A Good Neighbour

by Clare London

  Neal chuckled. “That figures.” He glanced at the foot of the bed. At some time during the evening, he’d put the bunch into water and left the vase on the dresser. “They’re nice. I’ll accept them on Josie’s behalf, quite happily. Guess that gives you the perfect cover, anyway.” Now there was a strange, uneven tone to his voice.

  “I’ll come and clear them away when you’ve gone back to London. Keep the place tidy.”

  “Dylan, I don’t want a fucking housekeeper!”

  I jumped.

  “Sorry.” He grabbed my hand on top of the covers. “Sorry. But Josie and I can keep an eye on the place well enough. Fuck it, she can afford a housekeeper if she wants. At the moment, she’s talking about selling up.”

  My whole body was suddenly awash with chill. “Don’t do it.”

  “I don’t want to. Of course I don’t.” Neal turned to me. “This place grounds me. Funny how I only took interest for the sake of Josie’s project, but now… it draws me. Stupid stuff like painting, cleaning the place. I enjoy it. Cooking too.” He sighed. “I wish I had more time for it all.”

  “You’re bloody good at it.” Supper for me would have been a cold meat sandwich, but Neal had cooked us a spicy Mexican pasta dish from what I guessed were very basic ingredients. The house still had that warm, lingering smell of herbs. And he’d been the one to give me the recipes for the cakes I made for the aunts on their weekly visits.

  “Dylan, you’re too good. Always encouraging me. But it’s not just the house that draws me, you know? From the first day you came, I knew I was in trouble.”

  “Trouble?” I laughed nervously. I’d never been accused of starting any of that. I’d kept my feelings well buried, ever since I was young and realised my tastes were different from the norm. Before I was old enough to start visiting clubs and pubs nearer the centre of London, reading books, watching movies. Seeing how other guys behaved. I learned quickly. But I never said anything at home.

  And then I’d met Neal, a man like me. A man I’d made my friend, whose witty company I enjoyed, whose lust for life stimulated me even after a slow, weary week at work. A man who was way more to me than a quick fuck, who shared with me more than a brief, pragmatic, physical release. Who showed me what a relationship might really be like.

  I’d known how I felt about him too, from that very first day.

  He chuckled, half to himself. “I was courting that day, Dylan. Took a while for you to notice me.”

  “No way.” He deserved honesty. “I always noticed you. Just didn’t make a move until I was sure.” It had been three months before we kissed; four before we fucked. Then I couldn’t get enough of him. I just wanted to be near him, to experience that strange mixture of heartfelt pleasure and pain. It was still the case, even after many more months of growing familiarity.

  His eyes glinted, maybe remembering the same things. “I was always sure. You’re the best thing I ever found in this fishbowl of a place.” He leaned over and kissed me. His lips were dry and soft from his sleep. “You ground me.” He slipped his hand under the cover and down between my thighs. His palm was hot.

  I smiled, but I didn’t turn to him in return.

  He sighed and slowly slid his hand back out. “Yeah, I get it. Like I said, this isn’t enough. Monthly fucks, sometimes even longer apart. Using Josie and maintenance of the house as an excuse to come back here. But then never being seen out with you, never telling anyone. Side doors and drawn blinds and leaving the house at different times just in case we’re spotted by eagle-eyed residents. Remind me again—why do we carry on this way?”

  I tensed. I wanted to pull away from him—from his simmering resentment—but I couldn’t, not without being cruel. Whether to him or to myself, I wasn’t sure anymore. “This isn’t London, Neal. It’s not as easy here.”

  “It?”

  “Difference. An alternative. You know what I mean. Bloody hell, remember how people were when Kyle Martin got pierced eyebrows? When Suzie Newman got pregnant by that supply teacher?”

  “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t go on. Why does it all have to be behind closed doors?”

  “Not in Petersham.”

  He was the one to pull away now. “Then maybe I shouldn’t be here at all anymore.”

  Oh no. “Neal, don’t. Don’t go.” My voice sounded tight, pained.

  He didn’t answer immediately. He swung his legs out from under the covers and over the side of the bed. After reaching for his sweats, he sat with them on his lap, making no further move to get dressed. “I don’t mean that. I want to make it more. But not here, not like this.”

  “I….” I couldn’t answer, though I wanted to agree. But to what?

  “Come with me.” The words spilled out quickly, as if they’d been waiting to come out but he’d had to pluck up courage to say them. “Come on the trip with me. Be with me.” He turned his head to gaze at me again, his eyes bright with fierce excitement. “All the time, as my partner. In the media world, no one really gives a damn who you sleep with, as long as you get the job done, believe me. God, Dylan, just imagine what we could do together, see together!”

  “I can’t just leave.”

  He stared at me. The excitement was fading. “Scared?”

  “No.” I didn’t think so, but the nausea had returned, making me dizzy. “I have a job, a house. Students who rely on me. Family.”

  He nodded but his pained expression showed he didn’t really agree. “But that’s only part of life, isn’t it?” He turned away again, staring across the room. The light under the blinds was brighter now, the day approaching. “What about the part that’s just for you? That needs more? That needs this?”

  I had no idea how to reply to that. He had the courage to speak aloud the dread in the depths of my heart. “We… I have to make compromises. This is my home.”

  “Fuck that!” He got up abruptly. A sliver of light glanced across his hip and lit up the muscled curves of his thigh. Then he tugged up his sweats and covered himself. His back was still turned. “You’re my home, Dylan. That’s the truth.”

  For a moment, I was speechless. The zeal in his eyes had burnt so brightly, it scared me. How I loved him! Yet other fears still had hold inside me. “I don’t want the aunts hurt… distressed. Confused.”

  “Jesus, they must know!” He turned suddenly, his hands clenched at his sides. “We’ve been fucking like this for months now. You think no one ever sees the bus drop me off, never sees me bring in groceries for a couple of days’ stay, enough for more than one man’s appetite? Mitzi and Bess already know someone’s here in the house, even if they think it’s Josie. Do they think you come round just to dust the bloody ornaments? Stay the night just to check the washing machine’s working in the utility room?”

  I couldn’t answer. It all sounded ludicrous, laid out like that.

  His voice was suddenly, chillingly calm again. “Anyway, that’s not it, is it? It’s not really to do with us. You haven’t told anyone about yourself. No one knows about you.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “About being gay.”

  I felt things tighten up inside me, as if a drawstring were slowly being pulled. “It’s none of their business.”

  “But it’s yours,” he growled. “If you’re ashamed of it—ashamed of me—”

  “Of course I’m not bloody ashamed!” It wasn’t often I raised my voice, but now I knelt up on the bed, clutching the covers around my waist. My throat was gorged with fear and anger. “But you have to understand what it’s like, living here every day. There’s a vice principal’s job going at the college, Dylan. I can’t fuck up that opportunity.”

  “So you fuck me up instead?”

  “That’s not fair and you know it! We move at a different pace, that’s all. Stay here long enough and we’ll sort something out.”

  “Sort something out for yourself, and maybe I’d want to!”

  We both stopped yelling at the same time. I was panting
heavily. There was shock in his eyes, and I knew mine must look the same. He took an unsteady step towards me.

  “Dylan….”

  “No.” I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

  “Dylan, there’s legislation nowadays, you know? You can’t be discriminated against for being gay. Bloody hell, you can even get married. Things are changing fast, and that’s just in our lifetime.”

  “I know that.” I just couldn’t put words to all the other anguish in my head. But legislation’s not the same as living it. “Anyway, I’d better go. I’ll be late for work. Gotta shower and change.” I barely understood the stupid words coming from my mouth. I knew I hated them, even as I let them slide out, all of it just cowardice in the face of Neal’s passionate honesty.

  “Yeah.” Neal sounded very tired. He ran a hand back through his hair, tugging at the bedhead tangles. “You know what, Dylan? I think you underestimate yourself as much as you underestimate everyone else. I think they’d all cope with it, even the aunts. If you had the guts to be honest.”

  I could see my trousers lying in a heap at the foot of the bed, and I tried to reach them without dropping the sheet, as if it were somehow protecting me from any more hurt. “It’s different for you, Neal. You chose a different world.”

  “And maybe you don’t want to,” he said, so quietly I hardly caught it. “Not even for me.”

  Chapter 4

  THE GREAT-AUNTS were very fractious the following week. When I went to collect them from Laurel House, they were chattering together in hushed voices, and Bess looked quite flushed. She bustled off to fetch her jacket, but not before I saw her slip her mobile phone furtively into her handbag. Mitzi kept glancing at the clock on the mantel and made a lot of fuss about finding where her gloves had got to, until Bess opened her bag again and found them there. I had to escort them both from the building and into the car, or we’d never have got the afternoon started at all, what with all their delays. But back at my house, the tea and refreshments didn’t go much better.

  “It’s not your best,” Bess said, peering at her slice of lemon cake. Her upper lip curled.

  I resisted rolling my eyes. “I ran a little short of lemon peel. I’ll return to the chocolate recipe next week, if you like.”

  “It’s not a matter of what I like.” Bess sounded very peevish.

  Mitzi rattled her cup in its saucer. “Did you use four sugars, boy? It’s a little sharp.”

  “Good God!” I snapped. “That’s not the only thing that’s sharp today!”

  There was a sudden, startled silence.

  “What’s wrong, Dylan? You’ve been miserable all week.” Bess’s voice quavered. “I could tell, even on the phone.”

  Mitzi peered at me. Her lipstick was applied a little crookedly today. “The boy looks pale again.”

  Bess pursed her lips. “Maybe it’s too much time in the classroom. Too much childish company.”

  “He needs some tender loving care,” Mitzi murmured, and giggled.

  “Dear God,” I protested. I ran a hand back through my hair, disturbing the careful combing. My couch seemed less comfortable than usual. “I’m sorry, ladies. Forgive me. I’m… tired. That’s all. Shall I get some more tea?”

  “He looked well enough during the week.” Bess sounded thoughtful. I’d taken her into town on Thursday to get her shopping, after Neal returned to London.

  “He always does, when he’s been visiting the Whitmans’ house,” Mitzi said. “He looks splendid when he comes back.”

  Bess nodded at her companion. “He positively glows.”

  I snorted. “I am here, you know.”

  Mitzi sighed and nudged her plate hopefully toward the cake. I cut another slice for her. Bess was right; it wasn’t one of my best attempts. I’d tried to make it without the recipe, on my own. Some kind of stupid protest, perhaps, though I wasn’t sure what against.

  “How were the children this week, Dylan?”

  “They’re students,” I said automatically, knowing Bess wouldn’t take any notice as usual. “They were fine, thank you. The preparation for summer exams is coming along well. They’re just a little… restless at this time of year.”

  “Their families all have such high hopes,” Mitzi said, who hadn’t touched a schoolbook with any real attention since she was fifteen, as I remembered Mum telling me.

  But I agreed with the sentiment. I’d had personal experience of the pressure those high hopes can bring, all through my life. Mum’s expectation of me had been to study well and find a good job. My college principal expected me to behave appropriately for a professional man and with commitment to my employer, and my students expected me to guide them well. Then the aunts had taken over and added their matchmaking hopes. Expectations had been my companions for as long as I could remember, and conventional ones at that.

  “But that’s not everything, is it?” Bess’s voice broke into my thoughts, catching me unprepared.

  This isn’t enough, Neal had said to me.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You said they were restless.” She was looking closely at me.

  “All work and no play,” Mitzi murmured beside her. Their combined perfume suddenly seemed stronger, as if they’d replenished it when I wasn’t looking. It was rather cloying.

  “The sun’s out, Dylan.” Bess folded her arms in that way she had, hoping, I thought, to intimidate me. “They want fun too.”

  “Adventure,” Mitzi said with a little simper.

  My head snapped toward her.

  “You can have too much work, Dylan. Too much routine.”

  “Be too safe,” Mitzi whispered, her eyes glinting. The pair of them were chiming back and forth like a pair of cuckoos on a clock.

  “What are we talking about here?” I demanded.

  “You’re a sensible, loyal man, Dylan. We love you so dearly.”

  “We want the best for you, you know, please remember that.”

  “But,” Bess said, straightening in her seat and frowning as if she were addressing a recalcitrant child. “It’s only natural you get restless too.”

  I scowled at them, my head starting to ache. “Are you saying I’m like a child?” I bit my tongue. “I mean, like a student?”

  Mitzi smiled in a rather sinister way. “You are so literal sometimes, boy. But yes, I’d say you need some teaching in the ways of the world.”

  “From you?” I didn’t mean to offend them, but they were surely overstepping the mark today. I was in no mood for criticism.

  “That’s not what we mean.” Bess leaned over and placed a surprisingly firm hand on my arm. “Just that it’s not only sense you need. You need spirit too.”

  “Bess, for God’s sake—”

  “You have great spirit, Dylan,” Mitzi chirped in my ear. “So much of it. You’re like your mother. You just don’t let it out too often.”

  My fingernails dug into my palms. This was all too much to cope with. In fact, this week, most things had been too much to cope with. My days had been full of painful tension as I forged through the dull paperwork and the tribulation of keeping my fretful students to the timetable. Since Neal had left, my nights had been silent and stark and lonely, full of an entirely different—but just as miserable—tension.

  I could do this, I told myself. I’d lived this way for many months, and if this was the price for those few hours of pleasure and….

  What? For Neal, of course.

  It’s not enough.

  “Stop this right now!” I barked. The aunts both gasped. I had tried not to turn on my teaching voice, but—already on the edge of a bad mood I so rarely entertained—they’d provoked me. “I don’t know what you’re playing at today, but that’s enough!”

  Mitzi wrinkled her nose with disapproval. “Well, Dylan, what on earth has brought this on?”

  I ignored that. “Aunts,” I began. They both stared back at me, eyes wide, the air pregnant with curiosity. God. I’d rather have faced my worst behaved students en masse
. “I must… I need to talk to you about something. Something I should have told you about before now, something important. About me.”

  Bess’s hand was still on my arm. She tightened her grip. “What you need, Dylan, is to get the door.”

  Two seconds passed, and then there was a loud, firm knock at my front door.

  I stared at Bess. “How did you do that?” I glanced out of the window, but the angle wasn’t sharp enough for me to see anyone on the path. Though maybe Bess could from her position in the armchair. I glared back at her, suspicions raised. “What’s going on?”

  The knock came again.

  “You want me to go for you?” Mitzi fluffed up her hair and made as if to get up from her chair.

  “No, thanks.” I moved quickly to forestall her. The last time she answered the door for me, I ended up with a lifetime supply of kitchen cloths, a retractable mop, and a year’s subscription to a religious cult. As I went out into the hallway, I heard the pair of them whispering, tea cups clinking in their hands as they leaned into each other. No, another batch of kitchen cloths would really be the final straw.

  It wasn’t a salesman of any kind. Neal stood outside. He’d just raised his hand to knock a third time when I opened the door.

  He flushed. His eyes widened and I saw a sudden spark of excitement reflected in them. “Ah… sorry. Impatient, I’m afraid. Well, you know that already, I think. Hello, Dylan.”

  “Neal.” My throat felt very tight.

  His gaze flickered between my face and the hallway behind me. “Do you know, I’ve never actually been in your house.”

  I thought I could hear footsteps in the room behind me. “Probably not. I mean, Josie has visited a few times….”

  “Ah yes,” he said, his tone very steady. “Josie would, of course.”

  We stared at each other for a few more seconds. “I thought you were in London.” I tried to drop my voice, but it seemed ridiculous to whisper.

  “No.” He didn’t say any more, and I didn’t know exactly what else to ask. He shifted on the step as if uncomfortable. I couldn’t remember ever seeing Neal Whitman nonplussed.