by G. M. Dobbs
‘Sue,’ Amy shouted and ran off after the woman. For such a solidly built woman she moved with a fluid grace.
Sue glanced back over her shoulder and a look of annoyance crossed her face.
‘What do you want?’ she asked, as Amy reached her.
Amy stopped and for a moment seemed to be lost for words. She just stood there, looking at the other women.
‘Well?’ Sue prompted, her frown further hardened by the sodium glare of the streetlamp.
Amy took a long lingering look at Sue before answering. She felt awkward and shuffled her feet, directed her gaze at the ground.
‘I get the feeling you’re avoiding me,’ she said.
‘We’ve just been for a drink,’ Sue answered.’ You were there.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘No,’ Sue said, coldly.’ I don’t know what you mean.’
Amy smiled, weakly. Said nothing.
‘Look,’ Sue said. ‘I’ve really got to get on. I can feel one of my migraines coming on and I just want to get home.’
‘I could walk with you,’ Amy offered. ‘We could talk.’
‘About what?’
‘Us.’
‘There is no us.’
‘But last week…’
‘Meant nothing.’
That hurt Amy. The words struck her like a physical blow and she had to steady herself as she felt the world spinning around her.
Sue, noticing Amy’s discomfort, smiled weakly. She could see that she had hurt the other woman and that was the last thing she wanted. She had known the other woman for a great many years and was extremely fond of her, and yes there had been times when she’d imagined she’d loved her, but it was all over between them. She reached out and placed a hand on each of Amy’s shoulders, looking directly into her eyes.
‘Last week,’ she said. ‘Was a mistake. I was in a bad place and I needed someone and you were there, but it could have been anyone.’
‘Anyone,’ Amy spat the word and twisted herself free from Sue, pushing her away. ‘You mean Carol.’
‘I’, Sue said but Amy cut her off.
‘ Were you thinking of Carol when you were with me?’ she asked.
I’m sorry if I hurt you but we’ve got to put this behind us,’ Sue said it matter of factly. There had been little or no emotion in her voice. ‘I’m sorry.’
Amy smiled, coldly.
‘Fuck you,’ she said and turned on her heels, walking away into the night. She reached the end of the street before looking back but Sue had already gone.
‘I’ve got to go,’ Carol said, having just realised the time. It was gone ten thirty and it had been a long day. She looked around the now almost deserted pub, surprised that time had flown so quickly and that Mark should prove such good company. Ordinarily she found him boorish and more than a little overpowering but tonight he had been delightful.
‘I’m knackered myself,’ Mark said and drained his fifth or maybe sixth pint. He’d forgotten exactly how many he’d had but Carol had matched him glass for glass. Though she had been drinking white wine rather than the thick Welsh bitter he favoured.
Carol stood up, immediately felt light-headed and giggled.
‘I think I might have overdone it,’ she said.
‘Just a bit,’ Mark said, grinning as he got to his feet. ‘You okay?’ he held his arms out each side of Carol, as if preparing to catch her should she stumble.
Carol giggled, nodded.
‘The come on,’ he said and led the way outside, waving to the landlord as he went past the bar. ‘See you tomorrow, Trev.’
‘Aye,’ Trevor nodded and stared glumly at the remaining customers in the far corner. He was eager for them to go so that he could start locking up, wanting nothing more than to climb into his own bed.
Once outside Carol again felt her legs wobble beneath her. The fresh air hit her like a sledgehammer and she stumbled forward and would have landed face first on the cold hard ground had Mark not been so quick in grabbing her. Giggling, she allowed Mark to lead her along the street.
‘I think I’d better take you home,’ Mark said, also feeling a little light headed. He held Carol around the waist and she slung one of her arms over his shoulder for extra support.
‘You’d better,’ Carol said and snuggled into Mark as they walked. She giggled again and this time it turned into a roaring laugh. ‘I don’t think I’d find my way on my own.’
Mark laughed with her and as they reached the end of the road and turned the corner into Meadow Street where Carol shared a small flat with her two cats and a goldfish. He sensed warmth radiating from Carol, which provoked a stirring in his loins.
‘Here we are,’ Mark said as they reached Carol’s flat. He was surprised at how disappointed he felt now that they would be parting company.
Carol turned in Mark’s arms until they were standing face to face.
‘You want to come in?’ she asked.
Mark nodded, smiled.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘For coffee,’ Carol said, looking deep into Mark’s slate grey eyes as she spoke.
‘For coffee,’ Mark agreed, nodding. He had never before realised just how green Carol’s eyes were, like emeralds.
‘Coffee’s not a euphemism,’ Carol said and giggled again.
‘No,’ Mark said with a smile. ‘It’s a stimulant.’
‘Are you stimulated?’ Carol asked, leaning in closer to Mark.
‘Well I’m not decaffeinated,’ Mark said.
Carol laughed and then kissed Mark. She hadn’t meant to but the urge to plant her lips on his had suddenly come from nowhere. She didn’t pull away as Mark’s tongue entered her mouth and one of his hands snaked around her to rest on her backside.
‘Now I’m stimulated,’ Mark said as he pulled away from her embrace.
‘So am I,’ Carol said and kissed him again, longer this time, lingering.
Three
Arthur didn’t so much as bat an eyelid as he came into the house and saw the complete stranger sitting on his sofa. If living with Granny for so many years had taught him anything it was to take things in his stride. Once Arthur had joked that the phrase, ‘expect the unexpected’, would be a good family motto but then living with Granny meant that nothing was unexpected so as a motto it was rather redundant.
The man looked at Arthur and smiled meekly but didn’t say a word. He sat there on the sofa, though perched would be a better word, and clutched a tan leather briefcase to his chest.
He’s selling something, Arthur thought. Though it was rather late for a salesman to be out calling. Jehovah’s Witness, Arthur decided since they were known to torment people regardless of the time of day or night
‘You’re home,’ Granny stated the obvious as she snaked her head around the living room door. ‘This is Richard,’ she said and that was all the explanation she gave before vanishing back into the kitchen.
‘Richard,’ Arthur said as he leant forward and stretched out a hand. ‘I’m Arthur but call me Art.’
‘Art?’
‘Aye,’ they shook hands. Arthur thought that the man’s handshake had been weak, which seemed to strengthen the theory that the man was a Jehovah’s Witness. His palms had also been clammy to the touch. It had almost been like shaking hands with a sponge.
Arthur sank back in his chair and surreptitiously wiped his own hands on his trousers.
An awkward silence fell between the two men but then Purser leant forward on the sofa and said: ‘I’m here about the frogs,’
Arthur, who seldom got himself involved in any of Granny’s schemes, didn’t have the faintest idea what the man was talking about. He considered the possibility that the man was one of Gerald’s friends, they were indeed a strange lot, but Gerald was away and would be for several more days.
‘Frogs,’ Arthur said and looked up as a cloud of burley smoke announced Granny’s entrance back into the room. She was carrying two cups of tea, and she handed one t
o each of the men. Arthur noticed that they were using the best china and not the usual novelty mugs with pictures of rock bands on them. Granny was obviously trying to impress this man, whoever he was.
‘Biscuits,’ Granny said and puffed on the pipe clamped between her teeth. She turned on her feet and choo-choo’d out of the room, sending puffs of smoke into the air as she went. A moment later she returned with a plate of mixed biscuits, which she placed, on the coffee table. ‘Get stuck in,’ she said and sat down on the sofa next to the herpetologist.
Arthur took a digestive and dunked it in his tea, which earned him a frown from his wife. He knew the meaning behind the frown since his wife had often told him that dunking biscuits in tea was common.
‘Frogs then,’ Arthur said, swallowing the soggy biscuit. ‘What frogs?’
Purser looked at Granny, surprise on his face. The old woman smiled back at him and then turned to her husband.
‘The frogs on Graig Meadow,’ she said. ‘I did tell you. Honestly you walk around in your own little world most of the time.’
Now it was Arthur’s turn to frown as he tried to recall any conversations he might have shared with his wife involving frogs but his mind was a blank. Though that didn’t surprise him since his wife was always going on about one thing or another and Arthur had long realised that his best chance of a peaceful coexistence with his wife was to nod and offer the occasional grunt of support.
‘That meeting I held here last Wednesday,’ Granny continued. ‘That was about the frogs.’
‘Oh,’ Arthur said, still none the wiser. He recalled the house being filled with Granny’s friends one day last week, could have been Wednesday he supposed, but he had quickly left them to whatever it was they were doing and escaped to the pub. He wished he could escape to the pub now but he had just come from there, and only then because the landlord had called last orders.
‘The pond on Graig Meadow,’ Granny said, speaking to her husband as though he were a child. ‘The pond is home to a rare species of frog.’
‘Very rare,’ Purser agreed with a polite nod.
‘And the Tudor development threatens the pond and thus the frogs,’ Granny concluded and gave the herpetologist a smile.’ ‘Have another biscuit,’ she pointed at the plate of mixed biscuits.
Purser picked up a party ring.
Tudor, now they were speaking a language Arthur understood. Tudor Lewis was a local man who had done extremely well for himself. So well, in fact that several years back the village newspaper had run an article about him under the headline, Gilfach’s First Millionaire. He had made a fortune during the early Nineties by renovating the old Workman’s Hall, purchased from the town council at a low price because of the general disrepair to the long derelict building, and turning it into a block of modern flats. Initially Tudor had hoped to attract young professionals who were looking for a quiet village life, but when Gilfach proved too far from the beaten track to appeal, Tudor had simply registered the flats with the local housing association and filled the flats with young homeless couples. It was not ideal but the rent, paid for by the Housing Benefit Department, allowed Tudor to invest in even bolder business opportunities. He seem to snap up just about every property that came onto the market, and now a decade or so into the new century Tudor Lewis owned many of the properties in Gilfach’s residential and business sectors.
‘Richard’s a herpetologist,’ Granny said. ‘From the university.’
‘Right,’ Arthur said, though not having the faintest idea what a herpetologist was.
‘We’ve been to see the pond but we’ve got to go back in daylight,’ Granny explained. ‘So instead of Richard travelling all the way back to Cardiff tonight and then back here in the morning, I said he could spend the night. He can have Gerald’s room.’
‘Aye,’ Arthur sipped his tea. ‘Makes sense that.’
‘You are very kind,’ Purser said and smiled meekly at Granny.
‘Heart of gold, bach,’ Arthur said. ‘That’s our Granny. Heart of gold.’
Four
Gerald was absolutely fuming, and the seventy odd mile drive had done little to alleviate his mood. He had been tamping when he’d pushed Wayne over that wall and into the flowerbed, he had been tamping when he’d jumped into his mini and left Burnham and he was still very much tamping as he parked the car.
He had spent the entire journey with his foot down and Donna Summer blasting from the stereo, but he hadn’t really listened to the music, was in no mood for music. Even the fluffy pink dice that hung from the rear-view mirror failed to comfort him and he didn’t so much as notice the new coordinated seat covers that usually gave him so much pleasure. It was as if they had become part of the commonplace and no amount of pink was going to colour his blue mood.
He jumped from the car, didn’t bother to lock it and tamped up the garden path before fumbling with the front door key and letting himself into the house. He was glad to find his mother and father had gone to bed, which was no real surprise since it was gone three am but Granny did sometimes stay up late, listening to her old rock albums. Thankfully this was not one of those times because Gerald didn’t fancy explaining to his mother why he had turned up at this odd hour of the morning, and not only that but three days earlier than he had been due to return home.
‘Small mercies,’ Gerald mumbled and then the image of Wayne appeared in his mind. ‘Bitch,’ he spat and went through to the kitchen.
There was a plate of biscuits on the table and Gerald took a party ring, his favourite, and nibbled on it as he boiled the kettle for a quick coffee before retiring to his bed. He didn’t consider the wisdom of taking a caffeine shot so soon before bed, but it had been a long drive and he so needed a coffee.
Nothing else would do.
Lemmy entered the kitchen and started to purr as he noticed Gerald. He crossed the room and began weaving in and out of the man’s legs.
‘Lemmy, go away,’ Gerald said and gently kicked the cat. ‘Daddy’s not in the mood.’ Although the cat belonged to his mother Gerald had always referred to himself as, “Daddy” while talking to the creature.
The cat let out a meow, jumped up onto the windowsill and started to preen itself.
‘Uncle Wayne’s been a right bitch,’ Gerald told Lemmy as he poured water from the kettle. The cat ignored the man and continued to preen itself.
Gerald poured himself a cup of instant coffee and grabbed another biscuit before sitting himself down at the table. He starred moodily at the wall as he sipped his drink.
The disagreement with Wayne had started, as it always seemed to these days with Wayne’s claims that Gerald wasn’t truly committed to their relationship and that he was somehow living a lie. Something that Gerald refuted but no matter how much he protested Wayne would bring up the one unassailable fact that couldn’t be argued with. Whilst Gerald had at least one foot out of the closet he wasn’t truly free of the shackles binding him to a perceived normality. It was true that Gerald made no secret of the fact that he was gay and in a steady relationship but he hadn’t stood up and had the, “I’m gay and proud of it,” conversation with his parents.
Gerald insisted that both his mother and father knew of his sexuality, let’s face it they’d have to be blind not to be. He would point out that there was no need to talk about such things, since he was quietly accepted for whom he was, and besides he found it difficult to have a conversation with his mother that was of a sexual nature. Wayne of course told him that he sounded like a teenage boy rather than a man not too far from middle age.
This had been a bone of contention between Gerald and Wayne for some time now, and Wayne was pushing for Gerald to make the announcement to his parents that they were a couple, but Gerald would put it off, claiming that his parents already knew they were a couple. Wayne though was not so sure of that. For one thing Granny always referred to him as Gerald’s friend and Arthur…well Arthur didn’t seem to acknowledge Wayne at all other than with the odd grunt of gre
eting.
Gerald drained the last of his coffee and started up the stairs, his thoughts once again returning to the row with Wayne.
They were to be married. That was the plan and that was the reason they had gone away for the holiday together, to celebrate their forthcoming nuptials. The proposal had been mutual, made one afternoon several weeks ago when they had been talking about gay marriage, and the new laws surrounding such, and then they had both made the same suggestion in unison – “we should get married.” At first they had just stared at each other, silent for several moments but then they had laughed and, wiping tears from the corner of their eyes, had embraced.
Gerald suddenly felt a pang of remorse.
Maybe Wayne had a point, he thought. He should have made the announcement about their marriage to his family by now. What was the point in them making any plans, Wayne had reasoned, without the involvement of their respective families? Wayne’s own mother, a greying women who perpetually smelled of peppermint, was over the moon with the news and was talking about paying for a honeymoon for the two of them, while Gerald’s own family simply went about their lives with no knowledge of the forthcoming nuptials.
Gerald suddenly felt foolish and ashamed. He shouldn’t have flown off the handle with Wayne the way he had. That’s it, he thought. It was a little too late to call Wayne now and apologise but he made a decision there and then, that first thing in the morning he would tell his mother and father that he was gay, get it all out in the open where it belonged.
It had to be said.
Bugger the consequences.
Gerald immediately felt better as he pushed his bedroom door open, slowly so as not to disturb his mother and father who were sleeping in the next room. If they awoke now they would want to know why he was home and Gerald didn’t fancy going through it all now.
The morning would be soon enough.
Once inside the bedroom he slowly closed the door behind him and without switching on the light started to undress. He was suddenly exhausted and wanted nothing more than to get beneath his luxurious goose down quilt and shut out the world for a few hours. He tossed his jacket and shirt over the dressing table and stepped out of his trousers, leaving them on the floor and walked over to the bed.