“Sorry,” Ewan said, abashed.
“Don’t stop on my account.”
Ewan shut up for a bit, though. He’d forgotten he wasn’t in the comfort of his own home or surrounded by family who had learned to put up with his running commentary. Then he forgot himself again soon afterward. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, why not go the whole way and make them a couple?”
Alex tensed slightly beside him.
“I can’t be doing with this half-and-half nonsense,” Ewan grumbled, waving at the screen. “The whole story’s built around how these two love each other. Have some courage and let them have some kisses. It’s the twenty-first century.”
“So it is,” Alex agreed, and that hint of laughter was back in his voice.
Toward the end of the episode, Alex drifted off. Ewan should let himself out now, he knew, and head home, maybe phone his interfering daughter to smooth things over. It was warm in here, though, and he could still hear the rain. Lulled, he closed his eyes for a moment....
HE DREAMED of Carole, his sunshine girl, young and laughing beside a blue sea—their honeymoon in Gibraltar, the first time either of them had left the country. She kissed him, her mouth sweet as strawberries, even in his dream, and then they were tumbling back into the trees and the memory of another later holiday, when they had been less shy with one another. She was tugging down the straps of her bikini, giggling at his blushes until he pulled her into his lap and fastened his mouth over the pink bud of her nipple.
Then, as she slept nude and sated in the sunshine, fair hair shining, he wandered back toward the sea, into a different memory. This was a paler sweep of beach, speckled with flat pebbles and tufts of pale-flowering thrift, with Arran and the stub of Ailsa Craig rising against the horizon. There too was Jonno MacBride, bare-chested and freckled, waving to him from the boat that bobbed at the water’s edge. Hurry now, Ewan, you slow fool, and he went dashing across the sand, stumbling in his eagerness. Then they were lying in the bottom of the boat and watching the clouds go by, their shoulders pressed together, sticking in the heat, and their fingers loosely tangled. Ewan was caught up in a wave of the old longing that today would be one of those days, the days when quicksilver Jonno MacBride leaned over him and kissed him with stuttering lips, pressing him into the bottom of the boat in a clumsy, clutching embrace.
But not today, not in this dream, and the sea spun around him faster and faster as Jonno pointed to the shapes the clouds made—faces, all of them, people he knew staring in surprise.
He woke up to the dim sigh of the telly switching itself off and Alex asleep on his shoulder, his fine hair stirring as Ewan breathed in slowly.
He hadn’t dreamed of Jonno in years. Was he slipping back into childhood in his old age? No, he knew himself too well for that excuse. It was Alex who was stirring up those old memories, reminding him of things he had stayed quiet about all his life, though he had never lied.
No need to lie if no one knew there was anything to ask about.
Would it be different if they were boys now, he wondered, like Mia’s friend? Or what would happen if he found himself a man to share his quiet hours, someone he could take sailing, cook breakfast as well as dinner, and pull close in his too-wide bed?
Alex murmured something wordless and incoherent and blinked once or twice. Looking down at him in the dim light, Ewan felt a great rush of tenderness curl through him, shaking his breath, making his heart beat faster, and pressing a low roll of heat into his belly and below. If there was to be anyone, it would be this one.
Alex yawned, pushing himself up against the back of the sofa, and said groggily, “Peter?”
“Just me,” Ewan said gently, tucking his feelings away. “We dozed off in front of the telly.”
Alex sat up, rubbing his forehead until his hair stood up in little tufts. “Ewan? I’m sorry. How rude of me.”
“No, I’ve outstayed my welcome,” Ewan said, heaving himself up. “I should be getting home now. Don’t get up.”
“You don’t have to,” Alex said, still looking befuddled. “I mean, you needn’t rush.”
“Past my bedtime,” Ewan said lightly. “Thank you for my supper.”
“I should be thanking you,” Alex protested.
Ewan wanted to linger. He felt that he was waiting for some final gesture of dismissal, a kiss or a touch, that wasn’t his to ask for. Resolutely, he nodded to Alex and slipped into the hall. There was a photo on the hall table he’d never seen before. In it, Peter had his arms around a younger, blonder Alex, their cheeks pressed together and their hands linked as they grinned at the camera. They clearly weren’t pretending to be brothers, and Ewan wondered where Alex had hidden it all these years and why he’d moved it now.
THAT night he touched himself for the first time in ages, running his hands down his chest to trace circles on his inner thighs, teasing the excitement out. It had always been too sad to do this with only a lonely bed to look forward to, but he was hungry for it now. He thought of Alex, of how that mischievous mouth would feel against his skin, teasing him with kisses, and his dick swelled into his hand, hot and full. He would strip Alex’s starched shirt and sleeveless jersey away and pull him close, into the cradle of his arms. He’d run his hands down that lean back, cup them around the slight curve of Alex’s arse, feel another man’s dick against his thigh for the first time in, dear God, almost fifty years.
When he came, it was in a slow rush that left him warm and drained and sleepy.
Of course, it was just a fantasy. The man was still grieving, and there was no reason for him to look in Ewan’s direction when he healed. For himself, he would have to wait and see if this was more than a passing fancy stirred up by memory and circumstance. If it was, then he would decide when to go courting the man.
HE CONTINUED to keep company with Alex as the summer limped by. He delivered his paper and lingered over the cup of tea Alex had waiting for him every morning. On fair days, they sailed, or Ewan found himself sitting on the patio as Alex gardened, inhaling tea fumes and the views over the Downs. He fed Saffy when Alex went rushing up to London to see his niece’s new-born son and said all the appropriate things at the baby pictures Juliette kept emailing her uncle. He saw the man smile more as he grew used to life without Peter; saw him, too, peevish and acid-tongued about boorish celebrities and petty bureaucrats. It all deepened Ewan’s appreciation, until it settled into a quiet, rich enjoyment of Alex’s company, a pleasure to be cherished but one he didn’t need to share. It was his, something that belonged to him alone.
THE village fete came around again. Carly, taking after her mother, was running four different stalls and had volunteered Ewan and the kids as her assistants. He found himself in charge of the tombola, with Kayla as his easily distracted helper. She enjoyed spinning the drum to mix up the tickets before they were drawn, but moaned about having to hunt down the matching prizes from the stacks of jars and bottles on the stall.
Ewan was patiently handing over a bottle of tabasco sauce to a disappointed teenager when Kayla went racing off, shrieking “Saffy! Saffy!” as if it had been months since she saw the dog rather than the six hours since Ewan finished his round that morning.
Kayla was soon happily hugging Saffy’s neck. Alex was laughing and trying to coax her up. Ewan spotting Carly drifting over, looking curious and not quite concerned, and made his excuses.
He got over to them as Alex offered his hand to Carly, saying, “You must be Ewan’s daughter. You look very like him.”
“And you are?” Carly asked in return. “You seem to know my daughter.”
“He’s Saffy’s person, Mummy,” Kayla put in impatiently. “He’s Granddad’s cup of tea.” Behind Ewan, Connor let out a grunt of amusement and Mia giggled. Kayla frowned at them and elaborated, “At the top of the hill. He’s the last house and he always makes Granddad tea.”
Ewan felt the blush rise in his cheeks and said hurriedly, “You remember Alex Tregarron now, Carly.”
&nbs
p; Carly’s frown shifted to something more speculative. “Of course. I was very sorry to hear about Peter, Mr. Tregarron. He taught Mia before he retired, and he was wonderful with the children. Dad, there’s a queue at the tombola.”
“Ah,” Ewan started, trying to think of a tactful way to dismiss her so that he could have Alex to himself.
Carly tucked her arm through Alex’s. “Have you had a chance to look around the stalls yet? There are still some very good cakes. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I wanted to thank you for looking after my dad.”
Horrified, Ewan retreated to the safety of his stall.
An hour later, as it began to drizzle, Alex joined him in the tombola tent, looking slightly shell-shocked.
“I think your daughter just signed me up for the gardening club.”
Ewan winced. “It’s an obsession with her. I can’t understand it.”
“I’m sure it was well-meant,” Alex ventured.
“Oh, always,” Ewan said. “I’d run now, if I were you. Let’s emigrate. Do they have bowling greens in Australia?”
“If not, she’d make you go surfing,” Alex pointed out and spent the rest of the fete chuckling at Ewan’s expression.
THREE weeks later, on an evening when they were all exhausted from shopping for new school shoes, Mia chose dinnertime to announce, “We’re all going to the Pride Parade in Brighton this year, with Josh and Mitch, and we thought it would be good to camp, so can I take the tent?”
“No,” said Carly.
“No one else has one that will fit all of us.”
“No,” Carly repeated firmly. “You’re not going at all.”
The resulting argument lasted well into the evening, until Mia flounced out in tears.
“Kids!” Carly exploded at her back and stomped off to the kitchen to wash up with a furious clatter of pans.
Ewan left her to calm down and went to the front door. He could see Mia pacing up and down outside, sobbing into her phone. Best place for her right now, he decided, and went to sort the younger two out. By the time Kayla was in bed, the kitchen was quiet. He slipped in to find Carly sitting at the table, her chin propped on her fists and her eyes tired. Ewan made tea without saying a word and then sat down opposite her.
“She’s just a little girl,” Carly said at last.
“They grow up, love.”
“Not this fast.”
“You did,” Ewan said, chuckling, but she didn’t smile.
“It’s not just that it’s Pride. I wouldn’t let her go to any festival. It’s not safe.”
“She’s sensible. You’ve taught her that. You have to trust her to use it now.”
“She’s a child. I’m not letting her camp in some park with drunk adults.”
“Not when it’s only an hour away on the bus,” Ewan agreed. “But she’s trying to stand up for her friend.”
“It’s too adult for her.”
“Worse than the telly, is it? I reckon it’s pretty family friendly these days, as long as she stays on the beaten track. They put it on the news on Meridian, don’t they?”
“Whose side are you on, Dad?”
“It’s not about taking sides, now.”
Carly rolled her eyes. “Hers, I see. She throws herself into these fights without stopping to think. It nearly got really nasty last year.”
“And who was it tried to run off and join the women at Greenham Common when she was the very same age?”
“Aye, and I got caught and driven back home before I’d even made it to Glasgow.”
“Only because your mother was driving,” Ewan said with a faint wistful sigh. “I’d have put a frock on and gone with you.”
“She comes by it honestly, at least,” Carly said ruefully and grinned across the table at him like she had when she was fourteen and they had been the secret revolutionaries of the household. “She’ll get more grief if she goes. I don’t like seeing her caught in the middle.”
“If you can’t be fearless when you’re young, when can you?”
Carly sighed. “Fine. Go and tell her. I really don’t know what this family would do without you.”
“You’d cope.”
She looked very forlorn, sitting there. “Yeah. I just wish.... I hate being on my own.”
Ewan’s heart ached for her, his little girl who had always blazed through life with cheerful practicality, refusing to give up until she had exactly what she wanted.
“Ah,” he said awkwardly and put a hand on her shoulder. “Well, you never know, love. Things change.”
She snorted. “Nice try, Dad.” The front door slammed. “There’s Mia back.”
“Let me talk to her first,” Ewan offered.
Mia’s music was already pounding out. Her door was open and she was flung face-down on the bed.
Quietly, Ewan went in, turned the music down, and sat in her desk chair, turning his back on the wall full of photos and posters of kittens and film stars. Mia sat up, huffing displeasure, and then dropped her shoulders when she saw who it was. “I suppose she’s sent you to get me to calm down.”
“No need for that tone. Your mum worries about you.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“Show her that,” Ewan said, deciding to be cunning. “Give her a mature solution and she might relent. Give up on the camping, and she might say yes to the rest.”
“Really? You persuaded her? Thank you, Granddad!”
“I did no such....”
Mia giggled at him. “Nice try, Granddad.”
Her mother’s daughter, that one. Shrugging at her, he asked, “How’s your friend?” He’d almost forgotten about the boy, caught up in his own emotional puzzle.
“Better,” Mia said. “There are some people who still won’t leave it alone, but it’s not as bad. There were some assemblies on tolerance which were rubbish, but at least people knew that the teachers weren’t going to let them get away with it. Everyone’s used to it now, and some people are totally haters, but most people just get on with their own lives and leave us alone. It’s not like it would have been in your day, when it would have been the end of the world if you went out with another boy.”
“Your generation didn’t invent gay people, Mia.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “You know what I mean. Come on, you would never have kissed a boy.”
“Oh, aye?” Ewan said, and the sight of her jaw dropping was compensation for all the grief his girls had given him that evening.
“Granddad! You didn’t! What about Granny?”
He chuckled at her. “This was before your granny, love. Believe or not, we were teenagers once.”
“But what happened?” she demanded, clasping her hands together. “Did Great-Granddad threaten to disown you?”
“No, he was a softie, my dad. It would have been difficult, back then, no doubt, and neither of us cared enough about the other to make that worthwhile. We drifted apart. I fell for your granny, and Jonno went into the Navy, and that was that.”
Mia looked disappointed. “And you haven’t seen him since?”
“Oh, once or twice,” Ewan said. “We’ve not much in common now. It was just an ordinary thing, love. No drama.”
“But you’ve never said anything.”
“I never thought it was anyone’s business but my own.” He shrugged at her. “You tell your friend, though, that he’s not the first lad who kissed a boy. Tell him it all works out in the end.”
“Yeah,” Mia breathed, eyes still wide, and then descended on him with a hug that almost smothered him. She hadn’t done that since she was tiny, so he patted her back and blinked back a slight dampness around his eyes.
He left her room with a strange sense of peace, as if he’d straightened a painting that had been hanging crooked. There’s that done at last, he thought and was about to start whistling when he realized Carly was standing in the hall.
“Ah,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You heard that, then.”
She blinked at him, shaking her head wordlessly, and then began to laugh. She sounded no older than Mia, and Ewan shifted on his heels, hoping she wasn’t about to turn hysterical. Then, for the second time in less than ten minutes, he was getting the breath squeezed out of him by one of his girls, and Carly, between whoops of laughter, demanded, “Really, Dad?”
“What’s so funny?” Ewan grumbled in relief.
“You!” she snorted. “Standing there waiting for me to be shocked as if you hadn’t been seeing Alex Tregarron for months.”
He put her aside. “No, love, not like that. Alex doesn’t.... The man just lost his husband.”
“Not just,” Carly said and then sobered, face falling. “Oh, Dad. You mean you haven’t told him?”
“It’s my life, Carly. Let me run it how I like.”
As he retreated downstairs, he pretended not to hear her mutter, “But I could do it better.”
IT TOOK a whole week before Alex cleared his throat as they were drinking their morning tea and ventured, “There’s rather interesting story going round the gardening club.”
“I should never have introduced you to my daughter,” Ewan muttered, suddenly fascinated by his reflection in his tea. He’d been enjoying the feeling of smugness that came between revealing a secret and the point when it became obvious that the whole village knew about it. Now this moment had come, he didn’t quite have the courage to look up at Alex. It had been very easy to keep his mouth shut and his head down for all these years. He wasn’t quite sure of his footing, out in the open like this.
“Angela Harris heard it from her grandson Josh.”
“Mia’s been a good friend to him. I told her it wasn’t a secret.” His shoulders were tense, and he still couldn’t look up. “If more people told the truth about little things like that, he might not be having such troubles.” He saw Alex’s fingers tighten on the tea cup in what he knew was a wince, and added hurriedly, “I didn’t mean you. You had your reasons. No, ordinary people....”
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