by Ned Williams
“Er, is it alright if my friends have a drink before they run along?”
She looked around at her beloved lounge which now displayed all the signs of turning into a full scale party. Most of our family parties tended to be busy but fairly subdued. This was something else. There was a chaos which she’d never experienced before. By now, it was something to which I’d become used to. It was part of my evenings, but to her it was totally new and unwanted.
After dragging me into the kitchen she put the water on for some instant coffee and instructed me that they couldn’t stay long. “One drink and that’s enough!” Then my mother went into the lounge to ask about coffee, black, milk, sugar and tea distributions. I followed her and then I saw what had caused her to draw up short and gape, I thought, ‘Well, this is it. Armageddon.’ Everything was utter chaos. They had begun by rearranging the sofa and the chairs so they could talk more easily. There were young men decorating the arms of her precious chairs and sprawling all over her floor.
“You don’t mind, do you? It was easier to talk with your furniture this way,” shouted someone in such a joyful and pleasant voice that it could have melted rock let alone my mother’s icy heart.
I winced, waiting for the explosion.
“No dears, you do what you like.” I stared at her. She sounded genuine. Was this my real mother?
“Don’t worry; we’ll put it all back when we leave.”
She gave a tinkling laugh and, in a state of hysterical ecstasy, began rushing in and out with the requested cups of tea, coffee and plates of biscuits.
Paul and Adam deserted the fold and went out into the kitchen, giving her a helping hand. The group were beginning to split apart so it would make greater difficulty for me to keep track of what everyone was doing and saying. With their good natured double act, Paul and Adam were making her hoot with laughter. She managed to appear genuinely happy.
She got on with everyone and showed a childlike glee when they enthused over her clothes and choices of curtains, wallpaper and excellent coffees and teas. When everyone was finally settled and fawning over her, I looked around the room and, apart from my mother, I’d had sex with every single one of them. A sobering thought!
They scored even more brownie points by a few insisting on doing the washing up and drying plus wiping over the work surfaces before they left. With one small group thus busying themselves, the rest set about restoring the room to the natural order of things.
They left in a flurry of laughter, thanks and charm. When we returned to the lounge, there wasn’t a hint that anyone had even been there. It was like some sort of bizarre dream.
My mother sighed contentedly and settled down to finish knitting a jumper she was making for herself.
Throughout the whole visit, every one of them managed to remember to call me ‘Steven’. Not a single howler was made nor clanger dropped.
When, a couple of days later I asked my mother tentatively what she made of the gang – for a moment I thought she was going to be honest and say she had enjoyed their company. She smiled in happy recollection of the scene. When she saw me looking, she remembered her habitual attitude towards me and became dismissive.
She pointedly shrugged, “They were alright, I suppose.” As this could be construed by me as a mild form of acceptance, she had to add, “They all seemed a bit – well – you know.”
“No, I don’t. Tell me.” I knew she was squirming for a put down.
“Well, you know!” I was about to repeat my request but she beat me to it “Oh, I don’t know. You know what I mean – and don’t say you don’t. Why do you always feel the need to have an inquest on everything! – And I don’t think it’s very healthy you hanging around with such childish people.”
End of subject!
Leaving Home
The evenings at Adam’s flat had become highly intermittent. After all, he was far busier elsewhere. Mickey had decided that it was time to show his face again, to sit in his corner and immerse himself in glaring at me. Many other lads soon noticed this and began to criticize him – loudly. Paul was particularly guilty of this offence and scattered malignant swipes around like confetti. Mickey made out that he didn’t hear any of this – but he could hardly have missed it. Adam was still trying to get inside Mickey’s pants and successfully getting nowhere. A couple of times he went and sat beside Mickey to try and draw him out but Mickey would have none of it.
I let things slide for about three meetings then I decided to clear the air. When I crossed the room and sat beside him the noise from the rest of the crowd diminished noticeably. Sensing a building of tension most took the easy option and moved out into the kitchen area.
“It’s nice to see you back,” I began. No answer – just the usual blank stare. “Can’t we be friends again?” A shrug. “I’d like that.” Another shrug. “Let’s meet up tomorrow at, say, 7 at El Dorado’s by your place and we can start again.”
“Right.”
“I’ll see you then.”
I made to leave him when he held me back for a moment. “Sibelius forever!” he mumbled.
I gave him a wink and nod of agreement and went out into the kitchen to try and avoid the curious minions who were eager to know the outcome of the chat. ‘So, we’re off to a good start,’ I thought.
“We were looking forward to a decent bust–up,” said a little camp queen.
“Nope. It was all very civilised.”
“Everything okay now?” asked a concerned Adam.
“Yes – I think so. I’m meeting him tomorrow and, hopefully, we’ll get it all sorted then.”
“Where?”
I remembered Mickey’s dislike of Adam. “Oh, we’re not sure yet.”
“Let me know how it goes.”
“Will do.” I had no intention of doing so.
My meeting with Mickey went well and we managed to patch things up so completely that we ended up back at his place where he told his family that we were going up to his room to listen to music. We sealed the re–establishment of relations with lots of hugs and kisses but no more for after all, his parents and brothers were watching television only one flight of stairs away and his room didn’t have a lock on the door.
We resumed seeing one another on a regular basis and all my feelings for him quickly returned. We attended concerts and listened to music in his room where, when his whole family went out to Bingo, we indulged – or rather over indulged in the more intimate sides of any relationship.
‡‡‡
Within six months of attaching himself to Henry, Adam decided he was going to move out from his flat and in with him. Because of the amount of time he had been spending at Churcham, Adam’s announcement was hardly a big surprise.
He gave his news one hot day whilst a crowd of us were gathered in his bed–sit. Henry thought that, because he and Adam worked so well as a team in getting lads, he would ask Adam to move in, rent free, to continue their fun. The combination of having a free roof over his head and the chance of meeting all those young men was too much of a pull for Adam to resist.
“What’s going to happen to your room?” someone asked.
“I’ll tell the landlord and from then on it’s his problem. Personally I don’t care.”
I could see Mickey open his mouth to say something but before either he, or indeed anyone else had a chance to speak, Paul staked his claim, “I want first refusal!” Mickey looked disappointed. “That’s alright with everyone else, isn’t it?” God help anyone who said that it wasn’t. His tone was so aggressive, no one dared challenge him.
The next day Paul, over lunch, told me he had the okay from his family to move out. He would take over the bed–sit as soon as Adam went. The landlord was thrilled with the arrangement as it meant he didn’t have the bother and gamble of finding new tenants and, besides, Adam had assured him that Paul was a decent sort of chap and could be trusted. I told him how thrilled I was for him. I begged him to follow Adam’s regime by continuing to invi
te people over for regular evenings. I was worried I’d lose my haven of pressure free fun. To my utter shock, he looked at me and then floored me with, “I want you to move in with me.”
Without giving it another thought, I jumped at the chance with a hearty “Yes!” Then came the bucket of icy water – how could I acquaint my mother of these hurried plans? I began fantasising about throwing off the chains of my home servitude and let my life soar free and unfettered. How would I cope? Did I care? I could and would be clear of that suffocating world and that is what was most important. I wondered how Adam would react to the news. It was the only thing which marred my elation. I suggested to Paul that, for the time being, we keep this arrangement to ourselves. He understood my concerns instantly and so it was agreed.
It was lucky that I wasn’t premature in declaring my intentions to my dearest mother as the moment of truth and my potential departure were slightly delayed because, somewhere along the line, Adam had forgotten that he had to give notice at his school. As a transition, Paul moved in with him. For a while, it looked as though they were getting along so well that I feared Adam would change his mind and stay. I began to see my possible escape route being blocked irrevocably.
One day soon after, when we were alone, I voiced my fears to Paul. He then confided in me how matters really stood. The delay in Adam’s plans caused his veneer of kindness to drop and he started to become a bit nasty. Very soon, I was privileged to experience Adam’s openly displayed noxious side with my own eyes. I had never witnessed this part of him before and, to be frank, I didn’t like it. He became snippy, irritable, bloody–minded and quick to temper.
Foolishly, I began to spend a lot more time at the bed–sit and Adam soon chronicled this.
“Come in. Paul’s not here yet.”
“Thank you. Will he be long?”
“I’ve no idea.” He swung around and looked at me, “Oh, don’t tell me that she’s asked you to move in with him!” Adam accused with eyes that were cold.
“Well, er, yes.”
“Jumping the gun a bit, aren’t we?” he went on. “I’m still here, you know. I’ve not moved out yet – or hadn’t you noticed.”
My immediate thought was to let Paul know that our secret was out.
Again, foolishly, I arrived early for his next ‘Evening’.
Adam totally cut me cold and busied himself in the kitchen preparing things for his guests. I wondered if I should leave and either come back later or give the whole thing a miss.
It all became rather academic for, at that moment, Paul came in from work. He was greeted by, “Your little whore’s in there.” Although I was sitting in his room, this was said loud enough for me to overhear.
Paul snapped and there ensued a terrible row between them. I walked out of the house saying that I would be back later.
I waited at the top of the road thinking that it would be better if I hung on until a few more people had arrived before I dared return. I saw a couple of lads come up the hill and were let into the house. I turned away and found myself face to face with Mickey. ‘Shit,’ I thought. ‘Perhaps I’d better let him know what was happening. He had a right to know.’ I was about to tell him everything when three more lads came up to us.
“I’ve got something to tell you later,” I mumbled.
The evening was tense with almost everyone asking what was wrong.
After about an hour, Adam moved to the centre of the room. “Right, everyone...” He clapped his hands to ensure maximum attention. “Now that we’re all here...” he gave a meaningful look towards Mickey. I had a feeling that I would not like what was about to happen – but, forlornly, I hoped for the best. “This will be our last gathering for, as you know, I am moving out. Paul has already got his arse on my toilet and, shortly, this other little arse hole will be joining him.” He indicated me. He looked at Mickey significantly. “Did you get that?”
Mickey’s face twisted in fury and he instantly got up and slammed out of the building. I rushed after him in hot pursuit but it was no good. Mickey’s physical work made him strong and he was off, running as if all the Hounds of Hell were after him. I shouted but either he didn’t hear or, more likely, he didn’t want to hear.
Leaving my coat in the bed–sit, I decided not to return but to go straight home.
The next day Paul phoned me at work (more black looks from the boss) and we arranged to meet up for lunch.
When we met, Paul was all smiles but I knew him well enough to know that this was nothing more than a well manicured front. He handed me my coat.
“So, what happened after I left?”
“Not much. Adam’s little speech didn’t go down too well, in fact, Jimmy and Gary shot some pretty poisonous verbal arrows at him.”
“How long after Mickey and I left did all this occur?”
“My dear, immediately. Adam felt he was being got at and flew into a rage. Well, I’m sure you can imagine it all. We had a positive stampede as everyone scrambled to get out. Fleeing queens never look their best. I’m sure the gossip is ricocheting off cottage walls even as we speak.”
“Is that it?”
“Not quite. Guess who was left behind to become the Superman of whipping boys?”
“Graham?”
“No, you idiot. Me!” The smiles were slowly dissolving as he became more serious. “We had a terrible row. Lipsticks and nail files at the ready with feather boas flying here, there, and everywhere. My dear, ‘Coronation Street’ had nothing on us. He even went so far as to threaten violence.”
“Were you all right?”
“Listen, sweetness, I might be a screaming queen but this honey can pack a punch when she needs to and t’other un knows it.” And I truly believed that he could.
“You didn’t...”
“Good God, no. I just struck a butch pose and shrieked my head off at him. He fled in a flurry of talcum powder. I only pray she didn’t leave behind a glass slipper.”
“So, what’s the state of play now?”
“She’s moved out. Says that she’s had enough and will work out her notice from Churcham. Doubtless Henrietta will swan her around in her Golden Coach so she should be in her element – the sewage farm!”
“That means it’s safe. I can move in.”
“Oh, hang on to yer tiara, Doris. She’s not cleared out all her stuff yet. Knowing her, she’ll probably take a couple of months – just to be a pain.”
“Oh.” He spotted my crestfallen hopes.
“No, seriously, Carl. He should be out in a couple of weeks then – let the fun, frolics and fucking begin!”
“You’ll let me know when I can start packing.”
“Naturally. But I think it might be an idea to stay away from the flat till he’s gone. We don’t want to poke the Fairy Godmother do we? She might turn into the Wicked Witch of the West and turn us all into Gingerbread Gals.”
“You know, I still don’t know what I’ve done to upset Adam so much.”
“Darling, it has nothing to do with you. He wants to move into the Royal Palace as soon as possible and it pisses her off that we have our lives all nicely going forward and hers might still go down and crash in gloriously technicoloured flames.”
For the rest of the lunch we indulged in a happy fantasy world as we made plans about how we would live.
Whilst I was waiting for my life’s time bomb to explode, I tried to contact Mickey. I wrote him a long letter in which I tried to explain my actions and that, although I was going to live with Paul I still valued our friendship and hoped that it could continue. It wasn’t until many months later that I realised what an insensitive idiot I was.
The letter was returned unopened with ‘GET LOST!’ almost carved into the envelope.
Luckily, my mother didn’t see the returned letter or there would have been questions, questions, questions.
After about two agonising weeks, I found Paul outside my workhouse, waiting for the clock to signal to me another evening of com
parative freedom.
Casting pleasantries to one side, he came straight to the point. “He’s gone and, thank God, he’s taken that stinking fish tank with him. I hope they all die.”
My life was suddenly filled with sunshine. “Really? Has he really moved out?”
“Really. So, when can you move in? I need help with the rent.”
“You certainly know how to charm a guy, don’t you?”
“Honey, if we weren’t where we are, I’d hug and kiss yer – and more!”
“I’d be happy with the Champagne and roses.”
I chose to leave it until the very last minute before informing mother. The reason for this was twofold. First, I was nervous about her reaction. Second, the whole thing might yet still fall through thereby leaving me looking like a fool and giving her another excuse to belittle me. After all, the way Adam had been behaving, I half expected him to change his mind yet again and either give the bed–sit to someone else, or simply reclaim his territory and not move out at all.
Paul had met up with the landlord of the room once or twice and got on with him so well, it was unlikely that there would be any problem in that department. The landlord now had a devil he knew.
All roads had been cleared and they all pointed to my being ensconced in my future refuge and sanctuary.
The moment I feared had arrived. I had to confront my mother.
“Mum, I want to talk to you.” She gave a noncommittal humph and, as usual, set about being busy with doing absolutely nothing in particular. As she had calculated, I had to wait for her to finish some invented chore before I could speak.
“Why not sit down? This is really important.”
“Steven, I don’t need to sit down. I’ve got to get on with this. You carry on and just say what you’ve got to say.” She began to re–fold some neatly folded washing.
I sighed. “Very well.” I paused. I took a deep breath and plunged in. “I’ve found a flat and I’m moving out.” There was no point in a gentle build–up so I went in wielding surgical knives in both hands.
There was a long silence during which she still refused to stop being ‘busy’ and face me. From past experience, I knew this would happen so I waited, wondering which way she would go – how she would play it. True to form, she made me sweat it out. Finally, after considering her response, she said, “I’m not surprised, my son. I wondered how long it would be before you’d up and go as well.” Getting into her stride, she huffed. “Just like your father in every way. First chance you get and off you go. Never mind about me. Selfish to the core, that’s you! Well, my son, and I’ll tell you this for free, don’t think you are expecting to keep your key. You aren’t coming and going in this place whenever you feel like it.” That would be the last thing I would want.
