Any Day

by Brian Lancaster

“Well, if it’s any help, I apologise for being a dick. And for not telling the other kids to shut up.”

  “You have nothing to apologise for. Besides, they called me out correctly on one thing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I am gay.”

  Adrian pulled his glass away from his lip to stare at Leonard. After a few moments, a huge smile lit his face.

  “Ah, well, mate. Joke’s on me, now. Why didn’t you say something earlier? When I came out to you?”

  “Funnily enough, I thought about it. Especially when you struggled to explain about sharing the hotel room in your wonderfully diplomatic way. But I worried that if you knew I was gay too, sharing a room would be even more awkward and—hey, what?”

  Opposite him, as Leonard had been speaking, Adrian had tipped his head back and begun laughing aloud.

  “Couple of bloody idiots, the pair of us. My mother called it right. Men get worse at communicating as they get older.”

  Leonard grinned and shook his head. He agreed with Adrian’s. Throughout his life, the straight men he knew fell over themselves to avoid talking about his sexuality. Feeling as though they had grown closer through their confessions and also taking advantage of their laughter, Leonard decided to lead the conversation in a more personal direction.

  “Did you ever have anyone special, Ade?”

  “No,” said Adrian, his humour gone, his tone flat and short. Leonard heard the hint of sadness in his voice. “Plenty of—um—encounters, especially in my twenties and thirties, but no keepers, if you know what I mean.”

  “I’m not just saying this to be nice—and because I need a decent and reliable builder—but honestly, Ade, I really find that really hard to believe. How old are you now?”

  “Forty-nine.”

  “And you’re still a catch. You’re such a nice guy, with a warm personality and a great sense of humour. Oh, hang on a minute. Is this because of your fussiness? Because I heard your taste in music on the way down here. I mean, do you have a particular type or fetish? Must be over seven feet tall, Kenyan-Icelandic mix, Olympic stature, natural blond, ear and nose piercings, must have his own sex swing—”

  “Yeah, all right, Lenny. If this is you getting your own back on me for the Gay Lenny thing then—”

  “No, I’m serious. You’re a good-looking bloke. I’m just stunned nobody else saw that in you, enough to want to keep you around.”

  At least Adrian’s coy grin had returned at Leonard’s words. But then, as his eyes seemed to lose their focus and he looked away, his smile slipped again.

  “Mate, I had some very dark days during my late teens and early twenties. And after that, I just wanted things to be normal, to learn to like myself again before I even considered being with someone else for any length of time. And then, as time went on, I kind of got to like my own company. How about you? Did you have any relationships?”

  Adrian didn’t want to go into any more detail. That much was clear. Something had happened during those early years. Leonard vowed to himself that when they knew each other better, he would ask again. But right now he felt ready to talk about Kris. Adrian might be one of the few who would understand.

  He explained how Kris—Krishna Goswami, both of his parents originally from New Delhi—had been an economics professor at his university in Bournemouth, twenty years his senior, and how they had clicked almost instantly. At first things had been innocent but clandestine—meetings in coffee shops to talk over study materials, but mostly to be in each other’s company. Leonard had been the one to take things to the next level, pleasing Kris but also worrying him, knowing he had his position at the college to consider. They had only lived together after Leonard had graduated.

  “We were together for fourteen years and lived under the same roof for ten of those. Until his death. He succumbed to pancreatic cancer at the age of only fifty-six. Everything happened so quickly. The cancer had already spread by the time he was diagnosed. His family knew nothing about us, so as soon as they did, they froze me out, didn’t want anything to do with me. I honestly believe they thought I somehow gave him the cancer.”

  Leonard remembered the telephone conversation, watching helplessly as Kris tried to argue with his father but not having the strength. He remembered standing stunned as Kris agreed for them to come and fetch him before promising to call Leonard as soon as he managed to get himself settled. Leonard had argued with the parents and sister in their hallway, but he could tell he wasn’t getting through to them.

  “Apart from everything else, I think they saw me as a parasite, riding his relative prestige in academic circles, living off his money. If anyone had bothered checking, they’d have found I had my own independent wealth, through my start-up companies. But instead, they simply shut the door on me.”

  Despite numerous calls to the family home, and even to the hospital where Kris had initially been diagnosed, Leonard was met with stony silence. He had only met the sister and her husband one other time, four weeks later, when they’d turned up one Saturday morning to pick up Kris’ clothes and personal belongings. The sister had the same stubborn streak he had seen in Kris and had told him nothing. In retrospect, he could have shut the door in their faces—would have been completely within his rights to do so—but one thing they’d had in common was an interest in Kris’ well-being. When she had barged her way upstairs to rifle through Kris’ things, Leonard had simply let her. The husband had stayed behind with Leonard, embarrassed, and appeared genuinely sorry for him. Poor guy, he had tried to help but had known very little, only that the family physician had begun palliative care and that they had quarantined Kris, locked him away in a room in the family home.

  “I only found out a year later they had taken his cremated remains back to India, to be scattered in the Ganges River, but had commissioned a plaque in a garden of remembrance near their home in London. Fortunately, when we bought the house, Kris had insisted on using my name for legal purposes to give me sole possession, said he already owned his own and his sister’s house. Maybe that was true, or perhaps he’d wanted to give me some insurance because of our age difference—it never became a topic of conversation—but whatever, that was the one thing the family couldn’t take away from me when he died.”

  “I’m so sorry, Lenny.”

  “Happened so long ago. But it feels good talking. I only have a few close friends, but when we do get together, the last thing I want to do is burden them with this. Especially something that happened more than ten years ago—”

  “Yeah, but some things stay with you for life.”

  Leonard sensed a true understanding in Adrian’s sympathetic gaze. No doubt about it, he had his own story to tell.

  “They do. And you never really get over things like that, they become a part of you. But since Kris, there’s never been anyone serious for me.”

  “No seven-foot-five African-Scandinavian Olympic weightlifters take your fancy?”

  Leonard chuckled along with Adrian. He took a sip of his coffee then cradled the cup in his hands.

  “You know, that first year in high school, I used to come along to all the home games. I stood on the sidelines, usually hiding behind the other kids. Although I would never have told you so at the time, you were bloody incredible on the field.”

  By the widening of his eyes, Leonard could tell Adrian was genuinely surprised, his grin even betraying a little pleasure. All Leonard could remember was the Herculean and, frankly, sexy figure of Lamperton either wrestling another boy to the ground or standing stock-still, ready to convert a try and put the team comfortably in the lead. And all the time he’d thought this legend didn’t like him, had considered Leonard as nothing more than an insignificant gay kid.

  “Most of those games that season were played in the rain.”

  “They were,” said Leonard. “I viewed most from beneath someone else’s umbrella. But man, Ade, you were amazing, the way you ploughed through the opponents. All the kids in my year
thought you would go on to play professionally.”

  Once again Adrian’s smile slipped and he looked down at the rim of his beer bottle.

  “Yeah, well. Some things are not meant to be,” he said cryptically.

  Leonard wanted to ask more but felt they had already shared enough that night.

  “So, tomorrow,” said Leonard, bringing things back down to earth, “depending on the weather and the traffic, we have a good five- to six-hour trip back. I suggest we head off around midday. How does that sound?”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “Not yet. But I will be next weekend, once you’re on the clock. So let’s head to the house tomorrow morning, take one last look around. Maybe snap some pictures on our phones. Then, you can tell me what equipment or materials you think we might need, so I can either buy or hire—”

  “I think it’s probably best if I do that. Then I’ll invoice you later.”

  “Well, if you think that works better. And as long as you’re not out of pocket.”

  “Trade discount. And let me put together a plan of work during the week. We’re not going to get everything done in a weekend, but we can make a good start.”

  Leonard finished his coffee and paid the bill while Adrian slipped away to use the restroom. When he returned, Leonard already wore his coat, ready for the short walk back to the hotel. Adrian pulled his own from the back of the chair and slipped the garment around his shoulders.

  “And if I haven’t said so already, Ade, thanks for everything. For agreeing to accompany me, for your excellent observations and most importantly, for your enthusiasm. I know this is probably like any other job for you, but I’ve really enjoyed this weekend, really enjoyed your company.”

  Despite feeling a little awkward, Leonard felt the words had needed saying. If he had come to see the house on his own in the pouring rain, he would probably have had one quick look around and ended up selling the place to his aunt. Right now he felt an excited optimism about the site, and also felt as though he had made a new friend.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” said Adrian as they stepped out into a rain-free evening and stopped on the pavement.

  “Why’s that?”

  “You haven’t heard the playlist I’ve picked out for the journey home yet.”

  Leonard stood and laughed, but then became serious when Adrian’s face didn’t return the humour.

  “Should I be worried?” asked Leonard.

  “Depends.”

  Adrian walked on ahead, but then stopped, spun around and folded his arms.

  “How do you feel about ABBACulture Club?”

  Chapter Ten

  Renovation

  Wednesday afternoon, Adrian lounged in his regular spot on the sofa with his bare feet up on his coffee table. For a change, the television remained switched off as it had been all week. After an early morning jog around the town followed by his indoor workout, and in between skimming a well-thumbed John Grisham thriller, he’d used his time to rough out some ideas for the renovation.

  On the tabletop he had a large sketchpad with a roughly scaled design of the house in Wales and some suggested changes, based on their conversation on the way back from Disserth. Even as a kid he’d had a knack of drawing things from memory almost to scale. At his mother’s insistence, he had framed three of his pictures of famous English landmarks—the Royal Pavilion in Brighton with its Indian architectural influence, the Tower of London, and the Royal Observatory in Greenwich—and hung them pride of place on his living room wall.

  That morning alone he had completed designs for the bathroom in Wales to add to those for the kitchen and the bedrooms. Pleased with the results, he had snapped a copy of the draught kitchen plan on his phone and fired the preview off to Lenny that morning. Two thumbs up emojis followed by two words ‘looks fantastic’ had been returned. When they met up on Thursday, he was looking forward to showing Lenny the other designs .

  He couldn’t believe how much he had enjoyed the previous weekend and how much he anticipated heading back with Lenny on Friday. And the daily text message exchanges with Lenny to remind him of things he needed to bring or buy always ended with a humorous remark that had him smiling.

  And that small change didn’t escape his notice either. Just seeing Lenny’s name appear on his phone sent a thrill through him. On Monday morning his waking dream had Lenny leaning against the bathroom door frame in the hotel, but this time with the bathrobe falling open to reveal his naked figure. Waking rock-hard and full of lust had led Adrian to take his erection in hand and pump out a release, spilling onto his stomach and chest. Not an unpleasant experience but one that had left him feeling a sense of guilt.

  Like many areas of his life, Adrian had simplified his relationships. Men he liked but did not find attractive became friends. Those he found hot but did not particularly warm to—like Nick—became fuck buddies. And he made sure the two never met. The one or two who filled both requirements—rarer and rarer as he grew older—he would usually put on hold until they slotted naturally into one category, or avoid and eventually phase out of his life, even if they did demonstrate a mutual desire.

  The cooling off period worked well for Adrian because misjudging a friendship for attraction was a mistake he would never make again.

  Lenny had lived with a university professor, a respected member of the faculty. Why on earth would he want anything more than friendship? Besides, Lenny also had his own life and successful businesses to take care of back in London, so had no time for anything more.

  No, Lenny fitted perfectly into the friends category.

  And yet small gestures and throwaway comments had Adrian feeling confused, that something more lay beneath the surface.

  On the way back from Wales they had agreed he would return on Thursday morning instead of Friday to check in with his mother and get her to sign some legal forms. At the same time, they would pick up mattresses and buy other items from the furniture store in Norwich and store them in the back of Adrian’s truck, ready for their trip down on Friday morning.

  Even with Lenny being busy in London—despite assurances to the contrary, he’d had a mound of work to catch up on—he still managed to check in with Adrian each day. As Adrian put the finishing touches to the third kitchen design, and as though reading his mind, his phone pinged with a message.

  Lenny: Shopping tomorrow. Hope you made a list.

  Adrian: And checked it twice. Gonna give your credit card a good workout. What time shall I pick you up?

  Lenny: Ten too early?

  Adrian: See you then. Text me your address.

  Lenny: Sounds like a date.

  Adrian: Well we are picking out bedding together.

  The phone went quiet for a while, and Adrian worried he had gone too far, but he could see Lenny was typing. Eventually, another text pinged through.

  Lenny: Always the funny guy. Thanks again for agreeing to do this, Ade. Make sure you give me invoices for everything this time around.

  Adrian: Look forward to seeing you tomorrow.

  Had he overstepped the mark? Maybe he should dial the chumminess down a notch or two. He didn’t want to give Lenny the wrong idea and scare him away.

  * * * *

  “Is your mother okay?”

  They had been shopping in the large department store in the centre of Norwich like an old married couple. Lenny had turned up dressed casually in a long-sleeved, old-fashioned rugby shirt in purple and yellow stripes, the style they don’t seem to wear on the field anymore, and a pair of well-worn jeans and trainers that only made him look hotter. As soon as they’d set off from his mother’s house, he told Adrian he had ordered the king-sized mattresses earlier in the week. They sat in the store’s loading bay ready to be thrown onto the back of Adrian’s truck. Both had the same idea when it came to bedding—something modest but comfortable. Four pillows—two for each bed—two king-sized quilts and covers in ivory for one room, navy-blue for the other, together with matching sh
eets. Not particularly imaginative, but neutral enough so that whatever décor Lenny decided upon, they would still be useable.

  “I usually don’t see her more than twice a year, so it’s been a bit overwhelming for her lately. And when I do turn up to get her to sign important documents, she reciprocates by handing me a list of things she needs doing. When I declined and told her I’m only here to pick you up and drive to Wales, she got a little antsy. As you saw.”

  “That explains the warm welcome.”

  “Sorry about that. If it’s any consolation, my mother tends to be somewhat frosty with anyone she doesn’t know. At least she offered you a cup of tea. And I have to say again, Ade, those sketches are amazing, even though I only glanced over them. Maybe you can talk me through them tonight over dinner without my mother hovering over us. To be honest, I could do with someone like you on my team, to give clients some quick, imaginative visuals of how something could look. Professional architects and even interior designers are exacting and take so damned long to produce anything, as well as being expensive. You’ve got a hidden talent going on there. You even managed to get a hum of approval from my mum.”

  Every time Lenny praised him about anything, a ripple of pleasure ran through Adrian. And Adrian had noticed, too, the way Lenny’s mother had glanced at them with something bordering lukewarm interest as she’d handed him a mug of tea—even though he had asked for coffee.

  “She probably gets lonely now your dad’s not around.”

  “Yeah, I did think that. You know, when I got back to London this week I phoned her every day, like a dutiful son. On Wednesday she asked me to stop calling so often. Can you believe? But I know she sees a lot of my Aunt Marcie. She lives across the street and they seem to get on really well.”

  “Maybe I should introduce her to my mum?”

  Lenny shook his head decisively.

  “Incompatible. As soon as your mother mentioned anything about the church or religion my mother would call a cab.”