by James Lear
‘I see.’ I felt a sense of loss for something I’d never had. Stuart and Joe. What could have been.
‘So I did the usual gay thing. I plunged into it. I went out, I met loads of men, I had a lot of sex, and I finally learned what it was all about. Better late than never, eh?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, thinking of everything that had happened in the last six months—my late vocation, my catching up.
‘And then I met Diego.’
‘Ah.’ A tiny, fragile castle in the air collapsed.
‘We met at a club, we were both pissed off our faces, we had sex at some chill-out party and then, I don’t really know how, we became boyfriends. He moved in with me, and once we’d sorted out his immigration status—he was Brazilian, you see—we bought a house together and we got married. Well, back then, civilly partnered.’
‘Congratulations, mate.’ I let go of his hand. ‘I’m really glad you found someone. That’s great.’
‘And then he died.’
The night air seemed a lot colder. I drank coffee. An owl hooted. One of the lads in the bar must have told a joke, because they all roared.
‘And no,’ said Stuart, ‘it wasn’t AIDS.’
‘I didn’t think it was for one moment,’ I lied.
‘He had a heart attack. Forty years old, fit as a fiddle, went to the gym, ate the right food, didn’t drink or smoke; he just dropped dead. We were on holiday in the Lake District, walking up the hills round Ullswater. It was a beautiful day. I’d made sandwiches and a flask of coffee.’ He stopped to sniffle. I dared not look at him. ‘And he just sort of groaned and went down on his knees. It took fucking hours for the paramedics to get to us, and by then it was too late. Instant death, they said. It happens sometimes. No warning.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Thanks. It was only a year ago. Almost to the day, actually.’ He laughed a bit and blew his nose. ‘I guess I’m still not over it.’
‘I wish I’d known.’
‘Really? That’s nice of you. Anyway, I didn’t drag you out here to tell you all my problems. I just wanted to say that there are no hard feelings. Without you, I would never have met him, and we had fifteen good years together. It should have been more, but still, fifteen isn’t bad, is it? Not quite as many as you and Angie, but more than I ever expected.’
‘Actually, I think that’s about what Angie and I had.’
My turn to drop the bombshell.
‘Had?’ Stuart asked.
‘Yeah. Past tense.’
He waited for me to speak again. ‘Come on, Joe. You can’t say that and not explain yourself.’
‘Don’t know what to say, really. We just fell out of love.’
‘But you’re still together.’
‘It may look that way.’
‘Then what?’
‘She’s got a new man.’
‘Oh.’ This time he took my hand. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s OK. These things happen.’
‘Do the kids know?’
‘Yes.’
‘And how are you?’
‘Oh, I’m alright. I’m moving on.’
‘I see.’
Fuck, this was it. I was going to tell someone. A real friend. Someone who knows me and knows my family. Once it’s out in the open, everyone will find out. My worlds, so carefully separated, were about to collide. There’s no going back.
‘Actually, I’m sort of seeing someone too.’
‘Wow. I had no idea. I’m . . . I don’t know. I was going to say I’m happy for you, but that doesn’t seem right somehow. I wish you well for the future. Oh fuck, I don’t know.’ He squeezed my hand hard. ‘What happened to our friendship, Joe? Why can’t I talk to you any more? All those years that have gone by, why did we just let them . . . ’
‘It’s a man.’
That stopped him in his tracks.
‘Didn’t expect that, did you?’
‘No. You’d better tell me all about it.’
And so I did—the slow death of my marriage, the porn, the wanking, Craigslist, everything and everyone, every body, every cock.
And I told him about Adrian.
It didn’t take long. Ten minutes, maybe less. Stuart didn’t say much.
Finally, I ran out of things to say. The coffee was finished, and our half hour was up. It was getting cold.
‘Do you think it’s serious?’
‘With Adrian? I don’t know. But I want to try.’
‘Yeah.’ His hand was stroking my right deltoid. ‘Our timing is shit, isn’t it, Joe?’
‘Yeah. It’s shit.’
‘Do you think . . . ’
I knew what he was going to ask, and I knew what I was going to answer. ‘What? Go on. Say it.’
‘Do you think we could sneak up to my room? You know, for old times’ sake?’
‘I’m counting on it.’
‘Angie won’t mind?’
‘Angie won’t know. She’s sharing with Nicky.’
‘And your new guy?’
‘He’s not my guy yet.’ And if you do this, Joe, he never will be. ‘Anyway, we’re just two old friends catching up at a wedding. What could be more natural than that?’
I knew I was doing the wrong thing by Adrian—I was cheating on him before we’d even had a chance—but if it came to a choice, right then and there, at that moment, between Adrian and Stuart, between the known, loved past and the uncertain, desired future, I had made my choice.
We walked swiftly through the lounge, unobserved by the last remaining drunks, and took the lift to Stuart’s room.
There was no hasty goodbye in the morning. We woke early and stayed in each other’s arms, listening to birdsong, and made love again. Last night had been rough, almost desperate in its intensity, both of us fearing that the other might disappear. We plowed into each other, me fucking him first, then him fucking me, finishing off with Stuart braced against the towel rail in the bathroom, holding on for dear life while I pounded in and out of his arse, groaning and growling like an angry dog. He started coming first, splashing the ceramic tiles with huge dollops of spunk, while I followed, filling the condom inside him. Then we showered, and wanked and sucked each other until we fell asleep.
Now, with the early summer sunshine filtering through the curtains, we lay together, beside each other, on top of each other, making love with our hands and mouths, finally sealing the deal with my cock inside his arse once more, because that was what felt right, that was what we both wanted. As I fucked him, holding him in my arms, both of us on our sides, I felt so sure that this was where my path had been leading me—this strange reunion, the circle finally unbroken after so long, the first love, had I but known it, and surely now the last.
We slept a little more, showered separately, and prepared to go down to breakfast.
‘I suppose one of us should go a few minutes before the other,’ I said. ‘Not that I’m ashamed or anything—I just don’t think it’s the right time to tell people.’
‘Sit down, Joe.’ Stuart patted the bed next to him. ‘We need to talk.’
‘Do we?’
‘Yes.’ I sat. ‘What about this Adrian?’
‘It’s nothing really. He’s nice. If things were different, maybe something would happen. But he’s not like you. It’s not like us.’
He sighed, and rubbed my back, comforting me for pain he was about to inflict.
‘There is no us, Joe. Not in that way.’
I heard a roar in my ears, like approaching traffic. ‘Why?’ Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.
‘Because you can’t just turn the clock back twenty years. We’re different people.’
‘No we’re not. I’m not, anyway. You feel it too, don’t you? This . . . connection. It’s right for us. It has to be.’
‘Maybe it’s right. I don’t know. But it’s not going to happen. You and I have too much history. I know your family. I can’t do that to them.’
‘You’re not doing anyth
ing to them that I haven’t already done. It’s my responsibility, Stuart, not yours. I can still be a father to the kids. I’ll be a better father, because I’ll be happy. I can be myself for the first time.’ And then a sob rose up from my chest and stopped me from talking.
Stuart carried on rubbing my back and said, ‘I’m sorry. I really am.’
‘No you’re not.’ I sounded six years old. ‘If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t do this.’
‘OK then. The truth is, Joe . . . well, the truth is I’m with someone else now.’
‘What? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that last night?’
‘Because it didn’t seem to matter then. I thought we were both in the same boat.’
‘And why does it suddenly matter now? Because you got what you want, is that it? And now you’re just going to walk away from me?’
‘We can still be friends. Real friends, who tell each other the truth.’
‘And what about what just happened? Do I have to forget?’
‘No. We’ll never forget that. But it can’t go on.’
There was a finality in his voice that made any argument pointless. ‘And this other guy,’ I said, wiping my eyes, ‘it’s serious with him, is it?’
‘I don’t know. I think so. It’s too early to tell. I’m still not over Diego, to be honest.’
‘I see.’
‘And you’re not ready either, Joe. You’re still married. You haven’t told anyone. You can’t start a new relationship until you’ve finished the old one.’
I laughed and blew my nose. ‘You sound exactly like Adrian.’
‘You should listen to him then.’
‘Yeah.’ I stood up and tidied my hair in the mirror. ‘I should have listened to him last night, shouldn’t I?’ I picked up my jacket. ‘See you at breakfast, Stuart. And, you know.’ My hand was on the doorknob. ‘Thanks.’
He didn’t come down to breakfast, and I didn’t see him again before we left.
11
I’D ALREADY BROKEN ONE OF ADRIAN’S RULES: NUMBER THREE, you will stop fucking around. So even if I managed to abide by the other two, I’d have to lie to him about that. Not a great start to a relationship, although I suppose it’s what I’ve always done. I managed twenty years plus in a marriage based on a lie, and I’d settle for another twenty years with Adrian. That’ll take me through to my sixties, and I’ll be ready for the scrap heap.
And if I’ve told one lie, why not go for the hat trick? What difference does it make? I’m a bad, dishonest person, and I’ve lived a dishonest life for so long that I no longer value the truth. There’s nothing worse than getting away with it. You never face the consequences of your lies, and after a while they don’t seem to matter anymore. They’re not bad—they’re just how things are. I could easily tell Adrian that I’ve tested negative, and unless he demands documentary evidence, I’ll be fine. I can tell him that Angie and the kids have been very understanding but they’re not quite ready to meet him yet, or to see the two of us together—that sounds plausible, and it would buy me some time. I got as far as composing a text telling him that things were going really well, he was going to be so proud of me, that I was sticking to the rules, but at the last moment, I deleted it.
Why bother at all? Adrian won’t put up with me for long. I’ve got too much baggage. Even if I make a clean breast of it to Angie, and we get divorced, I’m still a father. What man wants to take on a new partner with grownup kids? Adrian’s still young and in amazing shape—he could be running around with beautiful, tight-bodied twenty-year-olds. He’ll soon tire of a haggard old man like me. It’s all very exciting as long as it’s secret and forbidden, while there are obstacles in our way, but if we sort everything out, what are we left with? Each other. I barely know Adrian. I want to fuck him, of course, but there are thousands of guys I want to fuck and I’m not planning a future with them. And in some ways, Stuart was right: I’m not ready for another relationship yet. I can’t bounce straight out of a twenty-year marriage into something else. I need freedom, time to reassess, have some fun.
Yeah, and look where fun has got you. Miserable, frightened, confused. You can spend the rest of your life on Craigslist until some lunatic murders you or you simply drop dead from despair. Adrian’s offering you a future, and you don’t think you deserve it.
Good job he gave me a month to sort things out. Maybe he realised that this was going to happen and that I needed time to get my head straight. No, not straight. Unfortunate choice of word. A lot can happen in a month. I can probably make a final decision every couple of days. I can fuck things up and fix them, fuck ’em up and fix ’em over and over again. What does Adrian expect? Does he think I’m going to be like a nun for a whole month just because he told me to? What business is it of his who I sleep with? We’re not married. And surely that’s the great thing about gay relationships—you don’t have to play by the same rules. If you want to have sex with someone else, you do it. It doesn’t matter. That’s what I’ve always heard about gay men anyway. They’re all promiscuous, and they give each other the freedom that every man, in his heart, really wants.
But something told me that wasn’t going to wash with Adrian. And it’s probably a load of bollocks anyway, invented by jealous straight people.
See? I can go around and around tying myself in knots in the space of a few paragraphs, so what’s going to happen in a month?
I needed something to focus on.
Gym, of course.
Work, which God knows is keeping me busy enough.
My family. Finding a way of telling them the truth without driving a wedge between us.
And I might as well get tested anyway. Not because Adrian told me to, but because I knew I’d been exposed to risk and I needed to face it like a big boy.
So yes, there was plenty to keep me occupied and out of trouble.
And then I got a text.
Hi Joe, hope you don’t mind me contacting you. I’ll be down in London this week for a course and was wondering if we might meet for a drink or something. Cheers Paul.
Nothing more natural than your daughter’s boyfriend getting in touch if he’s coming to town, is there?
Except I knew as well as you know that there was more to Paul’s text than that. He hadn’t told Nicky. He wanted something from me that you don’t tell your girlfriend about. He hadn’t said it in so many words, but I saw the look in his eyes, the hunger, the longing.
Am I going mad? Do I really think that every nice-looking guy who talks to me wants my cock? Am I so far adrift from my moorings that I’m seriously thinking about fucking my daughter’s boyfriend?
I can’t very well turn him down flat. What would that look like? Nicky would tell Angie, and she’d be down on me like a ton of bricks.
So I’ll see him. And if something happens, it won’t be my fault, will it? Anyway, it won’t. I will say no. I have self-control.
Great to hear from you Paul. Just let me know which night suits you best. See you soon.
We made a date for dinner in town. Nothing compromising. I even told Angie during one of our brief encounters at the house. ‘I think you’ve got a fan,’ she said. ‘He was following you around like a little puppy.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ We got on much better now that our marriage was over.
‘I wasn’t the only one who noticed. He had stars in his eyes.’
‘He was pissed.’
What was she suggesting? How much had she guessed?
‘Oh well, it’ll be nice for you to get to know him a bit. Maybe he’ll be part of the family one day.’
I thought this highly unlikely, but I was not going to share my suspicions. However, given that Angie and I were both in the house at the same time—we were up early, Alex would be in bed for hours, neither of us had to leave for work for forty-five minutes—this was a good time to have The Conversation. How many more chances would I have in the coming weeks? The deadline was approaching, and I ought to make some kind o
f effort at least.
‘Speaking of the family,’ I said, still unsure of exactly where this was going, ‘how are things with you and Dan?’
Angie looked suspicious. ‘Are you going to start having a go?’
‘No. I promise. I just think we need to talk about what’s happening.’
‘OK.’ She drank some coffee. ‘You’re right. Well, things with Dan are going well.’
‘I see.’
‘You seem very calm about all this.’
‘I’m trying to be.’
‘Thank you.’ She put the mug down, fiddled with some toast crumbs on the kitchen table, reached out for a cloth from the sink, and then stopped herself. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘What’s your plan?’
‘I’m not going to do anything until Alex is settled at university.’
‘Right. So our future kind of depends on his exam results.’
‘If you want to put it like that, yes.’
‘Assuming he starts college in October, what then?’
‘At some point next year, I will move in with Dan.’
I knew this was coming, but I still felt like someone had punched me in the gut. ‘I see.’
‘He lives in Amersham.’
‘Yes.’ Posh commuter belt. A step up from our humble suburb. ‘Nice.’
‘And then,’ said Angie with a deep sigh, ‘I suppose we’ll get divorced.’
‘I suppose we will.’
We were quiet for a while, staring into our coffees. How many cups of coffee had we shared over the years? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? Moments of companionship and reflection, a chance to unwind and talk. Was this the last?
‘I never wanted it to be like this, Joe.’
‘Neither did I.’
‘What happened to us?’
‘I don’t know.’ Yes you do, you liar. You know perfectly well, and you owe it to this woman, your wife, the mother of your children, to tell her. ‘We changed.’
‘Did we really? Or did we just give up?’
Come on. Tell her. Shit, my heart is racing, my hands are sweating, it’s like the first time I had sex with a man, when Michael so neatly picked me up in the showers and took me to his flat to suck my cock. I’m gripped by terror, I can barely see or hear, white noise in my head.
