by Swan, Tarn
Dad came round on Sunday afternoon to help me fix the hole in the landing ceiling. Ah, yes, what was that all about? I'll tell you. Does the chilling term tasteful twinkling reindeer ring any bells, Christmas bells perhaps? Yep, those festive venison, which caused so much strife betwixt my beloved and me last year had somehow mysteriously found their way not so much onto my roof, as beneath it, four of them. I thought I was hallucinating when I first saw them. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming.
As already mentioned on Thursday Twinks was out on a summer spending spree with the girls. I got home from work, made myself some dinner and washed up. I went upstairs to avail myself of the porcelain throne, opening the bathroom and bedroom windows afterwards, not because of anything unsavoury in the fragrance department I hasten to say, but because it was hot and stuffy upstairs.
After opening the bedroom window I stepped back onto the landing and got one heck of a fright when something fluttered down on my head. It was a sheet of newspaper, strange enough in itself. What made it even stranger was that it had been painted on one side with several coats of white emulsion. Looking upwards at where the painted sheet had come from, I was confronted by a sizeable hole in the ceiling. Glancing from paper to ceiling my lightening quick mind deduced that the paper had been stuck over the hole and painted by way of disguise. The substance used to stick the paper was obviously inadequate to the task and my opening the bathroom and bedroom windows had produced a cross draught strong enough to dislodge it.
The burning question was how did the hole get there and who disguised it? The answer that sprang readily to mind was of course Twinkles, but why? Why had he put a hole in the ceiling and why had he gone to such lengths to conceal it from me? Something fishy was afoot. His mood on Tuesday clicked into place. Whatever had happened must have happened then. No wonder he hadn't wanted me to have a shower. He must have been worried about steam affecting the paper skin before it had time to dry properly. No wonder he sat guard on the landing on the pretext of cleaning out his makeup box. He was keeping his eye on his ceiling handiwork. I'll finish this tale later. Twinks wants my attention now. He’s promising me sexual favours in return for a nice chilled glass of wine. Who am I to resist such beautiful bribery!
19th July 2006: Evil Reindeer
It was horribly hot and sticky last night. It was impossible to sleep and we ended up being short tempered with each other. When he accused me of giving off more body heat than Flame Boy, or whatever the character from the Fantastic Four is called, I went in the guest room to sleep solo. It was still an uncomfortable affair.
I had to laugh when I went to wake him up for work this morning. He was lying on his back, stark naked, legs and arms flung wide and snoring away surrounded by bags of frozen vegetables, or rather bags of thawed vegetables as they were by then. He looked like an oven ready casserole. He'd gotten so desperate to cool down he'd raided the freezer in the middle of the night. He said he never imagined a bag of frozen peas could offer such bliss as a bed companion and he thought he might be in love all over again.
I proved my worth as a bliss giver and dragged him under a cool shower with me. I wasn't going to let a bag of peas gazump me in the love stakes.
Getting back to last Thursday when the painted newspaper dropped on my head, thus alerting me to the hole in the ceiling. I could tell by the way the edges of the hole frayed downwards that it had been made from above rather than below. Years of watching episodes of Poirot had finally paid off. I felt compelled to whisk down the loft ladder and ascend into the rafters to investigate. I got quite a turn when I found what appeared to be a secret refugee camp full of reindeer. Surprise turned to annoyance, as memories of the trauma caused by the wretched festive ornaments returned to me. What the hell was Twinkles playing at and how long had they been there huddling silently above my head? Questions to be asked and answered. I couldn't wait for him to return from his shopping trip.
His face when he stepped through the front door to be greeted by a hall full of reindeer was an absolute picture. For a moment I thought he was going to faint. He recovered quickly and flinging his arms around my neck shrieked, “oh Tarn, you gorgeous man! What a sweet gift. You shouldn't have.”
Unwrapping his arms from around my neck I said I didn't and dragged him into the living room. Sitting him down I bade him tell me who did.
Would I believe Santa?
No.
The Tooth Fairy?
No.
How about a confused Easter Bunny?
I tired of the game and demanded he tell me the truth or I would paddle his backside.
He explained, in his own inimitable way. They were the last four in the shop and Strickland and Holt made it a policy never to stock the same Christmas line twice, they were snobby like that. When he spotted them in the summer sale on Monday he thought he might never get another chance to own a twinkling reindeer and with a seventy percent discount they were a good buy, in fact an excellent buy. He only intended to buy two, but the sales girl was anxious to be rid of them and said if he bought all four she'd give him an extra twenty percent off the total price. They were an absolute bargain! Plus Teddy only had three so the thought of having four was just too tempting. Teddy would be greener than ivy come Christmas. Before he knew it he’d whipped out his plastic and paid for them. He’d then heaved them two at a time up the High Street to his own shop where he'd hidden them in the storeroom. Don grumbled they were taking up too much space and he wanted them out, so he’d had to go up on Tuesday to collect them.
It was only as he was bringing them home in a taxi that his pleasure gave way to anxiety about my reaction. After all we'd had quite some tussles over them. I'd said the subject of reindeer was closed and was never to be re-opened by so much as a single syllable. He would have taken them back to the shop for a refund, but goods discounted by sixty percent or more were strictly non-returnable. He decided to stick them in the loft until he thought of a way of gently broaching the subject with me, only he'd lost his balance when heaving up the last one and ended up putting his foot through the ceiling, which made him panic even further and try to cover up his misdeed. Was I very cross?
Well I certainly wasn't pleased. The damn things had been nothing but trouble. It didn’t matter that he wasn't on financial restriction anymore. He should have called me to discuss the matter before going ahead with the purchase. Even with the generous discounts they came to a princely sum. Nor should he have tried to conceal them. He should have been honest with me.
I felt it appropriate to impose some manner of punishment. I told him he had to seek my permission before using his credit card for purchases over twenty pounds for the next month and if I said no he was to heed me without argument. I then wagged a semi-serious finger and told him he could count himself lucky to have escaped a paddling.
To my consternation he suddenly put his hands over his face and started to cry. I was taken aback. I didn't think I'd been particularly harsh. I put my arms round him and he clung to me sobbing his heart out. When he calmed down enough to speak he said he was sorry, he knew he'd been duplicitous and had felt bad the moment the transaction had gone through. He wished he'd never bought the evil frigging things. They'd brought him nothing but grief from the moment he clapped eyes on them. He had another bout of weeping before telling me in tragic tones, “they don't work, Tarn. They don't twinkle or paw. I've got four un-twinkling, un-pawing reindeer and I can't get my money back.”
I gave him a hug and told him I was sorry, but it was a lesson learned and then sent him off to have a soothing bubble bath. I plugged in the reindeer to test them. He was right. They didn't twinkle or paw and looked to be duds. I took them out to the shed to store them. Big Mary has promised to have a look at them for me. He reckons they might be suffering from loose wiring, which he can fix in a jiff. I haven't told Twinks yet, in case it doesn't work out. If it does work it'll be a nice surprise for him nearer Christmas.
20th July 2006: Fant
asy Lovers
We should have been enjoying the new Pirates of the Caribbean film about now. Unfortunately my dad phoned just as we were leaving the house. He wanted my opinion about a concern he had and we set off later than intended. Twinkles was not suited and I endured a fair amount of nagging from him in the car. By the time we got to the cinema and bought our tickets everyone had gone in and the trailers were underway. Despite the film having been shown for a while now the place was packed with only odd seats left. The usher said we would have to sit apart. Twinkles refused to even consider such a thing. In his view there was no point going to the pictures with someone if you couldn't watch the film with them. He demanded the usher evict someone so we could sit together. He refused so Twinkles told him where he could stick his torch and walked out.
The manager kindly said we could use our tickets for another showing, which was an hour away. Twinks, stubborn man, was in no mood for waiting. We ended up getting a refund and heading home. I was most annoyed and took my turn at nagging in the car. I told him he'd had no right to take out his bad mood on the poor usher and the manager. We could have had a drink in the bar while waiting for the next showing.
I was informed in less than salubrious tones that he hadn't wanted to go to the next showing. He’d wanted to go to that one. I should have told old dull duck I was too busy to talk to him. I lost patience and declared him a self-centred brat who’d been determined to spoil the evening just because I'd given a moment of time and attention to someone else's needs. I also declared that if he said one more rude word about my father I would pull down his jeans, put him across my knee and smack his ill-tempered arse until he couldn't sit down.
He's flounced off over to Lu's place to bitch about me. I care not. I'm going to make the most of the peace and quiet. I'm going to pour myself a cold beer, grab a sandwich, slap in a DVD of the first Pirates film and openly enjoy watching the attractive Johnny Depp camp it up. Sometimes fantasy lovers are the best kind. They never irritate, have no bad habits and are always on your wavelength and obedient to your needs and desires.
5th August 2006:Mr Bojangles - a song for Emily
It's been an achingly sad day, the culmination of a sad few weeks.
Early this morning I drove Twinkles, Lulu and his father to a place called Basselton Woods. It’s an ancient stretch of protected woodland not too far from where we live. It dates back to the medieval period and has been designated a nature reserve. It's known locally as Bluebell Woods because in the spring it blooms with acre upon acre of those pretty flowers. Lulu's parents did much of their courting in Bluebell Woods and Lu himself spent many happy childhood summer days playing around the reserve. We weren't there to sightsee or picnic. Emily passed away almost a fortnight ago and Lu's dad was granted permission to scatter his wife's ashes in a place she had loved. It would have been her birthday today, so it seemed an appropriate day to return her remains to the earth.
It was beautiful in its way. The sun was shining and apart from birdsong and the sound of the breeze moving through the foliage all was peaceful. Lulu and his dad shared some memories and then Lulu sang a song his mum had taught him when he was a little boy, a song he'd won a holiday camp talent contest with, much to her delight and pride. It was a song called Mr Bojangles.
As the lyrics floated on the air I pictured Emily's face as I'd last seen it, alight with pleasure and love as she talked about her only child. The child who was now a man and who was standing with eyes closed singing a last song for her. That was the point at which I gave up all pretence of emotional control and clung to Twinks as much as he was clinging to me for comfort.
Once the ashes had been scattered amongst the trees, Twinkles and I walked away leaving Lulu and his father to grieve in solitude for a while.
Twinkles hasn't stopped crying since we got home. He’s utterly exhausted. He loved Emily and today's simple little ceremony, more so than the actual funeral, brought home to him the finality of her departure. I'm going to see if I can coax him into having a cup of tea or coffee. He hasn't touched food or drink all day.
6th August 2006: Spinning the Waltzers
About two weeks ago Crow's Fair made its annual summer visit to our town, setting up caravans, rides and colourful stalls by the riverside. In this technological age it’s nice to know that something like a funfair can still lure, excite and charm people, people like Twinkles, Kevin and Lulu for example. They decided it would be nice to pay a Sunday afternoon visit to the fair.
There was one small problem. Lulu's dad was away that particular weekend playing in a bowls tournament. So, after being subjected to soulful looks from three pairs of mascara-enhanced eyes, I said I'd keep Lu's mother company while Lu had a break. I'm not fussed on fairgrounds, not the rides anyway. I do enjoy wandering around them at night when the lights are flashing and music is blaring and there's an atmosphere of excitement and glamour beneath which lurks a hint of danger. Gay men and straight women both lust after the handsome dark-eyed gypsies, or land pirates, as they're known around here, politically incorrect perhaps, but then life isn’t always an exercise in perfection.
Emily's speech was much improved to how it had been in the immediate aftermath of her stroke, but her mobility was still poor and neither Lulu nor his father liked to leave her unattended for too long.
Anyway, 'the boys' as Emily called them, went off to the fair. Emily was of the generation of women for whom it was a matter of pride that they looked after not only their family, but also visitors to the family home. It was a fruitless struggle persuading her I didn't need to be waited on and I would prefer to make her refreshments. She wouldn't hear of it. She was going to make me a cup of tea whether I liked it or not. I gave in, realising the situation had absolutely nothing to do with what I wanted and everything to do with allowing her to maintain her sense of dignity. So with a mixture of anxiety and admiration I watched her go through the protracted painful process of making me a cup of tea, while resisting the urge to interfere and speed up the event.
Once it was done we went out into the garden to drink it. It was a gorgeous afternoon. The moment I sat down, Shirley the cat, whom I'm allergic to, insistently curled up on my lap. She began purring so happily I didn't have the heart to shove her off. I gave silent thanks I'd had the foresight to take an antihistamine before going over.
Emily was prepared for my visit, producing several photograph albums from the table beside her chair. I was treated to the life and times of illustrious PP chorus queen Lulukalala when his proud parents knew him simply as Freddy. I didn't mind. It was nice to hear her talk and see her happiness at recalling the past.
She said that looking back she could see there were signs that Freddy was 'different.' He always preferred to play girl’s games to boy’s games and had always loved dressing up. Then there was the Cinderella glass slipper incident, oh that had been terrible. A neighbour's little girl had accused Freddy, aged eight, of stealing her sparkling pink plastic, high-heeled Cinderella slippers. They were all the rage at the time. Freddy denied it. His parents naturally sided with their son and said she must have lost them and was looking for someone to blame. Heated neighbourly words were exchanged. A few weeks later Emily was cleaning Freddy's room and what did she find hidden under the bed, yep, the missing slippers.
Poor Freddy got a spanking from his daddy for stealing and lying and was made to return the shoes and apologise. Emily said she wondered if they'd been too harsh with him and perhaps if they'd gotten him some Cinderella shoes of his own he could have played the 'lady' thing out of his system and be happily married with children by now and she would have beautiful grandchildren to pamper and love. I told her I didn't think it worked that way, but she was unconvinced.
It set me wondering how my parents felt about the possibility of never having grandchildren. Maryann showed no signs of wanting to marry and have kids and it had to be faced that my dad was unlikely to live long enough to see any children Janet might produce. For a moment I felt gu
ilty for being gay, for not being able to conform and play my part in family continuity. Then Emily said that she and Freddy's dad, whose name is Harry, but who is always referred to as Freddy's dad or plain Mr Easby, had concluded that the only thing that mattered was Freddy’s happiness, because he was such a lovely boy and a very good son, didn't I think so? I agreed without hesitation.
The 'boys' returned from the fair looking slightly green about the gills. Fairground fast food combined with fast fairground rides does nothing for the digestion. You'd think they were old enough to know better, but some people never grow up, not completely. When Twinks, Kevin and Lulu hit that fairground they did so in the same spirit as their once upon teenage selves.
Despite my warnings not to go on anything that spun around, especially the waltzers, Twinkles had done just that. It had set off an attack of vertigo. He lay on the grass moaning about still feeling sick and dizzy. He claimed Lu and Kevin had forced him to go on against his will because they wanted to ogle the lad who was spinning the cars. Emily scolded them for making poor Jonathan ill. Lu skilfully disarmed her by hugging her and presenting her with a toy dog he'd won on the shooting gallery.
She insisted on making drinks for her boys and then sat happily listening to their conversation, her eyes never far from Lu's face. In her turn she recalled the days of her own youth when she and her friends would go to the fair and make eyes at the gypsy boys they'd been warned not to trust. She told how they'd laugh and scream in delighted fear when the waltzers they were riding were hijacked and spun faster by the artful youths who knew just how to get the town girls to spend all their money. There would be fights later when jealous town boys tried to get their own back against the exotic yearly visitors who stole their would-be girlfriend's hearts.