Flamingoes in Orbit

by Philip Ridley

  Our house! Oh, let me tell you about that! The day me and Karen moved into our own home (just over a year and a half after we’d been married) was – at that time – one of the three happiest days of my life (the other two being the day I met Karen, and the day Todd was born, in that order). We got the place a lot quicker than I’d ever hoped because Karen’s dad – after a bit of persuading from Karen (‘We’ve got lots of money coming in, Dad. There won’t be a problem!) – said he would get the mortgage in his name (I was having a bit of trouble because – being so young – I hadn’t been working for very long, and my ‘real’ wages – the wages I could actually declare, so to speak – weren’t enough to clinch the deal) on the condition that I assured him – gave him my word! – I would be able to give him the monthly mortgage repayment (in cash!) on the first day of every month, which – of course – I did assure him (gave him my word), because I knew – with all the dosh from the ‘scratched’ tellies – I could do it easy-peasy, and so . . . Ta-dah! 21 Sunnydown Avenue was ours!

  Mum and Dad came to visit us (once we’d settled in) and they both said how much they liked what we’d done with the house (they’d seen it once before, when we first got the keys) and how lucky me and Karen were. And it was all going swimmingly until Mum said, ‘Where’s Clyde’s microwave?’ And Karen said, ‘We bought another microwave.’ And Mum said, ‘Really?!’ (as if Karen had just said she’d seen a hobgoblin with a dildo on top of the fridge). And Karen said, ‘Yes. We bought a more expensive one.’ Mum pointed at the microwave, ‘You mean this one?’ And Karen said, ‘Well, as it’s the only microwave in the kitchen, yes.’ And Mum said, ‘Well, it might be more expensive than Clyde’s, but it’s certainly not more . . . stylish.’ Then she looked at me and said, ‘Your brother will be very upset. He looked everywhere to get that microwave for you.’ I said, ‘Well, we’ll get his one out when he visits. If he ever does.’ Mum said, ‘What do you mean, “If he ever does”? Of course he’ll visit. He’s dying to visit. He can’t wait to see your new home.’ Karen said, ‘Then no doubt his “Good Luck in Your New Home” card will be coming in the next post, because – unlike all the others we’ve received – his doesn’t seem to have arrived yet.’ Mum took a few deep breaths, then said, ‘I hear the post around here is appalling.’

  Six months later, me and Karen decided to have a house­warming party. I took an invite round to Mum and Dad. Mum said, ‘You’ve left it a bit late, haven’t you? You’re supposed to have a housewarming as soon as you move in!’ I said, ‘Well . . . we couldn’t make our minds up. But now we have. Are you going to come?’ She said. ‘Oh, I don’t know. It’ll be all your young friends there. I wouldn’t know what to say to anyone.’ I said, ‘Karen’s mum and dad will be there. They’re almost your age.’ Mum gave the invite back to me. ‘No. I won’t come. It will be too much trouble with your Dad the way he is anyway.’ Then she added – the moment I’d been waiting for! – ‘Have you invited Clyde?’ And – because I could see the whole argument opening up in front of me, like a sinkhole that just keeps sinking – I decided to lie and said, ‘Yes. Of course. I’ve already put an invite in the post.’ Mum said, ‘You . . . you have?’ I said, ‘Yes.’ Mum said, ‘I didn’t think you even knew Clyde’s address in Leeds.’ I said, ‘I sent it to his University. I’m sure they’ll pass it on to him.’ Mum said, ‘Well, I’ll ask him when he phones next.’ And I said, ‘Yes. Please do that.’ I wasn’t really worried because I could always say the card got lost in the post. And there was no way Clyde would want to come all the way down from Leeds for my housewarming party anyway. He didn’t come down for Dad’s last birthday. Or Mum and Dad’s wedding anniversary. So my housewarming? Never. But Clyde did come. And, to make matters worse, he brought his boyfriend. But that’s another story— What was I . . . ? . . .

  What . . . ?

  What . . . ?

  Okay! This is how my Robin Hood days selling scratched tellies came to an end. One day, when me and Karen were round Melv’s for Boyd’s third birthday (or was it his fourth, I forget now), Melv whispers in my ear, ‘I need a quick word, mate.’ We go out to the garage. He opens the bonnet of his car as if he wants to show me some faulty spark plug, then looks at me and says, ‘We’ve may have a potential problem.’ I waited. Melv said, ‘People at Radio Rentals have started asking questions about disappearing stock.’ I said, ‘But . . . it’s not “stock” as such, is it, Melv? It’s damaged.’ Melv said, ‘Yes, mate. That’s very true. So I don’t think we’re in any actual danger.’ I said, ‘Danger!?’ Melv said, ‘All we need to do is . . . stop doing it for a while.’ I said, ‘When you say “for a while”, mate, how long do you mean? Exactly?’ Melv said, ‘Well . . . for good!’ I said, ‘But Melv . . . I need that extra cash, mate.’ Melv said, ‘I know, mate, I know. Trust me. I’ll think of something. Have I ever let you down?’ I said, ‘No, mate.’ Melv said, ‘Let’s go and have some birthday cake.’

  About two months later (and two months’ worth of increasing debt) I was having a pizza with Melv in the local Pizza Hut, when he said, ‘How do you fancy doing a bit of gardening for me, mate?’ I said, ‘How do you mean, mate?’ Melv said, ‘Grow some plants in that spare room of yours. I’ll set it all up for you. You won’t even have to be around when I do it. Take Karen and Todd out for the day. When you get back it will all be done. I’ll leave instructions about how to care for the plants and . . . all the other bits and pieces you need to do.’ I said, ‘Melv, are you talking about . . . what I think you’re talking about?’ Melv said, ‘Of course I am.’ I said, ‘I don’t want to end up in jail, Melv!’ Melv said, ‘Jail?! Jail?! Would I suggest you do anything that could put you in jail? You’re my best friend, for fuck’s sake. I’m godfather to your son. You’re god­father to my son. I’m surprised you’d even suggest I would put you at risk in any way.’ I said, ‘I’m sorry, mate, I’m sorry.’ Melv said, ‘We are growing this for medicinal purposes. You understand? This is to help people suffering from arthritis and multiple whatever-it’s-called. They can’t get cannabis on the National Health. But we can make their lives a little more tolerable with our . . . our “herbal medication”. Don’t you want to help these people? Eh?’ I said, ‘Of course I want to help them, Melv.’

  I told Karen about it. She said, ‘What about me?’ I said, ‘What about you?’ She said, ‘If the police find the stuff here I’ll be just as guilty as you.’ I said, ‘If questions are ever asked – which they never will be – we’ll just say the spare room was my private domain. I wouldn’t let anyone else go in there. I kept it locked. So you know nothing!’ She said, ‘Oh, sure! The police are really going to believe that.’ I said, ‘Okay! I’ll phone Melv now and tell him to take his “herbal medication” elsewhere, shall I? Is that what you want? Because – if it is, Karen – the next phone call will be you phoning your dad to tell him he’s going to have to start paying our fucking mortgage. The choice is yours. What’s it to be?’

  A week later I took Karen and Todd to Chessington Zoo. I hadn’t been there in years. It was comforting to see that nothing had changed. And, luckily, the weather was surprisingly good for October. It was so wonderful to watch Todd’s face when he saw all the animals. He loved the giraffes. One bent so low it licked Todd’s face. Karen screamed, but me and Todd laughed and laughed. It was dark when we got home. There was a padlock on the door to the spare room. There was a list of instructions from Melv pinned to the door. I read them, then put them in my pocket. Karen put Todd to bed while I made a cup of tea. We sat watching tele­vision. We talked about the zoo, the giraffe, and how lucky we were to have sunshine all day. We didn’t mention the spare room or what was inside it. Not once. And it continued like that until the night the front door was smashed in and a voice yelled, ‘POLICE!’ But that’s another story— What was I saying?

  What was . . . ?

  What . . . ?

  The housewarming party! Melv had helped me put some lights up in the garden and move some of the furniture so we h
ad space enough to dance. Steph helped Karen do all the food. Karen and Steph had bought new dresses and had their hair done so they were the best-looking birds at the party, no question, even though Steph was in her late twenties and far from a spring chicken. Melv and Steph brought Boyd in a baby carrier and put him next to Todd in the nursery upstairs, and we kept a constant eye on them all evening. Melv did his John Travolta impersonation when Jive Talking came on and everyone laughed, not because it was shit, but because it was surprisingly good.

  At about ten o’clock Karen’s mum and dad – who had been gamely disco dancing most of the evening – said it was time for them leave. They kissed Todd goodbye, then me and Karen walked with them to their car. As we were waving goodbye a taxi turned the corner into the street and passed them. Karen said, ‘Don’t say your bloody parents have decided to come.’ The taxi parked on the other side of the street. The back door opened and Clyde got out. He said, ‘Hello, brov!’

  I gave Karen’s hand a squeeze. She squeezed mine back. Clyde rushed over and gave me a hug – a hug?! – then kissed Karen on the cheek (Karen flinched away, but only slightly, so I’m sure Clyde didn’t notice) – and all the time Clyde was saying something about not thinking they were going to make it because their train had been cancelled, and then the one they finally got was held up just outside Paddington (or somewhere) because of . . . oh, some problem or other. I wasn’t really listening because – while all this was going on – someone else was getting out of the taxi. He was as smiley and suave and as swishy-haired as Clyde. He was about Clyde’s age. Clyde said, ‘This is Neville.’ He didn’t actually say, ‘This is my boyfriend Neville!’ but it was obvious that’s what he was.

  I held out my hand quick in case another hug was on the way. I said, ‘Hello, Neville. Nice to meet you.’ Neville shook my hand and said, ‘It’s nice to meet you too. I’ve heard a lot about you.’ And Karen – before her hand could be shaken (or – worse – cheek kissed) – started walking back towards the house saying, ‘Come and join the party!’ And Clyde and Neville said, ‘Yeah!’ and I walked with them up the path to the house and all the time I was thinking, I hope they don’t hold hands or anything. I hope they don’t dance together. Oh, fuck! What if they start giving each other blow jobs?

  I heard Clyde say, ‘You’ve got a lovely place here, brov,’ and I come back with, ‘Thanks, brov,’ and then I mention – because I can’t think of what else to fucking say – that Karen has ‘done wonders’ with the back garden, and Neville says he’s keen on gardening too, so we all go out to the back garden to take a look, and Neville makes comments about some of the flowers, and Clyde says all the lighting I’ve put up on all the shrubs and the fence makes it look really pretty, and I say, ‘Well, Melv did most of that,’ and Clyde says, ‘Oh, I met him at your wedding, didn’t I,’ and I say, ‘Yeah,’ and we all go back into the house, and everyone’s smooching to I Wanna Know What Love Is by Foreigner, and I can see Clyde and Neville leaning a little too close together, touching almost, when – just at that moment – Melv comes down from upstairs and, before I can say anything, Clyde is stepping towards Melv and saying, ‘Well, hello, Melv!’ like Melv is Clyde’s best buddy in the whole fucking world or something, and I’m thinking, ‘Don’t hug Melv, Clyde, oh, please don’t fucking hug Melv,’ and – thank fuck! – Clyde doesn’t hug Melv, and Melv doesn’t hold out his hand when Clyde does, so they don’t shake hands either, and Melv says, ‘Hello, hello,’ but all the time he’s giving me a ‘What’s the fuck’s going on?’ look, and I shoot back a look that means ‘Don’t fucking ask me!’ and then I say to Clyde and Neville, ‘Let’s get you both drinks,’ and Clyde says, ‘I’ll have a lager’ and Neville says he’ll have the same, and I feel a sense of relief because, firstly, they didn’t asked for a poncey bloody drink like ‘Campari, please!’ or – worse! – ‘Have you got any Château Blanc 1856, please?’ but also because they were going to drink out of cans so there wouldn’t be any worry from Karen about us not being able to use the glasses afterwards (unless we sterilized them in boiling water first or something) and so I got their drinks and they both said ‘Cheers!’ and then Clyde is telling me something about Neville and him both studying the same subject at university and how they got on ‘so brilliantly’ from the moment they first met and – ‘Wait for this, brov!’ – Neville’s from the East End too (he was born and brought up in Bow!) – ‘Would you believe it, brov, eh?’ – so they’d both been living ‘virtually next door to each other’ all their lives, but had to travel two hundred miles to Leeds to finally meet, and Clyde says – as if I’m interested – that Neville writes great poetry and he’s just won a competition or something, blah, blah, blah, and I could see a few of the guests looking over and muttering amongst themselves but they couldn’t prove anything about Clyde or Neville being queer just by looking at them, so unless Clyde and Neville did something totally stupid there was no reason the rest of the party shouldn’t be as pleasant as the previous few hours had been, and then Clyde says – out of the proverbial blue! – ‘I’m dying to see little Todd,’ and I feel a sharp pain in my chest like I’m about to have a heart attack and then – to add to it – bloody Neville says, ‘Oh, I’d love to see him too,’ and I look around for Karen but she’s suddenly disappeared and I’m not sure what to do – actually I am sure what to do, which is not take Clyde and Neville up to see Todd, but I can’t work out how not to do what I know I shouldn’t do – so I say, ‘Oh . . . he’ll be fast asleep,’ and Clyde says, ‘Oh, we’ll be very quiet, brov,’ and Neville chips in with, ‘And if all this music isn’t waking him, then I’m sure we won’t wake him either,’ and then – Jesus! – I find myself taking a step towards the stairs, and Clyde and Neville take a step towards the stairs as well, and suddenly Karen – as if she has a sixth sense about this! – appears out of nowhere and says, ‘What’s going on?’ and I before I could say anything Clyde says, ‘I’m going to see my nephew,’ and I could see Karen’s eyes begin to flicker and twitch like when she’s trying to set the timer on the video recorder and then she says, ‘He’ll be asleep,’ and I say, ‘That’s what I said,’ and Clyde says, ‘Just a quick peek. I won’t touch him. I promise,’ and the ‘won’t touch him’ bit seems to ease Karen’s flicker and twitch, so she says, ‘Okay. Just a quick peek,’ and she starts to walk up the stairs, and me and Clyde and Neville follow, and Karen opens the nursery door and I hear Steph say, ‘Everything’s fine,’ and I think, ‘Fuck! Steph’s in there!’ and we all take a step into the room, and Steph catches sight of Clyde and she says, ‘What’s going on?’ and Karen says that Clyde just wants to see Todd – and she stresses the word ‘Todd’ (as in not including Boyd) – but Steph is getting to her feet and standing in front of Boyd saying, ‘I don’t think so,’ and I want to say something but I don’t know what, and then the next thing I know Melv is coming into the room and saying, ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ and I feel like I’m in a car and the brakes have gone and I’m heading for a concrete wall and there’s nothing I can do to stop it, and I hear Clyde say, ‘I’ve just popped up to see my nephew, Melv,’ and I hear Melv say, ‘Well, my son’s in this room too so forgive me if I don’t want your type breathing all over him,’ and everyone does that freeze frame thing, and all I can hear are the Bee Gees singing How Deep Is Your Love? downstairs, and then Neville says, ‘If the babies are asleep, we don’t want to disturb them, do we, Clyde,’ and Clyde says, ‘Oh, no. No, of course not,’ and they both go back downstairs, and Melv looks at me and says, ‘I’m surprised at you, mate! I really am!’ and I say, ‘But he’s my brother, Melv!’ and Melv points at Todd and says, ‘And he’s your bloody son! And you would put your son’s life at risk – and mine! – just to keep your brother and his bloody bum chum happy!’ and he looks at Steph and says, ‘Come on! We’re going!’ and Steph picks Boyd up and the two of them walk downstairs, and me and Karen follow them and tell them to stop, but they just keep walking out of the house, and Karen looks at me and says, ‘
You either tell your brother and his . . . whatever he is . . . to leave our house now or I will. They’re making everyone feel uncomfortable,’ and I was just trying to work out how I was going to do that when Clyde comes over and says, ‘We’ll be making a move, brov,’ and I say, ‘Oh, really?’ and Clyde says, ‘Yeah. We have to catch the last train back tonight,’ and Clyde opens the front door and he walks outside with Neville, and then he closes the door behind them, and then . . . then they’re gone. And . . . and I never see Neville again. And I only see Clyde twice more. The first time was at Dad’s funeral­. And the second was when Clyde told me he was dying. But that’s another story— What was I saying? . . .