“Soirees and debauches and Thea knows what,” she’d complain, plucking a parrot from the bookcase or python from the umbrella stand. “People’ll think you’ve been thrown up, not brought up.”
“We can manage without public approval, Lulu.”
“That’s Nanny to you, you menace. When are you going to shave off that dodgy beard? People will think you’ve got a bum chin. Talkin’ of bums - you’re takin’ precautions, right?”
“Chance would be a fine thing.” He’d had a fling in first year, a chocolate millionaire’s son, cute but closeted. Since then, nothing.
“What about Gussy? Her age and never a sniff of a fella. It’s unnatural.”
Alfred shook his head, but there was something funny about it. It wasn’t that she was short of offers. He tried asking but she evaded the issue.
“You’d think one of these clever young men would whet your appetite.”
“Floppy hair and a frilly shirt don’t make you clever,” she used to say. “When I fall in love, I want it to be extraordinary.”
“All the more for me, fussy knicks.”
One afternoon Alfred was in their sitting room. He had an exam in three days and couldn’t absorb any more information. He’d dyed the table cloth green and drawn stick men on the coasters.
Gussy came in. “Honestly! I can’t go ten seconds without you vandalising something.”
“You look nice. Smell nice, too. Going somewhere?”
She blushed. “I’ve met someone.”
“Hang about! Who is he? How serious is it?”
“You can come too -”
“I’m not sitting there like a pudding while you cop off.”
“There’ll be no ‘copping off’. He’s a gentleman.”
“Sounds like a mutant if you ask me.”
“Shut your face and get changed. When are you going to stop growing?”
“When are you going to start?”
The boyfriend’s halls were only a few blocks away. He’d never seen her like this - humming to herself, titivating her hair. He hoped this chap was worth it.
It was a part of the university he hadn’t been in, patronised by the brainy set. Technically speaking Gussy was one of them, but he didn’t see how she fitted in with these solemn crows. The girls stared like he’d dropped off the ugly bush. The men weren’t any better.
“Here to see Dr Summerskill?” a porter asked.
“I certainly am.”
“He’ll be in the parlour.”
“Dr Summerskill?” Alfred hissed. “Don’t tell me he’s your tutor!”
“So what if he is?”
It was too late to argue. He pushed her forward, she pushed him, and they stumbled into the Strangers’ Parlour. He didn’t waste time looking at the room. He was more interested in the man propped up on the mantlepiece, puffing disdainful clouds of smoke. He’d have thought they’d got the wrong room if Gussy hadn’t kissed his cheek.
“Alfie, this is Dr Ken Summerskill. Ken, this is my brother Alfie.”
The man was flagrantly gay. Perhaps it was the way he lounged, looking like something out of a man’s magazine, or the silk cravat with horse shoes on it. Or the voice, beautiful but affected, every syllable emphasised. Or the long, slithering glance he treated Alfred to as soon as he came in, returning to it whenever Gussy’s attention was elsewhere.
It was the most awkward hour he’d spent. Gussy and Ken happily interrupted one another, the rare intelligible word in a sea of gobbledegook. Alfred tried to join in but Ken shot him down. He might have been a pot plant if he hadn’t been so comprehensively ogled.
“Duty calls,” Ken said at last. He gave Gussy a peck, shook Alfred’s hand. “I always fancied a brother.”
Alfred thought of any number of retorts, all unrepeatable, and followed Gussy into the quad. “Isn’t he wonderful?” she asked.
“Sis, he’s the most pretentious pillock I’ve met. Where did you dig him up?”
“‘Future Uses of Artificial Intelligence.’”
“Bet he’s a compelling case study.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
He stalked ahead, hands in his pockets. She caught up with him by the bridge. “Don’t let’s fight. I’m sure if you meet him again you’ll love him. Friends?”
“Friends.”
Watch your step, Summerskill. I’m onto you with your smirk and your vowels and your poofy cravat. Hurt her and I’ll kneecap you.
Gussy and Ken went on two more dates. Dinner at a chophouse, a concert and home, no sex. Was this how straight people dated? Alfred would have moved on by now.
“You’re not leaving it till you’re married, are you?” he asked one day.
He was horrified when she coloured. “Maybe.”
“Don’t marry him.”
“Why not?”
He couldn’t say it. “He’s got to be forty if he’s a day.”
“Not that it matters, but he’s thirty one.”
“Really? Alright, how can he keep you on a tutor’s salary?”
“Money doesn’t matter.”
“It’s creepy, his insistence we’ll live in harmony with machines.” In his best Ken impersonation, ‘One day robots and humans will enjoy satisfying sexual relations.’ In your dreams, you letch.”
He found himself pleading any deity listening: Don’t let her marry him. I’ll do anything.
Alfred hated Roth in the rain. He stared out at the shapeless houses, the burst pipes and waterlogged trees, and despaired. That’d be another four buckets on the landing.
He was bouncing a ball around the sitting room when the doorbell chimed. He peeked through the spy hole and groaned. Ken Summerskill, his hands on the hips of a horrible diamond patterned waistcoat. He was tempted to pretend nobody was in, but decency won out.
“Is Augusta home?”
“Afraid not. Come in, have a coffee.”
As Ken passed him his coat, Alfred found himself looking at him. Yes, he had a beaky nose and sardonic mouth, but he wasn’t hideous. His eyes were arresting, an unusual cloudy green. If it wasn’t for the bald patch he’d be attractive.
Ken drank the coffee, stirred it every now and then. Alfred paced the room, hands behind his back. He tried to think of something to say but didn’t want to look stupid.
“You don’t like me, do you?” Ken said suddenly.
“I haven’t thought about it,” he lied.
“I know you and Augusta have a special bond. The twin thing, I suppose.”
“Oh, please. We look out for each other, like other sisters and brothers.”
“I want to assure you my intentions towards your sister are entirely honourable.”
How long would he make that coffee last? Go away!
“What are you studying?” Ken asked once the silence had become uncomfortable.
“Anthropology and Physical Culture.”
Ken put the cup down. “Anthropology and Physical Culture. Very manly subjects. And you were in the army, of course ... What are you going in for?”
“I want to be an explorer.” Alfred hadn’t told anyone this before - why was he telling him? “I’m serious. I’m not intellectual, I don’t have any talents. Going from place to place, discovering other languages, ways of life - something worthwhile.”
“Haven’t most places been discovered?”
“You sound like my dad. Look.” Alfred pointed at the map he kept on the table, cluttered with empty cups. “A hundred years ago a sixth of this wasn’t charted. We still don’t know everything.”
“It’s good to have ambitions. Sometimes I think I’m just tinkering. Don’t tell Augusta.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
They shared a smile. Alfred was finally starting to like him, so didn’t object when he joined him by the window. Not at first.
“Exploring. Physical Culture. Do you like manly things?” Ken’s lips were an inch from his ear.
This wasn’t happening. He couldn’
t feel Ken’s breath on his nape, his hand on the small of his back. He broke away. Ken moved like a snake, grabbing his collar and kissing him.
“We can’t -”
The hand moved downwards. “Have you done this before?”
“Yes.”
“With a man?”
“Naturally.”
Ken slid between his thighs as he hitched him up against the bookcase. Tight buttocks pumping, cock straining in his fist - a kind of sexual mauling. Quick, degrading but utterly thrilling.
Once that was done with, Ken put his lips to him. Alfred was incapable of thought. He came in a terrific gush, Ken grunting as he followed suit. Alfred went to kiss him but he shook his head.
“That’s exactly what I needed.” He tugged his trousers over his hips. “See you soon.”
Alfred heard the front door shut. He lay on the sofa, a hand over his eyes. He’d had sex with his sister’s boyfriend. What was he going to do?
Ken stayed away for a fortnight. That wasn’t unusual, it was Gussy’s exams, but Alfred couldn’t stop worrying. If Ken had any decency he’d break up with her - but a decent man doesn’t seduce his girlfriend’s brother, does he?
He tried to tell her. When she came downstairs after twelve hours’ revision, he’d follow her, make tea or lean on her chair. When she asked, “What’s the matter?” the words died in his throat.
The night before their twenty second birthday, he went on a binge with the lads on his course. He had vague memories of foggy cellars, tone deaf chanting and three laps of the quad naked. He came home at four in the morning, falling asleep in his clothes. He’d planned to spend the day in bed before he realised the date and dashed downstairs.
“There you are, Tiny!” Gussy was packing a moth eaten basket. “We’d given up on you.”
“We?”
Ken’s long thin figure unfurled from the fridge. “Afternoon.” You’d never have guessed the last time he’d seen Alfred, he’d had his cock in his mouth.
Alfred wondered if he was going mad. Perhaps the other day hadn’t happened. It was a warped erotic fantasy, though why it’d star Ken rather than someone bearable was anyone’s guess.
“The forecast’s iffy.” Gussy said. “Have you seen the brolly?”
“Thought you were using it over the bath.”
She ran upstairs. Alfred faced Ken, busy making a dent in the sausage rolls. For a thin man he never stopped eating. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“How do you know I didn’t tell her?”
“She’s inviting us on a picnic rather than carving us up? Unless -” Ken’s nostrils flared - “she’s up for a frolic. Break one rule, might as well break ‘em all, eh?”
Alfred snatched his collar. “Apologise!”
“I don’t remember you complaining when I was gobbling your scrotum.”
“If it wouldn’t ruin her birthday, I’d lock you in the fridge.”
“I love it when you’re aggressive. Makes me fancy a rematch.”
Gussy’s footsteps were approaching. They barely had time to break apart and assume nonchalant poses.
“It was in the airing cupboard. - Oh, that’s nice. My two favourite men getting on. Keep up the good work.”
They picnicked in the park. Afterwards they went punting. Gussy and Ken sat on opposite ends of the boat while Alfred did the sweaty work. Ken darted lecherous looks beneath his lashes. One was so obscene he wobbled and fell in.
“You arse!” Gussy laughed. Ken’s expression suggested he wanted to rip off the dripping clothes with his teeth.
Wherever they walked, Gussy and Ken linked arms. When the promised rain showed up, he steered her beneath the umbrella. As they wandered into the covered market he presented her with a coral necklace. “For you, birthday girl.” He didn’t forget Alfred - he tossed over the sort of penknife he’d always wanted, crammed with useful kit.
Talking science, he didn’t look unfinished. His eyes shone, he gestured, his voice became persuasive. Winking at Alfred, he described it in terms he understood.
“Why robotics?” he asked them. “Why not something useful?”
“We want to see what makes someone human,” Gussy said.
Ken nodded. “They’ll be a blank slate, ours to do what we like with. Isn’t that exciting?”
“I find it scary.”
Gussy tutted. “Genius is never appreciated in its own lifetime.”
“I appreciate you,” Ken said, tweaking her ringlets.
Alfred had to look away. Watching them together, their delight in each other’s company, he felt lonely. For the first time he saw Ken as someone with whom a girl - or, possibly, a man - might fall in love.
“Are you alright, Alf?” Ken asked.
“Indigestion,” he grunted.
“I’m not surprised,” Gussy said. “Bottomless pit for a stomach, that’s you -”
Ken guffawed. He was lying on the grass, an arm around Gussy; now he put his wrist against Alfred’s. It only lasted seconds but made him blink.
Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. I won’t do that to Gussy.
Try as he might, he couldn’t get Ken out of his head. He did whatever he could - flirtations, hook-ups in the grounds. It didn’t matter how many pretty boys he propositioned in book shops. As he clutched them, came into them, his thoughts were of somebody tall, dark and diabolical. His only defence was to keep away from him. There couldn’t be a repeat performance.
One night Alfred was in bed reading Lewis Sinclair’s Globetrottings. It was the book that made him want to be an explorer. He’d written to the great man when he was twelve, carrying his reply around until it fell to bits.
He’d locked up for the night, fed the animals. He’d handed in his papers for the term. There was nothing he had to do, nowhere he had to be -
Something rattled the window. Don’t say that pesky monkey had broken out again! He’d spent the last few evenings combing the roof for it.
He pulled the window open. Nothing to see. Unless you counted Ken, shinning up pipes in his academic gown.
“Is this how you afford all those cravats?” Alfred called down. “Cat burglary?”
“Don’t be an ass.”
He moved aside, letting Ken fall into the room. The gown flapped open. Alfred whistled. “Transvestite cat burglary.”
Jokes aside, he looked rather fetching. A gown beaded with jets, silk stockings, high heels. “It was the department’s fancy dress ball,” he said. “I only lost my bloody keys, didn’t I?”
“Couldn’t someone let you in?”
“Everyone’s gone home. You two are my only hope.”
“Gussy’s away on a protest, but I’ll see what I can do. Have you eaten?”
“Not for hours.”
“Borrow some pyjamas. I’ll fix you up with food.”
Alfred hummed as he rooted in the pantry. Cold beef, potatoes, cheese, cocoa. He brought it all out on a tray. Ken was on the sofa, immersed in a book about robotics.
“Don’t you ever switch off?” Alfred asked.
“Wouldn’t know how.” His eyes lit up. “That looks fantastic. Maybe you should keep house for me.”
As he ate and they talked, Alfred thought how natural this felt. Serving a meal, putting on the network. He imagined what it would be like, having a husband he could chew the day over with.
“What are you thinking about?” Ken asked.
He blushed. “Nothing.”
“Nothing suits you, you know. You’ve marvellous eyes.”
It couldn’t happen again. It had been a blind moment of selfishness, stupidity -
“Would you believe me if I said you were the most beautiful man I’d seen?” Ken kissed the part of his wrist where he was most sensitive. “Are you frightened? There’s no need.”
It wasn’t like before, the ravening hunger of wolves. This was slow, civilised, listening to the rhythm of each other’s bodies. They to
ok it to Alfred’s room, wedging the door shut.
The next day he felt abominable. He couldn’t face Ken as he dressed.
“This can’t happen again. Gussy loves you.”
“I feared as much.”
“Why do it? Nobody gives two hoots if you’re queer -”
“I care.”
How could he say that? A straight man doesn’t tie you to the bed post and fuck you from behind, growling, “Take it, bitch.” Or jizz over your face and lick it off.
“It’s alright for you,” Ken went on. “I’ve got to make a name for myself. Can you think of an openly gay scientist?”
“No, but -”
“People don’t mind queers in show business, but put one in anything serious and they throw up. It’s bad enough being male.” He dragged on the tights. “I hate what I am.”
“I’m not letting you hurt her.”
Gussy returned pale and tight lipped. She shrugged when he asked how it went, marching into the garden with a box of mementoes. She built a bonfire and watched it smoulder.
For the next week or so they lived separate lives. They presented a united front when their parents came up for the day, but drifted back to different rooms and pastimes. By the tenth day he’d had enough. He pushed into her room to find her lying on the bed, eyes fixed to the ceiling.
“Practising for your coffin?”
“I wish.”
“You’ve looked like a ghost for days. It’s scaring the crap out of me.”
“Me and Ken split up.”
“Are you okay?”
“What do you think?”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Get knotted, Alfie.”
“If you change your mind -” He ducked to avoid Hildergheist, her toy monster.
“I’m not alright, I won’t be for a long time, and if you don’t go now I’ll hurt you. Got that?”
For twenty two years he had lived without guilt. It was the good thing about being the disappointing younger sibling. If you erred, they tutted, but what else did they expect? He’d indulged in his favourite sins, his only comment being, “How interesting.” Certainly nothing that resembled remorse.
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