by Swan, Tarn
I decided I’d go back to work on Wednesday morning. Twinks didn’t have to go back to work, because it was his scheduled day off. It was also Lu’s day off and the pair had talked of taking a jaunt to Redcar to visit Lu’s ex lover turned friend Peter for the day. In the event I didn’t go to work and Twinks didn’t go to Redcar.
I got up bright and early on Wednesday morning. I showered, dressed and had a light breakfast of tea and toast. Twinks was still abed. Before leaving for work I left a cup of tea on his bedside cabinet and a kiss farewell on his lips. I looped my suit jacket over my arm, picked up my laptop case and opened the front door only to rock back on my heels with a gasp and an involuntary blasphemous profanity. “Jesus Christ Almighty!”
I dropped my jacket and laptop and staggered back in shock, my weakened bowels almost going into action again at the grisly sight greeting me. There was a woman’s body hanging from the canopy over the front door, swinging gently in the breeze.
“Tarn, what’s the matter? What happened?”
I cursed myself for cursing aloud as Twinks anxious voice sounded from above accompanied by footsteps. I didn’t want him seeing the hanged woman, not least because of what she was wearing. I shouted I was fine, I’d just stubbed my toe, but before I could close the door on the grotesque sight he was running downstairs. Like me his immediate reaction was utter shock. He screamed at the top of his lungs, his face paling to pure white.
Slamming the front door closed I grabbed and held him. “It’s not what it looks like. It’s not real. I thought it was too at first, but it isn’t. It’s a dummy, sweetheart, it’s just a dummy.” He was shaking like a leaf and so was I.
The gruesome apparition had a noose around its neck attached to a hook that had been used to hang it from the guttering around the door canopy. I unhooked it and brought it inside. It was a store dummy, or at least part of one, torso, head and arms. It was made from a flexible foam material that made it look all the more realistic.
The dress it was wearing was long and covered the lack of a bottom half. It was Twinks wedding dress, or what was left of it. The frothy tulle skirt had been hacked and slashed and part of it used to fashion a veil to shroud the dummy’s head. Worse even than the noose around its neck were the stab marks on the bodice in the chest area. They’d made holes in the mannequin. The slashes were daubed with red paint to emulate blood. There were splatters of it all over the dress.
After screaming with shock Twinks screamed again, but with rage. “That dress cost me a fucking fortune and some evil bastard has ruined it!” He burst into sobs. “I loved that dress. I loved it so much.” He clung to me, crying like his heart was breaking. “Everything from our wedding day has been destroyed, all our beautiful clothes. Who is it, Tarn, who’s doing this to us?”
Who indeed? I wish I knew. Whoever it was knew us, but we didn’t know them, or maybe we did. Maybe we passed them on the street everyday or worked with them. Maybe they’d been lurking outside gleefully waiting to see our reaction when we discovered the ‘body.’ It was a horrible thought.
Comforting Twinks I told him the loss of the material things was sad, but all that really mattered were our memories of the day. No one, absolutely no one could destroy them.
I logged a complaint with the police again. There was little they could do except express disgust and offer sympathy and say we could only hope whoever it was would eventually trip up and give a hard clue as to their identity. They’d then be charged with malicious harassment as well as burglary.
He was in no mood for visiting Peter afterwards and I was in no mood for work. I took a day’s holiday. No way was I sitting around the house moping all day though. We picked up Lulu and went for a drive in the country. I treated them to lunch in a pub on Ilkley Moor before taking a scenic drive home.
It was Lulu who turned the case of the corpse bride from a negative into a positive of sorts. After giving Twinks a cuddle of compassionate sympathy he viewed the despoiled dress with a thoughtful look. “Know what, Twinkies my pet. I reckon this would make a fab costume for the Halloween Ball. You could go as a Goth zombie bride. It’ll look fantastic with the right makeup and accessories. It’s better than binning it. It’s still got its shape. We can trim up the skirts and add some black and red cobwebby lace. It’ll look epic.”
Twinks face lit up. He loved the idea. He and Lu set straight to work on planning the costume down to the last fingernail.
There’s a wonderfully apt quote from Shakespeare’s Othello that fits the bill perfectly in this case. It goes ~ the robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief. Our persecutor may have knocked us down, but he hadn’t knocked us out and he hadn’t won.
3rd October ~ The Sweet Fairy
God give me strength or Valium or something. I’m having one of those days.
Lulu joined us for dinner this evening, not that he was invited. He let himself in while we were having dinner and ended up tucking in with us. I swear to God one of these days I'm going to hold that boy down and body search him for the keys he has to our house.
As well as waltzing in unannounced and scoffing our food he tried to sell us Christmas cards. He’s got a new luxury range just in. He offered us ten percent discount if we ordered three packs before November the first. We declined. I bet his workmates dread this time of year with him trying to flog them stuff every five minutes. He’s like an aggressive Avon Lady. He doesn’t drop a catalogue on your doormat for you to go through at your leisure. He goes for the hard sell.
The reason for his unexpected visit? Kevin is entertaining a gentleman friend. Apparently he entertained him last evening too and though they entertained themselves in the privacy of Kev’s own room Lulu felt like a spectator at a radio porn shoot as sounds of their shagging reverberated from wall to wall. The beau is a tad on the vocal side. He's also a tad on the old side. Lu decided to clear out for fear the old guy would die on the job and he’d be called upon to help drag Kev out from under the body. He made a sour comment about Nat being a cradle snatcher and Kev a grave robber.
We’d just settled down to watch telly when Teddy phoned Twinks with some ‘very, very exciting’ news. On Monday last he and Maurice had taken a trip to Barnard Castle for the day. It had proved most fortuitous. They’d discovered the quaintest and most adorable little Dickensian sweet shop, or what had once been a sweet shop. Sadly it was shut. The gentleman who had run it had retired and the premises were up for rent. Teddy was going to rent them and revive the business. He was giving up being a caring professional and going into the candy trade. He claimed he’d always dreamed of owning an old fashioned confectioners.
It was the first any of us had heard of his sweet dream. The shop’s old trading name had been ‘The Cabin.’ It was far too common and unromantic for Teddy’s taste. He was going to rename it. It would be called The Sweet Fairy. He was going to have paper bags and boxes printed up with a little fairy logo. He was also going to sell a range of his own handmade chocolates and fudge. What did Twinks think about that?
Twinks' face was anything but sweet as he digested Teddy’s news. He looked like he was sucking on a mixture of sour lemons and acid drops. Lulu with typical queenly bitchiness said Teddy wouldn't last five minutes in the candy business. He'd eat all the stock and end up bankrupt in next to no time.
Him in frocks is jealous. He's seething with it. He reckons Teddy is only going into business as a way of one-upping us on our summer garden party. He loves the thought of a gay owned sweet shop called The Sweet Fairy. Why hadn't he thought of it first? It was my fault. I crushed his creativity with my practical ways.
I can’t help but wonder if Teddy has thought through the full implications of leaving a secure job to go into the precarious world of shop keeping, especially at a time when the country is forecast to be heading deeper into recession. It sounds like an impulsive flight of fancy rather than a well thought out business plan.
Twinks is voicing thoughts of opening a cupcake shop. He reckon
s he could specialise in providing fancy cupcakes for Civil Partnership receptions. What do I think of ‘Rainbow Love Cups by Stardust Twinkles’ as a company name? Excuse me. It’s time to nip some buds.
7th October ~ Sweet Talking Men
I was commandeered to wear a frock today. I didn’t enjoy it. Dresses don't suit me especially short ones. I don't have the legs for them and I felt fat because it wouldn't zip up at the back. Mercifully I didn't have to wear it for long, just until Twinks finished pinning the hem. It’s the sort of thing mum usually helps with but she and Prissy are away this weekend visiting one of his daughters. Mum wasn’t keen to go, but as she said family is family and you have to try and get on. Prissy loves his daughters despite all the difficulties surrounding his transvestism.
Lulu has gone fishing with his dad so it was left to me to don the frock for alteration. The things you do for the one you love plus as he pointed out, I owed him. I messed up on Friday night when instead of recording the first in the new series of Ugly Betty I recorded the first in a new drama about The Tudors.
On Saturday morning he took his muesli into the living room and turned on the television looking forward to snatching a helping of Betty before going to work only to find a helping of historical costume drama. It didn't go down well. He put on a lavish hysterical tantrum drama in his own right. I was a nincompoop. I was almost impressed. It’s not every day you get called a nincompoop. In fact I think it was a first for me.
I was less impressed when he followed up verbal accusations of my having done it on purpose because I preferred the boring frigging Tudors to lovely Ugly Betty with the hurling of a cushion at my head. En route to my head the cushion hit the light shade with such violence it swung up and hit the ceiling smashing the shade and showering us both with broken glass.
I was sorry about messing up the recording. I knew he’d been looking forward to the programme, but I wasn't putting up with that behaviour. I bent him over, tucked him under my arm whipped down his pj’s and walloped his bad tempered backside.
As things turned out Tina at work had recorded the programme and promised Twinks she'd lend him it.
His bad tempered reaction to my gaffe was partly rooted in the fact that Friday night at the PP hadn't been to his taste and he was still sulking over it. Teddy turned up and hogged all the limelight with sweet talk. His proposed candy store venture brought forth reminiscences from all and sundry regarding favourite sweets from childhood and suggestions about what Teddy should stock in his shop.
Lulu lowered the tone. He pondered aloud as to whether anyone else had ever shoved a liquorice torpedo into their rectum? No one had or if they had they didn’t own up to it. Twinkles cattily remarked that the range of things Lu had had up his arse just didn't bear thinking about. Big Mary asked whether it had been just one liquorice torpedo. Lu confirmed it was a solo torpedo, a pink one, a rather nice shade of deep pink like a summer cardigan he’d once owned.
Questions were asked about how it came out. It never did. It must have dissolved. He recalled his bowel movements had been rather loose afterwards and a darker colour. Perhaps if Teddy sold them in his shop he could market them as sweets AND as suppositories for constipation? Teddy wrinkled his nose, curled his lip and utilised his best schoolmarm voice to say he didn't think so, darling.
Maurice for his part said little all evening and to my mind looked to be a touch depressed. In the end he slipped away from the main gaggle to sit at the bar and concentrate on getting drunk. I joined him for a few moments and ventured to ask if he were all right. He shrugged and said he’d had enough of sweet talk and needed some space. I made to leave him to it, but he grasped my arm.
“He’s a bloody fool, Tarn. We’re up to our fucking ears in debt and he’s going to chuck in his job to open a fucking sweet shop. The rent on it alone is a fortune. He’ll expect me to help fund it. The bank isn’t likely to give him a loan, not with his record.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“Talk!” Maurice let go of my arm. Picking up his glass of whiskey he downed it in one. ”You know Teddy. You can’t talk to him. He doesn’t listen to anyone’s voice but his own, especially when he’s on one of his fucking crusades.”
Poor Maurice. He looked more strained and unhappy than I’d ever seen him. My instinct was to tell him to put the spoiled and selfish Teddy over his knee and give him a damn good spanking. Of course you can’t advise others to do such things. If Maurice spanked Teddy it would be construed as abuse because it wasn’t a consensual aspect of their relationship dynamic.
I patted his shoulder. “At least try, Maurice. Tell him how you feel. Try to make him see beyond the immediate. Teddy is carried away with the dream at the moment. He isn’t considering the possibility that the dream might turn into a nightmare. Talk to him. Silence resolves nothing.”
Maurice nodded, but the anger had passed and he reverted to his habitual dreamy detachment. I left him ordering another whisky. He had to be poured into a taxi to go home later that night.
Time to go. We’re having lunch at Brian's place today.
17th October ~ Questions
There's something bugging Twinkles and I don't mean the large daddy long legs that had him running around the kitchen shrieking demands for help earlier this evening. Honestly what a carry on. Anyone would think an armed assassin was pursuing him. He's been behaving oddly since I picked him up from work. One moment he looks excited and the next anxious.
I've asked if there's something on his mind, but he says no. I don't believe him. For a start he's re-arranging furniture in the living room at the moment. It’s never a good sign. Whatever he's holding back has to have a question mark of legitimacy or wisdom over it otherwise I'd be fully in the know.
I’m wondering if he’s had a theatrical moment again and has signed up for some audition or other. I’m praying he hasn’t done a Teddy and signed the lease on some fancy fantasy cake shop. There’ll be trouble if he has. Time will tell.
He's demanding I get off my love box and give him a hand shifting the couch. I’ll humour him even though it'll end up being put back in exactly the same place. Once he's tired himself out playing Mr Shifter he might be more amenable to questions regarding what's going on in his head.
20th October ~ Soap Land
It was like soap land in here last Wednesday evening. I thought I'd wandered into an episode of Hollyoaks. I ended up surrounded by people in tearful crisis. As predicted I’d just finished helping Twinks put the couch back in its original location after the several locations he decided it would look better in didn't work out. It was my fault for insisting we buy a house with completely the wrong shape living room for shifting stuff about in. He wanted an extension forthwith to allow for periods when his urge to shift furniture overwhelmed him.
Failing an extension he wanted a Feng Shui expert to come in and arrange the furniture in a way that was conducive to harmonising his complex spirit with his environment. There was one in the Yellow Pages who did entire houses including your greenhouse and garden shed for just three grand. It was a snip for electromagnetic peace of mind and symbiotic sympathy with your soft furnishings.
I said no to both the extension and the Feng Shui Druid. I'd just parked my behind on the re-located to the original location couch and was planning on winkling information from Twinkles as to what was on his furniture shifting mind when Frank landed, literally. He knocked on the back door and had obviously been leaning against it because when I opened it he fell into the kitchen and landed at my feet announcing dramatically. “Tarn, man, I'm being cuckooed!”
He'd come via the football club and had clearly had a few pints. What he meant was he was being cuckolded. He's convinced Katie is having an affair. He says she's been distracted and secretive of late and has that look about her. What look? He explained. The one you get when you meet someone who pushes your buttons and you can't wait to be with them and you're all excited just by the thought of them.
Twinkles helpfully identified the look as being the look of love.
Frank burst into tears, saying, “aye, that's the one, Twinks man. She's spurning me. She doesn't want to know. I thought it was because I've got terrible athlete's foot and she was mebbe put off by the smell, but it's because she's got someone else.”
I put the kettle on to make him a brew while he explained how he had found a scribbled note near the phone that read Phillip, Monday. I said it was hardly evidence Katie was having an affair. I suggested he ought to talk to her about his worries.
Twinks offered up his day off, which was Monday, to turn detective and discreetly follow Katie to see whom she met up with. He could take photos, jot down car numbers, stuff like that. I banned the plan. To my mind it was immoral, not to mention improbable as Twinks and discretion are complete strangers to each other. I told Frank to get some spray for his feet and to talk with his wife.
We'd just gotten him settled with a cup of strong coffee when the sound of a key in the front door heralded the arrival of Lulu. He'd been out on a date with a guy called Patrick, the first face-to-face meeting since being matched through an agency. Only it hadn't worked out. Lu had taken to Patrick. Patrick hadn't taken to him. A single drink later he made an excuse and departed, leaving a dejected and humiliated Lulu to make his way home alone.
Poor Lulu. He was so upset. He had dressed down for the occasion so as not to scare his date by being too full on femme. He looked sweet in black jeans and a red shirt. He was only wearing a couple of bracelets and a hint of mascara, which despite claiming to be waterproof streamed down his face as he sobbed he didn't know what to do to make himself more attractive to the same sex.
