by Swan, Tarn
We had a slight tumult later in the evening when it was discovered I had accidentally put his latest wedding magazine into the recycling box, which had been collected the day before. It had contained a feature on how to organise the perfect reception. I apologised and said I would buy him another copy. He didn't want another copy, he wanted that copy and he wanted it there and then. Sean Bean saved the situation in the guise of Sharpe, which began a new series on television last evening. It came on just as Twinks was building up to one of his dramas. He suddenly decided that a historical costume drama involving men in handsome uniforms was better than a hysterical domestic drama involving men in no uniforms. I knew I was forgiven when he arranged me on the couch to his satisfaction and curled up to watch telly with his head on my lap.
Living with Twinkles means that tumults are part and parcel of everyday life. Just having breakfast can result in a tumult in our house. He can make a three act melodrama out of trying to get the lid off the marmalade jar and as I've often said, just persuading him to get his backside out of bed on a work morning results in a tumult more often than not. He can't help it. Tumults are ingrained within the cells of his body.
The tumult I've alluded to in the past few diary entries, but haven't got round to expanding on, occurred on that far distant Thursday night when I said I was going to ask Twinks if he wanted to go out for dinner, instead of staying in and having him pick my domestic skills to bits. He was stressed on account of being in sole charge at work and I thought a nice evening out would relax us both. He was more than happy at the prospect of going out for a meal and as we headed home we discussed all potential culinary choices. We decided to go Indian and planned to book a table at the illustrious Bengal Ruby, home of divine curries and perfectly chilled lagers. We came to a set of traffic lights on red and as obliged by law I pulled up. By the time the lights changed to green and we pulled away I was so far in the doghouse that you might as well have called me a Shih Tzu and entered me for the best of breed at Crufts. Why? I waved at someone that's why.
What happened was that as I pulled up at the lights someone tooted their vehicle horn. I glanced out of the window, as you do, and a bloke driving a tow truck raised his hand in smiling salutation and before I knew it I'd returned the gesture. It was one of those knee jerk reflexes. We've all had them. You’re walking along the street and someone in a passing car peeps the horn and waves and your arm automatically raises itself and waves back, even while your brain is thinking 'who the hell is that?' You then feel a complete berk as you realise the car driver was attracting the attention of someone on the other side of the road. In this instance the tooter and waver was indeed waving and tooting at me, but by the time it clicked that it was Stuart Cramer the damage was already done. It was all split second kind of stuff, the famed butterfly effect. One tiny movement, in my case the raising of a hand, and the repercussions rippled outwards building up momentum. The look on Twinkles' face could have stopped a marauding army in its tracks. The temperature in the car dropped to below freezing and I knew with chilling certainty that we were heading for a major tumult.
He wasted no time, immediately demanding to know how long my affair with that bastard mechanic had been going on for? I crossly retorted that there was no affair. For a start in between going to work and dancing attendance on him I didn't have time for an affair. In the circumstances it was the worst thing in the world to say. Twinks interpreted it as meaning I wanted an affair with Cramer and the only thing stopping me was lack of time. Rant mode kicked in. When he got home he was going to give Karen a ring. She could put her organisational talents to good use and sort me out a schedule that allowed for screwing a twat of a mechanic in between lunch and afternoon tea breaks. I told him not to be so silly and he knew damn well I wasn’t having an affair.
He claimed the smile I gave Cramer in addition to the wave was intimate and had affair written all over it. He also said I had never explained how Cramer had known what address to send the Valentine card to. I told him it didn't need a defence lawyer to work that one out. If indeed he had sent the damn card, he had probably got the address from the insurance details we'd exchanged after the accident and from the details he took for his records when he did the repairs on my car. None of this cut any ice with the drama queen. I could go out for dinner on my own. In fact why didn't I give my boyfriend a ring and go out with him. We could talk hockey and then go back to his poxy garage and de-coke each other's exhaust pipes. I told him that I did not want to hear another word about Stuart Cramer.
By the time we got home I had a raging headache. It was called Twinkles and it stormed out of the car and into the house ahead of me slamming the door behind it and locking it, and not just locking it, but also bolting it thus rendering my key useless. I was livid. I manically rang the bell and shouted through the letterbox. I used my mobile to both ring and text him, all of which he completely ignored. I was so angry I could have kicked the door down. I knew it would be pointless going around to the back of the house, as it would be all locked up from that morning. I had no choice but to wait it out until he calmed down. He had to let me in at some point. It was cold so I went and sat in the car and pondered on what I was going to do when I got my hands on a certain Jonathan Lane. He knew fine well I was not having an affair. It was just an excuse for him to vent his work tensions via a nice bit of high drama.
Half an hour seethed by during which I text and phoned every few minutes, but to no avail. I tried banging on the front door again, but there was no reaction and my anger was now balanced equally with anxious concern.
I'd just decided I was going to have to break a window and gain entry that way when my cellphone rang. It was, of all people, the man himself, my phantom boyfriend, Stuart Cramer. You could have knocked me down with one of the feathers from Twinkles' boas. He told me to come to the garage as quickly as possible because my partner was there and he was totally fucking demented and had just about wrecked his car. I made haste.
As I discovered in due course Twinkles had called a taxi as soon as he got inside the house and arranged to have it pick him up in the next street. He had nipped out the back way and arrived at the garage to find it all closed up, but saw Stuart getting in his car ready to go home. He wasted no time in confronting him about his alleged affair with me, citing the Valentine card. Stuart forcefully denied any affair and also denied any knowledge of a card, telling Twinkles rather scornfully to ‘go home, woman.’
Twinkles didn't care for his attitude, a fact he demonstrated by wrenching loose the wing mirror and bouncing it off the roof of the car. He then ripped off one of the wipers and began using it to smash at the headlights, while shouting that if Stuart wanted a man he could find one of his own. Understandably Stuart wasn't too pleased and began to strongly remonstrate. Twinkles went for him wielding the windscreen wiper like a martial arts escrima stick. When it comes to hockey Stuart Cramer usually plays an attacking role, but when it came to an enraged Twinkles with a windscreen wiper he found himself firmly in defence.
I arrived on scene to find Cramer leaning heavily on the boot of his car, from which emitted a series of thuds, shrieks and expletives. He obviously had Twinkles shut in there and my first instinct was to kill him. He raised a hand before I could say a word explaining that he'd had no choice, as Twinkles had just about taken his car apart and was intent on taking him apart. The only other way of restraining him would have been to hit him and he'd been brought up not to hit girls. I let the remark go, the state of his car spoke for itself, as did the livid weal down one side of his face where the wiper had lashed him. I appreciated his restraint in not using his advantage of weight and height to pulverise Jonathan. Most men in a similar circumstance wouldn't have hesitated. It seemed the act of an essentially decent man, which made it seem all the more unlikely that he'd sent the wretched card.
As soon as the car boot was opened Twinkles popped up like a frenzied Jack in the box. I grabbed him before he could take another swing at
Stuart with the windscreen wiper he still had clutched in his hands. He was in a state, dishevelled and sobbing with furious temper. I got him into our car and very quietly hissed that if he attempted to get back out I would use the vandalised windscreen wiper to thrash his backside.
Handing the violated wiper back to Stuart I then apologised sincerely for Twinkles behaviour, explaining somewhat lamely that he'd got it into his head that we were having an affair on account of a Valentines card that had been sent to me. Stuart sharply said he wasn't the card sending type and certainly not to someone who was already in a relationship, though what the fuck I saw in someone like that, he jabbed a finger towards Twinkles, was beyond him. I curtly apologised for the situation once again and instructed him to send me the bill for the cost of repairing his car.
The return home was silent. Once indoors I folded my arms and grimly surveyed Jonathan. Avoiding my eyes, he straightened his tie, smoothed his jacket, flicked fingers through his hair and casually declared he was going for a shower and hadn't I better book a table if we were still going out. I have never moved so fast in my life. If there was such a thing as a speed record for taking down a man's trousers and underwear I reckon I would have broken it that day.
I didn't put him over my knee I bent him over the kitchen table and bounced my hand off his bottom and the top of his thighs until my palm was stinging too much to be effective as a means of punishment. I then switched to the rice paddle.
By the time I had finished he was clear about the consequences of embarking on a destructive rampage based on some nebulous notion that I was having an affair. I pointed out that Cramer could easily have called the police and had him arrested for criminal damage and assault. I also pointed out that Cramer could easily have put him into hospital, but hadn’t done so because he was a gentleman, unlike him, who was simply a spoilt brat.
Needless to say we did not go out for a meal. I ended up eating pot noodles in front of the television while he ended up in bed. Once I’d had some breathing space I went up in order to facilitate the making up process. I asked if he really doubted my love and loyalty? He said no and then tearfully tried to explain that what he doubted was his ability to hang onto me. He just couldn't stop thinking that Stuart Cramer was going to be the pin that would finally burst his bubble. Why would I want a man like Jonathan Lane when I could have a man like Stuart Cramer? Cramer could at least pass as natural in the straight man’s world. I’d be able to walk down the street with him without having to endure sly looks and nasty comments. Twinks then confessed a hitherto unspoken fear: that eventually I would regard him as a regrettable mistake and tell him to sling his hook. I was cross and upset that he hadn’t shared such thoughts with me, thus denying me a chance of dispelling them. Why I wanted him was immaterial and probably unfathomable, as it is for most people who fall in love. I just did. I told him that if he had any more thoughts along the same lines now was the time to air them.
He did have more thoughts to air. He’d noticed that since that mechanic had wheedled his way into my life, I hadn’t mentioned setting a date for a civil partnership ceremony, even though he'd been buying bridal magazine as a hint. I was baffled and asked if he'd actually read the message I'd written in his Valentine card? He confessed to being so mad when he saw THAT other card sitting on the mantelpiece that he had shoved mine unread in amongst the DVD's. I suddenly felt a lot better. In my card I had proposed several dates for our ceremony, all of them significant milestone dates to us as a couple. I asked him to choose the one he liked best and to tell me. Only he never had and now I knew the reason why. It was a great relief.
He asked why I hadn't said anything to him. I reminded him that we had been through some tough times at that point and I had been wondering whether he was holding off making a decision, because he was having doubts about wanting to commit to me in law. I didn't want to pressure him. And another reason I hadn't asked was because, contrary to popular belief, I am flesh and blood. I have vulnerabilities too and I didn't want to hear him say he no longer loved me as much as he once had. We both had a slightly tearful two minutes and then I went and retrieved the card, which I found nestled between 'Kinky Boots' and 'To Hell And Back.'
He chose the 3rd of June as the date he wanted for our ceremony, because that was the date we had moved into this house. It had been a happy and exciting day and what better date to choose for a ceremony that would confirm our commitment to each other. Then he got very tearful about the fact he wouldn't be able to buy a nice wedding dress because he didn't have any money saved up and his mother and grandfather were hardly likely to settle a dowry on him.
It was as good a time as any to return his chequebook and credit cards and tell him he was financially independent again. His debts were cleared and he could start paying his pay cheque back into his own account and managing it for himself. There were certain provisos. He was not allowed a store card and that would never change. They were an extortionate form of credit. I would be keeping my eye on him and if I thought his spending was getting out of hand, I would say so and he would listen.
I then gave him a cheque to pay into his personal account. It represented what was left of his pay cheque after his dues had been paid for that month. I'd saved it on his behalf during my management of his account. He was thrilled, and impressed, saying he hadn't realised how much he could save if he wasn't paying huge credit card bills each month. I told him he had to buy a suit and some shirts for work (he’s in dire need) and the rest was his to use as he wished. And so that particular tumult drew to a close, though it did have a postscript.
On the Sunday following the drama we had a visitor...Stuart Cramer. Twinks was upstairs when I answered the door. At first I thought he'd come to present the bill for the damage to his car, but he shook his head and said it didn't matter. It had cost him nothing but time. He had come to apologise about the card and not because he had sent it, but he had found out who had. At that point Twinkles heard his voice and came charging down the stairs threatening to rip off his balls and turn them into ice hockey pucks that he would then auction on ebay. I caught hold of him, tucked him firmly against my side and invited the garage owner inside.
It seems that Stuart's cousin works with him at the garage and he had overheard him talking on the phone to a friend. During this conversation my name and the circumstances of meeting had been mentioned, as was his attraction to me. Twinkles interrupted at that point to sweetly ask if Stuart needed glasses and to point out that I had crow's feet round my eyes. Stuart grinned and said they weren't crow's feet they were laughter lines and he liked them. I held Twinkles more firmly and told Stuart to proceed. This cousin thought it would be a bit of a joke to send me a Valentine card, enclosing one of Stuart’s business cards with it as a clue to the supposed sender, only he ended up sealing the envelope without enclosing the card, something he only discovered after posting it. Consequently, as a joke at Stuart's expense it had all fallen rather flat. Stuart said he was truly sorry the card had caused us grief and we could believe that he'd given his cousin some grief in return for it.
Going back out to his car he produced a bouquet of flowers, which he presented to Twinkles with a flourish. Twinkles gracefully accepted them. Stuart shook Twinkles' hand and then held his hand out to me, which I took. Before I knew it he'd pulled me forward and kissed me on the lips. He then winked broadly at a gobsmacked Twinkles and said he could now say he'd kissed the man of his dreams, if only once. Thrusting Twinkles behind me I told Stuart he was a wicked man and quickly shut the front door, confiscating the bouquet before Twinks could beat me about the head and shoulders with it. He then proceeded to demonstrate that he was a much, much better kisser than cheeky bugger Cramer. He didn't have to prove a thing to me, but I enjoyed his demonstration all the same.
1st May 2006: Lamb and Mutton
It's been a really miserable day, wet, cold and grey, typical Bank Holiday weather. Twinkle's cold has lingered all week, not getting any worse or yet any b
etter. In consequence he’s been irritable and even higher maintenance than usual. His irritability has been compounded by the fact that he's seen nothing of Lulu, nor heard much from him either. The love affair seems to be going strong.
Twinkles invited him and his new beau to come over for dinner midweek, but Lulu declined saying he didn't want to scare Tim off by introducing him to any of his friends too soon. He promised to bring him to the PP on Friday night, but then called on Friday afternoon to say that he and his mystery man were heading off to the Lake District for the long Bank Holiday weekend. Twinkles was most annoyed. It means he won't have a singing partner for the PP's May Queen Ball on Monday evening, where the theme is all things Brian May and Queen.
I do appreciate that Twinkles feels let down. He and Lu had been working hard on perfecting a routine to one of Queen's songs. I don't think it was particularly nice of Lulu to leave Twinkles in the lurch, but on the other hand I can also understand Lu's eagerness to be with his new boyfriend. This is the longest relationship he's had in quite some time. I well remember what Twinkles and I were like in the heady first weeks of our romance. We were practically joined at the hip (or hips more like) Of course Twinkles remembers those days too and a good proportion of his annoyance is rooted in jealousy.
He's been moaning non-stop all week about the dullness of our days. We never do anything different. We never go away. He’s bored with the same old places and faces. He wanted to go away to the Lakes this weekend too, but I said no. For one thing, if the weather stays like this it will be utterly miserable and while I don't mind doing a bit of hiking in the rain, Twinkles hates it. For another, if the sun does actually break cover and shine forth half the car owning population of Great Britain will head for the Lakes and we'll spend most of the Bank Holiday sitting in a huge traffic jam. Believe me if you'd ever spent any time sitting in a traffic jam with Twinkles as a car companion you would understand my reluctance to ever repeat the experience.