by Drew Hunt
“I’ve wanted to see that film ever since I saw it was coming out, but I didn’t want to go alone. Thank you, Paul. I know you were probably bored silly. Next time you can choose what we see.”
Paul admired Geraldine’s confidence that there’d be a second date. “Are you hungry? The Black Swan over in Hollerton does great food.”
“I could eat a horse.”
Geraldine daintily took Paul’s hand as they exited the cinema. It had started to rain, so Paul told Geraldine to wait inside while he got the car.
Paul only paid scant attention to Geraldine’s occasional chatter as he concentrated on driving. Although the rain was coming down fairly hard, the windscreen wipers were easily able to keep things clear. Paul’s mind wandered to Trevor, and how he was getting on. This would be his first evening out since his operation. Paul hoped he’d be all right. Trevor had seemed to tire easily and usually turned in just after the headlines on the BBC Ten O’clock News.
“…then after he was run over I got Rupert.”
“Huh?” Paul realised he hadn’t been paying attention to what Geraldine had been saying.
“My cat. Rupert. He’s a Siamese. He’s a sweet boy, but has an unhealthy interest in my umbrella stand.”
Paul tried not to speculate what form the unhealthy interest took.
Within a few moments they’d arrived. “I’ve tried to park as close to the doors, but—”
“It’s fine.” Geraldine unhooked her seatbelt and was out of the car before Paul could exit himself.
“What would you like?” Paul asked once he’d found them an empty table in the crowded pub. “Didn’t think it’d be as busy as this.”
Geraldine looked about and seemed a little nervous. Paul worried that she was maybe claustrophobic.
“A Campari and soda would be lovely.”
As he made his way to the bar, the density of bodies seeming to increase exponentially the closer he got to it, Paul couldn’t help recall the last time he’d bought that drink.
The Black Swan, even though it was in the middle of nowhere, had a reputation for good food and reasonable prices, something which the locals appreciated.
Once he’d got the barmaid’s attention and purchased his drinks, Paul started to wind his way back to the table.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
Paul turned to his right and saw his house-mate. “Uh, could have said the same for you.”
“It’s the choir’s usual haunt.” Trevor looked happy. Obviously the evening out was doing him good.
“Best get these to, uh, the table.”
Trevor smiled and began to follow him. “Good crowd in tonight.”
“Yeah. How many did you come with?”
“About a dozen. Though some of them look as though they ought to have been tucked up in bed with their hot water bottles hours ago.” Trevor indicated with his pint glass a group of four older men looking as though they were half asleep as they leaned over a small table.
“Trevor!” Paul was glad to see his friend was re-gaining some of his sharp-wittedness.
Arriving back at his table, Paul set the drinks down. “Damn, I forgot the menus. Geraldine, this is Trevor, the bloke whose house I’m staying at.” Turning to Trevor he was about to continue with the introductions, but the stony look on Trevor’s face stopped him.
“We’ve met.” Trevor’s voice was cold, and if the looks he shot at Geraldine could kill, she’d be six feet under.
“I, uh. I think I need to go and powder my nose.” Geraldine looked upset. She stood quickly, grabbed her little handbag and almost ran to the toilets.
Paul was about to ask Trevor what the hell was going on when he saw that the man had set off in pursuit. To Paul’s utter amazement Trevor followed Geraldine into the ladies. Paul stood up to follow, but then thought better of it. There was no way he was entering that room. He knew Trevor was gay, but…He couldn’t get his head round how blatantly Trevor had just marched in there. What the hell was going on?
Paul sat down again, took a long pull from his pint of bitter and watched the door for either Geraldine or Trevor to emerge.
He didn’t have to wait long. Geraldine opened the door and stepped out into the main room, closely followed by Trevor. If the latter’s aggressive gestures were any indication, Trevor was furious about something. Not stopping to analyse the fact that he’d never seen Trevor angry before, Paul made his way across the room.
“It’s wrong! You know it is!” Paul heard Trevor say as he drew near.
“What the hell is going on?”
Glaring at Geraldine, Trevor said, “Well? Are you going to tell him?”
“Tell me what? What the hell’s going on?”
“Oh Paul, please take me home.” Geraldine turned away from Trevor and all but buried her head in Paul’s shoulder. He put a protective arm around her and could feel the slight woman shaking.
“Trevor?” Paul glared at his house-mate.
“Please, Paul, I don’t feel very well,” Geraldine’s muffled voice announced.
Trevor scoffed.
“Okay, love, let’s go.” Paul renewed his glare at Trevor. “I’ll speak to you when I get back from taking Geraldine home.”
“I’m sorry, but I—” It was a bit late for Trevor to go all apologetic.
“Save it,” Paul said before leading a highly distressed Geraldine across the room, numerous curious gazes following them. He didn’t care.
As he drove Geraldine home, he made gentle enquiries of his passenger, but she remained tight-lipped.
Pulling up outside the modest terrace house, Paul cut the engine. “I’ll see you indoors, make you a nice cup of tea, and then maybe you can tell me what on earth happened back there.”
“No, please. It’s okay. I’m all right now. You get off home, I know Trevor will be waiting for you.”
“He can wait!” Paul said, taking Geraldine’s hand and giving it a light squeeze. “I’m more concerned over you.”
“No honestly, Paul, it’s best if you go home now. I just want to say how much I’ve enjoyed being with you. Whoever ends up winning your heart, well…she’ll be a very lucky woman.”
Paul didn’t understand why she was saying all this, but any questioning was cut short when Geraldine alighted from the car, leaned in, gave him a surprisingly deep and strong kiss before withdrawing and closing the passenger door firmly.
Paul sat in his vehicle watching Geraldine make her way up to her front door, unlock it and go inside. Part of him knew he ought to get out of the car, go see if she was all right, but something made him hesitate. After a few moments of indecision, Paul started the car and headed back to Trevor’s, determined to get some answers.
* * * *
Paul was no sooner through the front door before Trevor was at his side.
“I’m sorry for ruining your evening like that. Though you probably didn’t see it, I agonised over whether or not to say anything.”
Paul tried to remain calm, but when he remembered how distressed Geraldine was, his anger rose. “Was it because you were jealous? Because you couldn’t stand to see me happy, because you’ve been after me yourself?” The more Paul said, the louder his voice became. It was a physical effort, but he closed his mouth, determined to hear whatever Trevor had to say.
“No, no. Paul I—” Trevor was getting upset.
“What the hell is all this about, then?”
“Geraldine, she’s, well she’s a he.”
Paul’s instant reaction was to laugh out loud. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Paul, I’ve never lied to you, not ever.” Trevor began to pace up and down the hallway. “As I said, I agonised over whether or not to tell you. But I had no choice.”
“Trevor, what the hell makes you think Geraldine’s a, a—”
“Have you slept with her?”
“That’s none of your fucking business!” Paul’s voice got even louder than before. He felt his fists clench, it took all his eff
ort not to march over there and…
Trevor kept his eyes firmly on Paul’s. “Because I have!” Trevor too was angry now. “Though back then he was known as Gerald! Damn it, Paul, did you think I enjoyed making a spectacle of myself back at the pub? Do you think I liked seeing someone I’ve come to regard as a good friend being made a fool of? Well, do you?”
The hallway went silent. Paul couldn’t think. This was surreal, messed up. “Fucking hell!” Now Paul was the one doing the pacing. He also began pulling at his hair.
In a much quieter voice, Trevor said, “Paul, you’re a really decent bloke. Over the past couple of months you’ve helped me more than you could ever know. Not just with my cancer scare, either. Having you here has—Well it’s made a big difference. I had to tell you. Okay, maybe I should have gone about it differently, but—”
“I can’t…I can’t talk about this now.” Paul continued to pace. “I’m going to bed.”
As Paul passed, Trevor reached out to take his arm. Paul brushed it off.
“I’m sorry,” Trevor said.
Turning momentarily he saw a single tear run down Trevor’s cheek. Paul froze in place. Emotions warred inside him. He should go comfort Trevor. None of this was his fault. But he couldn’t. He was still processing the idea that he’d taken a man out on a date. He’d been kissed by a man, and had kissed the man back. Turning away, Paul slowly made his way up the stairs.
* * * *
Sleep eluded him. The night dragged on. He didn’t think the morning would ever arrive. Images of Geraldine, her deep voice. Hell, no wonder it was deep. Paul felt foolish, angry, confused. Foolish that he had been taken in. Angry at Geraldine, no, Gerald for lying to him. Paul’s confusion arose because he was more upset about the lie, than because he’d kissed another bloke. The kisses had been, well…Paul didn’t want to go there, but his mind seemed to have other ideas. No, he wasn’t revolted at having kissed a man. He wondered why that was. He wasn’t gay, he was sure of that. Women, real women, still attracted him.
Turning over to lie on his right side, Paul punched his pillow and tried again to go to sleep. He must have managed it because the next thing he was aware of was waking up in a brightly lit room. Squinting at his alarm clock he saw it was just after ten. A jolt of fear swept through him. He was late for work. Then he remembered; it was Sunday. As he sank back to his pillow, his relief was short-lived. Memories of the previous evening flooded back. Trevor, his friend and house-mate. The bloke had been put in a horrible position. How had Paul reacted? He’d shouted at him. Hell, he’d even accused him of breaking him and Geraldine up because he was jealous.
“Oh, God!” Paul knew he had to get dressed, go downstairs and do some serious apologising. That last image of Trevor, the tear on his cheek. “Fuck!”
Paul pulled on the pair of jeans he’d worn the evening before, but thought better of wearing the silk shirt again. He found a creased white T-shirt. That would have to do. Barefoot, Paul made his way to the bathroom. After relieving himself, brushing his teeth and eventually giving up on trying to do something about his bed-head, he went downstairs.
Trevor was nowhere to be found. Paul felt deflated. He sank down on a kitchen chair and looked around. Trevor’s kitchen was neat as ever. Everything had a place and was in it. The floor looked and smelled as though it had been recently mopped. Over the couple of months he’d lived with Trevor, he knew that whenever the man was stressed, he cleaned. Paul’s theory was strengthened when he opened the cupboard that held the dried cereal. All the boxes were lined up alphabetically. The tins and packets on the other shelves showed similarly precise placement, too.
* * * *
He was early. Paul didn’t usually do early. However, Trevor had to get there at least half an hour before the kick-off, or whatever you called the start of a funeral. So Paul sat there, three pews from the front, twiddling his thumbs.
At least he and Trevor were talking again. He thought for a while there he’d fucked things up totally. Though, Trevor was still quiet around him, more distant than usual. Paul didn’t like it, but it was better than them not talking at all. And they’d gone through a couple of hours of that the previous day. Paul had offered to give Trevor a lift to the church. “After all, I’m going there anyway.”
“I usually ride my bike,” Trevor said.
Paul had a sudden mental image inspired by something George Orwell had written about old maids cycling to Holy Communion. He pushed the vision away, because he didn’t think his friendship with Trevor had been repaired sufficiently to share that titbit.
So Paul had driven him to the church, then Trevor had disappeared off somewhere to get robed up, or whatever it was choir members did.
Within a couple of minutes the big doors at the back creaked open. Paul turned round to see a tall, thin, white-haired old man enter. But instead of coming down the aisle, he settled himself at the organ. After twiddling with a few knobs he began to play softly.
To fill the time, Paul read through the order of service. Not being a regular churchgoer, he was unsure of what most of it meant. He was able to spot Trevor’s name in a couple of places. He hadn’t realised Trevor would have two things to sing. Behold, I Tell You A Mystery and Recitative from Messiah. Paul didn’t know it. The only thing he knew from Messiah was the Hallelujah Chorus, something he suspected wouldn’t exactly be suitable at a funeral.
Immediately following that was The Trumpet Shall Sound, also from Messiah. Paul didn’t need the order of service to tell him that this was where Pete would do his thing. Further down the agenda he saw something else that Trevor would perform. Goin’ Home set to the music of The New World Symphony by Dvorak. The name seemed familiar, but Paul couldn’t recall exactly what it was.
The church slowly began to fill with people, Paul recognising only a few of them.
The choir entered through a side door, Paul spotted Trevor in his white surplice with a red high ruffled collar. As the choir took their seats the congregation quieted.
“I am the resurrection and the life saith the Lord; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.” The vicar walked up the aisle followed by the coffin, which was being pushed along on some trolley contraption.
And we’re off, Paul thought as he tried to make himself more comfortable.
Paul was pleasantly surprised at how much he got out of the proceedings. He couldn’t exactly claim he enjoyed himself, funerals weren’t meant to do that. But right from the start it was obvious the vicar knew Eric very well, and was able to inject an air of friendly intimacy to the proceedings. At all the previous funerals Paul had attended, the vicar didn’t know the departed from Adam; and his words always came across as banal and impersonal.
Sure there were still lots of prayers and passages read from the Bible. Paul had to watch what everyone else did so he could kneel, stand and put his hands together in prayer in all the right places.
Trevor’s first solo was a revelation. Paul had never heard Trevor sing before.
Behold I tell you a mystery,
We shall not all sleep,
But we shall all be changed
In a moment,
In the twinkling of an eye,
At the last trumpet.
As the order of service predicted “The Trumpet Shall Sound” followed on immediately.
Although Paul was no expert, Pete seemed to do a darn good job, he heard only a couple of wrong notes. His trumpet seemed loud, but not uncomfortably so as it echoed round the stone walls. Trevor and the guy playing the organ didn’t seem to make a single mistake though. Paul was awed at how deep and clear Trevor’s bass voice was. He was surprised that someone of Trevor’s relatively small stature could produce a voice like that.
If Paul was touched by Trevor’s first couple of numbers, he was totally blown away by his final performance.
The organ began quietly. Paul remembered he’d heard the Dvorak tune on various TV commercials. Then Trevor began, and Paul was totall
y transfixed.
The tingling that had begun at the back of Paul’s neck spread throughout his entire body.
When the organ sounded a final chord there was total silence. No one seemed to move. Paul half expected a round of applause to erupt. Gradually people began to mutter quietly.
The old lady who had sat next to Paul nudged him in the ribs. “Here, love.” She handed him a tissue.
It took Paul a couple of seconds to realise his face was wet with tears. Wiping them away, he felt foolish.
“Did you know Eric well?” she asked softly. The vicar had already begun talking again.
“Uh, yeah,” Paul whispered back. He couldn’t explain to her why he’d cried. Heck, he couldn’t explain it to himself, either.
He operated on autopilot for the rest of the service. There was a hymn, some more praying. He had no idea if he did everything he was supposed to.
Finally the church began to empty. Paul followed along like a lost sheep. He shook the vicar’s hand and left the dark interior of the church emerging into bright sunshine. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust.
“You okay?” Trevor said touching his arm.
“Your song, uh, hymn.”
Trevor looked at him curiously. “Which one? The Dvorak?”
Paul nodded.
“It was one of Eric’s favourites. I hope he’d have approved.”
“I’m sure he would. God, Trev, it was beautiful. You were,” Paul swallowed. “I had no idea. It was amazing.”
Trevor tilted his head to one side. “Uh, thanks. Listen, we ought to be making a move.”
He’d forgotten he’d promised to drive them both to the crematorium. Without even thinking about it, Paul put his arms around Trevor and gave him a tight hug before releasing one arm, leaving the other around Trevor’s shoulders. “Come on, then, you’ll have to give me directions, it’s been years since I was there.”
“Uh, okay. You sure you’re all right?”
Paul shrugged. In truth he had no idea.
Chapter 6
Trevor wasn’t lonely. He wasn’t missing Paul. The empty space on the sofa of an evening didn’t bother him.
