The Darkest Hour

by Wayne Mansfield

  Oliver grabbed my hand. “Maybe later. I want to know what happened yesterday. I mean, have I done something wrong? I’ve been going over…”

  I was shaking my head. “No,” I said. I squeezed his hand. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I have. It’s me.”

  Tears streamed down my cheeks.

  Oliver hugged me to him. His arms enfolded me. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. I felt better already. And now I didn’t have to look him in the eye, I felt better able to explain.

  “I don’t know what got into me yesterday,” I began. “I told you I was dealing with depression. I’ve been feeling so great over the past couple of months. All due to you. Then yesterday I woke up and all those dark feelings and thoughts had returned. For no reason.”

  Oliver began rubbing my back.

  “I hate feeling like this. I hate it! And I really am so sorry. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you…it’s just sometimes I can’t control…”

  I sniffed back my tears.

  Oliver let me go.

  “I thought it might have been something like that,” he said. “But I wasn’t sure. I guess we all have insecurities. So next time it happens…”

  I jumped in to cut him off. “Oh, there won’t be a next time,” I said. “I can’t forgive myself for speaking to you like that. I love you so much.”

  Oliver took my hands in his. “Next time…” He gave my hands a shake. “…just tell me you need some alone time. I’ll know what you mean and that way there’ll be no misunderstandings.”

  I shook my head. “There won’t be any next times.”

  “If there are,” said Oliver. “I can handle anything as long as I know what’s going on. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” I replied with a single nod.

  “Promise?”

  I smiled. “Promise.”

  “Now, did someone say something about coffee?”

  Chapter 8

  Oliver was very honest about me meeting Cameron. I’d seen photos of the brown-haired boy with freckles and a cheeky, mischievous smile.

  “I know we’ve been having a good time,” he said one evening as we were having a moonlit stroll around the neighbourhood. “But I want to wait until we’re both sure this is what we want before I introduce him to you. He needs routine and people who are constant in his life.”

  “I understand. I’d probably do the same thing.”

  He took my hand in his and pulled me to him. “Thanks for understanding.” We kissed beneath the shadow of a street tree. “I have a feeling it’ll happen sooner rather than later, though.”

  “I can’t wait to meet him,” I said. “He sounds like quite a character.”

  Oliver nodded. “Oh, he is. Don’t worry about that. He’ll ask you anything that pops into his head. And he always tells the truth, so be careful what you ask him.”

  “Has he said things he shouldn’t have?”

  Oliver’s nodding became exaggerated. “Oh yeah. He’s the only person who’s ever made me blush.”

  “Give me an example.”

  Oliver shook his head. “No.”

  “Come on,” I said, tickling his side. “Tell me something embarrassing he’s said.”

  Oliver laughed and squirmed while I continued tickling him. “No,” he said again. “You’ll find out for yourself soon enough.” He couldn’t stop laughing as my fingers continued their work at his sides. “Cut it out. Look. There’s someone coming. Stop it!”

  We arrived home and Oliver stayed the night. We usually spent nights together at my place. I’d been to his place half a dozen times, while Leesa looked after Cameron at her house, but Oliver said it was easier to stay at my place and I didn’t argue. If we went out for dinner or to the movies, something I felt a whole heap better doing with Oliver by my side, it was almost understood we’d return to my place.

  A couple of months later, Oliver and I were lying in my bed after one of our marathon lovemaking sessions. We were both on our backs staring up at the ceiling, both trying to catch our breath.

  “Daniel.”

  “Yes, Oliver.”

  “It’s Cameron’s birthday next week.”

  What could I say? “Happy birthday, Cameron.”

  Oliver gave me a playful slap.

  “I’m having a little party for him. A few of his friends from pre-school and, you know, Leesa and her partner, Yve.” He turned to face me. “And you, if you’d like to come.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. I stared into his eyes and as the song went “…saw forever.” It was funny how being in love made the corny lyrics of corny love songs seem not so corny.

  “I’d love to,” I said, grinning like a Lotto winner.

  I kissed him madly, passionately, then for the longest while we cuddled, not speaking—simply enjoying the sensation of our bodies pressed together while embracing. I was beaming. Words were inadequate to explain what that birthday invitation meant. It meant he loved me at least as much as I loved him. It meant he trusted me and wanted me in his life. It meant I was soon to have an instant family.

  In the morning, while I was preparing Oliver’s breakfast, I got to thinking about a gift for Cameron. I’d had a couple of ideas, although there was one in particular I was leaning towards. It had to be something that didn’t upstage whatever his father was going to give him and it also had to be something special, to show him I loved him like I loved his daddy.

  “I was wondering…” I said handing Oliver a plate of sausages and scrambled eggs. “…if I could borrow that picture of Cameron in your wallet.”

  Oliver looked at me blankly. “What for? I mean, sure you can, but…” Then he started grinning. “Really? You’re going to paint my boy?”

  He reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet.

  I sat down opposite him with my coffee. “Why not?”

  Oliver took out the photo and passed it across the table to me. “Are you going to have enough time?”

  “Even if I have to work twenty-four hours a day, every day until his birthday.” I laughed. “Actually, when exactly is his birthday?”

  “Thursday. But are you really sure you’ll have enough time?”

  “I promise. I’ll get to work right away.”

  After kissing Oliver goodbye, I took the photo out to the studio and selected a canvas. I’d only painted a couple of portraits before. I was mainly a landscape painter, but I also loved a challenge. On top of all that, this was something the son of my lover, my partner, perhaps even one day, my husband, would hang on his wall. And forever more he’d know his new daddy had painted it for him.

  I set up the canvas, securing it on the easel, which I’d positioned where I’d have the maximum amount of light. I squeezed an assortment of paint onto my palette and selected a couple of brushes I’d need. I had considered painting a carnival background, but then decided against it. I wanted something more classical and timeless so he could hang the painting with pride at any age.

  I blocked in the colours, leaving a clean space to sketch in Cameron’s face. Once I’d done that to my satisfaction it was time to block in the basic colours for me to build on. It didn’t take me long to finish all I was able to until the paint had dried a little. I had a technique I used to speed the process up. I used a hair dryer. My wrists would get sore, but it meant I could dry the paint enough to continue.

  Every day Oliver asked me if he could take a peek at the portrait. And every day I refused. Once he even tried sneaking up on me, but even though I was in the zone, my higher self or something similar, alerted me to his presence.

  “When it’s finished,” I said, pushing him out the studio door. “I want it to be a nice surprise for both of you.”

  I kept him moving, forcing him further away from my studio and the portrait.

  “Shoo. Shoo,” I said.

  Suddenly he spun around and caught me up in his arms.

  “Do you know I love you, Daniel Greene?”

  I opened my mouth
to speak. It was the first time he said he loved me.

  “I-I-I.” I couldn’t reply.

  Tears welled in my eyes, but not the tears I’d grown so sick and tired of crying. These were tears of supreme happiness. And unlike the others, I was able to blink them away. Only then could I see that Oliver was misty-eyed as well.

  “You love me?” I asked.

  Oliver nodded. “Indeedy I do.”

  I hugged him tight. I hugged him so tight I never wanted to let him go. I couldn’t have asked for a hotter, more handsome, more understanding man. Months ago I was walking around beneath a grey cloud. I had the black dog of depression nipping at my heels. I was so miserable and I didn’t know why. Perhaps I’d lost my way. Perhaps I’d been lonely. Or perhaps, as both Craig and Dr. Franklin had explained, it was a chemical imbalance in my brain. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. It was behind me now. I was loved.

  “I love you, too,” I said, recalling every romantic film I’d ever seen, which actually wasn’t a hell of a lot. “I love you very much.”

  He kissed me, slipping his tongue into my mouth. My arms clung to him, pulling him closer. I pressed my crotch to his, gyrating a little so he’d feel the hard mound of my erection against his. I must have gyrated a little too vigorously for the sarong I was wearing slipped off and I was naked in the arms of my uniformed lover.

  I felt his hand move around to the back of my thigh, lifting my leg. I felt it slide up my thigh to the crevice where my arse cheeks met. There were fingers creeping towards my arsehole. I pushed back and felt the tips of his fingers brush against the puckers. I shuddered.

  All the while we were kissing. Our tongues, our breath, intermingled.

  I was so caught up in the moment I forgot we were on my back lawn, with me completely naked and Oliver, my beloved Oliver, in his work uniform. He lowered me onto the soft grass, positioning himself between my legs. On his knees, he undid his fly and pulled his cock out. It looked so swollen, so hard. He bent down over me and a moment later I felt the engorged head of his cock pushing against my arsehole. He spat onto his hand, which wasn’t very romantic, but after what he’d told me, after what he’d revealed, it didn’t matter. And as soon as he was inside me I began bucking my hips up to meet his thrusts.

  His cheek was against mine. His lips were right by my ear. I could hear his breathing becoming harder, faster, almost in synch with his hips as they pounded into me.

  “I’m getting close,” he said breathlessly.

  I reached around and cupped his buttocks, pulling them down towards me each time he thrust.

  “Come on,” I moaned. “Cum.”

  His hips began to slam against me.

  “I’m really close.”

  He began kissing me like a wild thing. His tongue sliding over mine, his mouth eating mine. His hips were in constant motion and his cock, his beautiful cock, kept plunging into me, faster and faster, until finally he let out an almighty groan I’m certain the neighbours heard. He held himself hard up against my arsehole. I could almost feel the pulsing of his cock as he emptied his seed inside me.

  We lay together for a good while afterwards. Sweat coated our bodies.

  “If I was a woman, I’d be pregnant with twins after that,” I said.

  Oliver looked at me. His expression was hard to read. He wasn’t smiling.

  “And what beautiful babies they’d be,” he replied.

  Neither of us was eager to get up from the lawn. The afternoon sun passed overhead, but we were perfectly content. Not even the cooling breeze could stir us. I was happy to be with my lover, naked on my lawn, and he obviously felt the same.

  When we did get up, I offered him dinner, but he said he had to get back to Cameron. It was hard to let him go, but I knew that soon, very soon, he’d never have to say those words to me again because we’d be a family. Always together. I’d never have thought it possible, but I was about to become a daddy.

  * * * *

  Finally, the afternoon of Cameron’s birthday arrived. I was surprisingly tense.

  “Is he going to like me?” I asked Oliver on the phone.

  “Of course he is,” Oliver replied. “Stop being silly and get over here.”

  I was still on my meds, although I was feeling better than I could ever remember feeling. Love was a better cure than any chemical. And I did have love. I loved Oliver and he loved me. Soon, I’d grow to love Cameron as my son, and I’m sure he’d grow to love me.

  I showered and dressed for the party. At three in the afternoon, I wrapped the painting I’d done and put it in the back of my car. I got into the driver’s seat and sat there as nervous as I would have been on a first date. I didn’t have a lot of experience with children. My own childhood could hardly be considered a success. It was so important Cameron liked me. Oliver was his father, for goodness sake. If Cameron didn’t like me then that would surely have some effect on Oliver.

  I turned the key in the ignition and took a deep breath. I slipped the car into reverse and backed down my driveway onto the road.

  “Here goes nothing,” I whispered.

  It was a fifteen-minute journey to Oliver’s place. He lived in a villa with a nice backyard in a suburb only two away from mine. But at three o’clock I was met with all the after-school traffic, parents collecting their children and the like. Fortunately, somehow, I arrived at Oliver’s almost on time.

  There were a dozen cars parked outside his house and along the road. I had to go around the block before finding a place to park, and even when I did, I sat in the car plucking up the courage to go inside. I wondered if my depression had anything to do with the fact I was afraid of what a five-year-old boy would think of me.

  I got out of my car and collected the painting from the back seat. When I was certain the car was secure, I walked towards Oliver’s place. It wasn’t hard to miss. The fence was festooned with balloons and the closer I got, the louder the party music grew.

  Politely as ever, I knocked on the door, but the noise from the music and the children shouting and playing no doubt drowned out the sound of my knocking.

  I entered. There were streamers and balloons everywhere. I knew immediately I was out of my element. Children ran by me in the middle of some game or other. I gripped the painting more tightly as though it had become some kind of security blanket.

  “Hello,” I called.

  The kitchen was a hub of activity. I spotted Oliver immediately. He was sliding a tray of mini sausage rolls into the oven.

  “Hello, love,” he said when he turned around.

  Every eye in the room was upon me.

  “Hi,” I replied feebly.

  He wiped his hands on a tea towel then kissed me on the lips.

  “We’ve only just started,” he said. “Is that the painting?”

  I didn’t even have a chance to reply.

  “Cameron,” he called. “Cam.”

  I looked at the other people congregated in the kitchen. There was a woman with a blonde crew cut and a long fringe arm in arm with another woman with long, wavy, dark brown hair.

  “I’m Leesa,” said the brown-haired woman, holding her hand out for me to shake. “You must be Oliver.”

  I nodded and shook her hand. “Yes, I am.”

  She smiled and hugged me close. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said. “It’s so good to finally meet you.” She turned to her partner. “This is Yvette. She prefers Yve.”

  I shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “I’m sure Cam’s around here somewhere,” said Yve.

  I didn’t know how to take her cool response, but as I was meeting everyone for the first time, I’d made a promise to myself to get along with everyone and not let my insecurities get the better of me.

  Suddenly a little boy with brown hair and freckles came racing into the kitchen.

  Oliver caught him up in his arms.

  “Hey, birthday boy.”

  He lifted the young boy up in his arms and spun
him around. It was immediately obvious they shared a special bond.

  “I have a very big surprise for you,” said Oliver.

  “What?” asked Cameron, his eyes wide with expectation.

  I stood with my heart beating a tattoo and the painting resting on the floor in front of my feet. I felt a little dizzy, a little nauseated.

  “I have a very special friend, called Daniel.” Oliver pointed at me. “Remember I told you how special Daniel is to me?”

  Cameron nodded. Although not altogether convincingly.

  “He’s brought you one of the most special gifts you’ll ever have.”

  Cameron started wiggling. “Let me down. Let me down.”

  Oliver set his son down and he hurried over to me.

  I squatted down to greet him.

  “Hello, Cameron. I’m Daniel. Happy birthday.”

  Cameron suddenly appeared less confident, less eager to get his special gift. He looked back over his shoulder at Oliver, who nodded encouragingly. Then he looked across to Leesa, who also smiled and nodded.

  “Would you like me to help you open it?” I asked.

  Cameron nodded hesitantly.

  I tore an opening in one corner.

  “Here,” I said, taking the boy’s hand. “Hook your finger in here and…” I helped Cameron get his finger into the hole I had made. “…and tear.”

  Once Cameron’s finger was in the hole, he needed no further help. He let out a mighty “Grrrrr” and before I knew it the paper was hanging limply off the frame of the painting.

  “Careful,” cautioned Oliver.

  Cameron ripped one part of the paper completely off and out of concern for the welfare of the painting I had laboured over, I removed the rest.

  “Who’s that?” asked Oliver, squatting down level with his son.

  Cameron studied the portrait carefully, even stepping closer as if he didn’t believe he was looking at an image of himself.

  “Me,” he said, looking first at me and then back at the painting.

  “Do you like it?” asked Oliver. “Daniel spent a lot of time painting that.”

  Cameron looked at me sheepishly. “Did you paint that?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Yes, I did.”