by Drew Hunt
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. Hurt like hell, I can tell you. Though looking back on it now I suppose the writing was always on the wall. Ollie and Sam had known each other for a while before I came on the scene, both had gone to the same schools. They were about five years younger than me, and…Well we just weren’t as compatible as I pretended we were.
“I get a Christmas card from them every year. They moved down to London, Ollie got a job with the BBC, and Sam does something highly-paid in advertising. They seem really happy together.”
“Oh Trevor. “
“They keep inviting me to go down and stay with them, but I can’t. I’m happy for them, glad I could be there to sort of bring them out into the world, but it still hurts that I was cast aside.”
“I bet.”
“So, that’s my history. I’ve been burned twice and am not interested in going through it all again. Basically what I’m saying is I’m not looking to hook up with, get my claws into, or however you want to put it, with anyone. So you’re quite safe.”
Paul didn’t say anything for a few moments. “Both Sandy and June told me that you were lonely, and I suppose I misunderstood, and…Shit I’m sorry. Thanks for telling me all that.”
Trevor smiled. “I want you to treat this place as home while you’re here, and to do that you need to be comfortable.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll try not to get too enthusiastic about my need to be a homemaker. Though, having said that, I’ll be running the washer tonight, so if you’ve got any dirty clothes I’ll stick ‘em in with mine.”
Paul laughed, the tension of earlier dispelled.
* * * *
“Be careful with that box, I don’t want you breaking a fingernail or anything.”
“Fuck off,” Trevor said before hefting the large carton of LPs.
It was Saturday morning. Trevor had offered to help Paul salvage what he could from his wrecked house.
“Sorry.” Paul was smiling, as was Trevor.
“When you said you had a record collection, I didn’t think we were talking about a—” Trevor groped for the right word. “A whole bloody vinyl archive.”
“One of my few vices.”
Trevor set the box in the boot of Paul’s car and raised an eyebrow. Paul put down his own box. “And what might these other vices be? Do any of these boxes contain, uh, leather pants, motorcycle jackets or—”
Paul laughed. “Are we talking about my vices or yours?”
Trevor had the good grace to look sheepish. “A girl can dream.”
“Come on, there’s loads more inside.” Paul turned away and went back into the house.
Trevor stared after him. At times he wasn’t sure what Paul was thinking. The bloke could joke around, the fingernail comment being a good example. Then he’d close up and want to change the subject. Trevor shook his head before going back inside.
The place was in pretty bad shape. The air was musty and damp. Trevor’s shoes squelched as he walked across the sodden carpets. A thin layer of mud seemed to coat everything.
Trevor found Paul staring at something on the wall. When he got closer he saw it was a framed album cover of The Beatles’ Sgt Pepper.
“Wow,” Trevor said in awe.
“It’s signed.” Paul pointed to a couple of signatures. Trevor was able to make out Ringo and Paul.
“Do you ever play it?”
Paul shook his head. “Too precious. Got the music on CD though.”
Trevor bit down on the first comment that sprung to mind. “Feel free to hang it in your room back at my place.”
“Thanks.” Paul reached up and reverently took down the picture frame and walked out of the house with it.
* * * *
“This is bloody heavy.” Trevor had hold of one end of the sofa helping Paul wrestle it outside.
“Wimp.” They dumped the sofa in the middle of the lawn.
“The skip I arranged is still coming this afternoon?” Trevor wiped his hands on his jeans; the sofa was filthy from the silt which the water had carried along with it.
“They said they’d be here at about two o’clock.”
Trevor looked at his watch. “Best get a move on, then.”
“It’s very good of you to offer to help like this.”
“What are friends for?” Trevor got a buzz out of helping, being of use.
“Thanks. Uh, Thommo, Pete and Baz said they’d help out this afternoon. In fact they should be here soon.”
“That’s good.” Trevor went back inside to see what else needed to be dumped. He hoped the dining room table and chairs could be saved, though they’d need a good clean.
He heard Paul squelch into the room behind him. “You gonna hire some of those industrial de-humidifiers?” Trevor said pointing at the walls. The lightly patterned wallpaper had a foot high grey border. The paper had bubbled and was peeling in places.
“Uh, yeah.” Paul seemed distracted. “They’re coming on Monday with any luck. I’ll have to see if any of my mates can be here to let the guys in, though. I used up all my holidays at Easter, and—”
“That’s all right. I’ve got loads of leave left, I could see to it. Give me a chance to really get down to some serious cleaning.” Trevor found himself rolling up his sleeves in anticipation. He never could identify why, but he always relished the idea of a good top to bottom clean out.
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Rubbish. Besides as I said, what are friends for?”
Paul looked even more uncomfortable. “Uh, yeah. Speaking of which, my friends will be here soon. You want me to drive you back to your place? Give me a chance to unload the car.”
“Um, yeah.” Trevor wondered what was going on. He tried to pass it off as just his imagination. “Whatever.”
Trevor took a deep breath and turned his back on Paul, hoping it looked like he was just getting ready to leave. He couldn’t help the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d done his best to be of use, but it seemed Paul would only permit this when it was convenient.
“Trev?” Paul put a hand on Trevor’s shoulder.
“Yeah?” Trevor didn’t turn round.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Why should anything be wrong?”
“Because—” Trevor heard Paul take a deep breath. “Please, Trev.”
Schooling his features, Trevor turned back to Paul.
“I’m sorry. Look, um, Thommo, he’s, well he’s likely to say something, and,” Paul seemed very interested in a spot on the soggy carpet. “I didn’t want him, or anyone to upset you.”
“Oh I see.” Trevor wasn’t sure he did.
“I’m fucking this up, I know I am. Look, many of my mates aren’t exactly tolerant, or—”
“You just didn’t want them to know you’re living in the same house as a poofter.”
“No.” Paul shook his head. “It’s—”
“Don’t worry, Paul, I understand.” In a quieter voice he added, “All too well.” Trevor left the dining room. He walked down the hallway and headed out the front door.
The ride home was made in silence. Trevor, despite having faced rejection, ridicule and downright hostility many times, couldn’t understand why Paul’s behaviour hurt so much.
Pulling up outside Trevor’s modest semi-detached with its small garden, Paul shut off the engine, but made no move to get out of the car.
“Trev, I—”
Usually Trevor would say something at this point about how it was all right, how the other person shouldn’t worry. But he wasn’t feeling especially charitable, so he stayed silent.
Turning in his seat to face Trevor, Paul continued. “I’ve messed this up, haven’t I?”
Trevor permitted himself a slight smile.
“Though it doesn’t excuse my actions, I, uh, well I was brought up to reject…ridicule anything that wasn’t normal, I mean…Oh fuck, I’m making this worse!” Paul ran a hand over his face.
“Look, Trevor, I’m sorry. I’ve upset you, and that’s unforgivable given that you’ve opened your home to me, offered your help, and…”
Trevor couldn’t hold out any longer. “It’s okay.”
“No, damn it, it isn’t. You’re a good man, and I’ve proved what a stupid unthinking moron I am. I’m sorry. Look, I would be more than grateful for your help this afternoon and on Monday. That’s if you’re still willing to offer it after how I’ve behaved. I’ll try and keep the other guys from…saying stuff they shouldn’t.”
“Thank you for your apology. I know you mean it. And as for defending me in front of your friends, it’s sweet of you to offer, but you don’t need to. I’m used to people reacting negatively. It’s, well it’s a part of life.”
“But it shouldn’t be like that.” Paul was getting mad, though Trevor didn’t know if it was at himself, Trevor or society in general.
“I’m quite capable of dealing with anything that comes my way. A few well aimed comments or a flip of the wrist usually sends the homophobes running.”
Paul sighed.
“And if that doesn’t work, I can stare at their crotches and lick my lips. Just like they’d ogle a woman’s breasts. That never fails.”
Paul tipped his head back and laughed. “You’re bloody amazing.”
Trevor smiled. “Why thank you, honey.”
“Don’t you start on me.” Paul gave a light punch to Trevor’s shoulder.
“Ouch, that hurt.”
“Wimp.”
“Bully.”
“Lightweight.”
“Brute.”
“Shirt lifter.” Paul got a horrified look on his face.
Trevor acted quickly. “No, it’s fine.” Looking directly into Paul’s green eyes, Trevor repeated himself. “Just shows how comfortable you are around me. That makes me feel good.”
“Thanks. I do, feel comfortable around you I mean.”
Trevor smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your mates what you just said.”
Paul blushed and shifted in his seat.
“Come on, let’s get your records unloaded,” Trevor said to break the uncomfortable silence that had descended. “Then we’ll need to get back for the skip.”
“Thanks,” Paul said quietly.
* * * *
“Bloody hell! Who’d have thought a bit of water could do this much damage?” Pete said as soon as he and the other guys entered Paul’s house.
“Thanks for coming round,” Paul said. “These carpets are ruined. Will you give me and Trev a hand to rip ‘em up and dump them in the skip?”
“Sure,” Baz said, following Paul into the kitchen.
Pete went off to use the toilet, leaving Trevor alone with Thommo.
“Uh,” Thommo said as he eyed Trevor, who began to bristle at the bloke’s obvious dislike for him.
“Hi, sweetie.” Trevor wasn’t going to budge an inch.
Thommo flushed and began to bluster.
“It should be a lot easier to get things going now there’s plenty of big, strong men to help.” Trevor scanned Thommo’s over-weight and out of shape body. He licked his lips suggestively, though Thommo’s red hair and straggly beard were a complete turn off. “Maybe you could help me onto, uh, I mean with the dining room table.”
“Fucking hell! I…”
Pete returned. “The dining room you say?”
“After you.” Trevor gestured with his hand.
He’d already pegged Thommo as bigoted and somewhat stupid. Trevor was thinking of slotting Pete into the cute but clueless category.
As they processed down the hall, Trevor spied their buttocks. Thommo’s were fat and flabby. Pete’s held distinct possibilities however. High, tight, and the guy was wearing a pair of jeans which he must have had to grease himself to get into. Down, boy Trevor said, giving himself a severe talking to.
* * * *
It had been a long time since Trevor had enjoyed himself so much. Homophobe baiting was a much under-rated sport. As he’d suspected, Thommo was all mouth and no action. He was also rather out of shape. Trevor, though not an expert on the game of cricket, wondered how someone in such poor shape managed to maintain a place on the team.
“If you two would lift the sideboard and put it over there,” Trevor pointed, “then we can begin rolling up the carpet.”
“Sure, mate,” Pete said.
Trevor enjoyed watching the man’s muscles bulge as he effortlessly lifted his end of the large piece of oak furniture.
“Fucking hell, what’s he keep in here?” Thommo said, struggling to lift his end.
“Oh come here, I’ll do it,” Trevor said nudging Thommo out of the way. The sideboard was heavy, but he had no problems with it. “Now for the carpet. Do you think you can cope with that?” Trevor challenged Thommo.
“I’m not gonna be pushed around by a bloody fairy.”
“Please yourself.”
Trevor and Pete managed to pull the carpet from its grips and started to roll it. They had to move the sideboard, then the table, over the rolled up carpet onto the bare concrete. Thommo, probably not wanting to be shown up by a limp-wristed queer grudgingly helped to move the furniture.
“Okay, let’s get this thing out to the skip,” Pete said once all the carpet had been rolled up. “Pity it’s ruined, this was a good carpet.”
Trevor nodded. “A quality piece of shag pile, eh, Thommo?”
Thommo dropped his end of the carpet and advanced on Trevor, who began to think he might have pushed the Neanderthal too far.
“How’s it going, fellas?” Paul came into the dining room. Thommo changed direction and steamed past Paul.
“What’s got into him?” Paul asked.
“Don’t think he appreciates Trevor’s form of wit,” Pete said, also lowering his end of the carpet. “Maybe you should stay out of his way for the rest of the afternoon, Trev. Usually Thommo’s pretty harmless, but he can go off on one if he’s pushed too far.
Trevor nodded as he did a rapid re-evaluation of Pete. The guy wasn’t as clueless as he’d first suspected.
* * * *
“Okay, it’s not what I would listen to by choice, but…Well it’s not bad.”
The evening had turned cool, so Trevor had lit the log effect gas fire. Paul was stretched out on the sofa, Trevor was in the arm chair.
Paul had asked if he could hook up his turntable and listen to one of his LPs. He opted to play The Who’s rock opera Quadraphenia.
“You just wait, I’ll convert you before you know it.”
A lazy smile grew on Trevor’s face. “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.”
It seemed to take a couple of moments for the penny to drop. Paul looked panicked, then laughed. “Fuck off.”
Trevor cackled. “Got you worried there for a bit.”
Paul nodded. Evidently deciding a change of subject was in order, Paul said, “We got a lot done this afternoon. I noticed Thommo kept avoiding you. Thanks for not going out of your way to bait him. “
“He was too easy, I soon got bored. Pete seemed quite a fun guy, though.”
“Yeah, he’s a good mate.”
“Hopelessly straight. I didn’t pick up on any vibes on my gaydar about him.” Trevor couldn’t help liking Pete’s easy going nature.
“Gaydar?” Paul asked.
Trevor did his best to explain.
“You’re not, uh…” Were Paul’s cheeks growing red? “Sweet on him or…?”
“Relax. I told you I’m not interested in straight guys. Too much chance of getting hurt.”
“Uh, yeah, I suppose.”
“Did I ever tell you my dad was a cabinet maker?”
“Huh?” Paul turned to face Trevor, who realised he’d leaped to another train of thought.
“Sorry. I was thinking about your wooden furniture. I think the damp only did minor damage. They should dry out okay, though you might need to have them re-polished.
“Uh huh.”
Chapter 3
“Don’t you two look domestic?”
“Huh?” Paul said, halting his progress down the supermarket aisle.
Over the past month, he’d effortlessly fallen into the routine of doing the weekly supermarket shop with Trevor on a Thursday evening. Trevor didn’t have a car, so it seemed the right thing to offer his services. Trevor had steadfastly refused to accept any money for putting him up. Paul had argued, but Trevor had remained resolute. The only concession Paul could wring out of his five foot seven house-mate was that he be allowed to pay for the groceries.
“Didn’t think you knew what the inside of a supermarket looked like,” June said, taking an interest in the items in Paul and Trevor’s trolley.
“What? How did you think I ate when I was still living at my place?”
“Takeaways.” June’s gaze locked on a box of fish fingers.
“Paul’s a great cook. He made us a delicious beef casserole the other night,” Trevor said, his voice going up an octave. The lisp was back. Paul sighed, he had come to realise Trevor adopted his camp persona whenever he was stressed. It was his self-defence mechanism.
June raised an eyebrow, and was that a smirk on her face? Paul realised he’d put a protective, or was it a calming, hand on Trevor’s shoulder.
“You’ll have to excuse us, I don’t want this lot to thaw out before we can get it home.” Paul moved forward, hoping Trevor would follow. He did.
“Thanks,” Trevor said once they’d turned a corner and were slowly making their way down the cereal aisle.
