by Drew Hunt
Pete shot him a surprised look.
Paul ignored Pete and turned to Trevor. “You’ll be having your usual?”
“Please.”
“Three pints of John Smith’s, love,” Paul said to the barmaid. At least Trevor no longer asked for campari and soda. He was sure Trevor had only ordered that drink a month ago to see if he could get a reaction.
Once Paul had paid for their drinks they made their way into the function room where the pub’s management had set out an assortment of buffet food. Thommo had parked himself by the top table, stuffing as many sandwiches into his mouth as he could.
“Think we’ll beat them?” Pete asked Thommo, gesturing with a sausage roll at the cluster of Eastly players huddled in the far corner.
“Dunno,” Thommo said round a mouthful of food. “Course it would have helped if you hadn’t got that leading edge.”
Paul rolled his eyes. Thommo could hardly complain at anyone else, given his own poor performance at the crease. However, he chose to keep his comments to himself.
* * * *
Eastly’s innings progressed, and Paul grew increasingly anxious. As predicted, their number three was chalking up a handy score. Paul wondered when Thommo would toss the ball to Trevor to give him a chance at bowling. Thommo occupied his usual fielding position in the gulley. He demoted Trevor to the third man boundary and deep mid-off when the bowling was from the other end.
After the batsman had scored a second four off the over, Paul had finally had enough. As the fielders repositioned themselves for the next over, Paul walked up to Thommo.
“They’re running away with it.”
Thommo grunted.
Paul realised this was the first thing his friend had said to him since the incident in the changing room. Assuming a grunt counted as speech.
“We need a change in the bowling. Why not give Trevor a go?”
Thommo shook his head as if to dismiss Paul. “I’m the captain.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Paul said more loudly than he had intended. Several people turned to look at them. “What the hell is your problem?”
“You might have gone all queer, mate, but some of us still prefer cunt to cock.”
Paul was close to thumping Thommo. He had no idea the bloke was such a moron. “If you don’t let him bowl then I’m walking off this field right now. And when I tell the others—” He let the threat hang in the air, unsure whether the others would follow through on their promise to ditch the team.
“You wouldn’t.” But Thommo looked uneasy.
“Mate,” Paul tried a more conciliatory approach. “Trev’s not a bad bloke. And no, I’m not turning gay. I’m just realising that some things I used to think were—” Why was he telling Thommo all of this?
The umpire looked in their direction. “Are you ready to continue?”
Paul glared at Thommo, who sighed before turning in Trevor’s direction and gesturing with the ball at him.
* * * *
“Now we’re getting somewhere!” Pete said to Trevor as he high-fived him after Trevor had sent his second batsman back to the pavilion in as many overs.
“Bloody hell, where did you learn that ball?” Paul slapped Trevor on the back before returning to his fielding position.
Trevor had a smile a mile wide on his face. Paul noticed with satisfaction that almost everyone on the team had gone up to him and said something encouraging or just patted him on the back or shoulder. All the team except for Thommo, who resolutely kept his distance, a blank expression painted on his face.
The quick fall of wickets scared the Eastly batsman into playing defensively, which drastically cut the scoring rate. The match, which at one point looked like it was heading toward defeat, now seemed much more balanced.
Trevor took up his mark to begin the final over. Eastly were seventy for four. They needed eight more runs to claim victory, but had only six balls in which to do it. Paul was nervous, but maintained an outward confidence.
“Come on, Trev, you can do it!”
A few of the others also called out encouragement.
Trevor began his run up, faster than usual. He bowled, the ball pitched just outside the off-stump, and the batsman drove it toward extra cover. Eastly had run two before the ball was fielded and returned to the wicket keeper.
Paul wandered closer in to catch a quick word with Trevor.
“Fast bowling isn’t your strong suit, mate.”
Trevor’s face fell. “Sorry.”
“But your spin is bloody lethal. Show ‘em, Tiger!”
Trevor’s face lit up. He nodded as both men went back to their places.
The next two deliveries were slower, although the batsman connected, he could only push the ball directly at a fielder.
Three balls remained, Eastly needing six runs to win.
Trevor pulled out his googly for the next delivery. It surprised the batsman who slashed at it. He got a thin edge and the ball went toward the gulley.
“Catch it!” came the cry. Thommo got a hand to it, but couldn’t hold onto it, the ball falling to the ground.
The batsmen ran a single.
“Fuck!” Paul said under his breath.
Trevor’s penultimate ball was hit hard toward Paul at deep mid-on. He picked it up and threw it under-arm at the wicket keeper, who caught it and smashed it into the wicket. The batsman who was running hell for leather toward his crease didn’t get there in time, and was run out.
The small crowd clapped enthusiastically.
“They still need a six to win,” Paul said under his breath, preparing himself should the ball come his way again.
Whilst the new batsman came to the crease and took his stance, Thommo altered the field, sending as many men out to the boundaries as possible.
Trevor bowled the ball, an in-swinger. As the batsman needed to score a boundary, he gave an almighty swing, but didn’t connect. The wicket keeper caught the ball.
The match was over. Littleborough had won by six runs. All the players crowded in to congratulate Trevor, who lapped up the praise. Even Thommo managed to find it within himself to pat Trevor on the back and nod at him.
“Bloody hell, mate. You did it,” Pete said, hugging Trevor to him. Trevor looked uncomfortable and didn’t return the hug.
“You were brilliant!” Paul wrapped an arm around Trevor’s shoulders. Trevor treated him to a shy smile; however, he seemed more relieved when Paul let go of him. “God, Trev. I can’t believe it. Brilliant, just brilliant!” Paul was beside himself at what a difference his friend had made to the team.
The two batsmen shook Trevor’s hand before doing the same to the other members of the Littleborough team. As the sun sank over the horizon, the players left the field.
* * * *
Spirits were high in the dressing room. As far as Paul could tell, no one seemed to mind that Trevor was gay, they just changed out of their whites into their street clothes as usual. Paul looked over at Trevor who, rather surprisingly, seemed quiet.
Trevor stood up, exchanged a few quiet words with a couple of players before approaching Paul. “I’ll head home now.”
Paul was shocked. Not only at what Trevor said, but the quietness in his voice. “Aren’t you gonna stick around? We usually go to the pub for a round or two when we win. You—”
Trevor shook his head. “No, it’s okay. You stay and enjoy yourself.”
Trevor left the changing room, Paul watching him leave, concern growing at whatever was wrong.
Paul finished changing and extricated himself as quickly as he could from the conversations that had sprung up around him.
* * * *
“What’s wrong?” Paul asked, spying Trevor sitting quietly in his front room.
Trevor sighed. “Nothing.”
Paul looked at his friend. Yes, unlikely as it was, Trevor had become a friend. “You’re not ill or anything?”
Trevor shook his head.
“The guys couldn’t stop
talking about you, how well you bowled.”
Trevor allowed himself a small smile.
“You’ve guaranteed yourself a permanent place on the team, despite any objection Thommo might have. He’d have a bloody riot on his hands if he blocked your place.”
Trevor shook his head. “I’m not joining.”
“What?” Paul stared at him. “Why not?”
Trevor let out a long breath. “All this sporty camaraderie, slapping one another on the back in true macho fashion.” Trevor shook his head again. “It’s not me.”
“Huh?”
“And besides, I don’t want to rock the boat. Yeah, I managed to get a couple of wickets, but was it all worth it? I, or rather my sexuality, caused a rift in the team.”
“No it didn’t. Everyone,” Paul corrected, “Almost everyone would support you joining the team.”
“I don’t want to take what’s-his-name’s slot.”
“Jim? He’s not much of a bowler. You’re miles better than him.”
Trevor still wouldn’t budge. “I don’t want to cause division or upset for you, for the team. No matter how good a bowler I am, there’ll be people who think of me as a shirt-lifter first, and a cricketer second.”
“But—” Paul didn’t know what to say. “You can’t, I mean—” Paul ran a hand through his hair. “Shouldn’t you stand up to them, do what you want despite the prejudice of others?”
“I hear what you’re saying, and I can agree with it, up to a point. But as I said, I don’t want to be a member of the cricket team. It’s not me. I only bowled for Gary because he asked me; it was something we did together as a couple. Then today I helped out because you’d have had to abandon the game if I hadn’t have stepped in. But mostly I did it because you asked me to.”
“But, Trev.”
“No, Paul, please just drop it. I’m not playing again, and that’s the end of it.”
Trevor shot Paul a determined look, which silenced Paul’s protests. He only managed a weak, “It’d be a shame to waste such a talent.”
“I think I’ll have a bath, then an early night. I’ve got a lot on at work tomorrow, we both have.”
Paul watched Trevor leave the room, various emotions swirling round in his head.
Chapter 4
“What’s wrong?” Paul gave Trevor an appraising look. “You haven’t been, uh, well, not yourself lately. You’ve not changed your mind about joining the cricket team?”
“No, I told you I’m not interested in the bloody cricket team!” Trevor snapped. It had been a week since the match, and Paul had managed to bring up the subject of him becoming the team’s spin bowler almost every day.
“Whoa!” Paul held up his hands. “So if it’s not the unmentionable game of willow hitting leather, what’s the matter? It’s not like you to be like this.”
“It’s nothing.” Trevor knew he’d spoken too quickly.
Paul raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.
The two were sitting at the breakfast table, Paul with his usual bacon sandwich. Trevor, not being hungry, had a cup of tea.
Paul’s continued silence and penetrating gaze unnerved Trevor, who squirmed in his seat.
“There’s nothing wrong.”
“Uh huh.” It was obvious Paul didn’t believe him.
“It’s nothing. It’ll pass.”
Paul’s expression softened. “You know you can tell me anything, and it won’t go any further.”
Trevor bit his lip. He had been amazed, gratified and somewhat uneasy at the comfort and closeness that had grown between the two of them.
“We better get a move on, you’ve got that meeting of the planning sub-committee this morning.” Trevor knew he was changing the subject, and judging by the look Paul gave him, Paul knew it, too.
* * * *
When Trevor entered the canteen at lunchtime, he got his food and sat down opposite Paul and Sandy.
“Is that all you’re having?” Sandy asked, looking at the lone sandwich on Trevor’s plate.
“I’m not hungry,” Trevor mumbled.
He heard Paul clearing his throat, but didn’t look up. Paul must have changed his mind because his next words were aimed at Sandy.
“Has Mr Brandon’s collection got as far as the filing department?”
“What?” Sandy laid down her stick of celery and turned to Paul. “It’s not like you to be interested in retirement presents.”
“Mr Brandon was behind me getting my first job with the Council. I thought about buying him a separate gift.”
“That’s nice. Have you any idea what you should get him?” Trevor asked.
“Not really. Could you maybe help me pick something? You gay blokes are supposed to be good at shopping, aren’t you?”
Paul chuckled but Trevor didn’t join in. He wanted to, he knew Paul was only pulling his leg, but…
“Trev?” Paul put down his fork and looked over at him.
“Sorry, I—” It all got too much. Trevor pushed himself away from the table and bolted out of the room, not caring that his chair had toppled over.
Trevor headed straight for the gents’ toilets. Finding the room empty he locked himself in a cubicle, sank down on the toilet seat and buried his head in his hands.
The outer door creaked. “Trevor? You in there?” Paul’s concerned voice drifted over the top of the partition.
Hollowly, Trevor said, “I’m all right.”
Paul sighed. “I don’t think you are, mate.”
Trevor didn’t answer.
“We haven’t known one another for very long, but…Well, I—You’re a mate and I don’t like it when my mates are unhappy.
Trevor sniffed. “Thanks. I’ll be okay in a minute. You don’t need to stay.”
“I want to. Even if it means people will start talking about me for hanging round the gents’ loos.”
Trevor couldn’t help the short bark of laughter that bubbled up from his throat.
“See, made you laugh.”
“Thanks.”
Trevor tore off some toilet paper, blew his nose and flushed the paper down the pan. Opening the cubicle door he saw Paul’s concerned face. Fortunately Paul didn’t crowd him, allowing him to get to the sink to wash his hands.
Once Trevor had dried himself Paul turned him round and looked at him seriously. “Can you tell me about it?”
Trevor hesitated before shaking his head.
“Is there anyone you could confide in?”
Trevor thought about it, but couldn’t come up with anyone. He shook his head again.
Paul sighed. “You admit there is something bothering you.” It wasn’t a question.
Trevor nodded.
“I can only repeat what I said earlier, if there’s anything I can do to help, you only need to ask. I, uh,” Paul stared briefly at the floor. “I’m not at the root of whatever it is, am I?”
“No, no, not at all.” Trevor was anxious to reassure his friend.
“I suppose that’s something.”
“Yeah.” Trevor didn’t know what to do. Paul didn’t seem in any hurry to get it out of him. He just stood there, offering his silent support.
Biting his lip and before he could chicken out, Trevor said, “I’ve found a lump.”
Paul’s concerned expression didn’t waver.
“Down there,” Trevor pointed between his legs.
“You mean, in one of your uh, balls?”
Trevor nodded, he felt his face going red.
Someone else entered the toilets and saw the two of them standing there.
Before the newcomer said anything, Paul took hold of Trevor’s elbow and guided him out through the door, along the corridor and into his office, closing the door behind them. Showing Trevor to a seat, Paul took the one next to him. He didn’t say anything, just gave him the space to talk.
“I—My dad died of cancer.”
Paul nodded as if he understood. “And you’ve been afraid of it ever since, just in case it
…”
“I’m scared. I’m only thirty-two.”
The hand that Trevor only then realised had been holding his throughout, tightened slightly. “How long? I mean, when did you first notice the lump?”
“Just over a week ago. Saturday.”
“The day before the cricket match?”
Trevor nodded.
“Oh Trevor! Why didn’t you say anything? I mean—”
“I hoped it would go away if I ignored it. It wasn’t too painful at first, just a swelling. But it’s gotten bigger.”
“You have to go see your doctor about this.”
“No, I—”
Still in the same calm voice, Paul said, “You have to, love. This can’t go on like it has.”
Trevor fought a battle within himself. He hated going to the doctor. There’d be tests, a hospital stay. He began to tremble; he didn’t think he could do it.
“Trevor,” Paul’s thumb was rubbing his knuckles. It felt very comforting. “Who’s your doctor? I’m going to give them a ring, see if they can see you today.”
“No, it’s too late for today, they won’t have any free appointments.”
“We’ll see about that. Now which surgery are you registered with?”
Deep down he knew he had to get this sorted out. He couldn’t continue with such levels of pain, even though it hadn’t been as bad that morning. At thirty-two the thought of death terrified him. What had he achieved so far in his life? Trevor was ashamed to realise precious little.
“Trev?”
Paul’s calm persistence won through. Trevor gave Paul the name of his doctor.
Trevor had distant memories of his dad, a big powerful man who always seemed to be laughing. Then came the sickness, the need to always be quiet around him. Although he suspected he was sheltered from the worst of it, Trevor could still remember seeing his dad lying in a hospital bed, his yellow skin contrasting horribly against the white sheets.
The sound of arguing only partially broke through Trevor’s reverie. Disinterestedly he looked over to see Paul talking on the telephone, gesticulating with his free hand. Eventually Paul put down the receiver and approached him.
“I’ve got you an appointment this afternoon at 5:30.”
“Oh, I—” Trevor didn’t know. It was too soon. He wouldn’t have time to mentally prepare himself.
