The Boy I Love

by Lynda Bellingham

  There were only a handful of people sitting there, and Giles did not know any of them, although he vaguely recognized a counsellor from the Terence Higgins Trust who gave him a nod. Please let it be over! Giles could not stop shaking and he knew it was not just the cold. These last few weeks had seemed a lifetime. A lifetime spent surrounded by unhappiness and betrayal. He just wanted to get through this. He would survive, of that he had no doubt. There was a tiny part of Giles that he never gave away to anyone, not even Teddie. Call it hope or ego or just plain self-preservation, but this tiny part of him was the spark that kept him going. He would rise up again from the ashes. Ashes – Christ, now was not the time to bring up ashes. The director of the funeral parlour had contacted him and suggested that he, Giles, might like to take Robert’s ashes. Not in a million years! There did not seem to be any relatives until today, when apparently, a distant cousin had turned up and was happy to take the urn. She was a thin, grey little woman sitting at the back. Giles wondered if he should speak to her and offer his condolences. But what would be the point?

  Poor Robert, he had been so flamboyant when he first arrived at the theatre. His particular sense of humour had appealed to Giles, the cutting, slightly sarcastic comments he would make about people. But their union had been awkward from the start and Giles had always had the feeling that Robert had another agenda. He was a closed book as far as his emotions were concerned. But then Teddie and Giles had become close once more, and these last six months had been the happiest time of his life. To have a partner to share things with and a job that he adored made for the perfect life. He knew he would never be able to find that again. He had to face the production of Hamlet on his own and he was not sure he had it in him any more. Large tears were rolling down his cheeks and Giles hastily wiped them away. He wanted to leave, but the service, such as it was, had begun. Someone sat down next to him and his heart sank. Who would sit down next to a total stranger when there were plenty of empty pews? He tried to shift away but that someone grabbed his arm.

  ‘It’s OK, Giles, it’s only me, Jeremy. Are you all right? You look as if you want to run away,’ he whispered.

  Giles looked up and saw Jeremy smiling at him and he let out a huge sigh of relief.

  ‘Oh my God, am I glad to see you. I just can’t do this on my own. Thank you for being here. Did you come down by train? How are you going to get back?’ he fretted.

  ‘Don’t worry about that now. Let’s just get through this and then we can go and have a drink somewhere,’ replied Jeremy.

  In fact, Jeremy was on cloud nine as he was going to meet Eddie this afternoon at some flat in St John’s Wood. When Eddie had rung and suggested they meet this Sunday it was ideal, as Jeremy already knew about Robert’s cremation from George Delaware, who had called him.

  ‘I am sorry to say we are not going to be able to come to the cremation as Dale and I are away that weekend, abroad. I do so hope you will go, Jeremy, and say a prayer for Robert on our behalf.’ It was more a command than a request.

  ‘Yes, of course, I will go,’ he promised.

  When Jeremy saw Giles sitting all alone, and looking so forlorn he was glad he was there.

  After the service, the two men made a hasty retreat, found a pub and sank a couple of vodkas each.

  ‘Poor Robert,’ muttered Giles. ‘He has died in vain so far. No one seems to want to address this terrible problem of HIV, do they?’ He took Jeremy’s hand. ‘And yet his death has destroyed so many lives around him. Yours and mine, to name but two. Are you coping OK, dear boy?’

  Jeremy thought it best to keep his visit to Eddie to himself, but it was difficult not to share his joy because he had been unhappy for so many weeks.

  ‘I am surviving, Giles, but it is very hard. What about you?’ he asked.

  Giles stared into his vodka then threw it back and ordered another. ‘I am bereft, dear boy. Rock bottom. I just don’t know how I am going to pull it all together after Christmas.’

  ‘But we have Hamlet to look forward to. Please remember, Giles, how important this production is going to be. It is everything you have worked for and it is going to be fantastic. Please, Giles, you have to make it work for the likes of me. I am relying on you to make me a star!’

  ‘You are right, of course, my boy. I will do my best. With your help, I hope?’ He looked into Jeremy’s face for confirmation. Suddenly Jeremy thought of Sally, how they always talked about their work, and how it should always come first, and he suddenly did feel stronger and more positive.

  ‘Bloody right you will succeed, Giles. Failure is not an option. Broken hearts are one thing, but broken dreams are not allowed. We will overcome!’

  Jeremy left Giles having one for the road, and boring some poor barman with his version of Hamlet, and made his way to the address he had been given in St John’s Wood. He arrived outside a rather impressive block of flats which must have been built sometime in the 1930s. He took the lift to the fourth floor and, catching sight of himself in the glass panelling, became aware of just how nervous and excited he was, as he had pink cheeks! He paused at the front door and took a few deep breaths before finally ringing the bell. He then stared straight ahead of him, not moving a muscle, until the door was flung open and Eddie was there before him, alive.

  ‘J, I can’t believe it is you at last!’ Eddie pulled Jeremy through the door and they closed it with their bodies as they leaned against it to embrace. They kissed long and deep, and when they finally broke away both men were flushed and breathless.

  Eddie led Jeremy into a beautiful 1930s-style living room full of period furniture and antiques.

  ‘Wow, this is fantastic. Who does it belong to?’ Jeremy wandered around examining everything and picked up a photo in an Art Deco frame. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said softly. ‘It belongs to your father, doesn’t it?’ He turned to face Eddie. ‘Does that mean he has forgiven you your heinous crimes?’ The sarcasm was not lost on his lover.

  ‘I am so sorry about everything, Jeremy. Please let me explain things properly. That’s why we are meeting, isn’t it?’ He turned away, and had a coughing fit. It was a horrible sound and Jeremy suddenly felt frightened.

  Eddie went on breathlessly, ‘Please, sit down. Would you like a drink or coffee or something?’

  ‘A glass of white wine would be good, thank you,’ said Jeremy and he sat down on the edge of one of the perfectly upholstered sofas as though he was waiting to be called into the doctor’s surgery.

  Eddie brought him the glass of wine and put the bottle in a silver wine-cooler on the side.

  ‘One glass is never enough,’ he smiled. He coughed again and it racked his body. Jeremy noticed for the first time that his friend had lost weight.

  ‘Are you ill?’ he said curtly, trying to hide his terror at what Eddie was about to tell him.

  ‘Gosh, J, you sound like a headmaster,’ Eddie laughed.

  ‘I am sorry, Eddie, but this is agony. You obviously have something to tell me and I am guessing it is not good news, because apart from anything else you look bloody awful. And sorry, I didn’t mean . . .’ Jeremy could go no further; he could not stop the tears from flowing.

  Eddie came and sat beside him and held him. ‘Don’t, Jeremy, please. Don’t make this any harder than it is. I love you so much, it just does not seem right that we cannot be together, but the truth is, my dearest love, I am dying and—’

  ‘Nooo, don’t say that!’ wailed Jeremy. ‘You can’t die, Eddie! Please don’t say that!’

  ‘Listen to me, J, please. This is very important to me and to you. There is nothing we can do. My father will not let me see you again after this. My mother actually arranged this for me. She hates the whole mess but she understands how much I love you and that I need to say goodbye.’ Jeremy tried to speak but Eddie stopped him. ‘No, please, you must let me finish. I have presented with the first symptoms and now who knows? It could be months or years before the next phase. But the prognosis is not good. I don’t want
you to spend the next years of your life worrying about when I am going to pop my clogs. You have a fantastic career in front of you, Jeremy, and if you love me you will make sure you do everything in your power to embrace your success. I will hear all about it, believe me. I will be following you all the time. My father will never let us be together and we will never be reconciled. His hypocrisy is beyond belief. The pain he has caused my mother all these years, and now he castigates me! However, it is something we aristocrats have to do . . . stick together. So they will all gather round me and that will be that. It is shit, there is no other word for it. A wasted life, but please, Jeremy – promise me you will not waste yours.’

  Jeremy sat there on the sofa in his lover’s arms and just wanted to die, right there. If there had been a poisoned chalice he would have drunk deep and died happy.

  ‘Do you promise me then?’ Eddie’s voice hung in the air.

  Jeremy shuddered and gathered himself up off the sofa. There was nothing more to say; he was exhausted. He stumbled against a chair and reached out to Eddie, who took his arm and steadied him.

  ‘You will write to me or phone me sometimes?’ asked Jeremy, clutching his stomach as if it were going to drop on the floor. He was just full up with pain and hurt, and wanted to scream his agony to the world.

  Eddie held him tight and steered him to the front door. ‘I will always love you, Jeremy. You showed me what real love is, and for that I thank you. Please be strong for me, and remember wherever you are I will be watching you.’

  They kissed one last time – a gentle, tender kiss – and Jeremy drew strength from his lover and was able to ride the lift down to the ground floor with dignity. He went out into the freezing December evening grateful for the darkness to hide his tears. So many tears and so much pain. Jeremy walked all the way to Euston, by which time it was nine in the evening. He was too cold to care, but once on the last train back to Crewe he started to unthaw and as he grew warmer, his heart grew colder. Life’s a bitch and then you die! Except the wrong people seem to die, always the wrong people.

  He would work hard for Eddie; he would make him proud, and show his fucking father what his son loved about him. He hoped Lord Graham suffered for the rest of his life the guilt of destroying his only son’s chance of happiness. Please let Eddie live a long life, prove them all wrong. He was a shining star, he couldn’t die!

  Chapter 50

  Christmas Eve was finally here! Sally woke early with just the same sense of excitement she had had as a child. She was all packed and ready to go. Her parents would be arriving during the day and then they would watch the last show before driving their daughters home for the holiday. Christmas morning in her own bed! It was almost too much to bear, thought Sally happily. The week had flown by, and everyone at the theatre had been in a constant state of goodwill. Presents appeared on dressing tables and the boys bought everyone a chocolate Father Christmas. Sally had organized the girls’ presents to the crew and front-of-house staff. She had found a stall in the market which sold homemade soap. So everyone got a little bar of soap in the shape of Santa Claus and a sack of gold money. Chocolate, of course.

  Dora had had an early Christmas present in the form of an offer from Nottingham Playhouse for their next season.

  ‘The job that should have been mine,’ remarked Sally to Janie as they were ironing costumes.

  ‘Do I detect a hint of the green-eyed monster?’ teased Janie.

  ‘No, not really. It’s just I wish she showed a bit more gratitude. Let’s be honest, she did lie to the director of Nottingham Playhouse at that repertory conference and lead him to believe he was talking to me! She seems to be blissfully unaware of just how bloody lucky she is. Even the powers that be at Coronation Street are willing to wait for her to get her Equity ticket and then give her a job.’

  Sally suddenly realized how curmudgeonly she sounded and stopped herself, saying contritely, ‘Oh, I am sorry, Janie. I must sound like a right old miserable twisted sister. But each time I give Dora the benefit of the doubt, she goes and does something else. She pinched that business card of the agent Peter Stone that I had left on the kitchen table a while back and rang him and made an appointment to see him. I know she is perfectly entitled to do so, but it is so insensitive of her. She could have asked me first if I minded.’

  ‘And do you mind?’ ventured Janie.

  ‘Do you know what? Yes, actually, I do . . .’ Sally was pleased for Dora, of course, but she could not deny a touch of envy. Her younger sister’s life seemed to just progress with such ease. Everything always falling into place.

  ‘I suppose the thing that galls me is that she just takes it all for granted.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Sal. Everyone hits a bad patch eventually and it is how you deal with the knocks that counts.’

  ‘I don’t wish her any bad patches,’ sighed Sally. ‘Just wish she was a bit more grateful. I am sick to death of being the second-class citizen – the sad sister who is always one step behind. I seem to be getting nowhere fast.’ Sally was very close to tears and Janie knew it.

  ‘Hang on a minute, girl. You have gone from ASM to leads in three months. Not bad going, is it, eh? I am thrilled you will be playing Sandy in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie – and has not Miss Sarah Kelly hinted that you could be leading the ensemble in The Boyfriend?’

  Sarah had, indeed, told Sally that she and Giles thought she was the best person for the role of Polly Browne in The Boyfriend, the last production of the season. Sally had been thrilled to bits at the time, so why was she feeling so down now?

  ‘Listen, we are all tired and emotional. A day off and some Christmas pud and you will be feeling as right as rain,’ advised the ever-optimistic Janie.

  On the quiet, Sally was also very worried about Jeremy. He had told her about his trip to London and she had had to admit it was very hard on him.

  ‘You poor thing, it does seem as though the rich close ranks under fire, doesn’t it?’ she had consoled him. ‘All I can say is that time will heal. You will survive – and you must survive because you have an incredible career ahead of you. A new agent, a role in the West End – what more did you ever dream of? I wish I was so lucky.’ Sally couldn’t resist her small moment of self-pity.

  ‘Oh, Sally, don’t say that. You are doing fine. You have made the right decision to stay at Crewe and play proper parts instead of understudying. It would have driven you mad, and you would have had to put up with Rupert.’

  ‘I suppose you are right,’ she replied a little sadly. ‘I wonder who will play Ophelia this time?’

  ‘Forget it! Whoever it is will be a one-hit wonder and forgotten about by the time you are accepting your first Emmy. Now come on, let’s clear up the Green Room because, let’s face it, no one else will.’

  Patricia and Douglas Thomas arrived at the theatre just before curtain up on the matinée. Dora and Sally met them with shrieks of delight at the stage door.

  ‘It is so good to see you,’ said Sally, running into her dad’s arms. ‘We have to go and do the show now, but you know how to get to the flat, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ replied Douglas. ‘We can go and start packing the car with Dora’s stuff, can’t we? Then your mother and I will be at the stage door at four o’clock to take you to tea before the final show. She wants to go and buy some supplies for the journey home as well, I think.’

  ‘OK, then we will see you later,’ called Dora over her shoulder, already on the way to the dressing room to get changed. She added to Sally, ‘I will never get all my stuff in the car, so do you mind hanging on to some of it until I get a place in Nottingham, then I will come and get it?’

  ‘No, not all,’ said Sally, carefully putting on her moustache. ‘You know, I will miss being Ratty, but maybe not the facial hair. Perhaps that is why I can’t get an agent, because they think I am a hairy actress!’ She burst out laughing, and Dora joined in, until they were both laughing so much their make-up was running.

&n
bsp; Sally gave her sister a hug and said, ‘I will miss you, Dora, even though you have been a pain in the butt. Just try and think about other people sometimes before you go off on one.’

  ‘Yes, sister dear,’ Dora giggled. ‘I love you too, and I am truly sorry for all the grief I have caused.’

  Sally smiled, and they left it at that. However, in her heart of hearts Sally knew that things between them would never be the same again. She would never be able to fully trust Dora, and she knew that Dora would be living on a different planet this time next year. It was sad but true, and Sally surprised herself by her cynicism. Probably best to get on and take everything with a pinch of salt.

  The rest of the day went like clockwork. The girls took their parents to the pub for tea, and had pie and chips, and then did the last show to a full house of screaming children. As the curtain fell there was a stampede for the dressing rooms, with poor Heather trying to remind people that they must be back on Boxing Day for the half, at two o’clock.

  ‘Why do I bother?’ she shouted over the noise to Sally. ‘Have a great Christmas Day, pet.’

  Sally went to find Jeremy, who was struggling to the stage door with a huge bag.

  ‘We will see you at Junction Six bright and early on Boxing Day. Have a lovely Christmas Day, my darling.’ She gave him a big kiss.

  ‘You too, Sally. I hope Santa brings you something gorgeous!’ Then: ‘Bye, Gladys, don’t eat too many mince pies or you won’t fit through the stage door!’ Jeremy planted a smacker on the big woman’s cheek and was gone.

  Sally found her parents waiting by the car which was piled high, but with room for them all to squeeze in.

  ‘I have got all the food and drink with me in the front,’ explained Patricia. ‘Just ask me when you want something. Now come on, let’s get going. I loved your moustache, Sally.’