by Swan, Tarn
Everyone but Twinkles accepted my apologies with good grace. I was asked for details of my baby-rush drama and congratulated on becoming a big brother again, a really big brother. Twinkles chose to view my actions as a personal betrayal. He said I’d proven that my loyalties lay elsewhere. He thought that I should have left dad on his own at the hospital because Gill was in safe hands, and there was nothing I could do there. However there was a lot I could have been doing with him. If I’d been where I was supposed to be, doing what I was supposed to be doing, we would probably have won the competition. I was genuinely sorry that I’d let him down. I felt bad about it, but I also believed that I’d done what was right in the circumstances. Twinkles refused to see it that way. He spat out words of acid fury saying I hadn’t wanted to do the competition in the first place and I’d been looking for an excuse to get out of it.
He wouldn’t speak to me for the rest of that day. He wouldn’t kiss me goodnight and he lay with his back to me in bed. He didn’t want to hear a word about Gill or the baby. As well as annoyed I was hurt by his attitude. As I’ve said before, he can be monumentally self-centred. He doesn’t mean to be. He just gets intense about certain things, to the point of blindness about all else. He isn’t an easy man to live with and sometimes he isn’t an easy man to love. I do love him though, but it doesn’t mean I’ll put up with everything he throws at me. In many respects the structure of our relationship, the discipline element, is the thing that saves it and holds it together. Without it I don’t think either of us would cope as well. He’d just get more and more demanding and difficult and I’d just get worn out and despondent.
I did allow him to go to the Halloween Ball in the end. It’s a very big occasion at The PP and I would have to be very mean indeed to say no. He apologised for the way he’d reacted and for his selfishness, of which he was ashamed. He acknowledged that Gill couldn’t help going into labour when she did and it had been right for me to stay with my father in the circumstances. He explained how excited he had been at the prospect of performing on stage with me for the first time. It had felt special and when it didn’t happen he had felt not only disappointed, but also rejected. Disappointment and rejection had then turned to spite and a need to lash out. My poor love. I asked how I could make it up to him? Oh, how I regretted those words. Against all my principals and for the time ever I ended up in drag playing Cleopatra to his Antony. He said that Halloween was a night for turning things in on themselves. On the upside, we won first prize for the most unexpected pairing. I staunchly refused all requests to show my asp!
5th November 2005:
Fireworks
There were Fireworks galore in our house this morning and not on account of it being Guy Fawkes Day either. As the days shorten him in frocks unwillingness to get out of bed on a morning reaches ever-higher levels. When we first started living together I found it rather endearing, but endearment didn’t last long especially when it ended up making us both late for work. We negotiated a system whereby if he pushes me too far in the getting out of bed when requested department, I forcibly haul him out of it and tan his backside. He’s not so keen on the system, but it works for me and usually we do make it to work on time. This morning was particularly trying and not helped by the fact that he had a hangover. It was Rick’s birthday and of course everyone was helping him celebrate at the club last night. Twinkles and Natalie ended up in competition with each other, as to who could down the most cocktails. I eventually stepped in as official party pooper and told Twinkles he’d had enough cocktails and reminded him he had work to go to in the morning. I went off to chat with Brian and some other friends, whereupon he got round the cocktail embargo by moving onto tequila, which on its own is a spirit and not a cocktail. I of course had not mentioned anything about lone spirits.
I had little sympathy when he awoke this morning with a hangover. He said he was ill and he wanted me to phone work and say he wouldn’t be in. As ever, I refused, telling him he’d be fine after some painkillers and plenty of water. I lost patience when he was still abed after about the sixth time of being told to get up. I said if he didn’t get his carcass upright pronto I was going to put the system into operation. Lifting his satin sleep mask he gave me a surly glower and accused me of being an unfeeling beast and asked why the hell I hadn’t stopped him drinking so much last night? I said I had and we’d talk about it later. Wrapping the duvet tightly around himself he shambled off to the bathroom mumbling something about Doms who left loopholes in their instructions, and then got shirty when they were taken advantage of.
I poured him some tea and settled down to eat my breakfast while perusing the morning paper. Fifteen minutes passed and still no Twinks. I yelled upstairs to tell him that his tea was getting cold and he’d better get a move on or he wouldn’t have time to eat breakfast. And there was silence. I yelled his name again…and answer made he none. I marched upstairs telling myself that if he’d gone back to bed I would kill him. He hadn’t. The bed was empty. He must still be in the bathroom. I felt stirrings of unease that stirred ever more uneasily when I tried the bathroom door to find it locked. We rarely lock the bathroom door. I knocked, but there was no response. Unease deepened. I had visions of him having fallen and hit his head in the shower or drowned in the bath. Hoisting the kitchen steps upstairs I climbed up to look through the glass panel at the top of the door. He was in the bath, but not drowned. He’d used the duvet to turn it into a cosy nest for himself and was sound asleep. I rapped loudly on the glass. He stirred for a moment, lifted his sleep mask and gazed blearily around until he located me, whereupon he gave me a little wave and went back to sleep. I was so outraged by his cheek that I almost plunged off the steps. Banging furiously on the glass I yelled at him to get his stubborn arse out of the bath IMMEDIATELY!
Climbing out of the bath he staggered to the door and removed the key, stepping back he showed me it and then walked to the toilet. Dropping the key into the bowl he flushed it and then climbed back into the bath, pulling the duvet up over his head. I exploded like a Roman candle. Galloping downstairs I located a screwdriver and set about dismantling the lock and door handle. He wasn’t getting away with that kind of behaviour. I was absolutely fuming. If need be I would have kicked the door in. He was almost an hour late for work, but at least he got there. Getting out of the car he primly told me that my company would not be required this particular Saturday lunchtime and began to walk with dignity towards his place of employ. The dignity was compromised slightly when he reached both hands back to gingerly rub his bottom, which I had thoroughly walloped after extracting him from the bath. Better lay my keyboard aside for now. I’m going to visit Barry in the hospital before picking up the bathroom slumber queen from work.
6th November 2005:
Captain Haddock And Tintin
We stayed in last night. Twinkles needed the benefit of an early night without alcoholic stimulants to my mind and as my mind is the one that makes the final ruling in such matters, he got one. He wasn’t best suited. He said he’d heard that there was a small South American country in need of a Dictator and why didn’t I apply for the post, he’d even chip in and buy me a one way bus ticket. I kissed him and told him he was beautiful when he was cross and why didn’t we go sit on the bedroom windowsill and watch all the fireworks going off. He asked if he had a choice and I said of course he had a choice. He could say yes verbally or just nod his head. I would accept either one. He coldly told me that I’d best make the most of the outside fireworks because they’d be the only things exploding around here tonight.
The annual municipal bonfire display has some stunning aerial fireworks and we can view most of them from our bedroom window without having to stand out in the dark and damp. He cuddled me as we watched, making the requisite sounds of amazement and appreciation as the colours displayed before us. I guessed he wasn’t as annoyed with me as he pretended.
This morning, much to Twinkles’ delight, I couldn’t fix the handles back on th
e bathroom door. The wretched contraption just wouldn’t fit where it was supposed to fit. Twinks said it served me right for being mean-tempered enough to remove it in the first place. If I’d left him to sleep off his hangover in peace we’d still have a bathroom door in full working order. I phoned mum and she said she’d come over and have a look at it for me. She’s much better at these things than I am, which is rather galling. She seems to have a natural mechanical affinity that I should have inherited, but didn’t. The gene went to Maryann who also has a natural knack for fixing things. She was even better at building lego models than I was. So not fair. Mum of course asked why I’d taken it off in the first place. I told her that Twinks had managed to jam the lock and had gotten totally hysterical and I’d had to rescue him, a story that she accepted without question. It took her minutes to do what I’d failed to do in an hour and I could only watch in humble admiration (tinged with humiliation and annoyance) as she deftly re-fitted the door handles.
I invited her to stay to lunch. She seemed a bit down and I asked if everything was all right? She smiled and patted my face telling me not to worry because she was fine. She clearly wasn’t and I did worry. I wondered if it was something to do with the fact that dad had a new baby daughter. Her reaction when told of the baby’s birth had brought forth a diatribe that could have been scripted by Twinkles: ‘it’s of absolutely no interest to me. It’s their business. I don’t want any details…this will soon dull the gloss on their relationship. I can’t see madam Gill being willing to do all the donkeywork, not like I did. Your father never so much as changed as a nappy when you and Maryann were babies. I bet having a caesarean hasn’t done much for her figure either, not that she had much of a one to begin with, and as for their love life, HA! Once kids come, romance goes out the window. What does the baby look like? God forbid she has your father’s ears, or Gill’s nose. Does she have hair, not that I’m interested. The last time I saw your father I noticed his hair was thinning out. Having a new baby around will soon see off what’s left of it. Do you think I should send a congratulations card and a matinee jacket? I knitted one just in case.’
Perhaps the event had affected more than she was letting on. Twinkles siphoned her off into the kitchen, ostensibly for coffee and to help with lunch preparations, but with interrogation being the real purpose. She will often tell Twinkles things that she won’t tell me. Even though I’m all grown up, she still sees it as her role to be stronger than I am and protect me from things that might worry or upset me. And of course, unlike me, Twinks has absolutely no qualms about asking personal and searching questions. He’s also quite happy to talk body functions etc. However, on this occasion despite his best efforts, she was keeping her cards close to her chest. She admitted to nothing other than feeling a bit tired.
After lunch we all went to visit Barry. He’s now been transferred from a general medical ward to a psychiatric ward. He’s physically out of danger, but emotionally he’s still very much switched off. He speaks very little, eats very little and is generally not much interested in life. There’s no question of him being allowed home in his current state. It can be hard work visiting him because interactions tend to be one sided. However, we persevere. Guilt is a strong motivator and the PP’s reputation for being a friendly and caring community has been somewhat tarnished by the Barry affair and must be redeemed somehow. He wasn’t too bad this afternoon and even managed a smile when we presented him with flowers, which is more that he managed yesterday when I saw him. I spent the entire visit just holding his hand, as he soundlessly wept. It was awful.
The room he’s in needs more than flowers to brighten it up. It’s like a cell. In fact the whole place has an air of hopelessness about it, even the staff are miserable. The first time we visited Barry on the ward, Twinks was absolutely appalled by it. He winkled the unsuspecting ward manager out of his office and roasted him about the state of the place. No frigging wonder Barry and the other patients looked so depressed. He’d lost the will to live the moment he stepped through the doors and saw the grim décor. A psychiatric ward manager, of all people, ought to know that shades of battleship grey were not conducive to happy thoughts.
Twinkle then went into general rant mode. It was obvious that the mental wards had less money spent on them than any other wards; with the exception of the elderly care ones. It was a disgrace that the mentally ill and the old without means were always discriminated against. They had to suffer everything from lousy facilities to under funded, lacklustre healthcare, just because society deemed them unworthy of respect and consideration…and he’d read that in the Times, a newspaper that usually campaigned for the mass extermination of anyone who failed to meet middle class standards. There was no stopping him. He was on a crusade. He dragged the poor man into Barry’s room and pointed at him, saying, ‘that is not just a depressed man, that is a depressed GAY man and not a plain everyday gay man such as my partner here, but a drag queen, of sorts. He needs colour and glamour or his spinal cord with shrivel and he’ll die.’ He then demanded that the entire place be decorated in more uplifting colours or he would go to the newspapers and expose the hospital for the homophobic, spirit crushing, hellhole that it was.
That was the last we ever saw of the ward manager. He is strangely never available when Twinkles visits the ward and demands to see him. I’m convinced the man has lookouts strategically posted and the moment we’re clocked entering the hospital he dives for cover.
In his usual subtle way Twinks told Barry that his hospital pyjamas were an affront to humanity and a disgrace to transvestism. They were enough to give fashion conscious visitors nightmares. He’d brought something to cover them up and could he please put it on or else he’d have to sit with his back to him. He then presented him with a shawl. It’s something he picked up in Spain a few years ago. It’s black and adorned with red roses. It was touchingly obvious that Barry liked it, because when Twinks draped it around his shoulders he kept running his fingers through the long silky fringe and we got a second smile when Twinks presented him with a matching lace fan.
While we were there Natalie and Big Mary turned up for a visit, or Kevin and Jerry seeing as they were both largely in civvies. Kevin’s concession to glamour was nail polish that also had little gemstones set into each nail and Jerry’s was a pair of large button pearl earrings and a smudge of lipstick (picture Popeye’s bearded rival wearing button pearl earrings and lipstick and you’ll get a fairly close image of Big Mary/Jerry) Twinkles let out a shriek and pounced on Kevin demanding to know who had done his nails, because they were gorgeous. Kevin proudly said he’d done them himself with a kit he’d bought from the Avon lady and did Twinks really like them? Yes Twinks really liked them. In fact Twinks wanted his doing, now, today and so Kevin rushed home and picked up his nail polish and gemstone kit and brought it back to the hospital.
While he was in transit, Lulu, who is always Lulu, because he hates being called Fred no matter how he’s dressed, turned up wearing a black leather mini dress and knee length boots. Twinkles told him he looked like a dockyard floozy and it was no frigging wonder he couldn’t get a boyfriend, because most men didn’t know whether to ask him out or offer him money. Banging a bottle of Lucozade down onto Barry’s bedside cabinet, Lulu told Twinkles he was just jealous because he had longer legs and could wear knee length boots with style and grace. They then spent a pleasant few moments slagging each other off. Kevin arrived back with his nail kit and Lu informed him that he could have got him a similar kit at 25% discount.
Eventually a nurse, alerted by the noise of chatter, walked into the room to see what was going on and hastily backed out again and who could blame her. It was an odd montage. There at its centre was Barry. On one side of him he had Kevin and Twinkles who were involved in nail art and on the other were mum and Big Mary who were having an animated discussion about the wisdom of home hair perming and the pain of clip on earrings. Each couple would include Barry in their respective conversations, directing
comments at him and he’d turn from one to the other without saying anything. Lulu, who’d had a late night, had snuck under the covers at the end of the bed to grab forty winks, as he waited his turn to have his nails done. I had insisted he take his boots off first.
Despite the colourful shawl adorning his small person and his central position in the group, Barry still managed to give an impression of only partial visibility and connectivity. He was there, but not there. It was sad. Here was a man who somehow just didn’t fit. He was neither a fully-fledged player on the stage, nor yet a contented member of the audience. He was the figure in the private theatre box, set apart from both stage and main auditorium and looking to both with a wistful eye.
As we were leaving Barry beckoned me and asked if I would mind checking how his gerbils were doing at the rescue centre. He wanted to know whether any of them had been re-homed. As it was the longest speech I’d heard from him to date I said I’d be glad to. At that point Big Mary cleared his throat and said there was no need because he knew how they were. They were just fine and safely housed in his sitting room, away from draughts, until such time as Barry felt well enough to care for them again. There was a collective ‘awww’ and Big Mary blushed slightly and told us not to start taking the piss, or else. The day after Barry’s suicide attempt, he’d gone to the rescue centre and, well, rescued them. I thought it was such a kind thing to do. Barry did too I think. Only he couldn’t say so for crying.
On the way home Twinkles pondered whether Big Mary had secret feelings for little Barry. I said I didn’t know and I wasn’t prepared to speculate. A kind deed shouldn’t be misconstrued as anything but a kind deed. It was just BM’s way of slackening the guilt we all felt at Barry’s plight. I told my boy that I would cheerfully throttle him if he started any rumours about Barry and Big Mary being lovebirds. He suddenly started laughing and I asked what was funny. He said if Barry and Big Mary did get together they’d look like Tintin and Captain Haddock and all they’d need was a little white gerbil called Snowy to complete the picture. I reiterated that any rumours of romance between Barry and Big Mary that could be traced back to him would result in my being annoyed. He said that sometimes my lack of faith in his discretional qualities was really quite wounding and if he were a lesser man he would take offence. Discretion was his middle name don’t you know…yeah right, and mine’s womaniser.