by Gill Mather
“You come anywhere near me,” Luke said at a reasonable volume, “and I’ll call the police. Assault is a crime you know. So incidentally is breach of the peace. You’re showing yourself up. I suggest you stop before someone else calls the police.”
Greg had slammed the door and Luke could hear him bolting it.
Luke’s anger sustained him for a large part of the journey to Mayfield Cottages though as he neared the house he started to have doubts. However Emma’s dad couldn't possibly be so headstrong or unreasonable as his own father.
MOTHER AND SON stood embracing each other in his, Don’s, kitchen. They had broad smiles on their faces and parted for a second to look upon each other with delight then hugged each other again tightly. The rucksack sat on the floor, clothes piled around it, shoes tied by the laces to it, a couple of coats on the floor next to it and a laptop sat on his kitchen table.
Luke pulled away from his mother and walked towards Don. He noted that Don was looking at him lizard-like and he felt none too friendly towards Don either but Luke stretched out his arm and shook Don’s hand. Don noted the flash of anger in Luke’s dark eyes. He thinks I stole his mother from his father, thought Don. We’ll have to see what we can do about that without actively running down his father. Still, at least the young man has some manners.
“Hello,” said Luke in his best Essex. He wasn't going to try and impress this uptight man. Why should he? Don nodded.
“I’ll have to finish the dinner,” said Grace cheerfully. “Don. You couldn't show Luke his room could you?”
“Right,” said Don a little stiffly and gestured to Luke to follow him. He led Luke up the stairs, past his and Grace’s room and the main bathroom and into Emma’s old room.
“Here you are. This used to be Emma’s room. Emma is my daughter as you may know.”
“Hmm,” said Luke. Without further ado, Don stalked out and left Luke to it. Luke plonked his rucksack and other paraphernalia on the floor and fell onto the bed. It was soft and downy and, thinking about Emma, he smelled the pillows and buried his face in them. He raised his head and looked around the room, all pink and girly and a little childish. He smiled and sighed.
Then he got up and looked out of the window into the garden at the side of the house. He’d noticed when he was here before what looked like a summerhouse, though very run down. In fact it was little more than a brick outhouse with one of the walls replaced by tall glass panels and a glass door. It was partly obscured from the house by some shrubs. He thought he’d go and investigate it later. It faced south-west and might have good light inside. It probably got sunlight for most of the day. Perhaps they’d let him have it as a studio. In fact if it got too uncomfortable living in this house, he could kip there too. He had already started to find the atmosphere in the house claustrophobic.
But it would be rude to stay up here too long and not appear on time for dinner and so he moved away from the window. He’d better go down and face any music that was going sooner rather than later.
THE CONVERSATION OVER dinner was rather stilted. Grace kept making opening gambits but somehow after a short time any topic she introduced petered out. It was only when she asked Luke about his painting that he became more animated, telling her that he wanted to prepare for an exhibition in the autumn which the owner of a gift shop in the village had promised to put on for him.
“That’s terrific,” said Grace. “Don’s seen your “Repercussions” in Emma’s room. You liked it didn't you Don?”
Don had to admit that he had. Luke couldn't fail to notice his reluctance to do so.
“Actually,” he said, “I was wondering about the summerhouse in the garden. Whether I could turn it into a sort of studio.” Don didn't say anything. The suggestion had about it the smack of permanence or at least an extended stay.
“It’s filthy Luke. No-one’s touched it for years by the look of it,” said Grace. “It isn't really a summerhouse at all. You said didn't you Don that a previous owner had put the glass panels in and then not done any more. Don didn't have time to do anything,” she said to Luke. “I told you didn't I that his wife was ill and he had to look after her.”
“Hmm,” said Luke noncommittally.
“It’d need painting as well as a cleaning out,” said Grace.
Luke nodded. He had no money to buy paint. “Oh well,” he said, “I was thinking I could probably sleep there as well. I could try and get some old paint cheap or free from somewhere. But if it’s that bad and I can't get any paint, I suppose I’ll just have to stick to using it as a studio during the day.”
“I’ll buy the paint,” Don said quickly then kicked himself. That hadn't been very subtle.
“I’ll just clear away,” said Grace, “and then perhaps we could all go and look at it.”
“Fine,” said Don. Anything to get out of house.
DON HAD RUMMAGED around and found the rusty old key to the outhouse. He unlocked the door, opened it and they stood there regarding the interior. The floor to ceiling windows had been green with an algae-like covering therefore they hadn't been able to see inside from the outside. It was truly spectacularly filthy.
Luke should feel very much at home in there then, thought Don. He found that he was smiling.
Luke thought, I wish he wouldn't keep doing that. If he thinks something, why doesn't he just bloody well come out and say it! He stepped over the threshold.
“I think I’ll stay outside,” said Grace frowning up at the rafters where cobwebs hung thickly. Funnel spiders if she wasn't mistaken. She gave a shudder.
Luke was looking around, seeing immediately the possibilities of the place. It was quite large and there were things in here you could use too. An old table, some chairs, an attractive old mangle that would make a good subject for a drawing. Also loads and loads of old wood and masses of mouldy old rubbish such as rotten old curtains, crockery, a virtually antique fridge with rounded corners, a rusty old bike with no chain or tyres.
Don swallowed. “Good God! I haven't been in here for years.” His hopes of having Luke safely out of the house started to fade. He sighed and took Grace’s hand. Luke didn't notice since, having stepped inside, he was peering around appreciatively.
“This is terrific,” he said. “I wish we’d had one of these at home.”
“I don’t,” Grace laughed. Don raised his eyebrows. Luke turned to them, his eyes resting briefly on their hands clasped together.
“If it’s OK,” he said, “I’d like to have a go at sorting it out.”
“It’s got no electricity or anything,” said Grace. “I suppose we could run an extension lead from the house,” she said doubtfully, “but I suppose that would mean leaving a window open.”
“Maybe there’s an old cat flat it could be fed through,” said Luke. He knew very well there was one in the second back door but he could hardly say so since he wasn't supposed to have been in that part of the house yet.
“There is,” said Don. “It’s been stuck down and doesn’t work anymore but we could bore a hole through it and there’s a power socket just inside the door.” He said this unsmilingly and with little expression.
He’s determined to be shitty with me, thought Luke. “Maybe I could make a start on clearing the shed tonight,” he said.
“Be my guest,” said Don.
EMMA SIGHED LATER when she saw Luke’s text. She hoped it wouldn't mean constant surreptitious trips to her room when she was tired. She did like Luke, but she didn't want a serious steady relationship. And she didn't appreciate the fact that they had to keep their relationship a secret from their parents. Neither she nor Luke had questioned the necessity to do so but the fact that it was necessary didn't make it any nicer.
The house she noted with relief when she returned and slipped out of her lift’s car was in darkness. All was quiet when she went in and locked the door. She wondered where they would have put Luke but she was desperately tired and, after cleaning her teeth, she fell into bed and was a
sleep in five minutes.
DON WAS AWOKEN early. Something had disturbed him and as he came round, the sound resolved itself into a distant rhythmic grunting and panting. Oh God no! Not already. But in fact the sound seemed to be coming from downstairs, not from along the landing. Don’s eyes opened wide as the appalling thought entered his head that their young visitor was already downstairs defiling his daughter! Grace beside him was grumbling in her sleep, but he couldn't just leave it.
As quietly as he could, Don rolled out of bed and, reaching for a dressing gown, padded on bare feet out of the room and down the stairs. Mystifyingly, the sound was coming from the front of the house, not the back and he followed his ears to the sitting room where he saw in the dim light coming through the curtains that the furniture had been pushed aside to make a space in the middle of the room. There Luke was doing practised press ups, head down, back and legs ramrod straight and glistening with sweat. Suddenly without hardly stopping, in one springing movement, Luke was on his feet facing Don.
“I normally do more than that,” he said, “but I saw your feet and I couldn't do any more.”
Don noted that the youth in just his boxers was obscenely well-developed, in every department.
“I thought I’d make an early start again on the shed.”
“Right,” said Don. “I’m going to make a cup of tea for Grace and me if you’d like one.”
“Thanks. Could you just leave the things out and I’ll make mine when I’ve finished. I’ve got some sit ups and stomach crunches and other things to do yet. I can't afford to go to the gym so I do this every day. I’ve got some weights at home but I obviously couldn't bring them with me.”
“Right,” said Don again. “D’you think Emma’s up yet?”
“I haven't heard anything,” said Luke. He had decided that in this situation, he would let Emma make the first move. He didn't think it would be correct of him to be making any assumptions and go barging into her room. If she wanted to invite him in, then she would.
“See you later then,” said Don and walked out as the panting and grunting started up again.
IT WAS A PITY thought Don that he had fixed this particular morning to go and see those ruddy Solicitors. Grace had already gone to work. Grace who, on being told about the grunting and panting and having looked at Don’s worried face, had burst out into peels of laughter when she realised what he’d been thinking. She had mopped her eyes with a tissue as he had sat up in bed looking a little resentful drinking his tea.
She had hugged him. “There, there!” she’d said and laughed again. They heard the back door slam.
“He’s gone outside now to the shed again. I expect he’ll be outside for a while,” said Don meaningfully.
“I expect he will,” said Grace. And that had been that for a time.
Now however Don had the task of telling Emma about their visitor so that she wouldn't be surprised later to find a strange young man in the house. Don had heard that she was up otherwise he’d have pushed a short note under her door. It was still quite early though, before nine o’ clock.
Emma was on the way back from the toilet next to her room as he rounded the corner at the back of the house and she turned at his approach. She checked herself, thinking that it would have been Luke.
“Oh, morning dad.”
“Morning Emma. Can I come in for a moment? I’ve got to go out this morning and there’s something I need to tell you.”
“OK.” Of course she knew what was coming. Don explained the situation to her. He told her what Luke was doing outside and she had seemed interested. In truth he was quite interested himself to see what sort of job Luke would make of the filthy old building. Having got used to it, he now found he liked how Emma had got up this room.
He’d been to his garage and fished out some old cans of paint, wood preservative and some brushes and left them near the back door with a note to Luke that he could use these to be going on with if they were any good. In this heat he reasoned, the shed would dry out fairly quickly and could be painted pretty soon. He wouldn't have time to take Luke to get any new paint for a while. He had seen that Luke was obviously using the hose from the outside tap to make a quicker job of it. And the outdoor broom had disappeared from outside the back door too.
“I’ll go down there a bit later and see what he’s up to,” said Emma.
“Yes. Well, he’s not a bad young man. Not really. I expect we’ll make the best of it. I’ll be off then. Bye darling.”
“Bye dad.”
EMMA WENT UPSTAIRS where she might get a better view of Luke down the garden tarting up the old summerhouse though no-one had referred to it as that before. In fact no-one had referred to it at all. There was a huge pile of stuff outside the front of the little building. Every thirty seconds or so she saw Luke’s tall muscular form bring something out and add it to the heap. In fact there were several heaps so presumably some sorting and some discarding was going on. She wasn't interested in the old shed contents really. She noted that Luke had on only jeans and presumably trainers, but was wearing nothing above the waist. Some of the things looked quite heavy, like the old mangle for instance, but none of it seemed to be giving Luke any trouble. With a distinct and specific purpose in mind, she made her way downstairs, out of the kitchen door and to the summerhouse.
“ACTUALLY HE SEEMS to quite like you,” Emma was telling Luke.
“Well you could’ve fooled me. He’s been looking at me as though he’d like to do something very unpleasant to me. Though I’m not sure exactly what.”
She was lying half on top of him in her narrow bed with his arms folded around her. There they were talking about their parents again thought Emma. As a topic of post-orgasmic conversation, it had to be the shittiest subject going! And now for heaven’s sake, she was asking him about his father!
“Surely your dad couldn't seriously think you might be someone else’s son!”
“It’s just the way he is. A mass of insecurities. And he hates it when I point this out to him. But it’s true. Are either of his sons gay? Are either of us possibly inter-sex? Is he normal in that department? Is his wife having it off with someone? Well obviously she is now! Will the company fire him next week? Is he going senile? Even, just get this, is one of his legs longer than the other!”
“That seems rather sad actually.”
“Yeah. Very sad if you’re his son who won't succumb to a career in accountancy and gets lampooned, derided and criticised on a constant basis. Whose ambitions are pulled apart and taken down to the rubbish tip at least once a week. He’s a complete cunt and I’m not prepared to be made to feel guilty about that!”
“Don't get all upset,” said Emma licking his ear voluptuously. Luke giggled and squirmed. He drew her to him more tightly and told her that if she carried on like that, they’d have to do it again. At least one more time.
“How terrible!” she’d said as he reached for the condom packet again.
011 The Doubts
EVIDENTLY THE young man had survived quite well before he came here but, observed Don, now that he was here, his mother felt it necessary to keep him constantly fed and watered, at least when she wasn't at work. Of course Don appreciated that it was a good thing to be a good and caring mother but he couldn't remember his own mother waiting hand and foot on him when he was Luke's age. And that hadn’t done him any harm. And neither had it obviously done Luke any harm either to be away from his mother's ministrations for two months or so.
In just a week, Don had become well acquainted with Luke’s various culinary likes and dislikes. However a bonus for Don came in the form of cooked breakfasts most mornings which actually he did enjoy a great deal. No-one had ever before served his breakfast egg with fried chunks of Yorkshire pudding. They were just divine.
And mother and son were very obviously very close. They laughed a lot together. They hugged each other sometimes. They played games together. He had watched them through the upstairs window. One of th
em would spot, say, a tennis ball in the grass and they'd start dribbling and tackling accompanied by peels of laughter. And Luke let his mother win of course. Other times they'd use the ball or some other object and play catch.
Don knew he shouldn't feel so innately automatically irresistibly hostile towards the young man. But it was there inside him, this almost visceral antipathy towards another man's son living here in such close proximity. Especially the son of someone like Greg. He didn’t like himself for it but he couldn't help it. He just couldn't.
So this morning he was making his way down to the summerhouse to try to….what?....he wasn’t sure. Try to make some sort of meaningful contact with Luke? Prove to himself that he wasn’t a complete Neanderthal? Get Brownie points with Luke's mother if Luke bothered to tell her that her grumpy boyfriend had voluntarily entered into social intercourse with him?
Don paused when he was within a foot or so of the open door. He didn't want to stumble upon Luke for example getting dressed….or….something. But he saw that Luke was standing back from his work pinned to a makeshift easel regarding it apparently critically. Don could see that it was a drawing of the old bicycle with one of the old curtains draped over it. In considerable detail. It was possible to see that the material of the curtain was patterned but also mouldy. That it was possible to make out that it was a curtain at all was amazing to Don, but the gatherings at the top were plain to see. Faintly, he could even make out the seams. The backdrop to the tableau was the rough brick and mortar wall against which the actual objects were propped. And it was all incredibly done in just lead pencil.
Luke turned. He must have heard a twig crack under Don's foot. Don smiled guiltily.
"Sorry," he said, "I didn’t want to disturb you. That's rather something." He gestured towards the drawing.
"Oh right well, I prefer oils really and more abstract work but I haven't got any canvas right now. There's some bits of hardboard in here that might do. I'll see. But I wanted to do this first." He turned back to his work and regarded it. "Perhaps it'll do for the exhibition. I don't know."