Waiting for Rain

by Susan Mac Nicol

  I could more fully understand now why Simon had kept his sexual preferences to himself. There were a couple of clerks and councilmen in the town council who weren’t particularly accepting of gay men. It helped that Dave Webber had left, as he had been well entrenched with most of them and lent his views whenever he could in the past.

  Tammy sighed. “I know that old fart Manson-Cooke is giving you a hard time, Toby. He’s just old-fashioned and a real prick. Ignore him. You’ve got Dave helping you get those permits you need for his barns, and no one will give him trouble. Everybody loves Dave.”

  Dave Beddington was indeed a stalwart member of the town and involved on various council boards. Having him as my ally, as had Simon in the past, was a real boon. His barns were being used as the venue for the fair. They were huge, rambling buildings that would house the market stalls, the food hall, and the stage on which Rain was going to perform.

  “That’s another thing,” I muttered. “Getting the council to agree to the bloody striptease was an absolute fucking pain. The previous councilor gave his blessing. Then he went and bloody left for pastures green, and Dave and I had to start all over again. The new guys said we were promoting porn, for God’s sake. One of them went as far as to say, in what he thought was out of my hearing, that what else could you expect from homosexuals, as they were so promiscuous.” I clenched my fists at the memory. “Dave had to literally hold me back from bashing the bugger’s smug face in.”

  Tammy giggled, then sighed in sympathy as I glared at her. “But you have all the permits now, the pole dance and the striptease is going ahead, and everything is fine. So, settle down and start focusing on what we need to do here. Like ordering the catering in, getting all the bedding sorted, and helping me set the housekeeping rosters. Once we have that all sorted, maybe we can get off home to our respective lovers.”

  The thought of getting home to Rain made me smile. I now spent most of my leisure time and weekends at his home, having almost moved in there, and my hotel room was used for illicit, quick lovemaking sessions and the times when I was just too tired to take the small Fiat Uno the hotel owned and drive home to Rain. With Chris doing the night shift and me having another focus now other than the hotel, things were streamlined and working well for us both.

  “Lucas said they should be back by eight tonight. They were finishing off that library this week, and next week I think they start a job in Lincoln.” Tammy leaned back in her chair. “They’re getting a lot of really good jobs, aren’t they? The business is really growing.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, Rain says he’ll need to employ more staff soon. He’s taken some of the money he made from his house sale in London, and he wants to invest it back in the business and buy new equipment.”

  Rain had managed to get a very good price for his Chelsea home, and with his half share of the profits, he was well-placed now to expand his carpentry business. Tommy had duly been settled, and in fact, I’d chuckled when I’d seen the lawyer’s letter Rain had sent him with his statement of the proceeds. He’d insisted on sending the letter himself once the lawyer had finalized it. Right at the bottom, under “Other comments,” Rain had written, “Fuck you, and make sure you stay in Monte Carlo.” Said letter was winging its way to recipient Tommy MacDonald as we sat there debating how many cauliflowers we needed and whether or not to buy single- or double-ply toilet paper, forever a burning question when it came to restocking.

  The hotel phone on my desk rang, and I answered it.

  “Toby Prentiss.”

  “Mr. Prentiss, this is Celeste Muir from the British Association for Fostering and Adoption.” She laughed softly even as my stomach went into turmoil. “We call ourselves BAAF for a reason. It’s a lot easier to say. You’re a difficult man to track down. I finally managed to find out where you work.”

  My throat dried up. “What can I do for you?” I asked numbly.

  What the hell was this all about? Had they found out I’d run away all those years ago? Had something in my past come back to haunt me?

  Tammy looked at me, sensing something was up.

  “This is a little unusual. But we’ve been approached by a man who asked us if we could track you down and make contact. I don’t want to do this on the phone, as the subject matter is a little sensitive. Could you perhaps come and see us in the Leicester office? I’ve been allocated the case by the head office in London, as I’m closer to you.”

  I swallowed. I felt like I’d eaten chalk dust, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I felt ill. “Exactly what is this all about? I’d rather have a bit more to go on before I come and see anyone.”

  Tammy put down her pen, watching me carefully. My hands were trembling, and she frowned. She stood up and came over to me, laying a warm hand on my shoulder.

  “Toby, what’s wrong?” she whispered.

  I shook my head as I waited for Celeste Muir to respond.

  She sighed. “A man approached us about six months ago. He said he was your father, and he wants to see you.”

  A black hole opened and threatened to swallow me up. “My father died when I was born,” I managed to say. “I have no father.” I heard Tammy’s gasp.

  The woman’s voice on the other end of the phone was sympathetic when she spoke. “I’m aware that’s what the file says. But this man says he is definitely your father, and he has the documentary evidence to prove it. Your birthday is 11 March 1985, and you were born in Cambridge to Claire Rose Prentiss née Martin. He has your birth certificate in his possession, and he is named as the father on it. Mr. Prentiss, I realize this must be a shock. It’s why I’d rather do this face-to-face.”

  I was shaking my head, unable to process this information. “If he’s my father, where has he been all these years? And why is he getting in touch now?”

  There was silence. “Mr. Prentiss, we can talk about this when we see each other. Are you able to come down—”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me the answers to my questions.” I gripped the receiver tightly. “I’m just not.”

  Tammy was looking worried now. She kept mouthing words at me, but I couldn’t see what she was saying. I knew I should be over the moon I was being told I had family, but something deep in my soul just knew it was too good to be true. The sense of foreboding doom was too strong. Celeste remained quiet, and I heard the rustle of papers. I heard her take a deep breath, and I knew she was about to tell me something momentous.

  “Your father has been in prison, Mr. Prentiss. And he has cancer—he’s dying and isn’t expected to live much longer. We normally find in these circumstances that people want to right wrongs, make peace. That’s why his solicitor approached us.”

  I put the receiver back on the hook gently. I couldn’t face any more news. I thought perhaps if I put it down it might be as if the whole incident had never happened. I sat there, waiting for the world to keep turning and hoping it would go back to where I’d been before, talking to Tammy about mundane catering requirements. I heard the phone ring again, saw Tammy pick it up and talk quietly to whoever was on the other end. I watched as she put the phone down and walked over to me. She wrapped her arms around me from behind, laying her cheek on the top of my head.

  “Toby, sweetheart, you need a cup of tea.” Her voice was unsteady. “That lady that called back has given me her telephone number, and told me to ask you to call her if you change your mind. I’m going to call Rain and get him to come back here. I think you need him. But first—tea.”

  She disappeared out of the office. I was still sitting there when she returned with a steaming cup of tea, the balm for every ill known to an Englishman. She made me sip it while I thought about what I’d just been told.

  “She says my father is alive and in prison. She says he’s dying of cancer, Tammy.”

  Her face looked shocked, but she tried to keep it brave for me. “She didn’t say what it was all about, just that it involved your dad wanting to see you.”

  “He
’s not my dad,” I said between gritted teeth. “Don’t call him that. I don’t even know him. And from the sounds of it, I never will. Isn’t that just peachy, being told you have a long-lost father and he’s dying.” I laughed harshly. “The story of my fucking life, Tammy. Giveth then taketh away. Just like Maestro.” She would have no clue who or what Maestro had been to me.

  “Toby—” She reached out a hand, and I stood up, my eyes hot with unshed tears.

  “I need to be alone right now, Tammy. I’m going to my room.” I dashed out of the office, up the stairs, and into my room. I flung myself down on my bed, buried my face in the pillows, and then the tears came, scalding buckets of pure frustration and grief that seemed to never stop. I was spent, and I lay with sobs racking my body as I fell slowly into the deep, dark pit of sleep. I woke to the touch of someone stroking my hair and soft lips on my tearstained cheek. I opened my eyes blearily, looking into Rain’s loving blue eyes.

  He reached out, wiping the sticky bits of hair from my face. “Hey, sweetheart.”

  I sat up against the pillows. Rain scooted me over and sat next to me, pulling me into his arms, stroking my hair. I leaned into his strength and his warmth and felt a little more whole.

  “Tammy told me what happened,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Toby. I called Celeste back and explained you’d got upset. She understood. She sounds nice enough. I said I’d talk to you and see whether you wanted to go and meet her to find out more. She wouldn’t discuss it with me, obviously.”

  “What’s to know? I didn’t have a father because he was in prison, and now he’s dying, I’m not going to have one anyway.” My voice was bitter. “I was definitely a chip off the old block, wasn’t I? The apple didn’t fall far from the fucking tree—”

  “Toby, shut the fuck up.” Rain’s voice was firm. “Stop feeling so bloody sorry for yourself.”

  My mouth dropped open in disbelief, and I struggled to move away from him, anger surging inside. But his strong arms held me like a vise grip.

  “Rain, I swear, if you don’t let me go, I’ll punch you,” I threatened. He snorted, tightening his hold. It was like being in a straitjacket. Except I really didn’t want to get out of this one. I felt his heart beating in his chest as he pressed my head to it.

  “I’d like to see you try, sport,” he murmured. “Now you listen to me. You don’t even know the circumstances behind why your alleged father is behind bars. And no matter what the reason, you are not like him. I couldn’t care what he did or didn’t do, I know my Toby. And my Toby is a decent, great man who didn’t deserve the shitty life someone dealt him but who still came through to be the man I love. And there’s another thing Toby has that no one else does.”

  “What’s that?” I managed to get out through a mouthful of cotton shirt. I knew the answer, of course. I just wanted to hear it from his lips. I didn’t know you could feel a grin through the warmth of a manly chest, but I swear I did.

  “Me” was his simple reply. “So, stop all this drama-queen stuff and sit up, kiss me, and then we’ll talk about what you want to do about all this.”

  I huffed and sat up, rubbing my eyes. He watched me with amusement, and I already felt better just by having him near me. But despite his gentle teasing, I saw the concern in his eyes.

  “I don’t think I want to kiss someone who just told me to shut the fuck up and called me a drama queen,” I muttered moodily. “That was a little rude.”

  He ignored me and pulled me closer for a kiss anyway. It was gentle and caring, and I lost myself in it. Then he let me go, licking his lips. “You taste salty,” he murmured.

  “Yeah? Well, you taste of chicken. What the hell have you been eating? Ugh.” I licked my lips in distaste, and he chuckled.

  “I was feeling peckish earlier, so Lucas bought me a chicken sub.” He grinned. “You’re lucky it wasn’t the one with extra onions.” His face grew serious. “Toby, you don’t have to do anything about this whole thing. You can tell BAAF that you don’t want to meet anyone who says he’s your father.”

  I looked at him. “I know I can. But honestly, Rain, a man is dying and wants to see someone who he thinks is his son. What kind of person would I be if I refused—as long as he is my father, of course, and that still remains to be proven.”

  Rain’s eyes were tender as he looked at me. “Spoken like a true Toby. Then call her back, tell her you’ll meet her to verify this man is your family. Then we can decide what to do from there.” He hugged me fiercely, and I felt a surge of relief that I wasn’t alone in this.

  Four days later we sat at HM Prison Woodhill in Milton Keynes, waiting to see my father. We’d driven down from Stamford in Rain’s Civic, leaving very early that morning. It had been a whirlwind week. Due to the fact that the man I was sitting here to visit, Vincent Michael Prentiss, was terminally ill and had been transferred to the medical wing of this institution to die, time was of the essence. Rain and I had been to meet Celeste Muir from BAAF, and she’d been instrumental in guiding me through the process of determining whether I was indeed his son. We’d sat in her small office in the middle of town while she’d shown me the original birth certificate, letters from my mother to Vincent in prison, baby photos of me that I recognized, and they’d even taken a blood test to prove paternity once and for all. The results wouldn’t be back in time for me to be absolutely convinced, but what she had was proof enough.

  “Vincent Prentiss went into prison three months before you were born,” she’d said quietly. “He was serving time for grand larceny and car theft. Someone was badly injured in the theft, and he got a fairly hefty sentence of ten years. He’s been in and out of prison since he was twenty-three years old for various offenses.” She smiled sadly. “And the one he’s currently in will be the one he’ll never leave.”

  I felt numb. Vincent was only fifty-three years old now and had spent most of his life behind bars. I still couldn’t bring myself to call him my father.

  Celeste had assured me that Vincent had only been told that I’d been in foster care and nothing about the violent incidents in my past. Her words were that the man had been through enough, and there was no point telling him things that might make him feel even guiltier. She’d also said those were my stories to tell if I wanted him to know.

  Rain reached over, placing his warm hand on mine as we waited for the doctor to appear and take me to the man who’d asked for me. He’d been very attentive, rubbing my back, hugging me, planting soft kisses on my lips and cheek, making sure I was prepared to face what I was going to do. I was a bundle of nerves. I hadn’t eaten properly for days, despite Rain’s efforts, and my stomach was churning.

  “Are you okay, Toby?” he asked quietly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”

  I glared at him. “No. I told you, Rain, the man’s bloody dying. The last thing he needs to know is that his son is a homosexual. Let the man go in peace thinking he had a normal son.” I knew my words would strike a chord with him. It had been something we’d argued about before coming down to Kent. He’d wanted to be with me when I saw Vincent and said gently if it made me feel better I could just tell my father I was his “friend.” I was having none of that either. Rain was not just my friend, and I wouldn’t denigrate our relationship that way.

  Rain’s voice was dangerously quiet when he spoke. Only the glint in his eyes told me he was pissed off with me. “Toby, you are normal, for God’s sake. Hell, you can be such a stubborn bastard.” He huffed and sat back, clearly irritated. I think he thought I might have had a change of heart after all the attention he’d been giving me. But I wasn’t ready to tell my dying father I was gay. I knew it was irrational, but it was how I felt. We sat in uneasy silence.

  The white-coated doctor appeared a few minutes later, and I stood up. He motioned me to go with him. “The nurse got him settled, and he seems fairly coherent. The painkillers make him drowsy and confused. I doubt you’ll be able to talk too long, but it should be enough to say what
you two have to say.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry you both had to meet under such circumstances. It can’t be easy for you.”

  I kept silent as I followed him down the corridor to a small, dimly lit room on the left side. He entered, and again I followed. He went over to the bed, gently shaking the shoulder of the man that lay there. My throat closed up, and I wanted to bolt, run out of this room back into Rain’s arms and never look back. Instead I clenched my hands against my sides and stood firm.

  “Vince? There’s a young man here to see you, the one you’ve wanted to see.” There was a muttered grunt as the doctor leaned over and adjusted something behind the man. Then the doctor walked over to me.

  “Take a seat, Mr. Prentiss. Vince doesn’t look his best, but don’t be scared. Just talk, say what you have to say, and if you feel it gets too much for you, come out and find me. I’ll be at the nurses’ station outside.”

  I nodded numbly, and he placed a strong hand on my shoulder, squeezed it, then left the room. I stood there for a while, not wanting to approach the thin stick figure in the bed. The bedclothes hardly looked as if they had anyone under them.

  “Are you going to stand there like a statue, boy? Come on over. I don’t bite. Not anymore.” The strangled tones of the man in the bed echoed amongst the quiet beeping of life-support machines. I walked over to the bed and sat down in an easy chair. I imagined they were provided for visitors to stay a little more comfortable while they waited for their loved ones to die. The thought made my breathing quicken as I remembered the last hours of my mother’s illness. I’d sat with her too until she took her last breath.