Kicking Up My Heels...in Heels

by Liam Livings

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I WALKED INTO the pub, saw Bruce waving, got myself a drink and joined him at his table.

  He kissed me on one cheek and shook my hand firmly.

  “Here?” I said, looking around the very straight very full pub.

  “Why not. It’s good for us to be visible. That’s as flag-waving as I get by the way. Anyway, you can talk, I heard all about your visit to Waitrose all dressed to impress, with your mum. So, this is nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing; it’s different. When I’m dressed, it’s like my armour, against the world, against the people, against the day itself. I dunno. But us two, here, a little kiss, somehow that feels more of a big deal, more to worry about. Oh, I don’t know. Who knows. I’m meant to be an adult now; now I’m twenty. Only I don’t have a fucking clue how to do it.”

  “Who knows? I don’t. All I do is manage, from one day to the next, from one problem to the next, trying to be the nicest version of myself, be kind, and have a laugh along the way. If that’s being an adult, then I suppose I do it. But honestly, love who the fuck knows?” He sipped his pint of lager.

  “Oh. I thought you, of all people, would know. Who am I meant to ask now? For guidance, for spiritual succour, whatever it’s called?”

  “Guidance. I wouldn’t go that far. I’m managing, getting on with things, best I can. Like everyone else. What’s brought this on? You’re not telling me that’s why you wanted to meet, are you? Cos I’ve a pile of paperwork and a report that’s been winking at me for weeks to be written, so if you don’t mind. I might have to love you and leave you.”

  “If you’re gonna be like that, don’t worry. You’d best be off. There was me, thinking you were doing it out of the goodness of your heart. Besides, now we’re colleagues, aren’t you allowed to have me as a friend, and not a young person you’re giving support and guidance to?”

  “Look who’s read their welcome pack. I am impressed. Bet you can’t wait for the first session. I’ve not received your paperwork yet. Sorry it’s taking so long, the CRB checks take ages to come through, and the council won’t let you start until they’re free.”

  “CRB, what’s that when it’s at home?”

  “Criminal records bureau. Checking if you’ve done anything naughty, illegal really, before.”

  Shit. The table in that small room in Boots the chemist covered in my pathetic ill-gotten gains flashed back to me. Had they involved the police? It was vague and hazy in my memory, but I only remembered the store detective and no actual police involvement. Surely, I’d have got a letter saying I’d been given a police caution, or something official. “What does it include, as a for instance?”

  “Don’t worry, your little blip in Boots won’t come up.”

  Open mouthed, I assembled my thoughts, then said, “How’d you know that? I can’t fart without the whole of Salisbury knowing.”

  “Your mum told me. When you were really bad, going on about the artefacts. The artefacts, and you being a bit light-fingered, she was at the end of her tether, didn’t know what to do with you, bless her. She told me it all.”

  I shook my head. “I think I’d better leave. Honestly, you don’t really want me working with you. What sort of an example am I to young people?” I stood, pushing my hardly touched drink away.

  “Here we go again! Come on, no need for the drama. Sit down you, silly moo.”

  I stood next to the table.

  He stood, grabbed my arm, and gently pulled me back to a seated position. “How do you think I got the counselling so quick? Barbara’s normally got an eight-week waiting list. I said you were suicidal and displaying delusions of grandeur, incoherence, and invincibility.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “You bloody well were. Anyway, let’s not go over that again now. What’s done is done. That won’t come up on a CRB check, it didn’t go anywhere near the police. It’s a bit of a joke really, after I’ve done it, there’s nothing stopping you committing a crime, cos I wouldn’t know until I did another routine Criminal Records Bureau check in three years. Look, we’ve got a bit off topic. June.”

  “June what?”

  “That’s when I’m expecting to have all the paperwork back and for you to start.”

  “That’s months away! What are they doing, sending off this CRB stuff by carrier pigeon?”

  “It’ll fly by, trust me. And it’ll go much quicker if you actually sign and post your bit. You must think I came down with the last shower, I knew it wasn’t in the post weeks ago but didn’t want to push you. Wanted you to think about it with a clear head, without all the other stuff going on. But really, when’s a good time for you? There’s always going to be something for you to worry about, sort out, clean up? That’s life. Not yours, everyone’s. Anyway, how’s Ian, how’s it going?”

  “Busy. Very busy. He’s working me hard. He’s earning his percentage I can tell you. But so am I. I’m loving it. Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s come to me now! All that talk about Mum telling you stuff, I’ve remembered. Fancy another drink?”

  “I’d best not. I do need to get on and do that report I’ve been putting off for weeks.”

  “Oh well if I’m keeping you. You’d best go. Don’t mind me.”

  “Oh, Kev, I do love your dramas. Come on, talk.”

  I told him about staying away from home more and my suggestion to Mum about getting someone to help. “She’s agreed to having a cleaner for three hours a week. On a trial basis only, she’s said. The first one she followed around the house criticising what she was doing, telling her how she should do it ‘not that I’m telling you how to do your job’ she said every time.”

  “Oh dear. How long did she last?”

  “A week.”

  “And now what? Sounds a very sensible idea to me, by the way. A very adult thing to do if I’m honest. So, you can mark that down as an answer in your how to be an adult notebook.”

  “They come when she’s at work. Instead she goes around the house, looking for dust, moving the pillows and furniture to check there’s no cornflakes she’s left there deliberately.”

  “She went round and hid cornflakes to see if they’d be cleaned up?”

  I nodded. I’d hardly believed it myself at first, then when I’d thought about it, it really hadn’t been that surprising, considering her initial resistance to the idea as such.

  “So, it’s all sorted now. Well done, I say. Good on you for sticking to your guns. A very adult move.”

  I shook my head. “Sure you don’t want another drink?”

  “Sure. Go on, what now? I’m getting into this, it’s like your own soap opera at your place. What’s she gone and done now, your mum?”

  “She rang the agency to complain about the second one; apparently she’d left streaky floors and her ironing wasn’t up to scratch.”

  “And. Honestly, love, I am on the edge of my seat, but you’re gonna have to get a shift on, love. I do have to go within the next hour.”

  “She left.”

  “Do you want to be a youth worker with me at Out!?”

  “I know what you said, and I’ve had a think about it, but I still think I am a youth. There’s no worker in me really.”

  “Your experience, what happened with your dad leaving, the bullying at school, the health scare, everything, your creative ideas, how you’ve got on with it and carried on. Plenty of others would have turned to drink, or drugs, or sex by now.”

  “I can’t say I haven’t been tempted, by all three at least, one point.” I smirked. “Want one?” I lit a cigarette, putting it in my long Cruella De Ville black holder, for effect. I was emboldened by Bruce’s kiss on the cheek earlier and was pleased I’d brought it on the off chance I fancied a posh ciggie during the evening.

  “One night a week five till nine, still plenty of time for a show later that night. You’d hardly notice it at all in your little diary Ian’s told me about.”

  “But I’m
a mess! What can I tell people? What can the little young gays learn from me? If it could have gone wrong in my life, it has. If I could have messed it up, I have.”

  “I’m not telling you again. Your head’s big enough as it is. Have a think about it. Offer’s still on the table. And keep on with your mum; she’s gotta accept the help, or you’re gonna be stuck there for the rest of your life. Imagine being forty and still living with her.”

  “She wouldn’t want that.”

  “She might not say she would, but she loves you so much, I could practically see it beaming out of her when I met her when you weren’t well. And sometimes that love can cloud how you see things; make you do stuff to keep things the way they are, when really, they need to change, to move on, to let you go a bit.” He kissed me on one cheek, and he was gone.

  I sat with a fresh gin and tonic, and smoked three more cigarettes in the long holder, thinking about what he’d said.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “I’M TAKING THE job, Mum, whether you like it or not. And I’m gonna be around even less. So, you’re getting a cleaner, no arguments.” I told her how it was, as I was sick and tired of all the faffing around, and her little games with the cleaners, so they wouldn’t come back.

  “But, the last one, she didn’t do the bathroom tiles right. I think we need another one from the agency.” She turned from the sink, a pair of yellow rubber gloves and an apron on, and the aroma of bleach wafting towards me, as usual.

  “I’m taking the job. I’m not gonna live here forever, so you’ve got to get used to me being around less.”

  She turned her back towards me, removed her rubber gloves, washed her hands at the sink and leant on it with both hands, taking a deep breath, her face hidden from me. “You leaving, are you? I knew this would come.”

  “I’m not leaving yet. But I will. Eventually. And I’ve called your work, told them not to give you more than fifteen hours a week. You’re meant to be resting.”

  She turned to face me, staring directly into my eyes, her hands on her hips, with a slight wiggle and swagger I knew meant she was pissed off. “Who do you think you are, my mother? You can’t do that.”

  “I’m the person who listened to the doctors and nurses telling me you’ve got to take it easy. I’m the son who thought he’d lost you. And, more to the point, I’m the person who’s paying for a cleaner so you don’t have to clean at home, and also giving you housekeeping money so you don’t need to work all the hours God sends.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?”

  “I don’t know what else to do. I’m taking the youth worker job. Ian’s working me hard, so I’m not going to be here as much. And don’t tell me you’re the same as when you were my age. I’ve seen you having a little doze in the afternoons. You need to take it easy, go swimming more, and do mopping floors less.”

  She stood in front of me, waving her hand for emphasis as she spoke. “I’m not a child. I’m not having you youth workering me, cos that’s what this is. It’s a takeover. In my own home. What’s that about eh?”

  “I’m not debating it anymore. I’ve made my decision, the new cleaner is coming, you’re going to stop nit-picking what she does. You’re cutting your hours and taking it easy. We will manage, you said. Well, this is me making sure you manage, and not just me.” And with that, I left the house, without a kiss, a hug, or anything. I walked quickly to my car, my hands shaking, and my jaw clenched tight. I started the car and drove, where I didn’t know, I knew I needed to not be in that house with that woman. If I’d have stayed would have said something I would have regretted, and because I loved her very much, for the sake of the fact she was my only mother, and I her only son, I knew I had to leave.

  I drove around in circles for almost an hour, slowly my hands were shaking less, and my jaw became unclenched.

  A FEW DAYS later, the cleaner had arrived, and Mum hadn’t said a word. She left me a short note to say how surprised she was the new one had got the windows so streakless. Her note went on to ask when could I give her that week’s housekeeping money as she wanted to get some bits in town and needed to know whether it was sirloin steak or cheap sausages. She apologised, said she’d been a stubborn old fool, and she knew I was only trying to help her.

  I hugged her, said I’d only said it because I loved her. If I didn’t care, I’d have just up and left.

  And that night, we settled down to sirloin steak, chips and battered onion rings, with a double bill of The Waltons—two she’d taped and been saving for when I was home to watch it with her.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  27 MAY 2000

  Julie’s number flashed on my phone, funny, she normally texted, she knew I couldn’t come back to London any time soon. “Are you sitting down?” She paused as I heard her pulling her sleek black bobbed hair behind both ears.

  I knew this was going to be serious. “I am now.”

  “Jo’s slept with Sean.”

  “Sean, as in Kieran’s Prince Charming, perfect boyfriend, never having to look at another man again, fairy tale ending, Sean?”

  “The very same, sweetie, the very same.” She filled me in on the details, involving a very drunk Sean and Jo, and them going clubbing together once Kieran had made his excuses, and the next morning, somehow Jo had shagged his way through Sean too, as if half of Australia and London weren’t enough for him.

  I shook my head, rubbed my eyes, and struggled to think of something helpful, original to say. Instead, I came up with, “I hate to say it, but I can’t say I’m that surprised. I mean, with Jo, he wouldn’t have stood a chance. He makes Tony look like a naive virgin.”

  “I don’t know Tony, love.”

  “Imagine me, but more so. More goth, more flamboyant, more organised, but mainly more of a man-eater. Honestly, he was shagging men at fifteen, sixteen. He knew what he liked, and he didn’t let the law, his age, anything stop him.”

  “Fuck a duck!”

  “He didn’t go that far, but I wouldn’t. No, that’s wrong. I won’t go down that road. But poor Kieran. Poor Sean. And that fucker Jo’s done it again. I knew it would all end in tears, as soon as he met him. I can spot a user, a self-centred twat a mile off—fuck me, I’ve gone out with enough of them. But poor Kieran, he wouldn’t see it, he couldn’t let himself see it, because for him, Jo was everything he wanted in a new best friend, and what is it you Americans say, all that and a—”

  “Side of fries?”

  “Exactly. And of course, Jo moved to London, so he had that all going on as well. But honestly, what a fucker. What a fucking selfish fucker. I’ve done some bad shit in my life, but nothing anywhere near to this. Not to a best friend. I’d rather hurt myself than hurt Tony, and that’s how Jo should be with Kieran.”

  “That’s exactly what we all thought.”

  “We? Who’s this we?”

  “Kieran’s other friends, there’s Grace, Hannah, you, me, we’ve all had enough. And that’s why I’m calling you, now you know what he’s done, I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do.” She told me the plan, for an intervention like you do with alcoholics or drug addicts, where we all have to tell Kieran about things Jo had done to him, and how that affected him, how we were there to pick up the pieces every time.

  I agreed to clear my schedule and be on the earliest train to London for the intervention. “Do you know what the saddest thing of all this is?”

  “There’s only one thing, you reckon?”

  “OK, there’s a whole host of sad things, but what really makes me cry for Kieran is that he thought Jo was his best friend, they were like brothers, like me and Tony, only it was all a lie. I know me and Tony are like brothers. I can tell you all the times we’ve been there for each other, and argued, and made up and carried on being there for each other. We’ve never let a man get between us, we are too important for that. And poor Kieran, he thought that’s what he had with Jo, and look what he’s been and gone and done. The selfish
fucker.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  IT WAS HOW Julie had told me it would be: a room full of Kieran’s friends, each of us telling him how Jo’s behaviour had affected Kieran, and how we’d been there to help him.

  I’d never really liked Jo much, more putting up with him than liking him if I was honest, but as he came with Kieran, they were a set, I did my best, gritted my teeth, bit my tongue, and didn’t say anything instead, I accommodated Jo’s behaviour.

  I didn’t want to make it sound like sour grapes, but I explained to Kieran how Jo’s constant little digs at my cross-dressing had hurt me, and how he never failed to wheel out the best friend card when I mentioned him. “Oh no, it’s only for Kieran’s best friends, so you’re not invited.” That sort of thing, always said, with a smile that didn’t meet the eyes.

  It was great to see all Kieran’s friends, I wished it had been in nicer circumstances, like when you see friends and family at a funeral, it was all tinged with the sadness, the broken feeling of betrayal Jo had covered Kieran in. I left him in the very capable hands of Hannah, Grace, and Julie, promising to come back to London soon, when it had all passed, and told Kieran I’d call him to see how things were. “You will get over this, trust me,” I said, as we said goodbye to each other. “I’ve been cheated on, and your heart does heal. You will find someone and love again. I have. Look at all the bastard boyfriends I’ve had, and I keep going out there, looking for the perfect one, don’t I?”

  He shrugged at that, pulling back from our hug, and standing in his kitchen in his halls of accommodation, looking so much smaller, weaker and feebler than he had a few months before when I’d first visited him in London, and met Julie.

  And Kieran really was broken. He could hardly stand, talk, communicate with everyone. He didn’t see why we were doing it.