Going to the Chapel

by Swan, Tarn

  Hopefully the new trinkets will take his mind off my bowel habits. I bought them from a Christmas craft stall in Belgium when we were over there for the weekend of his birthday. We'd gotten on each other’s nerves for reasons now forgotten and were having a sanity break in the form of an hour to ourselves. Physical space doesn't include mental space. When you love someone they're never far from your thoughts, even if your thoughts centre on stringing them up by their thumbs. I was browsing the craft stalls, drinking a cup of hot mulled wine when I saw the earrings. I knew he'd like them.

  Small tiffs notwithstanding we had a wonderful weekend away. I'm glad I decided to organise it. He knew nothing about the trip until we were heading to the airport last Friday morning. Friday was his day off last week and unbeknown to him I'd had words with Don and arranged a day's leave for him on Saturday, so I could take him away for his birthday. I packed his bags, knowing from experience that if I let him pack his own at the last minute he'd agonise and dither about what to take. The wardrobe contents would end up emptied all over the bedroom floor. I'd end up vexed and he'd end up in frustrated tears and we'd both end up missing the flight I'd booked, so I decided to do the deed myself. He’d just have to like or lump my choice of clothing.

  I had some reservations about the surprise holiday. The idea behind it was to get him off home turf for his birthday. In doing so I was hoping to dispel some of the tensions that inevitably go with the date. My main anxiety was I might still end up with a birthday monster on my hands. If he ran amuck on foreign soil we'd end up causing an international incident and get deported back to Britain in disgrace.

  My fears proved unfounded. He was thrilled with the trip. I was his best most wonderful beloved husband. The word birthday was not mentioned until we arrived home on Sunday evening when I gave him the cards and presents that had been put on hold until the dreaded ‘B’ Day was over.

  We stayed in a beautiful hotel in Antwerp. The Christmas Market in the Square was wonderful, full of festive colour, scents and sounds. There was also an ice rink, which Twinks loved. He’s a graceful skater and was in his element showing off, as I tottered around just to say keeping my balance.

  Tarn at last scored points over Teddy when Twinks announced that the trip was far better than any tacky four-day visit to Las Vegas.

  Aside from our small silly quarrel (which I think was over chocolate) he was at his shining best, warm, generous, sweetly funny and just a joy to be with. It's a holiday that has been tucked away in my memories I never want to lose box, and in his too. He’s already talking about visiting Prague's festive market next year. I can see a trend developing.

  We've been invited out this evening. I’d be lying if I said I’m looking forward to it. Teddy has invited us for dinner so he can regale us with tales of his visit to the Nevada glam spot. As I write Twinkles is busily donning glad(iatorial) rags ready for battle. It’ll be Las Vegas v Belgium. He and Teddy will be spitting words like bullets at each other, leaving the rest of us diving for cover.

  Mind you I think I almost prefer an evening of meaningless backbiting and jealous competitiveness in preference to staying in and watching television. I can’t stand the relentless media cover of the horrifying situation in East Anglia at the moment. Those poor girls, as if life didn't deal them enough crummy cards, now their deaths are being turned into a live soap opera by the media. There’s a sense of excitement rather than disgust behind the fevered reporting on the murder hunt for the ‘Ipswich Ripper,’ as the killer has been dubbed. You can't help but feel that some quarters of the press are rather hoping another victim will take the murder toll to six.

  One female reporter on television last night was just about bouncing with excitement over the discovery of bodies four and five. The policeman trying to get her to move away from the scene looked absolutely sickened at what he knew lay behind him, but she acted like she was reporting a carnival event.

  What finished me this morning was a newspaper article about the finding of one of the murdered prostitutes by a passer by. It read like a scene from a crime novel. It wasn't plain journalistic fact using the words of the poor soul who stumbled upon her. It was presented in a distinct fictionalised style to titillate the reader. I found it wholly repugnant. The victims are not characters in a second-rate crime novel or a tatty third-rate film. They’re people, human beings who had lives and family, children and friends. They lived and breathed, loved and were loved and now they’re dead, butchered by a maniac on a moral crusade. No doubt when caught he will say that the voice of God told him to do it. It turns my stomach the way God is used to justify acts of sheer evil.

  Okay, rant over. Twinks says I don't suit the shade of purple my face has gone.

  14th December 2006: Santa Claus the Burglar

  After nine years, the inquiry into the death of Diana Princess of Wales confirms what anyone with an iota of common sense knew from the very beginning. Her death was a terrible, tragic accident and not a plot by the Queen and Prince Philip to bump off an ex daughter in law and her boyfriend. Of course there are those who cling dear to the conspiracy theory, and not just Dodi al Fayed's father. Twinks and his fellow sisters in frocks are convinced the establishment murdered their glamour icon, and it's only a matter of time before the truth will out. Conspiracy is so much more dramatic than simple truth.

  Much of the talk at Teddy and Maurice’s dinner party last night centred on how Philip and Charles, in various disguises, and aided and abetted by assorted members of the Royal Family carried out the wicked deed. It was even suggested that Princess Anne, disguised as a horse, galloped in front of the car and caused it to veer out of control. Mind you the wine had been flowing rather liberally by that point.

  It was an odd kind of evening. For a start Maurice had a monumental black eye and a bruised cheek. He claimed one of his patients had gotten nervously excited that afternoon and had lashed out during an examination, catching him in the face. However, judging from some of the looks that Teddy darted at him during the course of the evening, I suspect the truth lay in another direction. Maurice's wandering hands had probably wandered somewhere they shouldn't and the one they had wandered over had thumped him.

  The threatened digital photo show of their weekend away didn't materialise, much to my secret relief. Their television had given up the ghost and had to be taken in for repair.

  All in all Teddy and Twinks drew fairly level in the competition as to who had the best weekend away. Teddy wasn’t on form. I think Twinks felt a bit short-changed. He'd gone prepared for an almighty battle and got a small skirmish instead.

  Lulu was there and was apt to be quiet at first. I asked what was on his mind. He's worried about his job. The post office is talking about closing hundreds of branches and shedding jobs. I told him as far as I understood it was mainly rural post offices that would be affected. He shrugged and said that once the axe started falling there was no telling when or where it would stop. As one also standing beneath the shadow of an axe and waiting to see where it came down I sympathised and hugged him.

  Natalie was noticeable by her absence, as was her alter ego Kevin. He phoned to apologise explaining something had come up. Twinks and Lu looked at each other and simultaneously said, “his cock, knowing him.”

  We got back home to find a police car outside the Brownlow's house. Twinkles was dying of curiosity and wanted to hang around until the police came out, so he could ask what was going on. He speculated that Brownlow had murdered his wife, or maybe she'd murdered him, or the dog had murdered them both, or he'd been found out as the fascist thug he was, and arrested for crimes against humanity.

  Gripping my nosy drama queen firmly by the arm I escorted him indoors. He wanted to phone Frank to see if he knew what was happening at Brownlow's place. Seeing as the glittering Caesar's Palace that Frank's house had morphed into was in darkness. I deduced they all were abed and told Twinks not to disturb them, or else.

  Frank was camped out on our doorstep waiting fo
r us to get home from work tonight. He told a gleeful tale about why the police were at Brownlow's last night. Apparently the old lady over the road had called them because she thought the Brownlow's house was being broken into. One of his Christmas decorations is a huge animated Father Christmas figure with a sack climbing up a ladder. He had it fixed to extend from his porch roof up to one of the bedroom windows.

  The old lady was convinced she was witnessing a burglary in progress. She didn't call the police once either, she called at least half a dozen times, getting quite irate at their failure to apprehend the criminal. She refused to accept it was merely a Christmas decoration. In the end the police ordered Brownlow to remove the figure and put it at the back of his premises for the sake of everyone's peace of mind. Twinks was cock-a-hoop, saying it served him right for having tacky decorations.

  Twinkles has gone out with Lu tonight. They're meeting up with Lu's friend Peter and his boyfriend, the same one he was dating in September. Simon I think his name is. Lu reckons Peter has fallen a little deeper than he usually does. He said it so wistfully it made me want to seek Peter out and berate him for not having fallen more deeply for Lulu, who deserves someone to love and care for him. As per usual I'm in the drag cab driving seat tonight, setting down and picking up.

  By the way, there’s been no sighting of the earring I swallowed. I suspect it has been expelled and flushed.

  18th December 2006: Waiting

  We had grim news today. Gabby was involved in a serious accident this afternoon. She and her friend Molly were crossing the road at a pedestrian crossing when a car missed the red light and ran into them. Children are essentially trusting beings and when the lights say it's safe to cross they tend to believe it. Molly sustained a broken arm and fractured ankle, but Gabby sustained head injuries and has yet to regain consciousness. The driver did stop, only a little too late to save injury to two little girls. We're waiting for news. Twinkles is beside himself with anxiety about her. He hasn’t been able to eat a thing.

  20th December 2006: Walking in the Air

  I'm an uptight Top and he's a downtrodden brat. No, it isn't a gay version of Billy Joel's Uptown Girl song. It's Twinkle’s current lament. Yes indeed there's been song and dance in our house tonight, but none of it particularly tuneful or pleasant. The queen has banished me from the realm of his affections and sent me to the furthest chilly outpost of his indignation. I'm firmly in the doghouse. Surely I haven’t eaten more of his jewellery? Certainly not! I broke a mug. Not such a big deal you’d think. However, this was no ordinary mug. It was his favourite mug made by Royal Doulton, depicting a scene from the animated film The Snowman. He likes to drink his tea and coffee from it at this time of year. It’s a tradition. It sits picturesque on a kitchen shelf for most of the year, but is brought down, dusted and utilised as soon as December arrives. The mug was a Christmas gift to him from Lulu some years ago. He loves it, or rather loved it, it being no more.

  How did I break it? What thoughtless act on my part shattered this treasured festive artefact? You could say it was an indirect form of clumsiness. In other words I ducked when he threw it. It hit the wall and shattered. Poor James and his snowman friend were walking in the air no longer. They were lying on the floor, forever grounded.

  Twinks gave a scream of rage, yelling that I was absolutely useless. I could have made a frigging effort to catch it. I was rather put out by his manner to say the least. I knew he had not meant to break the item he held dear. No, he had meant to snatch up and break the mug I had been drinking from, only his treacherous right hand had taken hold of the wrong one. I knew he'd had a shitty day at work. I know he's been worried and upset about what happened to Gabby and I knew he was disappointed with me, but I still wasn't putting up with his bad temper.

  The mug could have hit me and it would have injured me and that would have mortified him, because he wasn't aiming for me as such. I just happened to be in the same airspace as the too late identified flying object.

  He found himself making eye contact with a corner portion of the kitchen wall. I stood behind him and spoke at length regarding my disgruntlement with his action and when I was done speaking of it I used some action of my own. I took down his trousers, bent him over the kitchen table and spanked his backside with the rice paddle. I'm sick of him playing the discus throwing diva when life isn't going exactly his way. He’s so naughty sometimes and yes adults are as capable of naughtiness as children are. Anyone who says otherwise is talking claptrap. Adults just tend to substitute the word ‘naughtiness’ with a pseudonym. His most persistent form of naughtiness is the way he opts out of using self-control mechanisms.

  Incidentally, the reason I'm in the canine house isn't because I paddled him. He broke the rules of acceptable behaviour and he was fairly penalised. I've been called to Bristol tomorrow for a meeting, which has put paid to the trip to York we had planned. It's his last day off work before Christmas and he wanted to finish off shopping there. He's pissed off because I refused to tell the powers that be I had a prior engagement and couldn't make the meeting. We rowed about it all the way home tonight and then some more. I lost patience when he launched into a, you think more of work than you do of me, routine. I told him to quit whining. I was sorry about the York trip, but I was attending the meeting, he would just have to live with it, which is the point his favourite china mug took flight.

  He's got over being paddled. He’s apologised for throwing the mug and shed a few tears for its loss, but he's still clearly annoyed with me about tomorrow. He feels I'm being anal about going to the meeting. I do sympathise, he was looking forward to the trip, but it's a matter of priority. With things the way they are, it would hardly look good if I refused to attend a meeting in favour of going Christmas shopping. All else aside I need to keep abreast of developments.

  Anyway, moving on to the important news. Gabby is going to be fine. She’s still in hospital resting and having an eye kept on her, but she’s recovering well from the concussion received in the accident. She has eight stitches in her head and she's also generally battered and bruised, but all in all she's a very lucky, plucky and resilient young lady. We couldn't sleep on Monday night for thinking about her. She’s become a part of our life. It was a huge relief when Katie rang us at just after five in the morning to say she had regained consciousness and tests had shown that miraculously she didn't have a fractured skull, as had been feared.

  Her friend is also out of hospital and doing fine. Molly was on her bike when the accident happened. She and Gabby had almost made it across the road when the car going through the red light clipped the back wheel of the bike and sent it spinning. Fortunately Molly was wearing a safety helmet. It saved her from sustaining a head injury in addition to her broken arm and leg. It was the force of Molly's bike swinging sideways that sent Gabby, who was on her roller blades, up in the air and down on her head. Her parents insist she wears a safety hat when on her bike or her skates, but sadly they can’t supervise her every moment of the day. She had taken it off because she was hot and was carrying it.

  In a sad kind of irony, the driver of the car was, at the time of the accident, distracted from paying due care and attention, because he was having an argument on his mobile phone with his estranged wife about who was having their young son on Christmas Day. He's reported to be devastated by the accident he caused.

  I’m being shouted for. We've got visitors. It’s my dad and my baby sister. Janet is fourteen months old now and just starting to walk. She’s a sweetheart, even Twinks finds her smiles and chuckles hard to resist. He’s much better with her than he was, though he still tends to get jealous on Dominic’s behalf if he thinks I pay her too much attention and give her too many compliments.

  23rd December 2006: The Cost of a Free Sample

  Christmas Eve tomorrow, can you believe it? This year has flown by. I said as much to my mother who immediately said such observations were a sign of getting older. Twinks earned himself a black look and a
clipped lug when he retorted, “we're all getting older, Joan love, and let's face it, that yellow blouse makes you look older still. Do yourself a favour, give it up to a charity shop.”

  She told him he was a horrible, bitchy little queen and if he didn't watch out she'd make sure he got the parsons nose for Christmas dinner instead of turkey breast and she'd poison it to boot. Talk about the season of goodwill! She’s hosting this year and I’ve told both her and him in frocks that I want no festive fallings out. I don’t want a repeat of the fiasco that took place the year before last with no one speaking until well into the New Year.

  Brian is off to warmer climes for his second Christmas without Steven. He’s going on an exotic Nile cruise. I was thinking about him and Steven the other day and came to the conclusion that the first Christmas without a loved one is a test in survival, but the second one is maybe the hardest. It’s the one where reality bites and you know they are gone forever and your life has changed forever. Christmas can be a difficult time for anyone let alone the bereaved. There’s an enormous pressure to feel happy regardless of circumstances. It's little wonder so many people cave in at this time of year. It’s a haunted season. All the paraphernalia of Christmas trigger memories in which you recall routines and traditions disrupted by loss, or recall bad things that happened or mourn things that never came about. Twinks likes Christmas, but even so he will shed tears at some point during the day itself. His sadness is for a childhood spent without love and approval. Every year he hoped for a Christmas miracle whereby he would awake to a family who loved him unconditionally.