institute yesterday.”

  “Maybe,” Bradley mumbled, head bowed, twiddling his thumbs in tiny circles. “You don’t want this? Me? Maybe you don’t see that symbol the same way I do?”

  That grazed through Mark’s heart like one of Macy’s bread knives, carving away on his stale, crusty organ to spill crumbs through his veins. This was all such a shock that he had no idea what to do or say. Only a few hours ago he had come to terms with how he felt and accepted that Bradley could like him. Now it was more than that. Bradley had just admitted he loved him! Enunciated it, in perfect English no less. And he wanted to travel the world with him. Mark! The thirty-nine-year-old blubbering idiot. All the plans that Mark had painstakingly made in his youth, that he had wanted to do with George, that had never amounted to anything other than a destroyed paper file, was now in his reach. And he could do it with someone he lo—

  “Mark?”

  “Hmm?” Mark bit his lip, darting his gaze to all three eager faces staring at him. Oh, bugger it! He let out a shallow laugh, wiped his eye and shook his head, contemplating his next move.

  He stood, pulled down his leather jacket and cleared his throat. Bradley’s gaze followed him up, those blue-green eyes wide and the fear in them unmistakable. He thought Mark was going to walk out. Mark had a sudden evil urge to do just that. That’ll show the Aussie and his practical jokes.

  He didn’t, though. Instead, he lowered to one knee, took Bradley’s hand in his and forgot for one single moment that he was British. “Bradley?”

  “Brad.”

  “Shut up.” Mark rotated his shoulders. “I do love you. Quite a lot, really. And that shape in there of congealed leaves does look like a heart to me. And it’s right. My heart is yours. I believe in this. I believe in you. And I would be honoured to travel the world with you.”

  Bradley opened his mouth to speak but Mark cut him off by raising a hand.

  “On one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  “We take our own tea bags.”

  Bradley grinned, then leaned down and kissed him. “I’d be honoured to provide you with constant tea bagging.”

  “You little bugger.” Mark reached up, wrapped his arms around Bradley’s neck and snogged his face off.<
br />
  Because he wanted to, and he could. Forever.

  Okay, well, not forever, because at one point or another one of them was going to die. And what a lovely happy ending to finish this little anecdote on.

  “Right, now that’s sorted.” Mark stood, ignoring the gaping faces and faraway looks in his friends’ eyes. “Who’s for more tea?”

  Chapter Twenty

  The Big Four-Oh!

  Six months later…

  “Gerrem off!”

  “Show us your hose!”

  “Strip, strip, strip!”

  Mark settled back along the empty bar area, cup of tea in hand, and watched the commotion play out. He didn’t always come along to these things. But today was a special occasion and he’d been railroaded into at least having some sort of celebration to honour the event. Mark would rather it was forgotten. And the sight of his boyfriend up on stage, wriggling his hips and thrusting his groin into the hundred or so females screaming at the front for him to get on with the primary task, aka shredding the remains of his clothing, wouldn’t have been Mark’s first choice for commemorative shenanigans. He’d much rather have been the only one here. At least he’d gotten a solitary preview earlier that morning. Just for Bradley to ensure he knew all the dance steps, of course. Snort.

  The stereo system blasted out some fad tune epitomising the moment, and Bradley regaled the audience with his varying grinding moves whilst sliding out of the minimal sheathing he had left. Today he’d gone for the more traditional fireman’s ensemble. The words “I Need a Hero” rang out and Bradley went on to prove he could be such that person, to the crowd’s utter enthusiasm. At a distance, though. The audience weren’t allowed to touch, unless they’d been summoned. But Bradley had always forgone those parts of the act. The other members of his strip team often allowed such sordid atrocities, but Bradley had insisted his parts were for Mark to touch only.

  “You want something stronger, mate?”

  Mark swivelled, acknowledging the pretty much starkers barman in only tight-fitting boxers and a dickie bow, by holding up his mug. “No, thank you.” His British accent almost cut the porcelain against the Aussie twangs. Six months travelling most of the outback and Mark hadn’t shed his stiff upper lip.

  “Come on, Mark. You’re forty today. Brad says you need to get sloshed.”

  Jaxon, barman and occasional stripper himself, had met Mark the last time Mark had been made to come to one of Bradley’s hen night stripping gigs. That time, however, had been largely due to Bradley’s over-consumption of whisky and Red Bull that had led to him being incapable of walking the couple of miles from the bar to their flat overlooking Bondi Beach. And whilst it should have been a pleasant stroll through the late-night streets with Mark propping Bradley up and having him whisper in Mark’s ear over and over about how much he loved him and wanted to ravish every inch of him on return to their poky apartment, Bradley had crashed out on entrance and snored into a coma.

  Mark had had to clear the man’s sick from the sheets the next morning, which was a lot less satisfying than the usual sticky remnants that Mark often had to wipe clean the morning after the night before. So after that, Bradley had insisted he wouldn’t drink when on duty. And Mark had been rather grateful that his milestone birthday had landed on one of Bradley’s gig nights, which meant Bradley wouldn’t be drinking. But, as it now transpired, Bradley would quite like Mark to partake in a beverage or two.

  Mark arched one eyebrow. At least that was something he’d learned to achieve over the months of travelling. “Did he now?”

  “Long Island one?”

  Raucous, yet feminine, screams burst out and Mark twisted once more to check on the hullaballoo. Oh yes, there was his boyfriend’s package out on full display, band wrapped around the root to emulate a semi and elongate the length. Mark tutted. Bradley shot him a wink then rushed to cover the beast with the Australian flag, the corner Union Jack propped up by whatever Bradley used to make it look like his cock poking through. The Queen would be so proud.

  “Actually, on second thoughts.” Mark pushed over his empty cup to the barman. “Fill that up with rum.”

  “Rum?”

  “Please. Spiced.”

  “Like it spicy, do you, mate?” Jaxon chuckled and nodded up to Bradley on stage.

  “Indeed.” Mark had to agree. He couldn’t not. Look who I’m here with.

  Jaxon passed over his drink. “You staying on tonight? Brad’s arranged a heck of a do for ya, once all this lot go onto the nightclub next door.”

  “Ah, yes. I’ll be spending my milestone birthday with a bunch of strippers, two drag queens and no one over the age of twenty-five. It’s like someone read my wish that I threw into the Trevi Fountain last Valentine’s Day.”

  Jaxon furrowed his brow and sloped off to wipe some of the bar, probably wondering if that was good old Blighty sarcasm. It wasn’t. Mark twisted once more, catching the end of a delightful performance from his boyfriend, Bradley’s body glowing under the spotlights. Mark still found it hard to believe that the Adonis up on that stage, with a perfectly sculpted six-pack and the moves to really make it work, was his. And he was.

  For six whole months, he and Bradley had been together. When Mark had crossed continents with a man nearly eighteen years his junior, Mark hadn’t really been one hundred percent certain that it would work out. He’d expected Bradley to come to his senses and wonder why he was dragging a middle-aged Brit around the world with him. But as time went on, Mark had started to believe that Bradley might actually be a tad smitten. With him. He still explained to him their signs, which all pointed to their perfect union, and Mark had occasionally indulged in the read of the daily horoscopes, too.

  They’d been to and fro from Australia, to Thailand, to Europe. They’d camped, they’d bathed in luxury and they’d shared hostels like true backpackers. And Bradley hadn’t once shown any desire for Mark to not be there. Waking up most mornings with Bradley’s arms wrapped around him in a firm embrace confirmed that Bradley might be in this for the long haul. And not just the flight.

  But alas, the equity Mark had received from his house sale to Damian had dwindled and they’d chosen to return to Sydney for their halfversary, earn some more money then jet off again to somewhere new. Bradley had been doing odd jobs in the day, stripping at weekends, and Mark had become an office temp, his tea-making abilities really coming into quite good use for continued employment. All was going rather pleasantly. Even Mark’s meeting of Bradley’s parents had gone down particularly well. Only one comment had been muttered about Mark being a filthy old man from Bradley’s father, but Macy had assured him prior to leaving the country that her uncle liked to piss about with people. So Mark had taken the comment with a pinch of salt, and added it to Bradley’s father’s tea during preparation. Accident, total accident, meant to have been sugar.

  Turning forty wasn’t as bad as Mark had thought it would be.

  Leaping from the stage and into the throng of screaming women, Bradley ended his performance by giving away a few kisses, allowing a stroke of his abs or squeeze of his biceps, then sauntered up the aisle with the Australian flag wrapped low on his delectable hips. On approach, he slid both hands either side of Mark’s face and kissed him. The catcalls increased to pierce Mark’s eardrums.

  “Steady on.” Mark held the cup in the air as a way to prevent a spill, until he remembered it wasn’t tea in there anymore, so brought it back to behind Bradley’s back. He didn’t mind wasting a bit of rum, but tea…nooo sirree! Licking his lips, Mark grimaced. “Is that the new oil?”

  “Sure is. Too flowery, right?”

  “I’d say so. Stick to the pure olive stuff. That doesn’t have quite the potent aftertaste.”

  “Will do.” Bradley nodded behind to Jaxon. “Red Bull please, mate. And shove a little vodka in it.”

  Mark arched one eyebrow. Because he should, and could.

  “It’s your birthday, Mark. We can both drink. And I’m o
ff-duty now.” Bradley angled his head to the swarm of girls all now being led out of the main bar area and into the basement nightclub. The cackles and catcalls dissipated as the gaggle teetered away and Bradley turned his grin back on Mark.

  “Fine, have your deathly concoction.” Mark slurped from his mug of rum, wondering if this was how the pirates used to drink it. Maybe an eyepatch might be more fitting than the reading specs he was surely about to have to start wearing from today. “But it’s my birthday, so that means I get carried home this time.”

  “Fair dos.” Bradley grabbed the glass from Jaxon, knocked back a hefty amount with an elongated ahhh, then slammed it on the surface. “Right, you want your birthday present now or later?”

  “I hardly think this is the most appropriate time for that. If it’s what I asked for, that is.”

  Bradley bellowed a laugh, then leaned in to whisper in Mark’s ear. “That’s later. I got the outfit off Tony. He had one lying around.”

  Mark blushed and curtailed it by downing more of his rum. Which was rather stupid, as alcohol always gave him a scarlet glow. Least he could blame it on that rather than the thought of Bradley dressing up as one of Mark’s all-time fantasies. Ah, life really is grand when my boyfriend has no qualms about roleplay and his embarrassment levels are zero.

  “I got you something I can give in public, too.”

  “Well, in that case.” Mark plonked his mug on the surface and rubbed his hands together with glee.

  Jaxon and a couple of the other male strippers, along with the two drag queen hosts, came over to watch the show. By the shit-eating grins on their chiselled faces, Mark believed this wasn’t going to be a DVD or a book, or something equally as traditional a birthday present one could open in front of others. He feared for the following proceedings.

  Bradley cleared his throat, and his usual cocky brashness flickered away. And Mark thought for all of a millisecond that Bradley was also somewhat nervous. Embarrassed maybe? No, he couldn’t be. Not Bradley. Not Bradley ‘he who dares to bare all’ Summers? Bradley shuffled the wraparound flag on his hips, tucking the ends in so he was fully covered with no chance of a slight slip, then ever so gradually sank down onto bended knee.