by Ned Williams
Upon reaching home, at about eleven in the morning, I instantly discovered that my ruse had worked to perfection. As soon as I walked in and looked at my mother’s face I knew that there would be colossal trouble. The thunder clouds didn’t need to gather – they were already there. True to my prediction, she and I launched into such a verbally violent scene, it provoked copious floods of tears from her and complete impotence from me. The confrontation was so important that she didn’t even leave the room which meant that I didn’t have to chase around all over the house to get my point over. I told her that I had had enough and I was going to leave – this time, for good. She cried even more and mocked. Finally, I slumped into an armchair and let her rave some more. When she came towards me in a threatening manner, I made to rise. She pushed me back down.
“Steven, don’t you dare stand up! You stay right where you are!” This was a reference to the fact that, by now, I was a lot taller than her and she must have felt that she couldn’t dominate the scene if I was towering over her. With little to lose, I was content to stay where I was. After another over drawn–out verbal attack upon my person and character, she went out of the house and left me alone. At least my Waterloo had been met, my Rubicon had been crossed and it was all working out far better than I had hoped. After a while I wondered why I was still sitting there. I got up, put on my coat and went out. I took the bus to where Mickey lived and thought I’d drop in unannounced to let him know that all was still going to plan.
I knocked on his front door and was greeted by his mother.
“Go on up, dear. You know the way.”
At the top of the stairs I could hear Sibelius’ ‘Symphony No. 5’ being played. I tapped gently on the door.
“Come,” I heard him call.
As I entered, he looked up obviously expecting to see a member of his family. When he caught sight of me, he exhaled in delight, jumped up from his bed and rushed over, closed the door behind me and gave me a huge welcoming kiss.
“Sibelius forever!” he joked, nodding towards his record player.
“Sibelius forever,” I responded.
We sat on his bed and I told Mickey what I had done.
His initial reaction was irritation. His eyes narrowed and, for a while, refused to utter a word but sat there stewing. I tried to draw him out but he merely stared at me with a look that harked back to when we first met. After much badgering from me he opened up a little. What had angered him was not that I’d provoked the row with my mother by staying out all night. No, that was fine, but that I’d done it by sleeping with another guy.
“Why not me? We could’ve gone somewhere. You should’ve asked.” His voice was tight and accusing.
“Mickey, I’m sorry. Yes, you’re right but it was a spur of the moment kind of thing. The opportunity arose and I took it.”
I finally convinced him that nothing sexual had happened and it was a vital next step towards our ideal.
“I know Colin. He’s had anyone.”
Where did this come from? “Well, not from me. How do you know him?”
“Not like that. I just knows ’im.” He wouldn’t elaborate further.
Although Lorna’s room was large and poorly furnished, if I was to bring all my stuff, it would be somewhat cramped and, besides, I didn’t want to make myself too comfortable, after all, her place was a mere stepping stone to a life beyond. I asked Mickey if he would look after the overflow.
“Glad to – then you can’t run off and leave me.” This was said with a smile but his fixed stare told me that he was in earnest.
On my way back to my mother’s frost strewn home, I couldn’t get the idea out of my brain that fate had engineered that all the pieces of that mysterious jigsaw puzzle were coming together and falling into place but I was frustrated that the finished picture was being withheld.
The next stage in my change of life was to arrange transport for my joyful evacuation. I sought out Zenda to see if he would, once again, act as my ferryman.
“You do get about a bit, don’t you?”
“It will probably take a couple of trips.”
“As many as you like, chum. And this time we can use my car, now that I have one myself – a gift from Pavel. Arn’t I lucky?” he proudly announced. He had a sudden thought, “Hey, will your mum be there? I’d love to have a second bite.”
“I expect so – and I didn’t take you for a masochist.”
Everything was now in place for the coming Saturday. Everyone was informed including my mother who grimaced and shrugged in the best offhanded way she could manage.
Leading up to that momentous day I stayed away from my mother’s as much as I could only going there to sleep.
“You haven’t moved out yet, you know!” She threw this at me on one of the few times when we could hardly avoid meeting one another.
My Great Day finally arrived and Zenda, who remembered where I currently lived, drew up in another dilapidated banger – obviously, Pavel wasn’t that generous. ‘One old banger driving another,’ I thought.
As we loaded the first lot of my stuff into the car, Mother, brimming over with pent up fury, verbally attacked Zenda. She resented him helping me and almost accused him of being the catalyst for my departure. The open hostility which he received threw him and the amusement he found on their last meeting deserted him. He kept his head down and tried not to antagonise her. I attempted to defend him but was talked over and Zenda shook his head frantically as if to say, ‘It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.’
This lot of goods was destined for Lorna’s and was dispatched without any trouble. I told her that I’d tidy up the mess later, when I moved in. When I moved in! It sounded awesome.
Returning to my mother’s for the second and last instalment, Zenda and I found her busily engaged in clearing out a food cupboard – a thing she rarely did. The silent Zenda and I loaded the remainder of my chattels into the car, still minus my bloody record player, and I returned to the house.
As I was on the final run, I was about to give up my key when she cornered me. “Don’t think you’re going off with that key. I want it. Now!” This was almost the identical exchange we’d had before; when I moved in with Paul. I felt like flinging the fucking thing at her just to show my contempt but I managed to control myself and refrained from doing so.
“I was just about to…”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure you were.”
“I was,” I wailed.
“Remember, Steven, I know you!” I didn’t bother to respond. “And I don’t ever want to see that little thing around here again either.” She was referring to Zenda who was outside, hiding in his car.
I tried to get back to the point. “Well, this is it, I suppose.” She wouldn’t answer. “Do you want my address?”
“Not particularly.” She was trying to close the door on me. I was determined to leave on good terms. She was having none of it. She continued to throw a series of particularly nasty remarks in an attempt to make my farewell as uneasy as possible. Normally, I would have reacted badly to all this but I gave up and said nothing. What was the point? I think she knew that, this time, I wouldn’t be coming back. She’d gambled everything and lost – and she knew it.
“Well, I’ll say good...,” The door was firmly shut in my face, “...bye.” I heard the key turn in the lock. I think I was supposed to. As I left with the last my possessions, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, the curtains move. I honestly believe that she was looking to see if her words had hit their mark and upset me, rather than having a final glimpse of her dear departing son.
When we dropped my excess stuff off at Mickey’s we were greeted with a glass of beer each. Mickey eyed Zenda with critical curiosity. Zenda mentally stripped Mickey with unabashed lust.
“This is just a friend who offered to help,” I told Mickey.
“’ello,” said Mickey.
“Hi, there,” cooed Zenda.
“Back off, he’s taken,” I added.
“Zenda!” I snapped. Luckily, Mickey’s mother had gone inside so no explanations were required.
We unloaded the contents of the car onto the pavement and, after thanking him, Zenda drove off giving a camp wave out of the window and a yell of, “Give him one from me.”
Mickey had made room in his bedroom and his brothers helped in taking all my stuff up the stairs.
“Are you sure there’s enough room in here?” Mickey’s mother peered around at the steadily filling space.
“Lots,” was Mickey’s answer.
“We could always put some of it...”
“’sfine here. In my room only. I’ll make space.”
“All right, dear. You know best.” And off she went.
“Thank you,” I called out to the retreating figure.
“A pleasure, dear. Coffee will be in ten minutes – or another beer.”
“Who was that? The driver?” quizzed Mickey.
“Oh, just an aquaintance.”
“Hm!” This was the last comment Mickey ever made about Zenda.
“Any news of when you can join me?”
“Soon.”
“It had better be.”
Later I went over to Lorna’s – correction – my place and we managed to tidy away most of my garbage.
I sat down and smiled. The first day of the rest of my better life – and, as it turned out, it was.
Three’s Company – or Not
This arrival at Lorna’s flat was a doddle when compared with the first exit I had made from home. I had neither regrets nor second thoughts. I took Lorna out for a meal as a thank you. As we ate, we sorted out the sleeping arrangements. She insisted that I made use of the bed on a permanent basis because I was working. I counter insisted that I wouldn’t want sole occupancy and, besides, I might be out on an overnight stay now and then. We finally came to a mutual compromise and alternated on a nightly rota the use of the bed and the mattress. As it turned out, this agreement became somewhat academic.
Almost immediately Lorna and I found that we were compatible in so many ways. There was only one major thing which divided us; our next door neighbour. Larry was a tall, black guy who was so camp he made John Inman look like John Wayne. He was delightfully eccentric, a bundle of laughs and a constant irritation to Lorna. If Larry came in to visit us, he refused to do anything so prosaic as using the door but simply clambered over the fragile partition between the two kitchens. He did this so often that I wondered if he ever used doors at all. Perhaps he left his room by climbing out of the window. Lorna considered that Larry was taking too many liberties and it didn’t help that I didn’t mind. I thought it funny and, in a way, convenient.
“Use the fucking door!” she would yell at him. “How many more times to I have to fucking well say it?”
“Oh, that’s far too boring for a gal like me,” he’d answer. “Life is meant to be lived and walls are meant to be climbed.”
He and I loved having conversations over this wall. Whilst one of us was cooking, the other would pull up a chair and stand on it to have a pleasant time gossiping away. If we were both busy, it didn’t matter, we carried on as if we were in the same room. His love life was hilarious as he always seemed to be either getting into comical scrapes or dating the most peculiar men imaginable. He always asked about my life and what I was up to but I don’t think he ever heard what I said and never really listened. When I visited his room I did so in the conventional way which he considered very strange. He lived amidst what looked like an overcrowded theatrical dressing room for a drag queen – which, I suppose, is what it was. There were dresses and accessories everywhere – all on hangers but hung on every rail or wardrobe edge there was. His small dining table was packed with makeup, moisturisers of every type and other bottles and pots which I dared not ask what they contained for fear that he might tell me. Within this apparent mess, he knew where everything was and could lay his hands on any item immediately.
A large flat upstairs was inhabited by a married couple. Even though they must have been walking on wooden floors, they never made any noise. I only ever saw them arrive or depart. I became merely on nodding acquaintance with them. Lorna said that they were all right but not very sociable. They kept themselves to themselves and that was fine by her.
As ever, that best laid plans of mice and men soon unravelled. We had managed only a few nights of our efficient sleeping system when Roger, a distant acquaintance of both Lorna and mine, threw himself into having a flaming row with his lover and was beaten up for his trouble. In terror, he gave up his flat and hinted at moving in with the pair of us. His normally good looks were all swollen and bruised.
“Where are you sleeping at the moment?” I asked.
“On whatever floor will have me,” he lamented. “So, can I move in with you and use yours? Please?”
“We’d be rather crowded,” said Lorna but I could see that she was beginning to thaw to the idea.
“I wouldn’t be any trouble.”
“That, I’d very much doubt,” she said gently.
“I wouldn’t. I go out a lot so you’ll hardly know I’m here.”
“Um, excuse me,” I ventured, “Dare I say? What about the sleeping arrangements?”
“I daren’t ask the landlord for another mattress.”
“We can make do.” Roger was nearly in tears. “I’m only little,” which he was, “so I won’t take up too much room.” Neither Lorna nor I could quite see the logic of this.
“All right – just ‘till you find another place.”
“Oh, thank you.” His relief was sweet. “I’ll bring my stuff over tomorrow and move in.” He saw a flash of worry cross Lorna’s face. “It will only be a suitcase’s worth. Most of what I own is Dan’s.”
After he’d left Lorna and I talked for a while. First we needed to revise drastically our sleeping plans. Lorna thought it best if each person had two nights in the bed and the third on the floor. This would mean I would have to share with Lorna, then Roger and, on the third night, I would be on the floor with Roger and Lorna sharing the bed.
“I hope Roger will be all right with this.”
“He’ll have to be after all, we are doing him the favour. If he moans we’ll just chuck him out.” Knowing Lorna as I did, I know she wouldn’t be that cold and I suspected Roger would be happy with the plan as it meant he would be safe from another beating.
Roger was quite a timid person who tended to overplay his ‘little boy lost’ look. He was seventeen, short, slim and highly attractive to the right sort of person. His hair was cropped, wavy, brown and extremely coarse. He was also highly vulnerable and sensitive and could burst into tears over the slightest thing – both when happy and sad and everything in between. Lorna and I had known him for about a month. He had moved from a medium town to the city and was determined to extract a bit of the life which was denied in his place of birth. He was a sweet lad who inhabited the wrong side of dim. I found him reasonably nice–looking.
The next day Roger moved in and Lorna regretted immediately making her kind offer.
It all started badly when, within half an hour the cupboard door opened and in minced Larry. Roger screamed and, in answer, Larry joined him.
“For fuck’s sake! If there’s one thing I hate it’s a room full of shriekers.” yelled Lorna.
“Lorna, a black man has just come out of the closet.”
“So? He lives in there.”
“What?”
“I’m joking.”
“My God, it’s the invasion of the Munchkins!” was Larry’s unhelpful contribution to the mayhem and he dashed over to hide behind my back. “Oh, so this is what the back of someone’s head looks like. My God, I think I might be turning butch.” And he screamed again. It was so sudden that a startled Roger joined him.
“Shut up, the pair of you!” Lorna had her hands over her ears. I collapsed on the floor in helpless laughter.
/> Larry, standing over me, angsted, “I think Carl’s having a seizure.”
On another planet Roger asked “Seize my what?”
“Look, can we all cool it?” and we did.
Larry was introduced to Roger and all was explained.
“Carl, my darling,” camped Larry, “you are no longer number one in my affections as a new pansy has dropped into my flower bed – and soon, I hope.” He went over to cuddle Roger.
“Ger off me.”
Lorna fell into her chair in utter despair. “My life used to be so placid.”
“Come on, Larry,” I laughed, “I’m hardly your type.”
He ceased tormenting Roger and suddenly went very serious. “Oh yes you are my dear.” My forced giggle was meant to break the tension but Lorna decided to ratchet it up a notch.
“Carl, are you thick or what? He’s been trying to get inside your jeans ever since he first saw you.”
“I have not,” Larry protested.
“Yes you have,” affirmed Lorna.
“Yes I have. This is embarrassing,” and off he went through the cupboard and back to his own room.
“And what the fuck are we going to do with this monstrosity?”
Lorna and I had been out and when we returned Roger had moved in and had in tow a piece of salvage from his ex–flat. Goodness knows how he managed to get the thing to Lorna’s but there in the middle of the room was a massive fish tank. Yet another fish tank in my life! At the time, there seemed to be many people who felt that their life’s dream was to keep fish. What with Adam and now Roger, what was it about gay men and keeping fish? Was it some sort of love sublimation?
The tank was full of the ugliest and most disgusting looking bastards I’d ever seen. They were quite small and he told us that they were called ‘Black Mollies’ (how camp is that?). I wondered how anyone could find them as irresistible and adorable as a pet as Roger obviously did. Lorna loathed them instantly.
“Where would you like me to put it,” asked Roger. I thought Lorna was about to tell him exactly where but she merely pointed to an unused area against a wall. I helped him shift the thing and he, brimming with pride, claimed that it looked good and added that extra something to the place.
