“Mike?” his grandad said. Tom stood up straight and looked his grandad in the eye.
“Er, yeah.” Tom moved aside, to let Michael say his goodbye, fairly sure he was misinterpreting his grandad’s query, and intentionally so. There was a conversation he needed to have, and soon. But he needed to be sure that what he felt was real, and not just the flattery going to his head.
He really hoped it wasn’t just the flattery.
Chapter Fifteen:
Safely Home?
As they reached the outskirts of Omagh, Michael’s stomach churned. It was a sensation he’d become so used to, he’d only noticed it by its absence. Not once all day had he thought about the lads giving him grief. Nor had he felt like he was imposing, which was Tom’s doing. He’d made him feel welcome, wanted, like if Tom could have chosen the perfect Christmas Day, it would have been exactly as it had been today.
“You’re awful quiet, there, Mike.”
“Am I?”
“You’ve hardly said a word in…oh, at least five minutes.”
Michael grimaced guiltily, not that Tom could see him. Their hour’s travelling had been mostly undertaken in the dark. “Sorry. Once I get started I have trouble stopping.”
“I wasn’t complaining. I think you’re really interesting, and funny.”
“Because I’m such a dope, you mean?”
“Not at all.”
“I am, though.”
“No, I think it’s only because you’re more honest than most people, and you’re not afraid to admit when you don’t understand something.”
Michael wasn’t so sure about that, but he decided to take Tom’s word for it. He was great with other people. He was great, full stop, and while Michael still had the hots for him, it was both more and less than a crush now. Before today, he’d admired Tom from afar, focusing mostly on his physical qualities: his well-toned though not bulky physique, his distinguished facial features, the strong ridge of his brows, the square jaw and subtle cleft in his chin. His nose was broad and straight, and his eyes… Now Michael had looked into those unfathomable pools of deepest green up close, they didn’t seem quite so dark or dangerous.
Sometimes Tom rolled his eyes, and it was such a cheeky sexy motion that it reinstated Michael’s crush feeling and made Tom seem more unobtainable than ever. Yet, in getting to know him—discovering what a nice fella he was, seeing his vulnerabilities—Michael was no longer intimidated by his feelings. Tom treated him like an equal, an adult, and perhaps even someone he’d have considered going out with if he weren’t straight.
Michael would still have given everything to go out with Tom—he’d part with it for even less than that. A repeat of the kiss under the mistletoe, but this time with Tom’s palm on the nape of his neck, drawing him closer, their lips opening, meshing together, the kiss deepening. The thought set his heart racing, and he shifted in the seat, trying not to make it obvious why he needed to.
“You getting fidgety there, Mike?”
“Um… Yeah. A bit. I wish we weren’t nearly home. It’s been nice not to worry about bumping into Connor and his mates. Or…” Michael quickly swallowed the words. He was being ungrateful.
“Or…worrying you’re not welcome at Seamus’s?” Tom guessed correctly, and continued, “You could just ask him. Unless he’s changed since getting with the American fella, he’s very approachable.”
“I know.” Michael sighed and stared out into the darkness. The sky was spattered with bright-white pin pricks of light—distant stars, billions of miles from Omagh, from the reality that awaited them.
“I’ve really enjoyed today, Tom. I’d love to visit your grandad again sometime.”
“You would?” Tom sounded surprised.
“Aye. He’s so interesting, and friendly. All your family are.”
“Tell you what, then. I’ll let you know next time I’m going up to see him. Probably be a couple of weeks’ time.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No, I’ve enjoyed today, too, Mike. Are we still on for tomorrow?”
“Yep. If that’s OK with you.”
“I wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t.”
Excitement bubbled up inside him, and he held his breath a moment to quell the feeling, or else his words would all come rushing out at ninety miles an hour. “So what do you fancy doing tomorrow?”
“We could go out for dinner.”
“You mean like at a restaurant?”
“Yeah. Although it might just be that I’m starving.”
“God, so am I. But I think it’s a great idea, anyway. I’ve never been out to dinner before. Actually, that’s not true. I mean I’ve never been out on a d—” Michael shoved his fist in his mouth. Shut up, eejit. He tried again. “I’ve only been to a restaurant with my mum and dad, or stepdad, before now.”
“Same here,” Tom said.
“Oh, right. So…”
“I’m thinking we should head for that place by Newtonstewart. It’s a bit out of the way, so hopefully we won’t bump into any idiots.”
“Do you not want to have a drink?”
“I don’t drink much, and who needs alcohol when the company’s good?”
They’d turned into the lane up to the farm, which was as well, because it was pitch-black, and Michael was sure he was blushing scarlet. Tom slowed the car, stopping just shy of the farm gate. He pulled on the handbrake and turned in his seat. The trees blocked all of the light, with only the slightest reflection of the headlamps off the road illuminating Tom’s handsome profile.
“I really enjoy your company, Michael. I want to spend more time with you.”
“Right.” Michael nodded. He could think of nothing to say, or nothing that made any sense.
The moment hung between them, and suddenly Michael felt awkward, confused by Tom’s words. It sounded like… no. He was just reassuring him, like the nice guy he was.
“I’ll go, then,” Michael said, pushing the door open and putting one leg out. “Oh! If you wait here, I’ll go and get your present.”
“It’s all right. I’ll come to the house, save you coming out in the cold again.”
“OK.” Michael scrambled out of the car and pushed the door shut, but it didn’t fully close. He was getting in a pickle. He opened and closed the door again and paused to steady himself before walking to the house with Tom.
The back door was unlocked, but the house was quiet. “They’re probably at the pub,” Michael speculated, as he beckoned Tom into the warm kitchen, filled with the smells of leftover Christmas dinner, alcohol and fruit. There was a foil-covered plate on the stove.
“Damn, I forgot,” Tom said. “My mum was saving dinner for us both.”
“Oh. Um…” Michael was really hungry, and he was pretty sure that it was his dinner on the stove. His belly rumbled its enthusiasm for two Christmas dinners. But Tom wasn’t inviting him back for dinner. He must have been sick of looking at him already.
“It’s up to you, Mike. Mum won’t mind if you don’t come back, but you’re welcome.”
“You don’t have to invite me. It’s OK.”
“I’m not doing it because I have to.” There was a loud rumble, this time from Tom. Michael smiled, the smile quickly becoming a grin.
“I’ve an idea. It’s really greedy.”
“Oh, aye?”
“How about we share my dinner here and then go back to your place?”
“And eat another dinner? You haven’t seen the size of my mum’s Christmas dinners.”
Michael shrugged. “I’m game if you are.”
“You’re on.”
Michael got busy with the plate, swapping the foil for plastic film, and heating it in the microwave, while Tom collected cutlery and filled two glasses with water. When the microwave pinged, Tess slinked into the kitchen.
“All right, girl?” Michael asked. He rubbed her ears, and she snubbed him, far more interested in the prospect of catching some scraps of turkey.
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They didn’t bother sitting. They ate standing either side of the kitchen island, capturing roast potatoes with their forks, shoving them whole into their mouths and then fanning with their hands.
“So hot!” Michael mumbled around the potato. They both picked up their glasses and glugged gratefully.
“Maybe we should blow it next time, Mike,” Tom suggested.
“I think you might be right, Tom.” Michael picked out a sage and onion stuffing ball, blew on it to cool it and bit into it, at the same time noticing there was only the one. He left half of it attached to his fork and held it out to Tom. “I don’t think I’ve got anything you’ll catch.”
Tom shrugged and let Michael feed him. “If you have—” he paused to chew “—I’ve already got it anyway.”
“True enough,” Michael agreed. It was baffling. On the one hand, nothing about the way they were being felt strange or wrong. On the other, it reminded him of the way Seamus and Chancey were. And the way Seamus and Chancey were was…intimate. They loved each other, slept together, shared their lives. He and Tom had only shared Christmas Day.
But maybe this was what real friendship was like. It wasn’t like he’d never had friends before—he’d had some very good friends at school, though he’d not seen them in ages—certainly not since before his stepdad told everyone. He needed to be brave and send them a message to wish them all the best for the new year, or something like that, see if they replied. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if they didn’t, or worse still, gave him the same verbal abuse as Connor and the others. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that not everybody was like that, his self-confidence had taken one hell of a beating. He was going to get it back, though, and he had Tom on his side, which was more than enough.
“Do you want this last bit of turkey?” Tom asked, spearing it with his fork.
“Only if you don’t.”
“You have it,” Tom said and reached across the island. The slice of turkey meat fell from his fork, and they both made a grab for it, but neither was quick enough. Tess snapped it out of the air and swallowed it without chewing, but Michael was only vaguely aware of Tess now. When Tom had tried to catch the falling meat, he’d caught Michael’s hand instead, and their fingers were still in contact on the countertop. Maybe Tom hadn’t realised, seeing as he was totally absorbed in watching the dog and laughing.
“Didn’t even touch the sides, that,” he said.
Michael shook his head dumbly. What to do? What to do? “I…should probably go and…um…get your…um…”
“Present?”
“Aye. That. Yes. Won’t be long.” Michael moved away, leaving his hand where it was until the last second, and dashed to the living room, to the Christmas tree. Just a small pile of gifts remained underneath—all his. He crouched down and rifled through the pile, trying to find Tom’s gift, wondering what had possessed him to put it with the others. Granted, Seamus knew how he felt about Tom, which meant Chancey probably also knew, and no doubt everyone else did by now. Aww, how sweet. Michael bought his crush a present.
He found it and jumped to his feet, catching his hair on a branch. The pine needles stuck and tangled, and he huffed, trying to break free without pulling out half of his hair. The tree creaked and he heard a crack.
“Definitely getting this cut,” he muttered under his breath, as he darted out of the room and— “Oh!”
“I was coming to make sure you were all right.”
“Got caught on the tree.” Michael put his hand to his tender scalp.
Tom examined Michael’s head. “Looks like you brought it with you.” He reached up, gently plucked a sprig of pine free, and held it out for him to take.
“Thanks.” Michael studied it like it was the first time he’d ever set eyes on anything like it. They were in the hall, just a few feet away from where they’d been the night before, and that terrible mistletoe…
“Listen, Mike. I’ve wanted to talk to you, since we left Derry, but I don’t know how to, er…”
Michael was expecting something bad, or at best, a letting down gently. “I’m thick-skinned, you know. Just say it.”
“No, it’s not that. Or it is that, because I don’t want to hurt you, or be unfair to you.”
“Right. You’re kind of confusing me.”
“Sorry. I don’t mean to. So…you know I’ve only ever gone out with girls?”
Michael nodded.
“Right. Good. See, the thing is this. I… I sound like a bumbling fool, but I’m trying to be honest with you, and it’s hard. It’s the way I’ve been brought up. To say how we’re feeling. Like my dad being depressed about losing his job, and my mum worrying about him drinking. There are loads of arguments in our house, but it’s not a bad thing. It gets it out in the open.”
“That does sound like a good thing…you know, getting it out in…the open.” Michael commanded himself to shut up and let Tom talk.
“Yeah, so, I thought if I tell you, then at least you can make a decision knowing all the facts. It’s not quite that straightforward, I realise, but…” Tom sighed and gave Michael a beseeching look.
“It might just be me this, but I’m not really following.”
Tom laughed quietly and ran his hand over his head. “If it helps, neither am I. And the thing is, I don’t know whether I’m just being bigheaded, and it’s because you told me about…what you told me yesterday.”
“The crush.”
Tom nodded.
“We’re still friends, aren’t we?”
“Yeah. Whatever happens. But, see…”
Now Tom rubbed his chin. Michael heard the rasp of whiskers—what he wouldn’t give to run his hands over Tom’s chin right now—and tried to concentrate instead on listening to the words—if Tom ever managed to get them out.
“Right, so this is the thing. Before we left for Derry, when I went back into mine to get the satnav, I heard my dad talking about us.”
“Oh.” Michael’s heart sank. Maybe he hadn’t been welcome at Tom’s place after all.
“It wasn’t a bad thing, Mike. It was…well, I’ve been trying to convince myself he was just jumping to conclusions, and that may be so. I’d told Mum I wanted to spend Christmas Day with you, and she’d have told Dad, and I don’t think he understands that a straight fella and a gay fella can be friends. Trouble is, the longer I spend with you, the less sure I am it’s what I want.”
“You don’t want to be friends?”
“I do, but I think I maybe want to be more than friends, if you get me?”
“You… You’re… You like me? I mean like like me?”
“If wanting to take you out to dinner, or cuddle up and watch movies together, or hold hands and walk through the park, or get my fingers tangled in your crazy hair, or—” he glanced behind him at the mistletoe “—wishing I’d stopped walking a bit sooner… If all of those mean I like like you, then yes. I like like you.”
“Wow.” Michael laughed, suddenly breathless. “I don’t…so…um… What you said about being bigheaded. Do you mean you think it might just be because I make you feel good about yourself?”
“Yeah. Because you do. I really hope it’s more than that, and I don’t know if I should have told you until I was sure, but…I don’t know how I’ll ever be sure without telling you.”
“You’ve never liked a boy before?”
“Never.”
In those few minutes of standing in the hallway, the nervousness that alternately muted Michael or had him chattering like a magpie, and either way made a fool of him, had evaporated. Tom had helped him, protected him, taken time to understand him. Now Michael needed to do the same. “Tom?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you go out with me?”
“I’d love to.”
“Great. I think we should do dinner tomorrow.”
Tom grinned. “Uncanny. I was just thinking the same myself.”
Chapter Sixteen:
Thou Shalt Not
…
“I’m going to explode.” Michael flopped back in his chair, his hands dangling at his sides and his belly stuck out, such as he had a belly to stick out.
“Where do you put it all?” Tom asked. They were back at his place, enjoying their second Christmas dinner of the evening. He’d given up long ago, leaving a half-full plate, but Michael had eaten the lot.
“Hollow legs, so they tell me.”
“They’re on to something, for sure. Am I gonna have to get a loan to pay for dinner tomorrow?”
“Who says you’re paying?”
“It was my idea, and I don’t mind.”
“Um, I think I was the one who asked you?”
Tom raised an eyebrow. Michael attempted to mirror it, but it was both eyebrows or none at all. The faces he was making cracked Tom up, and soon they were both crying with laughter. Tom’s mum came in for a drink and shook her head at them.
“God, you two are noisy,” she said. She collected two cans of beer from the fridge and left again, closing the door behind her.
“So, did you want some Christmas pudding, too?” Tom asked.
Michael puffed his cheeks out.
“I’ll take that as a no, then.”
“No, thank you. I wouldn’t mind some water, though.”
“Sure.” Tom got up and fetched a glass of water. Michael looked up and smiled as he took it. He must have sensed Tom’s craving for some form of physical contact, because their fingers touched, just like with the honey jar, and for a moment neither moved away. Tom inhaled slowly, drawing the air deep into his lungs, trying to keep his cool. He was starting to get a very real sense of what a ‘crush’ felt like, although the word seemed too trivial for what he was feeling.
Tom filled a second glass and sat down again, with his hands behind his head, keeping his eyes turned to the ceiling, so he could see Michael without staring at him. “When are you seeing your mum?” he asked.
Seeds of Tyrone Box Set Page 73
