by Erastes
“You haven’t told me how it’s going.”
I stopped, but didn’t turn around. He was too close and if I turned around, I’d have had to deal with my reactions. I still cared for him, and didn’t want to be the one to say ‘No.’
“I’m not a man who kisses and tells, Phil. You know.”
There was a deep chuckle. He let go of my arm and I slid around, my back firmly against the Bentley. “I’ve always been glad of that.” His voice was nothing more than a murmur in case we were overheard.
“Yes. Well.” The wind had picked up, with a promise of frost behind it. Shuddering, I turned sharply and opened the car door.
“You sure you can’t stay for lunch?”
“Can’t.” That thrill of power went through me again; he was anxious to keep me with him.
“Family? Or…”
“Guy Fawkes.” I was so concerned with getting away that I wasn’t guarding what I said.
There was a horrible pause.
After what seemed like ten years, I heard myself say, “We couldn’t have it on Monday—and you…well, we felt that we couldn’t invite you both.”
“No. I see that. So…you’ve invited her?”
“No. Valerie thought it would be…”
“I see.”
I gave in; I couldn’t bear the look on his face and the awkward silence. “Well? Do you fancy coming? It won’t be anything much.”
“All right. I’ll bring some wine.” The sun went behind a cloud. “Valerie’s instincts are so often right.”
I opened the car door, got in and slammed the door. That was a discussion I didn’t want with anyone. Damn him. Anger swelled over me and I wished I could yell at him for making me feel like a bastard. I didn’t need his help for that.
He knocked on the window and, with a sigh, I wound it down. Without a word, he ducked through the gap and kissed me. I pulled away, turned the engine on, drove away. Didn’t look back.
+ + +
I didn’t go home straight away. I had fireworks to buy and I found I’d left it too late to buy them locally. I ended up driving hunting uselessly in the local area and then driving twenty miles to a warehouse that a retailer suggested. “You should’ve come before now,” he said irritatingly.
It was getting dark when I got home; the bonfire would have to wait for the morning. As I drove down The Avenue, I saw Alex’s light on. I cut the engine and headlights and coasted until I was outside number seventy-eight. I played a game of anticipation with myself, forcing my will power to keep my eyes ahead until the car stopped, then slowly turning my head and not allowing my eyes to focus on anything else until I reached his window. The curtains were open but there was no sign of him. I rolled down the window; I could just catch the strains of some music I didn’t know. I wondered what he was doing, what he was thinking. Maybe—I hoped—he was thinking of me.
I yearned for him to stand up—I imagined that he must be lying on his bed—to lean on the window sill, to play Juliet so I could be the Romeo I never had been. Perhaps, I thought, he’s waiting for the purr of the car. All the romance I’d faked once upon a time with Valerie came clear to me as I sat there. That hadn’t been real; that had been playing at mummies and daddies. This—for all its wrongness—was the romance I’d yearned for.
Except that romance doesn’t work on cue in the real world. No figure appeared at the window. Nothing happened. A light went on in the downstairs hall and I realised he probably wasn’t even there, but on the phone to one of his friends, or sitting watching the television with his parents, or perhaps already in my own house, finishing the Guy.
I felt myself go hot with embarrassment. Who did I think I was? How old? Did I really think that a young man like that would be mooning his evenings away thinking about some middle-aged stuffed shirt? It was a nice fantasy, but it vanished under the grimy memory of Phil’s eagerness to know the sordid details of my bit on the side. That was something I was going to have to address.
I started the car and drove the short distance home. As I got out of the car to open the gates in the dark, I couldn’t stop my glance from flickering to his windows. My heart and stomach leapt in my chest for there was my wish fulfilled—Alex, hanging out of the window.
I stepped back into the shadow of the house, pushing my shoulders against the brick, so no neighbour would see me scraping off the last vestiges of wings. It meant Alex probably couldn’t see me either, but that didn’t matter. He knew I was there, falling in the shadows.
I could see little, but it was enough. His chest was bare; the glow from his bedroom back-lit him, obscuring his face but lighting the tips of his curls, the dark pink lobes of his ears. Something hurt inside me, something primal; my hands curled into fists and, for just a few seconds, I half-believed we were together, his hand on my cheek, my hand on the small of his back. I touched my lips and I could feel his against my face—he was kissing me like the lightest of dreams. I worried that he must be cold, then I wished I could see his nipples. Lust. Disgust. Longing. Fear. There was no limit to the feelings I had every moment and forever afterwards. Most feelings linger, even now—but the fear has gone, at least.
I heard a sound in the kitchen and my heart nearly stopped. Valerie couldn’t have seen me without the drive gates open, but it still shocked me back to reality. Alex, too, glanced around as a light came on, illuminating part of the driveway. He ducked inside with a frantic wave of his hand.
Idiocy, idiocy, I thought as I went through the motions of putting the car away. So the neighbours couldn’t have seen me, but it wouldn’t have been hard to see him. Even Valerie could have seen him, had she been in the right place. It wasn’t like her to wait up for me.
All seemed normal, though, apart from the thudding of my heart. Valerie followed me into the sitting room. “Have you eaten?”
I shook my head. I was suddenly tired, as if I’d been tense for days. I collapsed into my chair.
“I thought you’d have lunch at the club. Wasn’t Phil there?”
“He was, but…” I waved a hand. How could I explain I didn’t want to eat with him? “I was worried I’d miss the shops. I did, anyway.” I explained about the warehouse. “But what I got was worth it. These fireworks are bigger—; the owner said that they were for a Parish Council’s display that had to be cancelled.”
“No wonder you look so tired, darling. I’ll make you something.”
I moved to the settee and stared into nothing. I sat up hurriedly when she came back, loaded up with a tray. She made herself scarce until I finished eating. The television bored me and I couldn’t relax. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Alex, his hair shining in the bedroom lights. All evening I could feel her looking at me from time to time while she read and I stared numbly at whatever was on the television screen. I had a bath and went to bed. I was reading when Val came in. She sat down to take off her make-up and I jumped up to close the curtains.
“So, how is Phil?”
“A little annoyed with me, I think.” That much was probably true.
“Ah. You beat him? How is he?”
“A bit better.”
“Good. Claire asked me about him today.”
“Really?” I grasped the velvet in my fist and then paused, pretending to see something on the glass. Alex’s light was off. I wished I could wave into the dark, just in case he was watching. “Should I tell him that?”
“I wouldn’t. She was comparing Fred with him, and not in any favourable light. Oh, darling,” she said, joining me at the window. I pulled the curtains, sharply. “I know we said, but—I hope you don’t mind, I invited them tomorrow.”
“Oh, bloody hell!”
“Darling, the children will hear you. I know we said…but—well, you haven’t met Fred…”
“And I don’t want to.” I sat on the bed and pulled my shoes off. “Oh, for God’s sake, Valerie, I’ve invited Phil.”
“Well, you’ll have to call him tomorrow and un-invite him.”
&n
bsp; “Don’t be ridiculous, I can’t do that.”
“Well, I can’t; Claire will think that we’re shunning Fred.”
“We are! We should be! If I tell Phil, he’ll think I was lying that she wasn’t coming.”
“He’ll think that if he gets here and finds her here. Oh, darling, you’ll have to do something.”
“Why the hell should I?” I stood up, angry, guilty and defensive. “Why couldn’t you have let me know?”
“I couldn’t, could I?”
“Oh—right,” I jumped right into the middle of an older argument, kept fresh by habit. “This is to punish me for playing golf. As usual. Fine. Have it your way. Just don’t expect me to deal with it. We’ll have them both—and we’ll have a lovely atmosphere, won’t we?”
I grabbed my pyjamas from the chair and stalked out, but not before she’d had the last word.
“Can’t be any worse, can it?”
Chapter 14
I didn’t sleep much that night; my stomach woke me with twinges of indigestion whenever I did nod off. Consequently, I was awake when the early autumn sun dragged itself over the trees, turning the room gold. I dragged myself up and glared out of the window. Hoarfrost had sugar-coated the garden. Today would be colder in Valerie’s presence than it would be outdoors.
So I escaped, first making some toast and then backing the Wolseley out of the drive, toast held between my teeth. I went to The Sands early, despite having told Phil that I wouldn’t. It was not ideal weather for golf. My fingers were cold and stiff in their gloves. The sun was low, causing visibility to be affected, and the grass was frozen to a dry crunch, causing the ball to be erratic on the greens, but by the time I had reached the fourteenth, the worst of the frost had cleared. I was warmer, and most of my bad mood had evaporated.
I thought about my predicament with Phil as I played my way around. I reasoned, as I cleared the fifteenth green, that it would be awkward, but if he and Fred had to meet—and it was inevitable, eventually—perhaps it would be better if they met on neutral ground in front of others. Tempers would perhaps be held more in check than if they met privately. I hoped so, anyway.
The irritation and worry filed in appropriate places in my head, I allowed myself to think of Alex but I very soon found that he was decidedly bad for my game. Thirteen and Fourteen had been par but I bogeyed at the sixteenth, lost a ball at the seventeenth, wasted time and strokes in a sand-trap and ended up with one of my worst scores of the season. I was glad that no one but a few chilled sparrows was there to laugh at me.
But, with the image of Alex in my head, I didn’t particularly care. I made a note to myself not to allow myself to fantasise over him in the future and went in to shower. My resolution lasted about five minutes, if that. As soon as the water hit my body, I wondered what showering with—Alex—would be like. The phantom of him, which was never far from me, for I only had to close my eyes to imagine him, stepped in beside me and put his arms around my neck. I wish I could say I had the imagination to recount what we might have done were he actually there, but I didn’t. I hardened at the very thought of him, but, on hearing other members clatter into the changing area, lost the urge almost immediately.
Mrs. Tudor was in situ when I got home. “Mrs. Johnson’s got a migraine,” she said with a piercing look. “I said I’d come over this once, being a special occasion, but you know I don’t like to do weekends.”
“It’s good of you,” I said. “We’ll be out of your way after lunch; we’re going to build the bonfire.”
The children started to get excited at that, and Mrs. Tudor had to tell them that there would be “no building of bonfires if lunch wasn’t nice and quiet.” It worked like a charm, and peace was restored. Mrs. Tudor had the magic, whatever it was.
I had lunch in solitary splendour and then, dressed in something ancient, I set about collecting the materials for the bonfire and setting them at the end of the garden. I’d just found an old fence panel near the greenhouse and was lugging it across the lawn when the children arrived, wrapped up in hats and scarves, and towing a similarly bundled up Alex along with them.
“I’ve been kidnapped,” he said, smiling a little shyly.
“He was doing maths!” Mary said, with a face. “On Sunday!”
“How horrible. And you rescued him?”
“We did.”
“Can I help?” Alex asked. His eyes never left mine.
“You can, if you are sure…”
“I’m sure. The homework was making my head spin.”
“Daddy’s good at maths,” John said.
“I can do yours. I very much doubt whether I could do Al…Alec’s.”
Alex gave me the smallest of secret smiles as the children ran down the garden. “I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to try.”
“I might take you up on that.” My breath caught in my throat and I could hear the deeper timbre that my voice took on when talking to him. I knew that I was going to have to be very, very careful around other people.
Further private talk wasn’t possible for the next hour, as we kept busy. The children lost interest in about five minutes flat, as they kept bringing things that could not be burned, like Valerie’s gnome and the gardener’s overalls, but Alex and I worked hard, soon getting warm enough to shrug off our overcoats. Alex’s cheeks went pink, and once or twice, when our gloved hands met while carrying an awkward item, we both acted as if we hadn’t noticed, but he curled and uncurled his hand under mine.
He disappeared about three, with a promise to be back at eight and I went in, warmed and mellowed with my wicked secret. Valerie was supervising bathing and Mrs. Tudor was in the kitchen. I grabbed a sausage on a stick and, after taking the stairs two at a time, leaned against the bathroom door and made my peace.
“Sorry.” I said. There was a long silence as she finished with Mary. John was stomping up and down the hall complaining about girls always getting all the hot water. He had a point.
“Did you speak to him?” Val finally asked me.
“No. But I’ll deal with it. They are going to have to meet eventually. The town’s too small.” I passed her a towel for Mary. “And there will be enough people here for them to ignore each other if they have to.”
She sighed and helped Mary out of the bath. “All right, and I’m sorry too.” She stood up and kissed me perfunctorily on the cheek. “And just for that, you can make sure John washes and just doesn’t sit and read his Look and Learn.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Mrs. Tudor is going to do the food. We’ll lay it out in the conservatory, and then she’ll help with the drinks. All you have to do is light everything.”
“All right.” Mary was carried off, and I’d made sure that John cleaned behind his ears. Once I’d had a bath myself and tidied up I went outside again to set up the Catherine Wheels and milk bottles for the rockets.
Phil was the first to arrive, looking crisp and fresh in a dark blue jumper that I hadn’t seen before. He handed a case of wine to me at the door and kissed Valerie on both cheeks. “I’ve missed you,” he said to her.
“And I you.” She was beaming. They’d always got on well. “Thanks for the wine. Hope we aren’t clearing your cellar out?”
“Not likely. Anyway, I’m making a run over in a while, if Ed wants to come. To stock up.”
“Calais?”
“That’s right.” He scooped up the children and suffered eager kisses before putting them back down. “But we’ll discuss details later. I’m only asking Eddie because we can smuggle more than we need in that beast of his.”
“Are you a smuggler, Uncle Phil?” John asked. “Can we come and smuggle too?”
“Now look what you’ve done,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Come and open one of your bottles. I’ve got something to tell you.” The doorbell rang again and I grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him through the house to the conservatory, where we stashed the case.
“What’s up?”
&nbs
p; “There’s…well, there’s no easy way to tell you this, and I’m glad you came first as you can leave if you want…”
“What is it? I’m not welcome?”
“No. Of course not. It’s not that. It’s just…well, wires got crossed and Valerie invited Claire.”
“Well, that’s all right. Why are you worrying about it?”
I looked at him, hard. He looked far too happy about it. I wondered if he was drunk, but he didn’t seem it. I couldn’t smell it and he seemed lucid. “I thought… I suppose I thought…”
“That I’d be all Don Giovanni about it, unable to face her and wanting to poison my replacement?”
“Sort of.”
“Eddie. It’s 1962. Not 1762.”
“You’ve cheered up.” I was almost accusing. Perhaps I wanted him to wallow in misery a little longer.
“You inspired me, old man.”
I coloured and looked at the door. “Shut up.”
He smirked. “Not a word. I promise. But you made me see that there is more to life. I’ve got a lot to offer, after all.”
I pulled the last bottle out of the case, uncorked it, then covered the open bottles with a cloth. “That’s enough. If that’s how you feel, I’m glad. But whatever you think—or don’t think,” I wasn’t convinced in his hale and hearty recovery, “behave. The last thing anyone wants is a shouting match down The Avenue.”
“Heaven forbid. This isn’t Coronation Street.”
I laughed. “No. That’s for sure. Nothing like as exciting. Nothing happens here. Come and make yourself useful in the garden.” I shoved a box of foil-wrapped potatoes at him. “Stick these around the base of the bonfire and I’ll get the Guy.”
By the time I came back to the conservatory, it was a quarter past eight and there was quite a crowd of friends and neighbours and Valerie was being perfect in the middle of them. Alf and Sheila were being introduced to people they hadn’t yet met.
My eyes cast constantly around for Alex, but I couldn’t see him. I think that was the first time when I felt that fear of not seeing him when I expected to, and it never left me. I felt it many, many times after that, waiting on station platforms, sitting in a car outside his school, too many to remember. It’s a sick, bitter feeling—like butterflies but a lot worse.