by Swan, Tarn
Jeff Farnham is Barbara’s cousin and he usually resides on a canal boat moored somewhere in Ripon. However, on the Saturday night of Barbara’s leaving party he just happened to be moored by Ouse bridge and just happened to be walking past when he noticed his poor cousin being unwell (spewing her ring up in a bush as Twinkles delicately put it) When he invited Barbara and Twinkles onto the boat to freshen up and have a black coffee before re-joining their friends, they accepted, never guessing what would happen next. Once on board he made coffee and they sat around chatting and laughing. The next thing that Twinks remembers is waking up to find himself handcuffed to a bed with Barbara and not only Barbara, there was a bloody big dog slavering all over them. He said he found himself panicking about my reaction when I found out that he’d gotten drunk enough to engage in a three way kinky bondage sex romp with a woman and a dog. Poor Twinkles, he was utterly confused, especially when he twigged that the boat was in motion. Barbara was furious and asked her cousin what the fuck he thought he was playing at, because from her angle it wasn’t funny. The dog showed its disapproval by being seasick all over the bed.
Jeff was apologetic, but unrepentant. He admitted spiking their coffee with a sleeping medicine called melatonin and admitted that there was no coincidence in him being in York that night. He’d planned it all very carefully and had been following her and Twinkles from pub to pub waiting for a chance to head them off from their friends. He and Barbara are close and evidently speak regularly by phone. In one such conversation she had told him about the trip to York to celebrate her leaving the jewellers to begin a nursing career. The day before having that conversation, Jeff, who is divorced, had gone to his ex-wife’s house to collect his son to take him on holiday for a week, as the terms of their divorce permitted. The flights were booked, the cases packed and both he and his little boy were looking forward to it. Then his ex-wife suddenly decided that she wasn’t going to let him take their son on holiday after all. Jeff had argued, pleaded, but she was adamant even though her son was in tears and wanted to go with his daddy.
Jeff had sat on the doorstep of the house and refused to move, so she called the police. He was dragged away like a criminal when it was she who was blatantly breaking the terms of the court agreement regarding access to their child. He was told that if he caused any more trouble he risked being sent back to court and his access might be restricted still further. He pointed out that she was the one breaking the law. He was told he would have to apply to the courts and air his grievance through proper legal channels, which meant waiting months for it to come to court, while all the time losing more and more contact with his son. Even if it came to court, he knew it would be pointless because most judges were too afraid to penalise mothers for fear of incurring a backlash from feminist groups.
Drowning his sorrows that night Jeff had bitterly remarked to a friend that had he been a woman, or gay or a bloody animal, even a lab rat, there would be people falling over themselves to help him have his Rights recognised and upheld in law. Because he was a divorced man he was automatically guilty of something. His Rights, including his right to have equal access to the son he loved, was of no consequence to anyone, not even the law which did little to protect or uphold the few Rights it had assigned him. The holiday was the last straw. He was sick of turning up to collect his son, only to find his spiteful wife had taken him out or sent him to relatives rather than allow him time with the father who doted on him. (Twinks said they were forced to endure hours of looking at photos of the boy, while listening to tales of his doings. He requested that should he ever get so boring about Dominic that I muzzle him) In despair Jeff approached a local newspapers in the hope it would run an article on his biased treatment and highlight the predicament facing so many divorced men. The paper wasn’t interested, saying it wasn’t an article likely to appeal to their readership. Jeff was furious, pointing out that had he been a woman whose husband was preventing her from seeing the child she was legally and morally entitled to see, the press would have leapt at a chance to run an article. It cut no ice.
And then two things happened. He saw a news item about a Father’s 4 Justice protest where members stormed the set of the BB house…and he had a conversation with his cousin who told him about her trip to York with her workmates, one of whom Jeff knew was gay. It seemed to Jeff that he needed to take more radical action to highlight his case and a plan began to formulate in his mind. If it worked it would make news in the city where he and his wife had married and where she still lived with their son. Barbara asked why he hadn’t just told her his plan instead of scaring the crap out of her, because she would have gone along with it and persuaded Twinks to go along with it too. Jeff said sorry but everything had to be as authentic as possible because the police and press had a natural instinct for anything that had been set up. He knew it was an awful thing to do to his aunt and uncle and to me as Twinkles’ partner, but it was our genuine fear and concern that would help sell the plot. There was more method in his madness, choosing his cousin and her gay friend to be the ‘victims’ he needed to help make his point, would, he thought, also save him from a custodial sentence when he inevitably got arrested. Hopefully they wouldn’t bring kidnap and false imprisonment charges against him, as strangers might. He could only pray that the dog’s owner would be sympathetic towards him, especially when she saw the animal was unhurt and had been well treated. Twinkles claimed it was better treated than they were. Jeff refused to give them their mobile phones back in case they were tempted to use them and he kept the handcuffs on them, just in case they tried to leave before his plan came to fruition. On the upside, he did buy them all the DVD’s, chocolate, ice cream and wine they wanted and the ones Twinkles wanted were all in the highly expensive bracket. Trust him to turn kidnap into a treat fest.
As soon as it became clear that Jeff had got what he’d set out to get, i.e. the interest of the press and an opportunity to publicly state his case and hopefully shame his wife, Twinkles had begged to be allowed to come home. He promised to keep out of sight until Jeff’s few minutes in the public eye were over. Jeff agreed, saying he couldn’t stand much more of him criticising his interior décor anyway, or his non-stop talking and besides his taste in ice cream and wine was bloody bankrupting him. He drove his ‘victims’ home at three o clock in the morning before returning to York to prepare for his press call.
I told Twinkles about the woman’s body and how I’d feared he was dead and he got really upset. He said he would never have put me through all that and if Jeff hadn’t kept him handcuffed to various things he would have left at the first opportunity, regardless of how much sympathy he felt for his circumstances.
Frankly, if I’d laid hands on Jeff at that point I would have separated his head from his body. He had caused me, Barbara’s parents and our friends and families untold anguish and his pain at not seeing his son did not give him the right to cause us pain by apparently separating us from the ones we loved. You cannot cure one injustice by committing another. I was deeply angry. When it came down to it Barbara’s family and I were real victims. At least Babs and Twinks knew that they would be okay, and that they would come home again. We were completely in the dark. I have never experienced such sick fear and I never want to experience it again. The thing that had bothered me about the publicity photograph suddenly clicked. Twinks didn’t look scared. He was trying to, but actually what came over, to me anyway, was the impression that he was trying to present his best side for the camera. I knew that pose very well.
It was wonderful to have him in my arms again and I didn’t want to share him with anyone. Mum was in one spare bedroom and Lulu was bedded down in the other and I suppose I ought to have woken them and told them about Twinkles being back, but I didn’t. We just lay there in bed like illicit lovers, whispering and kissing and caressing until dawn broke.
I wish I’d had the camcorder set up when Twinkles casually walked into the kitchen when Mum and Lulu were breakfasting this mor
ning. They looked stunned, like they’d seen a ghost. Then they swamped him with hugs, kisses, tears and questions. Mum smartly boxed my ears and said she’d thought I looked oddly happy when I got up and I should have bloody woken her. Then she hugged me and told me how worried she’d been for me as well as madam Stardust. I confiscated both Lulu and mum’s mobiles before they could start relaying the news that Twinkles was returned to our bosoms. I made a pot of fresh coffee while Twinkles, who was cuddled comfortably on Lulu’s lap, told them the saga of Jeff Farnham. He then demanded details of who had missed him, what the reaction had been at the PP, and what had been said about him.
Leaning against the worktop waiting for the coffee to percolate I took a quiet enjoyment in watching him being what he loves being best—the very centre of attention.
Jeff got what he wanted, publicity. The Gothic splendour of the Minster, a building that has borne silent witness to the ebb and flow of human life for centuries, witnessed another small human drama this afternoon, as onlookers and a posse of reporters gathered for what promised to be an interesting show. Most folk seemed convinced it would turn out to be a prank of some kind, a student stunt or a ploy by York Theatre Company to attract punters to a new production. All the same, as the deadline approached the noise from the crowd expectantly diminished. Jeff is a natural showman because he hyped up the atmosphere by waiting for several minutes past the deadline before making an appearance. He came out of the Minster dressed as a clergyman and keeping his back to the gathering calmly began to unroll three posters, the same that he’d plastered around the City. After taping them to the pavement he turned round and pointing at each in turn intoned loudly: “Women’s Rights! Gay Rights! Animal Rights!” He then pulled off his dog collar and opened his jacket to reveal a black t-shirt printed with the words, but who cares about a Father’s Rights? The press surged forward and he had his audience.
Pointing up at the church he asked them to consider that according to Heavenly Law all men were equal in the sight of God, which was nice because here on earth certain men were anything but equal. He stated a very fair case, using the photographs of the ‘shackled victims’ to illustrate the powerlessness felt by many divorced fathers. What value would there be in Gay Rights, he asked, or Women’s Rights or Animal Rights if the law that assigned them those Rights then failed miserably to uphold them? They would still be helpless, their hands tied, just as his hands were tied because no matter what he did, he still ended up losing his basic human right to have fair contact with his own child. A child he had never harmed, a child he loved and whose life he wanted to be a part of. A father, he said, should have the right to be something more than a mere name on a monthly maintenance check. He got a good round of applause.
The news that the victims had never been in any danger, that one of them was in fact Jeff’s cousin and they’d all been released, including the dog, caused quite a stir and seemed to confuse the police. They still arrested him, but released him without charge after corroborating that the York 3 were indeed unharmed and bore no grudges (I bear a grudge against him, but that’s another matter) The story, to Twinks delight, never mind Jeff’s, made headlines in several evening newspapers and also made it onto television teatime news, both local and national. I reckon that Jeff will be getting a personal invitation to join the F4J after this coup.
It’s heading towards the witching hour, but our house is still like Piccadilly Circus. We’re having an impromptu party and I’m having a brief break from it to update here. Twinkles is revelling in telling tales of his ordeal while graciously accepting gifts and the affection of friends and relatives who are happy to have him back in their midst. Even dad hugged him and said he was glad to see him safely home. Maryann is on the mobile to him. A reporter who only wanted a brief statement for the local Gazette has been here for two hours and seems enthralled by the fact that his ear bending interviewee is wearing an exotic robe trimmed with faux fur, as well as pink fluffy high heeled mules. The arrival of Big Mary dressed in a gypsy style low cut dress caused his jaw to visibly drop open. I’m wondering just what kind of report will appear in our local rag come the morrow. No doubt we’ll be portrayed as the local odd couple…no change there then.
These past few days have been without doubt some of the hardest of my life. If they’ve taught me anything, it’s that life has to be embraced, because there is no telling when it will be snatched away. I can’t help but wonder who she was, the woman they found in the river and whether she will be named and claimed. I pray so. How sad to have no mourners. I’m relieved and happy to have Twinkles home with me and I’m looking forward to a resumption of normal life, well as normal as it ever gets around here.
4th October 2005:
Decompression And Sulking By Chocolate
There is nothing more fickle than the Public Eye, it soon blinks and turns its vision elsewhere. By last Friday teatime Jeff Farnham’s attention-grabbing ploy was yesterday’s news and the local papers were more concerned with the closing of the Terry’s Chocolate Factory, which has been associated with the city of York since the eighteenth century (cue for Twinks to stockpile Terry’s chocolate oranges in case the European factories taking over production change the recipe and spoil it) Barbara says Jeff’s protest worked to the extent that he got to see his son for a few hours if only so his ex could disprove all the whispers about her being a hardhearted bitch. Whether it lasts is another matter.
Life for us slipped back into the realms of the ordinary and I for one was more than delighted. However, as I soon found out, settling back into an everyday routine after a period of high excitement isn’t always simple. What you actually need is a period of decompression similar to which some deep-sea divers undergo, something to slowly and safely take you back to the surface of workaday life. Twinkles and I really needed some time alone together to discuss the experience…not the high drama details, which had been discussed to death, but the smaller details. We basically needed some quiet time to come down and reconnect on an emotional level. Thursday night had been hectic, we were the property of our family and friends and adrenalin was still running high. Once everyone had left, we had the house to ourselves again and maybe that was the right time to sit down and put things in perspective? Instead we opted for physically reconnecting, doing what most men who hadn’t had sex in five days would do, and having it in every known position we could think of and a few that we invented just for the hell of it. We slept for less than four hours managing another session of passion after the alarm clock went off. As Twinks said afterwards, sore had never felt so good.
Neither of us really wanted to go back to work, but we had to. I experienced a mild panic after dropping him off and watching him walk across the road towards the shop, suddenly frightened that I wouldn’t see him again. He seemed to experience the same thing and returned to the car to kiss me again, bringing forth an explosion of tongue clicking disapproval from the portly traffic warden that was hovering close by. He was hoping that I would violate local parking rules and overstay my permitted dropping off time. Despite my quietly spoken warning to just ignore the man, Twinks told him to do something anatomically impossible with his ticket book and strutted back across the road. I smiled pleasantly at the affronted traffic warden and drove off.
Inevitably I was the object of attention at work for the first hour or so with colleagues asking questions and kindly expressing their pleasure that Twinkles was safely home. My section staff presented me with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of champagne, which touched me very much and also embarrassed me. I’m not as good as Twinkles at being the centre of attention. By mid-morning, interest seemed to be sated and I was beginning to adjust back into the normal work routine. My body chemistry, which had been on red alert for so long also began to readjust and suddenly made me aware of just how tired I really was. By home time I had a headache and was feeling mildly depressed, which I believe is a normal reaction after a period of high stress. I just wanted to get home and sett
le down to a quiet evening in front of the television with Twinks. I’d decided that we’d give the PP a miss that night. I really was not in the mood for socialising and we’d seen most of our friends on Thursday night anyway. A certain someone had other ideas.
I think I’ve mentioned before that Twinks, once up, is very hard to bring down. In fact NASA would have their work cut out in bringing him back to earth. I was dismayed when I turned up to collect him to discover that he had made arrangements to meet up with some people at a local wine bar straight after work. They were acquaintances from some of the town’s other businesses. I was annoyed. He should have consulted me before saying yes to the invitation. I could hardly undo arrangements at the last minute without offending well-meaning (and nosy) people, though I was tempted to. Twinkles knew I was vexed. Slipping his arm through mine he gave me one of his winning smiles and begged me not to be a spoilsport. We wouldn’t stay long and didn’t I think it was nice that people had been so concerned about him? So, I swallowed my annoyance and capitulated on the understanding that we had ONE drink and then left.
Twinkles was naturally in his element, as he was once again showered with gifts. I suspect they were given partly because business had thrived all round thanks to him and Barbara making the news. There’s nothing like a mention in the press to bring people flocking to a scene. Charles from the florists gave him a beautiful Japanese arrangement of tiny white and pink orchids set into a piece of driftwood. Susan, the owner of the town’s exclusive confectioners gave him a big box of handmade chocolates. He got handmade soap and other gifts and in return he satisfied the curiosity of his audience as to what had happened to make him a minor cause celebre. I played my part by sipping at my coffee and nodding agreement at appropriate moments, as required by the storyteller. ‘He was worried sick when I didn’t come home, weren’t you, Tarn? (Emphatic nod) He thought I was dead, didn’t you, Tarn? (Sad nod) He was convinced Babs and I had fallen in the river, weren’t you, Tarn? (Tragic nod) Poor Tarn, he went into shock when he heard a body had been found, didn’t you, love? (Horrified nod, while accepting affectionate kiss) He was so relieved and happy when I turned up safe and sound, weren’t you, darling?’ (Relieved and joyful nod) And so on.