by Swan, Tarn
I suspect part of his reaction to the novel is rooted in something that happened on Friday. I knew something was amiss as soon as I picked him up from work. There was no smile of greeting. He barely spoke a word all the way home. I asked what was wrong and he made an attempt at a smile, saying he was just a bit tired. He did look washed out, but I knew more than physical tiredness was responsible for the distance in his eyes. He was a long way off and not in a happy place.
As soon as we got home I insisted he tell me what was on his mind. He put his arms around me. I comforted him as he soaked the front of my shirt with silent tears. As it turned out it was a short story, but a painful one for him.
During his lunch hour he had taken a walk around town. He saw his sister Jennifer. On impulse he smiled and said hello to her, but she walked past him without acknowledgement. It hurt him, as any kind of contact with his family, however fleeting, always does. It hurt doubly so because she was pushing a pram. He'd heard on the grapevine she'd married a year or so back, but hadn't heard she'd started a family. He had a little nephew or niece that he would never meet. He conveyed a hope for the baby's father to be a warmer type than his sister and expressed relief that at least it wouldn't be brought up in the same house and under the cold rule of his grandfather, as they had been.
There is a part of Twinkles that will never be at peace. Somewhere inside him resides a small boy still waiting for love and acceptance from people who will never give it. His grandfather singled him out as unworthy of love and kindness virtually from the moment he was born and he made sure the rest of the family followed his evil lead. They will never change.
Having glanced through the novel he was reading, what came across was an acute sense of grief for something unfulfilled in the protagonist, and which stretched way back to being born. I think Twinks was responding to that on a personal emotional level.
He knows how much I love him. He knows I accept him in his totality, high heels and all. On the whole I make him happy and make him feel valued, as he makes me, but when he dies there will still be some small part of him not at peace. I'm arrogant enough to be hurt by the knowledge I can't give him total peace and happiness. I accept it, but it hurts. All I can do is hold him, comfort him, and dry the tears that fall from the man's eyes, but which are wept by the child within.
10th November 2006: Sheherazade
The weather has turned wintry in our neck of the woods. This morning was especially chilly, not so much outdoors, but indoors, where temperatures remained cool even with the heating on. Twinks and I are at odds with one another. We had a row last night. He went over to Teddy's place for a beauty evening. It was Teddy’s turn to host this regular pampering session. Faces were masked, nails filed, eyebrows plucked and leg waxed. I wasn't in a good mood even before he set off for his primping party, but I don't think that influenced the way things went later.
I'd had a heavy day at work. I'd gotten a knuckle rapping from my immediate superior as a result of a serious mistake made by one of my section staff. I can't say I was pleased about it. I don't care much for this particular boss. It’s a mutual thing. I'm careful to give her as little opportunity as possible to have a go at me. As section head it's fair enough I shoulder some of the fallout when things go wrong and I accepted the reprimand she gave me in that spirit. I then had words with Dave, the person responsible for the blunder, who to be blunt isn't the biggest asset in the office. I did some knuckle rapping of my own, but Dave didn't take his reprimand as well as I'd taken mine.
Thereafter the atmosphere in the office was thick enough to cut with a knife. I got the distinct impression that a good proportion of my staff would have liked to stick a knife between the shoulder blades of this particular dictator. Power and popularity don't necessarily go hand in hand and with uncertainty over the future of our department still casting a pall over things, people are sensitive to what they see as nitpicking by management (bosses are looking for jobs to shed, watch your back lads and lasses.)
The headache that had been threatening when I dropped Twinks off at Teddy's house had fully developed by the time I picked him up again. I was apt to be crabby.
Lulu the Spiv had obviously used the pamper session as a sales opportunity and had done rather well if the bags being carried out of Teddy's house by his guests were anything to go by.
Twinks was no exception. He too was clutching a bag in his freshly manicured little hands. I took no pleasure in his purchases. We already had a drawer full of Christmas cards, gift-wrap and ribbons and we didn't need anymore, nor, in my opinion, did he need any more false eyelashes and lipstick.
It was not my day to be popular. Twinkles coldly said I was entitled to my opinion and fell into an emphasised silence, the inference being that I could shove my opinion into the recesses that knew not the light of the sun.
Silence was short-lived. Teddy has new curtains in his living room (the man seems to have a fetish for new curtains) and Twinkles had an overwhelming need to turn Sheherazade and tell me a tale of them. They were wonderful curtains, unique, fabulous, possibly the most beautiful curtains ever to grace a set of windows in gay suburbia. They were classy and elegant. They made a statement (i.e. they'd cost an absolute mint) and he wanted some. If we acted fast we could have them ordered, made up and hung in time for Christmas. I also made a statement, a simple one comprising of one word. No.
He asked, “why not?”
I replied, “because there’s nothing wrong with our living room curtains. They’re perfectly nice and they cost over four hundred pounds less than eighteen months ago. We haven’t had our money's worth out of them yet.”
He snapped, “has anyone ever told you how tight you are, Tarn?”
I said, “yes, you have, frequently. I don't care. At least we still have assets and a roof over our head whereas if you were in sole charge of our budget we'd be bankrupt and living in a cardboard box.”
He announced he would buy the curtains himself seeing as I was too mean to put them on the household account. He’d put them on his personal credit card and damn the expense. Oh no, no, no. I firmly shook my head, which didn't help my headache any. I reiterated. He was not buying new curtains. We did not need new curtains, least of all new curtains whose cost could cancel out the debt of a third world country, end of story so close the book.
Once home I offered him a cup of tea. He didn't want tea. He wanted new curtains. My patience expired and I confess I did raise my voice slightly as I said a once and final NO! He informed me I was a bully, as well as a penny-pinching soft furnishing Philistine. Then he launched into a Teddy tirade. Teddy says, blah, blah. Teddy thinks, blah, blah. Teddy does, blah, blah. Teddy gets, blah, blah. My head threatened to detonate. I'd had enough of Teddy tales.
Stopping him mid-sentence I told him he wasn't allowed to see Teddy until further notice. He demanded to know why and I told him. “Because he fucking winds you up each and every time you see him and when you're wound you start winding me up. I'm sick to the back teeth of it. We don't have an endless pit of financial resources, certainly not to throw away on things we don't need just to keep up with the gay Joneses.”
Spitting like an angry cat he said, “so, you’re finally choosing my friends for me now are you?”
I denied it, “no, I'm choosing how much contact you have with a particular friend, in this case Teddy, until you learn not to be unduly and foolishly influenced by him.”
He said, and I quote, “no wonder the staff at work hate your guts. You're a grumpy bugger!” He stormed out of the kitchen slamming the door behind him. I heard his feet raise a storm on the stairs.
My headache upgraded to a migraine and for a brief moment I considered suicide, which upgraded to a desire to hire a contract killer to commit homicide on my behalf. I took a perverse pleasure in thinking of the killer wrapping Teddy's body in his new curtains before chucking him in the Tees.
In lieu of murder I made do with a cup of tea and a couple of migraine pills before goi
ng up to bed.
Imagine my annoyance when I couldn't get into the bedroom. The door wouldn't open, there was something obstructing it. I knocked on it and called his name, but he ignored me. To my fury I suddenly noticed my pillow lying on the landing. The little toad had blocked me out of the bedroom. Pounding the flat of my hand against the door I demanded he open up. He yelled that I could sleep in the guest room, because I wasn’t sleeping with him.
I had one of those moments of pure rage. I almost blacked out with the surge of adrenaline. Putting my weight to the door I pushed hard. There was a crash as the tallboy he'd put against it toppled over. It was followed by a screech of fright from him.
He was lucky. My head was hurting enough for me not to want to jar it overly much and thus the spanking I dealt his bare bottom was not half as vigorous as it might have been. He called me a brute, I called him a brat and we slept with our backs to each other in a gesture of mutual dislike.
He came swanning down to breakfast this morning wearing his favourite feather trimmed wrap and a hard done by expression. He asked if I'd meant what I'd said about Teddy. I confirmed I did, explaining I wanted a holiday from him, a complete break. I did not want to hear what Teddy said, did, or thought. I especially did not want to know what he bought and how much it had cost and the reason why we had to have either the same or bigger and better.
He tearfully said he had no idea I hated poor Teddy so much. I’m not fond of Teddy, but I don’t hate him at all. I tried to explain that my real problem was not Teddy as much as him. Teddy brought out the worst of his competitiveness, but that wasn't Teddy's fault, it was his fault for subscribing to it. He was far too willing to be discontented with his lot when he'd been in Teddy's company. I was utterly sick of it. I'd put up with it for too long. I was making a stand. He wasn't allowed contact with Teddy until I gave him the nod.
What the hell was he supposed to do if Teddy texted or called him, ignore the poor man, cut him dead? His face fell when I told him the problem wouldn't arise, as I was taking possession of his phone and would intercept and tactfully deal with such occurrences. He could have my phone for emergencies and I trusted him not to call Teddy with it.
The drive to work was wreathed in frosty silence. I got short shrift when I attempted to kiss him goodbye. I'm unrepentant. Teddy has been the source of several financial crises leading to rows between Twinkles and I. I have no influence over Teddy, but I do have influence over Twinkles. In my opinion a bit of enforced space would do him the world of good.
I actually feel rather sorry for Teddy sometimes. I think a lot of his excessive spending is to compensate for a lack of 'real' attention from Maurice. What he needs is for Maurice to impose a few firm guidelines, but sadly I don't think he's got it in him.
I finished work early this afternoon. I thought the office and I deserved a mutual break from one another. I'd better gird my loins and set off to pick up my cool regent. I've bought his favourite ginger and cinnamon fudge, which I'm hoping will both warm and sweeten him. If not then sour will just have to be the flavour of the day.
22nd November 2006: Perceptions
Twinks is back in communication with Teddy. I cracked after three days when Teddy called me on Twinks' mobile while I was in a meeting. He’d called to tell me all about the special breed, free-range goose he'd ordered for Christmas. It was being sent from a world famous prize-winning poultry farm in darkest Wales. It was costing an absolute fortune, but would be worth it. Did I know that the Queen, the one who sits on the throne, is listed as one of the farm's customers along with celebrity chef Gary Rhodes who apparently won’t buy his geese anywhere else?
Teddy doesn't care to whom he brags, as long as he brags to someone. I suspect if all else failed he'd call the speaking clock and brag to that as it counted down the minutes and seconds.
As far as he knew I was in possession of Twinks' mobile because Twinks had accidentally put mine through the washing machine. He called the number regardless of the fact I answered it. The goose was the final straw for me. When I got home that evening I returned Twinkle’s phone to him. Teddy restrictions were lifted on the understanding there was to be no more whining about what Teddy had, and no more wanting to compete with him.
Poor Twinks. The first thing he was told about was the dratted golden goose. It nearly killed him not to suggest we order one. He looked at me, saying casually, “Teddy has ordered a goose for Christmas, from a place in Wales, where the Queen, the one who sits on the throne, buys hers from, and Sir Ian McKellen.” (Gary Rhodes had obviously been sidelined)
I said, “I know, love. Teddy told me all about it,” and continued to watch the news.
There was a brief silence and then he said, “they're supposed to taste wonderful, out of this world.”
Turning my attention from the television screen I gave him a measured look, but said nothing. He gave a little sniff and rose to his feet saying he was going to make coffee, did I want one. I nodded and he teetered off to the kitchen with the air of a soul in torment. He put sugar in my coffee, which I don’t take, his way of saying I need to be sweeter, but I let it pass.
Fortunately Teddy has been struck down with a heavy cold and sore throat so he’s not saying very much to anyone at the moment. It makes me think there might be a God after all.
Now for some good news. Barry has at last been discharged from hospital. He's been having weekends home for a while now and finally felt confident enough to return permanently. It's been a long year for him. He's travelled a hard path. I like to think it was a road he needed to travel and that some good has come from it. At least this time he didn't travel alone. He and Big Mary have struck up a firm friendship. Despite gossip in the queens ranks I'm certain it is just friendship and has no romantic or sexual bias to it.
Prior to his discharge Big Mary asked for volunteers to help give Barry’s living room and hall a bit of a spruce up. The place was still decorated in the style of his mother who has been dead for about ten years. She had a penchant for heavily flocked Victorian style wallpapers in shades of burgundy and old gold. The effect was overpowering, as well as depressing. Kevin, Lulu and Rick gave their time to help strip off the paper and paint the walls in brighter tones. My mother and Twinks restyled some of the curtains and soft furnishings. I tidied the front and back gardens and put in some winter bedding plants. The entire place looks so much better. Barry was delighted and insisted on buying boxes of chocolates all round.
It's tragic the way we make assumptions about people based on what we see with our eyes, or what we think we see. Barry was always called boring Barry behind his back, and sometimes to his face. In reality he isn't boring at all. I'm ashamed to think I was one of those who deemed him so. He's shy and socially nervous with trust issues, but when you get to know him a little better, when you give him chance to reveal himself you discover a sensitive and kind man who's extraordinarily well read and who can talk with beautiful eloquence about books and music.
Barry once had a lover, though we all assumed he had always lived with his mother and had no partners. His lover was a drag artiste who toured the club circuit. Barry was heartbroken when he left him for someone else. The halitosis he suffered was a result of side effects from the medication he took for the depression brought on when his first and only relationship ended.
Barry’s mother had been a wardrobe mistress for a Scottish ballet company. While a gifted seamstress she was a less than sensitive woman who made it plain she was deeply disappointed with the son she gave birth to. She had wanted someone taller, better looking, more outgoing, more talented. Barry says she was bitter because the handsome Swedish dancer who had seduced and married her only did so because he wanted to stay in the country. Moreover he was gay and left her before Barry was even born.
Big Mary is another one with surprising depths. He’s a volunteer for an organisation that helps young gay men and women come to terms with their sexuality. He often acts as a mediator between them and their fami
lies. He was briefly married to someone he describes as his ideal partner, if she'd only had a cock and balls. She did offer to buy a strap-on, but it never really worked out and they separated. He still gets a Christmas card from her, but hasn't seen her in almost ten years. She remarried and had children and sometimes he wonders what it would have been like if he'd had a child with her.
He told me that what upsets him most about some of the people he counsels is they often have confused ideas about how they're expected to be once they leave the confines of the closet. He tries to get across to them that there's no particular right way to be gay, just as there's no particular right way to be straight. It's damaging for everyone concerned to think there is.
I couldn't agree more. I have a personal antipathy for the term ‘straight acting gay.’ It’s something you often see in dating columns. What kind of message does that send out? Why do you have to act straight, how the heck do straight people act anyway? Straight people are as varied as gay people in their mannerisms. It isn't about playing a role. It’s about being who you are, in whatever way is natural to you as an individual - whether you wander around in pink tights and a tutu or whether you look and sound like Joe average in jeans and a t-shirt. Terms like “straight-acting” do nothing to promote a more accepting and tolerant society. It makes one way seem the only right way.