by Swan, Tarn
Maybe it was time to go straight and find a nice girl like his mum had always wanted him to do. Men didn’t seem to want him, not for any length of time anyway, usually just for the length of their dicks. Patrick hadn't even wanted him for that. He must be losing his allure altogether. He was getting old and his chances of finding real long-term love were running out.
Twinkles ended up in tears with him and Frank joined in. He is the most emotional straight man I have ever met. He cannot see someone cry without coming out in sympathy. Twinks reckons he has a recessive gay gene. I was close to tears myself to be honest, because Lu really was devastated. He's such a darling. He deserves someone who will look after him and treat him well while allowing him to be who he is without apology or guilt. I could cheerfully have throttled the unknown Patrick. Callous bastard.
We were in danger of drowning in a sea of emotion when rescue came in the form of Val and Sandra and their newly adopted bundle of joy, a bouncy brown crossbred puppy with more than a hint of Labrador in him. They’d picked him up from the rescue home that afternoon. They wanted help in naming him.
Twinks came up trumps. He said the pup was the colour of cola and just as effervescent so he ought to be called Cola. Val and Sandra loved it and put their own stamp on it by changing the C to K and calling him Kola. Excited at being named he made a puddle on the kitchen floor. Our house seemed destined to be damp one way or another that evening.
Val and Sandra eventually took their adorable fizzy pup home. Frank went home to his alleged scarlet woman and I took Lulu home. By the time I returned Twinks had gone to bed and was snoring away, worn out with furniture shifting and emotional outpourings.
He didn't stay asleep though. I found him downstairs in the kitchen at half past three in the morning soaking up tea with a packet of chocolate digestives. Pouring a cup of tea and grappling a biscuit from him I demanded to know what was on his mind. Through a spray of biscuit crumbs he told me. I was stunned.
One of his sisters has been in touch, Caroline. She had gone into the shop on the Tuesday that had been his day off and left a note asking him to meet her for a lunchtime drink on Thursday. I was cross and rather hurt that he hadn't told me immediately.
Parking himself on my lap he wrapped his arms around my neck and apologised with a flurry of biscuit flavoured kisses. He’d kept quiet because he couldn't get his head around it at all. It didn't seem real. He had to keep getting the note out to look at it and make sure he hadn't imagined it.
I was sceptical. I think the real reason he didn't say anything was because he thought I'd put a spanner in the works by formulating questions. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was cast a cloud, but I'm afraid I did.
Why had she suddenly gotten in touch after almost twelve years of shunning him? I also reminded him she was the one who had dumped his father's funeral flowers on our doorstep. She'd had years in which she could have contacted him. Why now and why contact him at the shop and not at his home address, which she obviously knew?
He accused me of trying to spoil things for him. I contested. I was concerned for him. I worried that another bout of hurt and heartache was about to come his way courtesy of his family. He said he was going to meet her. I couldn't stop him. I said I wouldn't dream of trying to stop him. All I wanted was for him to proceed with caution.
He was a bag of nerves on Thursday morning. He changed his shirt and tie half a dozen times, fussing over what earrings to wear, what cologne to put on. I was a bag of nerves too, wondering what sting might be hidden in the encounter. I got nothing done at work that morning. As soon as lunch was over I phoned to ask how things had gone.
He was excited and animated. She was much pleasanter than he remembered. She had been a spiteful child, always nipping him and pulling at his hair and calling him names, but she seemed to have had some kind of Renaissance. She said she regretted the way she'd treated him, blaming the influence of her mother and grandfather. She had recently had a hard time from the old man because of a boyfriend he didn't approve of. She had been pressured into giving him the heave-ho. It made her realise how hard things must have been for her poor brother with the old man's disapproval being constantly poured upon him.
He was less excited on Thursday evening when I picked him up from work. He looked strained. I knew it was only a matter of time before the bubble popped. His highs invariably lead to lows. However, he chattered on about the meeting all the way home, telling me what he'd found out.
The baby he'd seen his sister Jennifer with last year was her son Reece. He was the unknown uncle of a nephew who was now almost a year old. His mother was busy with social committees and dancing attendance on her father. The old man was in rude health for his age and still laying down the law and ruling with a rod of iron. He had wanted Jennifer and her husband Paul to move into the family home after they married. Paul had sensibly refused. It had caused a few ripples. The old man wasn't used to being thwarted. However, Caroline said that Jennifer still spends more time at her premarital home than at her post marital one and he exerts his influence just as much as he would with them under his roof.
Twinks paused in his chatter for a moment and then blurted out. “I hope Jennifer’s baby isn’t gay. I hope he isn’t like me. He’ll suffer.”
It was the point his high switched to low. He dissolved into tears emotionally wrung out and suddenly confused by it all.
We were supposed to be going out to a pub quiz with mum and Priscilla that evening. I postponed it in favour of a quiet night in, just the two of us. I wanted him to try and assimilate all the thoughts and feelings he was experiencing after contact with someone who had cut him dead for so long.
He says he's fine and happy to have met with his sister and is looking forward to meeting her again. I’m not so sure. I have the feeling something about the encounter disappointed him. I don't think he knows what it is though.
For my part I'm trying to keep an open mind. I suppose people can and do change. On the other hand and I guess I'm being cynical here it doesn't happen often, not in cases of estrangement of years standing and especially when there was no love lost to begin with. Mark me as worried.
15th November ~ Custody of Barry Manilow
Twinkles performed a mini drama after dinner this evening. It was titled Twenty-Six Days. It’s a shame he can’t play guitar he could have put it to music and made a power ballad from it. I’d just settled down to veg out in front of the television when he marched into the living room carrying my laptop. He dumped it on my knees along with a dramatic announcement.
“It’s been twenty-six days! Twenty-six days since you made an entry in your diary. It’s a sign.”
I felt driven to ask. “A sign of what?”
“A sign our relationship has gone stale that’s what. Your interest in me is waning. You don’t want to write about me anymore. It’s the tip of the iceberg. You’ve hardly nagged me for weeks. You didn’t even tell me off for buying twelve bars of out of date chocolate from bent Barry’s confectionary stall. It’ll be separate beds next, then you’ll start working later and later leaving me to get the bus home alone. What next, hmm, divorce and arguments about who gets the duck down duvet and custody of the Barry Manilow CD’s?”
There'd be no fight for custody from me in the latter respect. He was welcome. I’d even gift wrap them for him. Of course he knew my not journaling has little to do with a waning interest in our relationship and a lot to do with being too damn tired.
Work has been hellish hectic. I'm also still recovering from a painful bout of cellulitis. Twinks never lets reality get in the way of a good drama. I assured him my interest is as keen as ever, in fact waxing rather than waning. To prove it I powered up my laptop and made this entry, which he’s reading over my shoulder. Little egotist.
My dear Twinkles, if I could sing I would sing you love songs far better than Barry Manilow. My love for you is much warmer than a duck down duvet and the only time I will ever willingly sleep in a s
eparate bed is when your snoring becomes unbearable. I adore you. Are you happy now?
He’s nodding and smiling. My job here is done, for this evening anyway. Before I go I must report (have been ordered) that him in frocks was joint winner of the prestigious Halloween Queen title at the PP’s Halloween Ball. His bride corpse costume went down a storm. It was stunning and so was he. He managed to make the gothic and macabre beautiful in a way Helena Bonham Carter would have been proud of. He was royally aided and beautifully abetted by Lulu as zombie bridesmaid to the corpse bride. They clinched the joint title with a routine to MJ’s Thriller.
I like to think that whomever ruined Twinks’ wedding gown was spying on us the night we left the house to go to the ball. It would have been one in the eye for them to see how he had turned the situation to his advantage.
17th November ~ Squeals in the Wendy House
I'm afraid if he squeals once more I'm going to have to consider killing him, either that or gagging him. He's watching a recording of ‘I'm A Celebrity’ though exactly why is beyond me since it specialises in repulsive insects. He can't bear bugs of any description, they revolt him, but he insists on following the programme. I think he just likes an excuse to squeal. At least he isn't watching it with Lulu or we'd be having double squeals. It’s like being incarcerated in a Wendy house with a host of little girls when they view such things together. It’s pure auditory torture with ear splitting screeches and screams.
Talking about Lulu he gatecrashed dinner at Brian's house last night. He had some new products fresh in for the party season and thought it a matter of national importance that Twinks viewed them immediately. He knew we were dining with Brian so headed on over. At least he doesn't have a key to Brian's house. He had to gain entry via ringing the doorbell. Brian didn't mind. He's as fond of Lu as I am. He welcomed him with open arms and set an extra place at the table.
Martin, who was also dining with us, was clearly taken aback by the unexpected arrival of an uninvited guest. He isn’t one of life’s spontaneous people. Lu was garbed in a red leather mini dress teamed with killer heels, which further discomforted Martin.
Twinks topped up his wine glass for him, patted his shoulder and said, “don’t worry, Marty love, stick around long enough and you’ll get used to us. Tarn did and he was a rough tough rugger bugger kind of man before he met me, or at least he likes to think he was.”
Martin blushed, but managed a smile. It turned out to be a pleasant evening. Brian’s a fantastic host and cook and we were well wined and dined and somewhat lighter in the pocket by the time we left, thanks to Lulu who managed to sell something to each of us.
What the heck Martin is going to do with glittery mascara and frosted eye shadow totally escapes me. I can't see his elderly mother wearing it and he’s conservative to say the least. I think splashing on aftershave is the height of decadence as far as he's concerned. I doubt we'll be seeing him sporting glittery lashes and frosted eyelids anytime soon.
I sometimes wonder if his staidness is why Brian holds back from making a more determined commitment to him. He enjoys a touch of flamboyance does Brian. It’s why he spends more time at the PP than he does at any of his other clubs. He says the PP is like a home and he often feels like a father to the most eccentric family on earth.
Martin isn't showy or glitzy. He's a quiet introverted man. Steven wasn't flamboyant in his appearance, but he had a wicked sense of humour and a capacity for raucous fun. He liked to party and he loved the PP girls with their glamorous feathers and fans and high heeled shoes. He enjoyed their ribald squeals and libellous shrieks and their ability to drink anyone under the table. He once arranged a Leather v Lace drinking competition between the macho boys from the downstairs bar and the girls from upstairs. It was no contest. At the end of the night there were more girls standing than men, even if a few of them had to take off their shoes to manage it. Steven won a hefty bet that night.
Martin isn't comfortable around the PP patrons. He likes spending time alone with Brian rather than being part of a crowd, especially the transgender crowd. I can’t see the relationship having any long term potential if a compromise can’t be reached between them. They’re not a couple, not in any strong sense. Their relationship isn’t developing the way I hoped it would. It’s static. It takes place in a kind of no man’s land between their separate lives.
Brian enjoys Martin’s company and seems genuinely fond of him, but he still wants Steven, he’s still in love with him. Martin knows it. It hurts him. He’s in love with Brian. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at him. It makes me feel sad for him.
Oh lord! There goes another shriek from my beloved, but not on a telly bug account this time. He’s painting his toenails in preparation for going out tonight and he's smudged one so he'll have to redo it. There's a birthday party at the PP tonight for Empress Gloria. She's not saying how old she is. Her birth certificate is stashed in a place where no one will ever find it. Like all ladies she reserves the right to punch the lights out on anyone who dares ask the question no lady should ever be asked.
John Craven time again. Here’s a Newsround. I applied for promotion at work a while back and had to go before a board. The night before my interview I started to feel unwell and cursed my luck in coming down with something before an important meeting. The next morning I felt feverish and my groin was a total no go area. The glands were swollen. I felt like death warmed up. I turned up for my interview, but had to withdraw halfway through before I threw up or passed out.
To cut a long story short it turned out I had cellulitis. It was vile. I felt like I was dying. The source of it was the leg I broke earlier this year. An infection had built up in the operation scar tissue. It was sheer agony. Powerful antibiotics, anti inflammatory drugs and bed rest sorted me out.
Frank’s suspicions about Katie seeing another man behind his back turned out to be true, to a degree. She wasn’t having extramarital frolics. The man was a doctor. Dr Phillip. She's pregnant. She didn't want to say anything to Frank until she was certain. He’s still reeling from the news he's going to be a daddy again after eleven years. Katie had an ectopic pregnancy a couple of years after having Gabby. Afterwards she was told it would make conceiving more difficult. They’d given up hope of having a second child.
Needless to say they’re both over the moon and so is Gabby. She can't wait to be a big sister. The baby is due in the spring, late April or early May. Twinks tried to persuade Katie to let him be at the birth, as her birth partner. Frank said he wouldn’t mind, but Katie said she would. She reckons it’s Frank’s duty to be by her side and guiltily watch her suffer agony as she gives birth to the child he helped create.
Maurice and Teddy aren’t talking at all let alone talking things over. Tensions between them are mounting. In Teddy’s view Maurice is being selfish for not giving wholehearted support to the sweet shop venture. He’s working his notice at the eye infirmary and going ahead with it anyway. He’s aiming to have the shop open in time to take advantage of the Christmas trade.
According to him Maurice will soon change his tune when he starts raking in the cash. He sees himself as a confectionery queen in charge of a candy kingdom and is talking about opening a chain of sweet fairy shops. The man is blind to everything but his own obsession.
The least said about Twinkles’ sister the better. I haven’t got time for a start. I’m being bawled at to make a move to get ready for Gloria's birthday bash or we'll be later than is fashionably decent. Besides I have to set the player to record Hollyoaks and Ugly Betty. He doesn't want me rushing it and messing it up like I usually do. He's squealing again. Hollyoaks is about to start so can I shift my arse please, now. Yep. I'm going to have to kill him before my eardrums explode.
28th November ~ Corsets and Cotton Buds
There's an old Chinese proverb that goes: ‘he who pokes cotton bud in lughole risks incurring wrath of gods.’ Well actually there isn't, but there should be. Since time immemorial people h
ave been poking things in their ear holes that they have no business poking. A handy proverb to act as a deterrent would be worth a mine full of diamonds in my opinion.
Twinkles is a case in point. He's a bloody pest with cotton buds. I had a palaver with him in A & E yesterday evening because of a cotton bud. By the time we were done I was ready to beg a bed for the night on the psychiatric ward to recover from nervous strain, only the attending doctor and nursing staff booked ahead of me and there were no spare beds left.
Yesterday wasn't the best of days to begin with. In accordance with royal decree I'd taken a day off work to do some ‘serious’ Christmas shopping. He wanted the pressie buying for friends and family gotten out of the way so he could concentrate on enjoying the true meaning of the season at his leisure. It translated as him wanting more time to stalk the shops in pursuit of seasonal goodies for himself. So, even before I could enjoy a second cup of breakfast tea we were on the road leading to the Metro Centre.
Twinks had his collection of lists: his best friends list, his ordinary friends list, his acquaintance list, his workmates list, his bastards I can't stand, but still buy a present for list, the family list and the Christmas card and wrappings list. We’d discussed an overall budget, agreed an amount and shaken hands on it. The moment we hit the brightly lit shops with all their tempting wares all notions of financial restraint went out of the tinsel bedecked window as far as Twinks was concerned. Tussles ensued.
He wanted to buy a fairy castle toy for Janet that cost as much as a real house and was far too old for her age. I said no. How about we bought it for Gabby? I said no. The bit about price still applied and it was too young for her age. Dominic? No! Could I buy it for him then because it was so pretty? I said a categorical and final NO.
Things came to a head in the La Senza lingerie shop. At least he was in it. I loitered outside. Shops devoted entirely to ladies underwear unnerve me. Twinks has a habit of taking breast enhancers out of their packaging. After weighing them up in his hands he squeezes them and then holds them against his chest. It embarrasses me, especially if he asks me to have a squeeze too. He also holds the knickers and thongs up and stretches them both vertically and horizontally. It’s more than I can take.
