Seeds of Tyrone Box Set

by Debbie McGowan

“Tomorrow. I’ll go round in the morning. Peter’s over in Cookstown with his kids.”

  “That’s something.”

  “I suppose.” Michael was staring into the glass of water, rolling it between his palms. “It really hurts.”

  “I can’t even imagine.”

  He sat quietly for a few minutes, his expression changing with his thoughts—a frown, a little anger, something happy, much sadness—Tom got the sudden urge to hold him and folded his arms, afraid they were about to take on a life of their own.

  “After my dad died, Mum and I talked about moving—not away from Omagh—to another house. I don’t believe in ghosts, but it’s like he was still alive, and we were just waiting for him to get home from work. And then she met Peter, and they fell for each other right away. The hardest part is knowing how much he loves her, and she loves him—and it was great until last year. He never once tried to take over from my dad, and he looked after me—took me to football and to the pictures, and all kinds of stuff. I don’t love Peter like I did my dad, but I do still love him and miss him. Is that wrong?”

  “I don’t think so.” Tom sat forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I don’t know.” He was incredibly lucky to have such an accepting family. He knew beyond doubt that when he told his parents about the way his feelings for Michael were changing—aside from the fact they all seemed to have figured it out before he did—he’d be able to talk it through with them. Whether it turned out to be short-term confusion—which he doubted—or the real deal, they would support and accept his choices.

  “He makes me angry, too,” Michael said.

  Tom nodded in understanding. He was angry enough for the both of them.

  “I asked him, you know. When he told Father O’Neill. He said he did it to help me get better. Then one of the ministers pulled me to one side and told me he was homosexual, but he’d made a vow never to act on it, and that’s what I had to do. And I was fine with that. But it wasn’t enough for Peter.”

  Tom picked up his glass, holding it tightly in the hope that Michael didn’t notice his hand shaking. He knew exactly what Peter considered to be enough. Conversion therapy. He wanted to change his stepson, and it made Tom mad as hell, but he didn’t want Michael to see it. “Isn’t Peter a divorcee?”

  Michael nodded. “Aye, but his ex-wife’s a protestant, so it doesn’t count, does it?”

  Tom laughed joylessly. “It’s not fair, Mike.”

  “But Peter can’t see it. And my mum’s trying so hard to talk him round. She kicked him out.”

  “Yeah, Dad said. And then she let him back.”

  “She did. He promised he’d try to accept me, but I refused to go home. I love it at the farm. I love the job, even when we’re working fourteen, fifteen hours a day. I love Tess, and Seamus has been so good to me.”

  Michael’s long dark eyelashes fluttered as he blinked, a firm slow blink, followed by another, and another. He did that when he was remembering something, as if he were looking through mental snapshots, each blink moving him on to the next. Tom was mesmerised and didn’t bother to hide it when Michael finished revisiting his memories and explained what he’d been thinking about.

  “Last winter, before Chancey and Dee told Shay they were coming to Omagh, Shay was drinking all the time and slobbing around the place. I asked him to stop drinking, and he did. All right, it was the day Chancey and Dee called, but I’m sure he would’ve stopped for me, and I just think… If he could do that, why can’t Peter…” He let the sentence trail away and gave Tom the kind of smile that preceded tears.

  Tom put his hands under his thighs. It was one thing to tell Michael he thought he had romantic feelings for him, but to lead him on by…holding him. God, why is this so hard?

  “Are you going to talk to Chancey?” he asked. Michael’s eyes widened, as if Tom had just asked him to engage in hand-to-paw combat with a grizzly bear. “Is he that bad?”

  “No. He’s not. He’s very quiet and thoughtful, actually, except when his ex-wife calls him on Skype. Honestly, Tom, she’s mental.”

  “I’ve seen a photo of her. Or I think it was her.”

  “If Dee posted it on my wall, it probably was.”

  “Is she really a rock star?”

  “She’s a famous country singer, so yeah, I suppose. And she’s dead good. Dee’s played me loads of her songs. I like them. But she’s like…well, she’s not as bad as Madonna in hot pants.”

  Tom shuddered for effect, and it made Michael smile for real.

  “I think you’re gonna have to be brave, Mike, and talk to Chancey, or at least to Seamus, and tell him how you feel.”

  Michael frowned, visibly troubled by the prospect.

  “If you want, I’ll come over and sit with you while you talk to him.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “If it’ll help you get the balls to say something, then yeah.”

  “I’ve got the balls,” Michael said.

  Tom fought back the smirk. “I’m sure you do.”

  Michael’s face turned rosy red, and he bit his lip and giggled. “I cannot believe I just said that.”

  Tom rubbed his nose, hiding his own blush with his hand. “I can. You’re a flirt.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  “Are you complainin’?”

  Tom shook his head. “Not even a little bit.”

  The kitchen door opened, and Tom’s dad appeared. “Fellas,” he said with a nod as he passed them by.

  “Dad.”

  “Nick.”

  Tom heard Michael snort back a laugh.

  “Christ almighty. You’re not still laughing about me name, are yer?”

  “No, not me,” Michael said, grinning mischievously.

  Tom felt a shudder of sensation up his back, into his neck, face and scalp. That grin was adorable, as was the man wearing it. He wanted to plant a kiss on it, watch him up close, laughing in delight at the gentle pecks and then overcome with passion. He probably shouldn’t be thinking things like that, but…

  Tom’s dad turned back from the fridge, in his hands another two cans and a box of mince pies. Tom quickly turned away so he could hold on to his thoughts a little longer.

  “Have you had a nice day, Nick?” Michael asked.

  “I have, thank you. Very restful, you know what I’m sayin’?” He held up the cans of beer and tilted his head in the direction of the living room. “So how did you go on with Tom O’Lantern, then?”

  Michael’s grin broadened. “Smashing.”

  For a moment, Tom’s dad studied Michael through narrowed eyes and then nodded at Tom. “I like this one. He can come again.” He wandered back to the living room. Tom stared after him in amazement. He couldn’t recall his dad ever engaging with his friends before, never mind vocalising his approval.

  “I’d best get going,” Michael said, heaving himself to his feet.

  “I’ll give you a lift.”

  “It’s all right. I need to walk off some of the food anyway.”

  “Are you sure? You picked up your phone, didn’t you?”

  Michael pulled it from his pocket to show he had. “I’ll be fine. They won’t be about tonight.”

  “All right,” Tom agreed reluctantly.

  They walked back through the living room, and Michael stopped to thank Tom’s mum for the dinner. He gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek and shook Tom’s dad’s hand.

  “See you soon, love,” Tom’s mum said as the two of them disappeared through the other door, to the hallway, stopping just inside the front door. Michael put his coat on, looking down to fasten it. Tom’s eyes settled on the mad brown curls reflecting the light. They looked so soft. One day…

  Michael looked up and smiled. “Thank you for today. It’s been amazing. Your mum and dad, Katie, your grandad—couple of weeks, did you say?”

  “Mmm…we could go sooner, if you want. It’s not much fun going on my own, but it was grand having you there.”
>
  “Cool. Then sooner, definitely.” Michael glanced away, to the table at the bottom of the stairs, where Tom had left his notebook when they came in. “Do you like your present?”

  “I love it, Mike. I’m going upstairs now to write in it. Will you call when you get home, so I know you’re safe?”

  Michael reached inside his coat and pulled out the guardian angel. “I’ve got him to watch over me. I’ll have no trouble. But I’ll call, I promise.”

  Tom nodded. He was suddenly nervous, and he could see Michael hesitating. Tom moved forward, just half a step, waited for Michael to do the same, and another half a step. They hugged. It was awkward and overwhelming all at the same time, and as they moved apart, Tom’s lips were so close to Michael’s cheek it would have been easier to kiss it than not, but it was too fast.

  “Tomorrow, then,” he said, his voice modulating in time with his racing heart.

  “Tomorrow, then,” Michael repeated.

  Tom opened the door to let him out and watched until he turned the corner, out of sight.

  <<<>>>

  Tom sat on his bed, his phone in his hand, his leg jiggling, waiting for Michael to call. He checked the time. Eleven minutes. He tried to think back to how long it used to take to reach the farm on his walk to school. Quarter of an hour, maybe? It shouldn’t take Michael anywhere near that long, not with his height. But he was right. Connor and the others were opportunists, and with nothing open and nowhere to go, they’d all be at home, or with their girlfriends, if they had any. Frankly, Tom was struggling to find a single redeeming feature among the lot of them, never mind enough for any one of them to attract a girl.

  He picked up the notebook and unfastened the clip, carefully, as if it were made of crystal not brass, and flicked through the blank, thick pages. He wasn’t sure his words were good enough to grace those pages. After all, he was Tom Donnan, not Tom Langdon—the talented wordsmith with the melodic voice, enchanting his listeners so that they hung on his every word. Even now, with the paralysis, Grandad was charismatic, inspiring. Tom had seen that magic working today, just like it used to before the stroke, because Michael looked beyond the effects of the brain damage to the man underneath, understood his frustration, his fight to be heard.

  Michael was special. He saw the good in everyone, past the surface deception, the acting. He saw the good in his stepdad when all Tom could see was a domineering bigot who had forgotten how to love Michael because he was no longer the perfect stepson. Michael deserved so much better than that. He was precious—too precious to trust to faith in a guardian angel, particularly when that faith had seemed to waver today.

  Thirteen minutes.

  Tom could wait no longer. Shoving his feet in his trainers, he grabbed his keys, stuffed his phone in his pocket on the way out of his room and cleared the stairs in twos.

  “Just popping out for a bit,” he called as the front door shut behind him. He jogged to the car, jammed the key in the ignition and had his foot to the floor before the engine caught.

  The roads were deserted. No cars, no pedestrians, only dark skeletons of trees draped with lonely strings of multicoloured lights that swayed in the chill breeze. It was a struggle to keep to the speed limit, but the roads were damp and it was cold enough to freeze—too cold for walking. Maybe Michael had run home, but then, he would be home already, and he would have called. Unless he couldn’t.

  Tom drove a little faster, glancing from the pavement running along the right side of the road, to the ditch on his left. A movement directly ahead startled him, and something big and heavy hit the front of the car with a blood-curdling thud. He slammed on and skidded sharply to the left. The tyres juddered against the antilock brakes, and the car came to a stop, diagonally, but on the left side of the road and more or less facing the right way. Tom’s heart was hammering so hard it filled his ears, his throat, his skull.

  Squinting into the darkness, he put the lights on full beam. Whatever had hit him—an owl, at a guess—there was no sign of it now. He straightened up the car and sat back, running his hands through his hair and consciously slow-breathing. His phone started ringing. The hands-free picked up. Michael, thank God.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, just letting you know I’m home.”

  “Thanks, Mike. I can rest easy now. Everything all right?”

  “Oh aye. Seamus’s brother-in-law is blind drunk and telling everyone how beautiful Ireland is. Dee’s sulking, and Chancey’s teaching line dancing in the barn.”

  “God, what a craic. I bet you’re glad you went home.”

  “Not exactly. Are you OK? You sound…strange.”

  Tom smoothed the steering wheel with his thumb, closing his eyes to imagine the cool plastic trim was Michael’s warm soft skin. “I’m OK,” he said. “I’ll let you go. See you tomorrow.”

  “All right. Oh! We didn’t agree a time.”

  “Well, I was thinking of coming over to your place early, so whenever we’re ready?”

  “What d’you mean by early?”

  “Er…about…one? Two?”

  “Oh, I thought—” Michael cleared his throat. “Never mind. Any time’s fine. We’ve plenty of people here to get the jobs done while I’m at my mum’s, so I should be free by then. You can always keep Harrison and Paulo company.”

  “None of that. I’ll give you a hand.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll see you in the afternoon, then.”

  “You will. Sleep well, Mike.”

  “You too. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Tom waited for the call to disconnect and sat awhile, letting the feelings flood his body, warming him from head to toe. He didn’t know what this was, this thing happening to him. The strength of his affection for that tall, skinny, slightly nutty, tangly haired man-child with the huge innocent eyes and most beautiful smile Tom had ever seen…it was new. And it was startling. But he wasn’t afraid.

  “A bit more than a crush, Tom,” he said to himself. He put the car in gear, turned it around, and drove, slowly and carefully, back home.

  Chapter Seventeen:

  Alliance

  It was still pitch-black outside when Michael was awoken by the sensation of a chilly, wet-footed border collie tunnelling under his duvet. He’d closed his bedroom door on his way to bed, but Tess could open every door in the house, including the fridge. However, he hadn’t been trying to keep Tess out. Patrick and Aidan had been making love, and while they hadn’t been especially loud, it was enough to make Michael feel uncomfortable for accidentally eavesdropping on their private moment.

  That was a big part of the problem he had with Chancey. It would make not a jot difference if he did find the courage to speak out, because it was about more than the way Chancey treated him and spoke to him, such as he spoke to him at all. It was the simple fact of Michael being there, being privy to the love-making, the little kisses over the breakfast table, the cuddles on the couch. Maybe it was time to move on, but he didn’t want to. He loved working on the farm, and after Tom…

  “Oh my God!” Michael whispered and put his arms around the dog, hugging her tightly in the excitement of his sudden remembrance—even though she had her head under the covers and her tail sticking out the top. “I’ve got a date, Tessy,” he told her.

  “No way!” Dee bounded across the room and climbed into the bed next to him. Tess crawled all the way down to the bottom and wrapped herself around their feet.

  “W-what are you doing?” Michael asked, stuttering in shock. Dee had never got into his bed before.

  “It’s cold,” she said. “Plus, I missed you yesterday.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. Wanna know how boring it was?”

  “How boring?”

  “I called my mom.”

  “Oh, that bad?”

  “And don’t get me started on my dad dancing last night.”

  Michael laughed. “I thought he was really good.”

  “He can dan
ce, sure. But he was dancing in the pub, and Marie made us leave.”

  “People are always dancing in the pub.”

  “On the pool table.”

  “Ah. Right.” An image came to mind, of Chancey jigging with his head bowed under the low ceiling, the light above the pool table swinging all over the place. Michael chuckled, but then remembered it was Chancey, and it wasn’t so funny anymore. “So, what did Santa bring you? Anything nice?”

  “No. The usual crap. How about you?”

  Michael smiled as a warm feeling flooded his whole body. He put his hand around the guardian angel, suddenly shy, although he wanted to tell someone. “I haven’t got my presents off my mum yet,” he said.

  “Uh huh. Enough of the bullshit. What happened with Tom yesterday? Did you…you know?”

  Michael backed away from Dee as far as he could—about three inches—before his shoulder contacted the cold wall. “Did we what?” he asked, grateful for the darkness hiding his red-hot face.

  “Well…you kissed him.”

  “How…?”

  “You told me.”

  “Was I drunk?”

  “Yeah. I had to help you strip off for bed.”

  “You—”

  Dee giggled. “I’m joking—about the stripping off part. You were drunk.”

  “Aye, and I was drunk when I kissed him, too. He knows that.”

  “Of course he knows. He was here for ever on Christmas Eve.”

  “Was he?”

  “He was still here when we all got back from the pub. You don’t remember?”

  “I remember what happened, but I was really, really drunk, Dee.”

  “Never mind that. Tell me about yesterday.”

  “There’s…not much to tell.”

  “Liar, liar…”

  “Shhhh.” Michael put his finger on Dee’s lips, at the same time releasing the guardian angel. She gasped, though how she could see it in the dark, Michael didn’t know.

  “Did Tom buy that?” She reached out and lifted it up to the minimal pink light spilling in through Michael’s open curtains.

  “Yeah, he did.”

  “When?”

  “What do you mean, when?”

  “Did he buy it yesterday?”