Swan Songs

by Swan, Tarn

  I eventually took my turn at stirring and wishing and once the cake was in the tin and safely in the oven where it would take several decades to cook, mum handed round the sherry and we toasted its success. Despite my telling him that he’d get salmonella from the raw eggs in the mix, Twinks insisted on scraping out the bowl with a finger before it was washed up. Mum told me to stop fussing and reminded me that Maryann and I had always scraped out and ate the last of the cake mix and it had never done us any harm.

  Once we were done in the kitchen mum told Twinkles that she had a bit of a surprise for him. She’d been sorting through some stuff in the attic and had come across a suitcase filled with some old clothes from the sixties. There were a couple of dresses and blouses that he might like. Like? He almost died from joy. There was a floaty pink chiffon mini dress that he all but swooned over. Mum said it was a copy of one of the stage outfits worn by The Supremes. Twinks has no modesty. He stripped off there and then and tried it on. Mum did some quick adjustments and he was in heaven parading in front of her bedroom mirror. She lent him some dangly earrings and showed him how to apply eye makeup to suit the era. Fired by several large glasses of Harvey’s Bristol Cream she donned one of the dresses herself, a yellow one with fringe trimming, and then dug out some of her original LP’s. Utilising the kitchen table as a stage she and Twinks performed a duet to ‘Baby Where Did Our Love Go’ with mum proving that she still knew how to groove sixties style. Looking at her I suddenly realised that my mother must have been quite something in her hey day, she still is of course, but for a few moments last night I felt like I was glimpsing the carefree teenage girl who preceded the woman who became my mother.

  Sherry is a killer drink. Why on earth it’s always portrayed as something genteel and harmless is beyond me. You can fuel a bus with a bottle of sherry. By the time we set off home Twinkles could barely walk and he flatly refused to take his frock off, though he insisted mum remove hers. He wanted to put it in the suitcase to take home with the other goodies. He wasn’t risking her reclaiming it. He fell asleep in the car on the way home. He was absolutely sound. Katie and Frank, on their way home from the local pub, saw me trying to lug him out and came to lend a hand. Twinkles woke up and immediately wound his arms around Frank’s neck declaring that he and Katie were our very best neighbours, not like them other ignorant buggers. He then declared his intention to kiss Frank. Frank reacted in his usual slightly embarrassed but essentially good-natured way: ‘give over, what are you like, behave, man, you’re a terror.’ Katie told Twinks that his dress was gorgeous, but could he please not let Gabby see it or she’d be hounding her to make a copy. Katie secured the car, Frank picked up the suitcase and I playfully scooped up Twinks to carry indoors. Our new neighbours, also arriving back from an evening out were standing at their garden gate observing us with a less than benevolent eye. In fact before they disappeared up their path, Ray made a loud and viciously toned comment about ‘poofs and ponces.’ I tightened my grip on Twinkles as a warning not to respond. Frank patted my shoulder and told me to take no notice, while Katie caustically commented, he’s just jealous because your wife is so much prettier than his.

  Him in frocks woke up with a bit of a thick head this morning and was inclined to be grumpy, but he cheered up when he remembered the treasure that mum had bestowed upon him. He couldn’t resist calling Lulu to brag about his vintage acquisitions, as well as to ask how the date with the Cyber-man had gone. Lulu had already left for work so all he got was the answer phone. He talked to that for ten minutes until I cut him off and told him to get ready for his own work.

  When we got home this evening we found our front garden strewn with rubbish. What a mess. Someone had thrown the contents of a bin bag all over the place. It was foul and it took us ages to gather it all up. Twinks was fuming. He reckons it was Ray Brownlow and wanted to chuck the rubbish straight back into his garden. We had absolutely no proof that it was Brownlow. It could just as easily have been kids. I warned him that I would be very annoyed if he threw so much a biscuit wrapper into our new neighbours garden. Getting hate mail is bad enough without launching into a rubbish vendetta with a hostile neighbour.

  I’m being summoned. He requires an audience as he models various items from his Sixties collection.

  21st November 2005:

  Lulu In Trouble

  I’ve got a stomach upset so I’ve taken the day off work. I’ve either picked up a bug or I really am heading for an ulcer, which wouldn’t surprise me a jot. The weekend just gone was an eventful one and not in a nice way. Lulu got himself into some real trouble. He’s staying with us at the moment. He needs love and support.

  We got to the PP at our usual time on Friday night and did the requisite greeting ritual of hugging, air kissing, complimenting on costumes (to faces, while slagging them off behind backs) or at least Twinks did, while I drifted more sedately in his wake. He was wearing the pink dress that mum had given him along with a wig he’d styled into a sixties bob and the appropriate makeup and jewellery. He’d researched the part and reaction was favourable and along the lines of ‘oh you jammy BITCH where did you steal that fabulous frock?’ He of course luxuriated in such heady praise and palpable envy. At some point Lulu usually seeks us out. He tends to get to the club earlier than us so he can do a brief rehearsal with Cherie Pie and the other chorus girls, but on Friday there was no sign of him. Twinkles was apt to be ratty. He does not possess a patient nature and his needs were twofold. First he wanted Lulu to see, envy and admire his new look. Second he had a present for Lulu in the form of one of the dresses he’d discovered in mum’s magic suitcase. It was a little black and white number that Twinks reckoned would suit Lulu’s lean, leggy figure perfectly. It was his way of trying to cheer Lulu up after his disappointment with the Cyber-man.

  Poor Lulu. The controversial date had not come off after all. He had duly turned up at the designated meeting place on Wednesday evening, but no one had shown up and there were no messages on his computer when he got home. Twinkles had told him it was probably all for the best and the man was obviously a creep to force a meeting and then not show up for it. Lulu agreed on one level, but was still upset, complaining that even people who had never set eyes on him stood him up. He feared that he was destined to grow old alone with no one to comfort him in the twilight of his years. Twinks offered me up as a part time twilight comforter, but Lulu wailed that he wanted one of his own.

  In due course Cherie Pie came over and asked if we knew where Lulu was, as he hadn’t turned up for rehearsals. Twinks astringently said that knowing Lu he’d probably met a complete stranger in the back of a taxi and was busy shagging him blind, while trying to make him sign a contract promising to comfort him in his twilight years. He then rang Lulu’s mobile, but he wasn’t answering and his home phone was on answer machine. I have to say I didn’t care for the message that Twinkles left on it: ‘get your legs down from behind your ears and make yourself decent, you horny slut, because I’m on my way over to get you.’ It was less than polite to my mind. There was no call back.

  Cherie thoughtfully eyeballed Twinkles’ frock and then, to his utter delight, asked if he fancied standing in for Lulu as one of the mighty Pie’s little background fillers? Did he ever! In honour of the dress a sixties routine was quickly improvised. Twinkles was in his element on stage, sha-la-la-ing and trying to get himself in the main spotlight by gradually inching forwards until Cherie twigged and glared him back into place. See, that’s why Twinks never gets picked to be an official chorus Pie filler, he just cannot resist trying to upstage. The other two chorus queens each held onto the back of his dress after that to prevent him shimmying toward centre stage.

  When he came off stage he was as high as a kite in cyclone and I’m sad to say not in a good way. Not to put too fine a point on it he was so wound that he was tiresome. He was drinking and talking at high speed, his eyes were everywhere, he couldn’t sit still and there was not a person in the place he didn’t have
a bitch about. Cherie, who had just given him a much-coveted turn onstage, was denounced as an overblown, past her best, old has been drag queen and it was about time she gave way to younger blood. He can be horrible when he gets in a certain mindset. I tried to be patient, because I guessed in part his behaviour stemmed from frustration at Lulu’s absence. He kept looking out for him and calling his mobile and getting crosser and crosser when there was no response. Twinkles makes plans in his head, he creates a detailed map. As far as Friday night was concerned the scenario in his head was that he turns up at the PP in his new dress, gets admiration from people in general, but in particular from his best friend with whom he both competes and conspires. Then, when Lulu had finished being impressed at his style and envious of his luck in getting original clothes, he hands over the gift of the dress and again basks in the glory of his friend’s pleasure, gratitude and admiration. Only Lulu, bad boy, had spoilt it by not being where he was supposed to be, and by not confiding to Twinkles exactly where he was.

  To make matters worse Twinkles didn’t even have the dubious pleasure of a jealous run in with his adversary Natalie. She didn’t make an appearance on Friday night on account of Kevin having been dumped by Luke the barman who had turned out to be commitment phobic and fearful of being typecast if he dated the same man twice. He’s the type who screws for one night only. I managed to persuade Twinks to stop brooding into his chardonnay and have a few dances with me, but they were less than enjoyable, as he criticised the music, criticised me, criticised other dancers and then rudely shoved Empress Gloria for allegedly crowding his space. Thoroughly irritated I manoeuvred him back to our table, where he somehow managed to knock over my drink. Accident or malice, I’m not sure, but the result was the same either way. I ended up with red wine stains on my trousers and I wasn’t too pleased about it. He ungraciously snapped that he’d buy me another frigging drink if it would stop me moaning. I declined and told him he’d had enough too and it was time to be heading home. He didn’t want to go home. Tough. I did. It had turned into a very disagreeable evening. I went off to the facilities to see if I could get some of the wine stains out of my trousers before they set.

  The moment I was out of sight he flounced defiantly off to the bar where Luke, in between serving drinks was busily chatting up a nice looking punter. He didn’t look like the usual bar cruiser seeking easy sex so Twinkles enlightened the lad to the fact that Luke was a bedroom diva. He put on a good show, but performed for one night only with no second bookings, so if the lad was looking for someone with boyfriend potential he’d best give Luke a miss. He then managed to drop a pound coin onto the bar as he was trying to pay for his drink. It bounced off and landed in a beer crate behind the bar. He demanded that it be retrieved immediately. Luke vengefully refused. He said he and the rest of the staff were too busy to go scrabbling around looking for piddling loose change. Twinkles said no problem, and promptly climbed over the bar to retrieve it. Luke tried to evict him and by the time I got there a very unseemly struggle was in progress. I grabbed Twinkles’ handbag in order to prevent him beating Luke to death with it. I then retrieved his wig from the ice bucket that Luke had dunked it in, took him firmly by the hand and headed for the exit.

  Twinks was first out of the taxi when we got home leaving me to pay the driver as he stormed towards the house. I turned in time to witness him pick up an empty Sprite bottle that was lying on our frown lawn and hurl it savagely into the Brownlow’s garden. His justification? He said it was probably their trash anyway, so the bastards could have it back. It was the last straw for me. The moment we got indoors I took down his knickers, put him over my knee and spanked his bottom good and hard. He still wasn’t speaking to me when I joined him in bed. He lay curled up on his side with his back to me. I cared not. He’d gotten exactly what he deserved and he knew it.

  I was just drifting into sleep when Twinkles’ mobile sounded insistently from the bedside cabinet. He was out for the count and already gently snoring, so I picked it up feeling vexed that someone should call at such a late hour. If it was Lulu I fully intended to give him a piece of my mind. It was Lulu, his name came up on the screen, but any intention to rebuke him evaporated immediately. He didn’t speak, but I could hear him crying, a dreadful desperate weeping. It made my flesh go cold and I quickly shook Twinkles awake. He twigged that something was amiss and became alert immediately. I handed him the phone and dragged on jeans and a jumper while he coaxed Lu into speaking. He managed to say that he was at his flat and Twinkles told him that we were on our way.

  Twinkles broke into shocked sobs the moment he set eyes on Lu. He’d been brutally assaulted. There was blood everywhere. His clothes were spattered with it and his face was a swollen mess of abrasions. There was bruising around his throat, he could barely speak. All he wanted was Twinkles, reaching out for him and clinging to him. I told him I was going to call the police, but he became very agitated and even more distressed. He didn’t want the police. Nor would he allow me to inform his parents, because his mother has a heart problem and he didn’t want to risk scaring her at this hour of the night. I didn’t give him any other choices. I told him I was taking him to casualty and that was that.

  When we left the hospital, dawn was beginning to break. It was freezing cold and there was a heavy frost crunching underfoot. We walked in slow silence to the car, Twinks and I supporting Lulu between us. He had been thoroughly checked over for head and internal injuries and pronounced clear, though he needed to have an eye kept on him for a few days. The attending doctor had wanted to involve the police, but again Lulu refused. He had a stitch put in a nasty cut on his lip, two stitches in a cut on his cheek and four to repair a jagged tear in the top of his right ear where a hoop earring had been viciously ripped out.

  By the time we reached home the painkillers and sedative he’d been given were kicking in and he could barely stand. I carried him upstairs to the guest room and we got him undressed and into bed. Twinks kicked off his shoes and climbed in with him, gently stroking his hair and petting him. I made tea. I took Twinks a cup, but he and Lu were both sound asleep curled tight in each other’s arms. I didn’t disturb them. I reckoned that in the circumstances Twinkles could legitimately claim a day off work. He wouldn’t be fit for much after being up most of the night and Lulu would want him around anyway. I phoned the shop and explained the situation to Don who kindly okayed him taking the day off. He said he’d put him down as sick because it wasn’t as if he took that much time off via sick days (thanks to me, but I didn’t say that)

  Lulu hasn’t revealed exactly what happened yet, though he admitted on Saturday that his attacker was the chat room man. Twinkles managed not to indulge in a round of I told you so, recognising that Lu needed comfort and rest, not a stating of the obvious. Poor Lu, he keeps crying and I suspect not just for his physical hurts. We asked if he wanted to go to his parent’s home on Sunday, but he said no he’d rather stay with us for a few days. He didn’t want his elderly parents seeing him in his current state. It would upset them and they’d beg him to give up being gay because it was dangerous. I mentioned the police again, but he refused. He’s being as stubborn as a mule over it.

  Twinkles covered all the mirrors so that Lu wouldn’t accidentally catch sight of his face and be upset. However, on Sunday afternoon he insisted on inspecting the damage. The ensuing tears took quite some time to stem. We told him that at least his teeth were sound and his face and ear would heal just fine. Twinkles played mother hen all weekend. To be honest I think Lulu was relieved when he went to work this morning. It means he can sit down without having a blanket tucked tightly around him or a cushion plumped up behind him. That said, Twinks has phoned home about five times already. I’m sure he was phoning while serving a customer at one point. He wanted to check that I was looking after Lulu properly, and I am. In fact I’m going to see if he fancies a spot of lunch now.

  23rd November 2005:

  Tarn The Impaler

  Jonath
an detests me. He wishes he’d never met me. I’m the most wicked and abusive Dom on the planet, cruel, heartless, a domestic tyrant who makes Vlad The Impaler look mild mannered and reasonable. People would be shocked if they knew what he suffered at my hands on a daily basis. Shocked! In case you’re wondering, he’s cross with me. Fair’s fair, I’m cross with him, very cross, too cross to refer to him by his pet name. The way I’m feeling this evening I think Jonathan is going to be Jonathan for a while yet. Fortunately for Jonathan we have a houseguest. If we didn’t then I’m afraid he wouldn’t be comfortably sitting watching Hollyoaks with Lulu, he’d be nursing a well-paddled backside. I honestly am disappointed and fed up. It’s dark, freezing cold and threatening snow, but I’m going out for a long walk. Some exercise might help calm the savage beast that has grafted itself to my bones since discovering that our joint bank account is almost three hundred and fifty pounds overdrawn. And that amount doesn’t include the whopping bank charges incurred for going overdrawn without prior arrangement.

  24th November 2005:

  Queen Requires New Consort

  I’m out of all patience with Jonathan tonight. I’m sitting here drinking strong sweet coffee in the hope that the mix of sugar and caffeine will speed the effects of the headache tablets I’ve just taken. He called my office earlier today to tell me that I needn’t bother collecting him from work, as he was cashing in his Christmas shopping hours and taking the afternoon off. He would get the bus home. I asked how he was planning to pay the fare, because as far as I knew Stagecoach didn’t yet operate a bartering system, and he had no money. He told me that he would borrow the money from Don or one of the girls. I told him that he didn’t have my permission to borrow money. I also told him that he could damn well un-cash his Christmas shopping hours and stay at work. I would collect him as usual. In that case he’d walk home and he didn’t care how long it took, or if he froze to death in the process. Incidentally, should he freeze to death he didn’t want me, bastard pig, at his funeral, at which point he slammed the phone down. I was furious and called him straight back, only to be told that he’d already left the shop. I rang his mobile but it was turned off, another black mark against him. I sent a text telling him that when he got home he could make an excuse to Lulu and go straight to bed and we’d be having a chat later.