Pascal’s Boys
A story in nine short chapters
Fabian Black
Copyright © Fabian Black 2013
http://www.fabianblackromance.com
Beautiful gay romance fiction with a D/s theme
All Rights Reserved - Smashwords Edition
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author
Chastise Books
Cover art by C.Y.
Even after all this time,
The sun never says to the earth,
"You owe me."
Look what happens with a love like that.
It lights the whole sky.
Hafiz of Persia
Chapter One
Tom brewed fresh coffee. He set the percolator pot on the kitchen table and sat down, flicking through a glossy gardening magazine while listening out for footsteps descending the stairs. They came at last. He poured the aromatic liquor into two mugs, adding cream and sugar to one, leaving the other black. He looked up, as Ian, doctor and a close family friend, entered the kitchen, waiting until he was seated before asking the usual question. “How is he this morning, Ian?”
“Weaker.” Ian ran a hand through his silver grey hair. “I don’t think it will be long now, Tom, days, a week or two if he’s lucky, not much more than that. It’s a miracle he’s kept going as long as he has. He has the heart of a lion and a will to match.” He touched a kind hand to Tom’s stricken face, “let me arrange for a Macmillan Nurse to come in and help you care for him? You look tired. You need a break. These past months have been hard for you.”
“No.” Tom shook his head. “I’ll care for him. Adam helps and now he’s finished classes for the summer I’ll at least be able to spend a little more time at the garden centre. It’s all the break I need.”
“How is the expansion work progressing?” Ian picked up the mug of creamy coffee, blowing on it to cool it.
“Slowly. They’re behind schedule, which is why I’ll be glad to get over there more often to chivvy the workmen along. I was hoping Pascal would…” he picked up a spoon, stirring his coffee, concentrating on the dark whirlpool it made in the liquid.
“He’s excited about the expansion, Tom. He was talking about it this morning and bragging about what a fine place it’s going to be. He especially loves the thought of the Mediterranean plant section. He can see it all in his mind’s eye. It’s enough for him. It gives him such pleasure to know you love the place as much as he does, and that you’ll keep it going in his name.”
“Did he show you the blueprints again?”
“He did indeed. I got the usual guided tour by index finger. It’s a wonder the paper isn’t worn out.” Ian sipped his coffee and then asked, “Where is Adam by the way, still in bed?”
“No, he’s gone to help a friend, Evan, clear his student digs and then he’s giving him a lift home.”
“You relented and gave him his car keys back.”
Tom nodded, “on condition. He’s promised to drive more carefully in future.”
“Did Pascal know you confiscated his keys?”
“Of course. I never keep anything from him, certainly not with regard to Adam. Besides, he knew something had happened between us.”
“What did he say?”
“That I’d done the right thing. He told Adam he’d have done the same. He scolded him for speeding and said he deserved to be punished. Adam wasn’t too suited about being told off by us both. He was even less suited when we refused to pay his fine for him. Pascal told him he’d earned the fine and he could earn the money to pay it by working extra shifts at the garden centre. I think Adam expected to win Pascal over with his usual smiles and honeyed apologies. You should have seen his face when he got short shrift.”
Ian chuckled. “About time he was told no to something.” He sobered. “You know, Tom. I think Pascal’s death will hit him hard. I don’t think he’s accepted how ill he is.”
“I’ll look after him.”
“It’s a shame he didn’t stick it out at university. Oxford was a once in a lifetime opportunity. It would have helped him to be independent and more worldly, to grow up a bit.”
“We encouraged him to stay, to give it a chance, but he couldn’t cope. He felt lost and frightened there. He just wanted to come home. The world and its wonders aren’t for everyone, Ian. This is where he’s happy, at home. He’s enjoying his course at the local university. He’ll get a First Class for sure. As for growing up, he’ll do it in his own time. We all mature at different rates, that’s if we mature at all.”
“I suppose so. He’s only got another year left hasn’t he, what does he plan to do when he’s finished?”
“He hasn’t thought that far ahead. You know Adam. He lives in the moment. He wanted to study literature, so he’s studying literature. Some days he wants to be a poet and others a gardener, like Pascal and me, and sometimes,” Tom gave a smile that lit up his solemn face, “all he wants to do is lay on the grass and watch the clouds shift and change while philosophising about what lies beyond them.”
“He’s a dreamer and you indulge him. In fact you spoil him, just as Pascal has always indulged and spoiled him.”
“Pascal has always known when to stop indulging, and so do I. So stop your nagging.”
“If you say so.” Ian grinned and patted Tom’s shoulder. “Will you move back into the house permanently after Pascal’s death?”
“Perhaps.” Tom shrugged. “If Adam wants me to.”
“Pascal has divided his estate equally between the two of you. It will be as much your property as his.”
“This is Adam’s home. It’s his safe space. I won’t ever violate it. If he wants me to share it, he will ask me.”
“Don’t forget it was your safe place too.” Ian paused for a moment to take another drink of coffee. “Does Pascal know things have cooled between you and Adam of late?”
“He’s noticed, but he isn’t worried and neither am I.” Tom’s attractive smile made another appearance. “I love Adam with all my heart and I believe he loves me. He’s just not ready to make a full commitment yet. I’ll be here when he is ready, whenever it is. At the moment he’s enjoying discovering his physical self and playing the field a bit. I did the same at his age, and I bet you did too.”
“True, though in my day it was much more difficult to discover your physical self, with anyone, let alone someone of the same sex. Being gay was an arrestable offence.”
“Things have moved on, thank God, though a few steps further wouldn’t hurt.”
Ian nodded an acknowledgement. Sipping his coffee he gazed through the open kitchen window, catching the scent of jasmine and lavender, listening to the drone of bees and the occasional high-pitched scream of a swift on the wing. Summer was in youthful bloom, full of sensual heat and promise. The promise was false. Autumn would come and then, inevitably, the sharp chill of winter. The fair days had to be enjoyed for all they were worth.
He glanced at Tom, feeling a surge of affection. He had grown into a good man, a little too serious perhaps, but kind and hardworking. “It must be getting on for seventeen years, since you came to live with Pascal and Eleanor?”
Tom nodded. “Thereabouts.”
Sudden curiosity prompted a question. “Do you ever think about them, your parents I mean?”
“Not if I can help it. They never spared me much thought.”
“I’
m sorry, Tom.” Ian grimaced. “Marcus always said I asked too many bloody questions.”
“And so you do,” Tom grinned, “but then doctors are trained to ask questions.” The grin vanished. “Do you still miss Marcus?”
“Yes. I always will. He’s my first and last thought in every given day.”
“Pascal believes he’ll meet with Eleanor again, and Marcus too.” Tom picked up his mug of black coffee, and then put it down again without taking a drink. “It was hard enough when Eleanor died and Marcus, but I can’t imagine life without Pascal.”
“You’ll cope. I promise. No one can deny grief is a painful process, but you’ll cope.”
“I wish I didn’t have to.”
“It’s a wish we all have.”
“Do you still hate the man who killed them?”
“It depends on my mood. Sometimes, when loneliness bites, I do hate him, but hate is a poison chalice and it’s best not to drink from it too often. I try to rejoice in the good years I had with Marcus rather than mourn the years lived without him.”
“Pascal says the van driver is to be pitied because he wakes up every day with the knowledge he took the lives of two people. He says such knowledge must be an even heavier burden than grief.”
“Pascal has always had a good heart. Marcus thought the world of him. How about you, do you still hate the driver?”
Tom shrugged. “I hate how he got behind the wheel of his van when he was drunk. I hate the whole sequence of events that led to him ploughing into them. I used to drive myself half mad by going over it again and again and saying what if? What if the weather had been better, what if Eleanor’s car hadn’t broken down, what if Pascal or I had been available when she needed help in changing the tyre. I feel guilty too,” Tom chewed his bottom lip for a moment, “for being glad the accident happened on the way to collect Adam from school and not on the way back.”
“There’s no need for guilt. We were all glad for that mercy. They were dark days, Tom, for us all, but the sun came back into our lives and it will again after Pascal passes on.”
Tom nodded, not trusting himself to speak. They finished their coffee in companionable silence.
“I’ll visit again on Friday. Call me if his pain worsens, day or night.” Ian picked up his bag from the table, his professional mask slipping a little as he said the words. A look of sorrow crossed his face. “He’s a unique man, a very dear friend. I wish I could do more for him.”
“You’ve been wonderful, Ian, you’ve done all you can and we’re grateful.” They embraced and then Tom saw him to the front door, watching him walk to his car and drive away.
Closing the door he stood in the hall for a few moments watching the sunlight dance on the polished wood floor before treading slowly upstairs to the master bedroom.
Chapter Two
Pascal was asleep. Sitting on the end of the big oak bed, Tom felt his throat constrict as he noted the frailty of a man who had once been robust and strong, overflowing with life force. The cancer had shrunk his flesh. His skin now clung like bleached cloth to his bones revealing a network of blue-black veins, especially on his hands. There had once been strength in those hands, weather tanned and capable they would work the soil, now they could barely hold a cup without trembling with the effort.
Tom shivered, suddenly cold despite the summer sun. One of Pascal’s shirts hung over the end of the bed, an old flannel work shirt whose blue checks were faded almost to grey with numerous washings. He picked it up, rubbing the worn fabric against his face before slipping it on and wrapping it around his body. It gave warmth along with flashes of memory, of Pascal singing as he worked in all weathers. His days of work were now over and his season was fast drawing to its close.
Tom rose to his feet. Walking across to the window he rested his hands and forehead against the pane, staring out at the fertile summer garden bursting with life. It was an illusion. One blink of the eye and it would wither to dust. Life was transient. Death stalked every tick of your existence from the moment you first gulped air. It was there in the birthing room, waiting to take you from the warm darkness of the womb to the cold confinement of the grave, all beauty gone.
Tom rubbed a trembling hand across his forehead. Pascal had taught him to love nature, to work with the seasons rather than against them. Each had its beauty, he said, its own treasure, even winter, because all things needed to rest. Anger surged through Tom. He wanted to beat his hands against the glass, to break it and damn the seasons. The tears he’d been denying since hearing Ian’s words overflowed.
His name was suddenly spoken, making him start. He hurriedly wiped the sleeve of the shirt across his eyes before turning towards the bed. “I’m sorry, Pascal,” he forced a smile. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. Come, come to your papa.” The command in the voice surpassed the weakness of the outstretched hand accompanying it.
It had been years since Pascal had said those words, and years since Tom had needed him to. He didn’t hesitate.
“That’s right, you come to papa. Lie down next to me.” Pascal shuffled into the middle of the big bed drawing Tom against his body and holding him, as tears soaked his chest. “Don’t be afraid, my dear one. Papa is still here for you. I love you, papa loves you.” He kissed Tom’s soft brown hair, crooning endearments in a mixture of English and his native Dutch, until the sobs eased. “Don’t be angry, Tom,” he said gently, “or sad. I’ve had a full and happy life. I’m not afraid to die. I’m looking forward to seeing Eleanor again. Shall I give her your love?”
“Yes,” whispered Tom. “Tell her I still miss her.” His voice cracked. “I will always miss her and I will always miss you. I love you so much, Pascal.” The tears came again. He couldn’t stop them. “Sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Pascal. I should be stronger than this.”
“You’re strong when strength is needed. There’s no shame in tears, and they’re safe with me. I treasure them as I have always treasured them, along with your smiles, as signs of your trust. Close your eyes and rest a little, you’re tired.”
Tom closed his eyes, lightly resting his head against Pascal’s chest listening to the irregular beat of his heart as it struggled to keep life flowing through his veins. He felt the power of Pascal’s love for him transcending the frailty of his body, but his grief was such that it transmuted its warmth into a chill ache. It seeped into his bones to the very centre of his being. He wished he could share Pascal’s faith and take strength from something that sustained the older man, but he couldn’t. All he felt was the agony of impending departure.
They lay for a while each taking comfort from the presence of the other and then Pascal said softly. “Come now, mijn jongen, help me sit up. The day is well underway and I’d like to at least make pretence of activity. Help me shave and wash.”
“There, all done. Sit back.” Tom arranged the pillows as comfortably as he could and then drew the sheet up over Pascal’s legs. “I’ll get rid of this water and then I’ll make breakfast. Would you like some tea, maybe toast?”
“Tea and buttered toast would be nice,” Pascal smiled and rubbed Tom’s arm, his blue eyes twinkling amusement. “My shirt suits you.”
“I might even grow into it one day.” Tom gave a comical little grimace, shaking out his arms so the shirt cuffs slipped over his hands.
“Believe me, Tom.” Pascal was suddenly serious. “You more than fill that shirt. It has been my privilege and joy to watch you grow over the years. Such a sad boy you were when you came to us, so quiet. It broke our hearts to see the loneliness in you. I want you to know I’m proud of the man you’ve become, so proud.”
“Thank you, Pascal.” Tom’s throat tightened with emotion, but this time he kept it under control. He placed a kiss on Pascal’s forehead. “I’ll make tea. I won’t be long.” Picking up the basin of washing water and towel he left the room.
Chapter Three
Leaning back against the pillows, Pascal tur
ned his head towards the bedroom window. Outside, the sky was a high translucent blue, lit from behind by the power of the sun. He could feel its shimmering intensity through the glass separating him from the outside world. It made him think of Adam, bringing a smile to his face.
The sky had always held a fascination for Adam. He loved the way its colour shifted and transformed and the way the clouds came and went, changing shape, altering dimensions even as he watched. As a child he would lie on the grass in the garden, staring up at the sky, using his hands to shade his eyes against the glare of the sun. He had asked the same question a thousand times. ‘Papa, what lies above the sky and beyond the clouds?’
Pascal’s reply was always the same. ‘God resides above the sky.’ He would snatch Adam up from the grass and lift him high in the air, swinging him round, delighting in his laughter. ‘That’s where the world of heaven is, where the people who once loved you in this life wait for the moment you will join them.’
Adam had believed with the unquestioning faith of a child everything Pascal told him, but not now. Pascal’s smile broadened, and that’s the way it should be. Young men needed to find their own way and their own faith. They needed to find their own view of God.
His eyes turned to the framed photograph standing on the bedside cabinet. It was he and his wife on their wedding day. Picking it up he gazed at it, locating Eleanor’s voice and her scent within his memory. She would be proud of both Adam and Tom. Pascal’s boys she had called them, though they were as much hers as his, blessings brought to them by fate and the grace of God. They had no biological children of their own. Miscarriage after miscarriage brought heartbreak and they abandoned hope of ever having children.
Pascal's Boys Page 1
