by Drew Hunt
Firstly Mr Barraclough stopped at the next bed with its coughing and wheezing occupant. The dark blue uniformed ward sister drew the curtains around the bed. The thin piece of material did nothing to prevent the whole ward from being able to hear what was said.
“Well, Mr Smith, I removed your prostate yesterday.”
A cough mixed with a grunt was the only reply.
“Although we’ll have to wait until the samples I took are examined under a microscope, it’s likely you’ll require further treatment. I’ll discuss this with Dr Henson, your oncologist.”
“How long?” the man coughed.
The blood pounding in his ears, along with his elevated breath sounds, prevented Trevor from hearing the consultant’s reply. Trevor thought he was going to throw up.
“Mr Pierson, good morning.” Mr Barraclough appeared at his bedside and took hold of his chart.
Trevor thought it was decidedly not a good morning. He merely nodded, but couldn’t persuade himself to uncoil from the protective ball he had assumed.
“May we have a look at your bandage?” the doctor asked.
Reluctantly Trevor unwound himself, all the while wishing the doctor would just speak the dreaded words of his impending demise.
“Excellent.” The doctor gently prodded around the still pristine white bandage. “As you know we had to remove the entire left testicle. Though we’ll have to wait for the histology department’s verdict, I’m pretty sure the tissues had necrotised, but this hadn’t spread.”
“Huh?” It took Trevor a moment to translate the words. He’d read everything he could get his hands on concerning testicular diseases, but his current state of mind didn’t allow him to think as clearly as he normally would. “You mean it died? It wasn’t, isn’t cancer?”
“I’m confident there was no tumour.”
“Fuck. Oh, uh, sorry.” Trevor didn’t know whether he wanted to cry, laugh, dance for joy or kiss the surgeon. “Why, uh, why did it die?”
“Any number of reasons really. Infection, possibly the testicle didn’t grow properly in the first place. We don’t know.”
“I see.” It didn’t really matter, he was cancer free. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
The surgeon went on to explain that Trevor could come back at a later date so they could insert a false testicle into his scrotum, but Trevor told him that wouldn’t be necessary. There was no way he was letting himself go under the knife again.
Once the medics had moved on, Trevor reached for the bedside phone. He didn’t care that calls made from the instrument were expensive, he just wanted out of there as quickly as possible.
“Paul? It’s all over. Can you come and get me?”
Chapter 5
“Sor-right, I’ll get it.” Paul walked down the hallway and opened the door. He had become so comfortable staying at Trevor’s, he thought nothing of opening the bloke’s front door.
“Doris?” He wondered why Pete’s grandmother would be visiting Trevor.
“Oh hello, Paul, love. I’d forgotten you were living here.”
Doris’ lined face looked even more worn than usual. She stood wringing her hands, looking upset.
“What’s wrong? Uh, come in.” He stood aside for Doris to enter. Taking her coat he asked, “Would you like a cup of tea? Trev’s just made a pot.”
“I’d love a cup, thank you.”
Paul showed Doris into the front room. That, and offering tea, were such ingrained customs, he didn’t even question his actions.
“I’ll just go get the tea and tell Trevor you’re here. I take it you’ve come to see him.”
Doris nodded.
In the kitchen, Trevor was already setting out a third cup. He must have heard Doris’ arrival.
“I’ll see to this, you go be with Doris, she looks upset.” Even though he’d drunk tea at the Mitchell’s many times, Doris had always been mother, so he had no idea if she took milk and sugar. Getting out Trevor’s sugar bowl, Paul added it to the tray.
Carrying the tea things into the front room, Paul found Doris quietly weeping and Trevor doing his best to comfort her.
“Doris? What’s wrong?” Paul set down the tea things and approached.
“Eric passed away yesterday afternoon,” Trevor told him.
“No.” Paul couldn’t believe it. “I only saw him a couple of days ago. I was walking past your house…He was digging the garden. He seemed—” Paul shut his mouth, realising he was rambling.
Doris nodded. “He always loved his garden. I called him in for his tea yesterday and I found him collapsed over his gooseberry bush.”
“I’m sorry,” Trevor said, squeezing Doris’ hand.
“He always got first prize for his gooseberries at the flower and produce show.”
Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Paul had to stifle a laugh.
“Doctor said he’d had a massive heart attack and wouldn’t have suffered.”
“That’s something,” Trevor said lifting the teapot and beginning to pour. “Sugar?”
“No thanks. But I’ll have a drop of milk.”
Trevor added milk and handed the cup and saucer over.
“Thank you. He loved his garden. I know he’ll want his ashes buried there.”
Paul winced. He wasn’t sure he would want to eat anything grown in the garden after…He shook his head, he was being stupid.
“I’m so sorry, Doris. Eric will be greatly missed in the choir,” Trevor said quietly.
Doris nodded. “That’s why I came round.” Taking a sip of her tea, she continued, “Eric always said he wanted you to sing a solo at his funeral.”
Paul saw a number of expressions pass over Trevor’s face. He wondered if Trevor would be up to it, he’d only been out of hospital for a couple of weeks.
“You’ll do it?” Doris asked, looking steadily at Trevor.
“Uh, yes, ‘course I will.”
Doris looked relieved. “Thank you. That’s something else I can cross off my list. I’ve got to see the butcher and order a boiled ham for the funeral tea. And I better put in an order for five dozen bread rolls at the bakers. Eric always liked their white rolls, they were soft enough he could manage them with his false teeth.”
Feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the discussion of death, and Doris’ matter-of-fact treatment of it, Paul got to his feet. “Uh, I’ll leave you two to it. Doris, I’m sorry about Eric, he was a good bloke.”
“Thank you, love.” Doris gave him a weak smile.
Up in his room Paul stretched out on the bed. He was deciding whether or not to turn on the radio when his pocket started to chirp.
“Hullo?”
“Paul, it’s me.”
“Uh.” Paul couldn’t place who me was.
“Geraldine. You remember? The King’s Head last Saturday?”
“Oh, yes, sorry. It’s been one of those days.”
He’d gone out for a drink with Thommo and Pete, but Thommo had spent most of the evening sniffing round the new barmaid, leaving Pete and him alone at the dart board. Partway through their game, Pete had nudged him and told him that a woman had been giving him the eye for the past half hour. Paul hadn’t believed him, but looked round to see a thin looking woman, probably in her mid-thirties. She did seem to be interested in him. Or at least her shy blush as she was caught staring seemed to indicate she was interested.
“Go on, talk to her,” Pete encouraged.
“But we haven’t finished the game.”
Pete shook his head, took the darts from Paul’s hand and propelled him in the direction of the woman.
Geraldine had long black hair. As they talked, her deep, husky voice got Paul’s cock interested.
“I was wondering if you had any plans for the weekend,” Geraldine murmured down the phone. Paul had to adjust himself in his trousers. That smoky voice was surprisingly alluring.
“I, uh.” Paul was a little taken aback at Geraldine’s forwardness. Usually he was the
one who suggested to his date they go out. However, with Trevor’s illness he’d found himself staying in for the past few weeks. His reluctance to leave Trevor alone of an evening had finally caused Cindy to basically dump him. Paul realised he wasn’t overly broken-hearted.
“You still there?” Geraldine asked.
“Oh, uh, sorry. Look, I don’t know if I’ll be free. Can I call you back? I just need to check with my housemate.”
“You’re housemate is a lucky person to have such a considerate friend.”
“Oh, I—” Was he blushing?
They talked for a few more minutes, Paul’s erection showing no signs of going down. Mentally slapping himself, he concluded the conversation, hung up, visited the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and went downstairs to talk with Trevor.
Doris had gone home. Trevor was in the kitchen washing up the tea things. This, more than anything, was an indicator that Trevor was back to normal. While the possibility of testicular cancer had hung over him, he’d lost much of his overly-fussy ways. Paul was glad the bloke would be okay, but he sort of missed the quieter, even slightly clingy Trevor.
“Was thinking about going out Saturday night with, uh, a friend.”
Trevor looked up from the sink, “You need to get out more.”
“You sure you’ll be all right? I haven’t made it definite. I can just as easily cancel.”
Trevor lifted a soapy hand out of the dish water. “Don’t be silly. Anyway, I had a phone call while you were upstairs. I’ll be going out myself on Saturday.”
“Oh?” Paul couldn’t ever remember Trevor going out anywhere unless it was to choir practice.
“The gentlemen of the choir are going out and having a few drinks to remember Eric. I said I’d join them.”
Paul smiled. “Good, cause you don’t get out much, either. I’ll go and ring her, um, them and tell them I’m free.”
Climbing the stairs to his room, more for privacy than anything else, Paul wondered why he didn’t want to let on to Trevor that he had a date.
* * * *
Wednesday evening saw Paul paying Pete a visit. They were good enough mates that he didn’t need to knock on Pete’s door before entering. He found Pete sitting in his living room polishing something.
“Hey, mate.” Paul felt awkward, he didn’t know what to say.
Pete looked up from his labours. “Thanks for coming round, mate.”
“Sor-right. What on earth you got there?” Paul patted Pete’s shoulder before settling himself in an armchair.
“My trumpet.”
“Oh, right.” Maybe Pete needed to occupy his mind with something. Paul guessed cleaning his trumpet was as good as anything.
“When our Mary and me were kids, Granddad wanted us both to learn to play an instrument. She picked the violin, but she didn’t stick at it. Thank God. Sounded like someone was trying to strangle a cat. I kept thinking the neighbours would call the animal rescue squad on us.”
“So why’d you choose the trumpet?” Other than cricket and the odd game of darts, Paul realised he and Pete had rarely just sat and talked.
“Uncle Sam was a member of the colliery brass band. I used to go listen to them practice. When his lungs got too bad I sort of took his place in the band. This was his trumpet.” He stroked the instrument fondly.
“Uh huh.”
“So anyway, Gran asked me if I’d play something at Granddad’s funeral, and—”
“Yeah. Doris came round to Trevor’s yesterday to ask him to sing something at the funeral.”
“I know. She’s got it all organised. Me and Trevor are going to play something together. Or at least he’ll be singing and I’ll be playing.”
While he’d been talking, Pete had reassembled the instrument. Bringing it to his lips he blew into it.
“Bloody hell.” Paul covered his ears.
“It’s not that bad.”
“Hearing you play from the band stand in the park is one thing, but in here?”
“Sorry.”
As Pete continued to reminisce about his granddad, he dismantled the trumpet and put it back in its case.
When the conversation flagged, Paul suggested a stroll down to the King’s Head for a drink. “Do me a favour though.”
“Yeah?”
“Leave that thing here.” Paul pointed to the trumpet case.
“Fuck off.”
* * * *
Nervous, why was he nervous? Paul looked at the reflection staring back at him in the bathroom mirror. His hair had got rather long. He made a mental note to go to the barber’s next week.
Opening the cabinet, Paul glanced over the array of bottles of aftershave. Picking one up, knowing it belonged to Trevor, he hesitated.
Leaving the bathroom momentarily, Paul shouted down the stairs. “Trev, you mind if I use your Jean Paul Gaultier aftershave?”
Coming out of the living room and looking up the stairs, Trevor said, “Wow, she must be special if you’re going to all that trouble.”
Trevor scanned Paul from head to toe, making him feel self-conscious.
So what if he was wearing a new black silk shirt and his best pair of jeans? “You don’t think it’s, uh, too much?”
“No, not at all.” Sighing and in a lower voice, Trevor added, “She’s a lucky lady.” He then turned away and went back into the living room.
Rubbing a generous quantity of the aftershave on his face, Paul wondered at Trevor’s quietness. Was he all right, should he stay at home? Then he remembered Trevor said he too was going out. Must be later, he thought, easing his feet into his dress shoes.
As he drove to Geraldine’s house, Paul couldn’t help thinking back over the past few days with Trevor, and how the guy had changed. Gone was the morose, quiet and reserved Trevor, replaced with a more bouncy and admittedly campy version. Paul sighed. He suspected something was bothering his friend, but all attempts to enquire as to the cause were brushed off. The change from sad to happy, but strangely more distant, came about after they’d gone to the hospital for Trevor’s post-surgical check-up.
* * * *
In the waiting room prior to the consultation, Trevor sat nervously biting his nails.
“Stop it, you’ll make them bleed.” Paul slapped Trevor’s arm.
“Sorry.”
“Come on, Trev, you know they’re gonna tell you that it wasn’t cancer. The doctor pretty much admitted as much when he discharged you.”
“But there’s always a chance he could have been wrong.”
Paul rolled his eyes. “Nothing like looking on the bright side, huh?”
“It’s all right for you, you’re not the one who—” Trevor had started to raise his voice. People were looking at him. “Sorry,” he said little above a whisper.
Paul reached over and gave Trevor’s hand a squeeze. “It’s all right, mate.”
Paul had grown used to, even appreciated, the times when Trevor leaned on him for support. It touched something deep inside Paul, his need to protect, keep safe.
Thankfully their wait wasn’t too long. Trevor had initially been appalled that the doctor was a woman. However, when she left the consulting room to answer her pager, Paul leaned over and said, “Relax. At least when she examines you, you won’t get a stiffy.”
This resulted in a small grin, and Paul feeling pleased at being able to cheer Trevor up.
Sure enough, the doctor gave Trevor a clean bill of health. Paul received a tight hug and a profound thank you from his housemate as soon as they’d exited the doctor’s consulting room.
* * * *
Pulling up outside Geraldine’s house, Paul was about to unfasten his seatbelt and go get his date when he saw Geraldine tottering down her garden path in a pair of high heels. Keeping the seatbelt fastened, Paul leaned over to open the passenger-side door.
“I appreciate a man who comes on time.” Geraldine touched Paul’s cheek before leaning over and delivering a chaste kiss on the same spot.
“You look nice.” Geraldine had on a simple yet stylish off-the-shoulder black dress with a colourful scarf tied loosely around her neck.
“Thank you,” Geraldine beamed. Running her eyes appreciatively over Paul she said, “You look very handsome, too.”
Paul blushed. “Uh, I thought we could go see a film, and then maybe have a drink somewhere? Unless you’d rather—”
“That sounds lovely. Thank you.”
Paul reminded Geraldine to buckle up before he started the car and drove toward the town centre. He’d had a quick look in the paper; the local three screen cinema didn’t have much to offer, but he hoped they’d find something.
Paul walked round his car to open Geraldine’s door, an action which earned him another kiss. Geraldine accepted his proffered arm and they made their way into the brightly lit cinema foyer.
After loading up on snacks, which Geraldine insisted on paying for, they moved to the entry doors to the downstairs screen. Paul had given the choice of film to Geraldine, who chose something mushy and romantic. He didn’t mind.
Though after an hour and a half he was ready to revise his opinion. He kept resisting the urge to consult his watch. Paul found himself stifling yawns and making a determined effort not to fidget, though it wasn’t easy. The plot was thin, the acting wooden and the kissing scenes overly long. Geraldine seemed to be enjoying it, though.
When the action, though Paul knew this was stretching the term, moved to the interior of a church, he began to take more notice. Didn’t films like this usually end with a wedding? His spirits rose even further when someone in a white dress walked down the aisle. Despite the swell of organ music from the film’s soundtrack, Paul still heard a nearby sniffle. Turning his head to Geraldine he saw she was dabbing at her eyes.
“I always cry at weddings.”
Thankfully as the happy couple left the church, bells ringing and choir singing, the end credits began to roll. Paul did his best to hide his relief.
