“What is going on?” She asked the question when they were alone. She was going to add ‘mother thinks you are up to something’ but thought better of it.
“I don’t know,” was James’ answer, honest at least at one level. “It is Terry. He is very fond of me.”
“And you of him?”
“I suppose I am, but I am sure he will want to cool things off when we get back to England.” Deep down he hoped he was wrong, but part of him, the practical logical part which seemed to blossom in Rachel’s presence, thought this would be the best outcome.
There did not seem much that could be added. He could not say to her he loved Terry in way that he had never loved anyone before, and this love touched every part of his being. He loved Rachel, and of course the children. He wanted to be a dutiful and faithful husband, and like so many husbands before him, thought this was all he would ever be. He had taken his marriage vows seriously, and despised the kind of man who didn’t. He never thought he would find himself in such a place and be subjected to his own gross disapproval. There was so much about Rachel that he liked, indeed loved, and he just wished he could be content with that. He had not asked for Terry to come crashing into his life, to turn his world upside down, but now that it had happened there was no going back. No return to innocence once the apple had been eaten, no return to the Garden of Eden once the sin had been committed and the angel guard set, only forwards into a scary and unknown future.
“I will need to talk to the bishop,” he said, surprising himself with the thought. “I don’t know why, but I just think he can sort things out, understand what I am going through, and help me”.
“Be careful,” warned Rachel, as practical as ever. “You might be putting 25 years of ministry on the line, all for the sake of some feelings and the odd fumble.”
Just then James’ phone bleeped. They both knew who it was.
“So much for cooling off,” she said with some disappointment. She rarely used texts as a form of communication and was irritated at the intrusion into their private conversation.
James was reading what it said. “It says he has met with Charles, and he wants to call it off.” He looked totally stunned, as if he had just run into a wall. He stood there almost concussed.
Then with one howl he burst into tears, uncontrollably sobbing with his whole upper body shaking.
“He can’t do this,” he spluttered.
Rachel went over and held him close. She had such mixed feelings, having never seen him so distraught, so obviously in distress, but also knew the cause was the thing that gave her hope, hope her marriage was still intact. It seemed to her, even though it was beyond her experience, James’ feelings for Terry were so strong, so overwhelming, that it was a kind of madness, an illness for which she did not know the cure. What could she do? Could she live with a man who had tasted something, but would be denied trying it ever again? Could it be managed so that he was given an occasional dollop to keep him happy? For the moment all she could do was hold him and make him feel safe.
“It will be ok,” she said, grasping for words that didn’t usually evade her.
For James it was not enough. He was grateful for Rachel being there and perhaps too much took for granted her support, and her understanding. She had every right to be angry with him, and maybe it would have been better had she been. But all he wanted was to talk to Terry, to ask him a hundred questions, as to why he had come to this conclusion, what had made him change his mind, what had Charles said. For the moment he just sobbed, gently and rhythmically. After a while, he gently pulled himself away from Rachel and through the tears, he began to text a reply.
Two minutes later Terry sent another message: ‘I am so so sorry, but I can’t let you go xxx you mean too much to me xxx please tell me Charles is wrong xxx love you, love you, love you xxx’
In a matter of minutes James had been to hell and back. His heart had been wrenched open, his deep feelings exposed. He had been made to plead to be loved, and worst of all that pleading had worked. Rachel had witnessed it all, seen her husband plummet from quiet disposition to extreme distress, and on to an uneasy elation. James was just exhausted, as if he had run an emotional marathon, but he was satisfied. Terry had come back to him, despite the efforts of others, whatever their motives. And in a matter of days he could be in Terry’s arms, re-establishing his physical love for him. To James it was as if each stumble along the way did nothing but help to steady their course, to make them more certain of reaching the journey’s end together.
Chapter 5
James stood near the ticket machine, thinking it the most prominent place in the car park. He had arrived ten minutes before, a little too early and anxious as ever. He carried with him an overnight bag carefully packed, every item meticulously selected. He had dressed in a way he hoped Terry would like, and had paid particular attention to his underwear. After James had returned from Greece and they had re-established their relationship, Terry had asked him to go to York for an overnight trip. They had never yet spent a whole day and night in each other’s company.
A sense of panic came across James, a strange mixture of great sadness and relief. It was the same desperate thought he had just before every rendezvous with Terry. Why did he not just walk away, go home and carry on with his life as if nothing had happened? In some ways that would be so easy, and the bystanders would applaud. Rachel would be delighted, although she would realise a tremendous price had been paid for stability and security. Victor, fully supported by Charles, would be vindicated, another battle he had won by his own bravado. But Terry would have all his worse fears confirmed, proving men like James never connect to their hearts, or have the courage to be themselves, and in their dallying they destroy the lives of others.
Just then Terry’s car entered the car park, and was whisked around to where James was standing.
“Hello, sweetheart,” exclaimed James, with all idea of abandonment now instantly banished. He could not even remember the thoughts of a moment ago now that Terry had arrived. Within minutes they were travelling along the cobbled streets around the Cathedral, out to the suburbs and on their way to York.
“I thought first we would call in at Beverley, and have a cup of tea,” suggested Terry.
“And a cigarette, you mean,” joked James, without any hint of reprimand. Terry could have committed the vilest of crimes and James would have forgiven him that day.
At Beverley they enjoyed a quick tour of the Minster, comparing it quite favourably with the Cathedral back home. It was not so large and inhuman, and the white stone made it light and uplifting. This matched their mood. What is more they had the whole building to themselves, apart from the lady on the door, who sensing they knew more about churches than she might, left them to wander unmolested. In one transept under the intricate carvings in the arches they found themselves completely alone and out-of-sight, and amidst such beauty they embraced and kissed with an impatient passion, fulfilling a desire they had each nursed all morning. There was something quite delicious about doing this in such a place, not because it in anyway desecrated its sacredness but rather the holiness of the stones gave them permission and a blessing. James, more than Terry, was fully aware of the disapproval of the church authorities if they knew of their love, indeed of any love between two men meaningfully expressed. To steal a kiss here was an act of defiance, the precursor to what the future might hold.
They had tea and cakes in a teashop nearby.
“I love these old places,” said Terry, viewing the set-up with a critical eye. “I have always wanted to run a tea-shop, with an antiques boutique attached. I even thought of the idea of serving the tea in old tea cups and saucers, which the customers could buy after they used them.”
James looked at Terry, already beginning to know his face as if he had lived with it for years. The small indentation at the end of his nose was a feature he especially adored. Terry had said that no one else had ever remarked upon it, but to James it
was something he noticed the first day they met. Since then he had kissed it so many times he knew it with the touch of his tongue.
“But could you make it pay?” said James, more mindful of the need to be practical from time to time.
“Oh, yes,” replied Terry without a thought of accounts, balanced or otherwise, just an instinct it would be the right thing to do.
To change the subject, perhaps for fear of greater scrutiny, Terry reached into his back pocket and pulled out the letter James had sent from Greece.
“I take it everywhere,” he said with pride. “No one ever wrote anything like this for me before.” He smoothed out the crumpled envelope with affectionate strokes of his hand.
“Every word of it is true,” replied James who had not seen it since the day two weeks ago when he posted in that yellow box.
“I thought I had lost it the other day,” added Terry with a worried look. “I am sure I had hidden it in a safe place where Victor would never find it.”
“What . . . under your pillow?” laughed James, almost believing the naivety of Terry may have made him do such a thing.
“Well, no, that would be the first place he would look,” laughed Terry, slightly puzzled James would think him so careless. “I put it inside the prayer book I was given when I was confirmed, because I know he would never look in that!” There was something too sure in those words, and perhaps even a hope he might be wrong.
“But you said you thought you lost it?”
“I must have missed it when I first tried to find it. Anyway, it was there when I looked again. Even if he did read it, why would it matter?” said Terry with a challenge.
“It was meant just for you and no one else,” replied James, troubled by Terry’s casual attitude. For just a moment he regretted having sent it, for others might laugh at the contents or use it in some way to belittle or condemn his love.
“Anyway, I did find it, just where I had left it,” reassured Terry. “I am certain Victor would not have seen it, or else he would have said something, believe you me!”
“Just keep it safe, sweetheart,” pleaded James. “I have never written anything like that before; it was so much from the heart, and just for you.”
James was left with a worry, not so much about Victor who was someone who would gather evidence like an army stacks up weapons when it is preparing for war, but rather in the innocence of Terry laying bare the defences. Was it lack of guile that made Terry so careless? Certainly it added to his immeasurable charm.
They travelled on to York and checked into a modern hotel near the river. Terry had chosen it because it was part of a chain that was said to be gay-friendly, avoiding any embarrassment. The room was pleasant but not ornate, and the bathroom, to Terry’s delight, fitted out in the most modern specification. He seemed to care very much about such things.
The bed was large and within minutes they had scattered the cushions so carefully arranged. Quite naturally they made love, with the steadied urgency of those who had waited for days. For them it was the first time in a bed, and that sense of domesticity only helped to confirm their love for one another.
Two hours later, with added buoyancy, they were enjoying each other in a different way amongst the shops and cafes of the medieval streets. The best of it was they met no one they knew, and in their anonymity avoided the disdainful looks of family, friends or colleagues. The freedom encouraged them to be more daring and expressive. Occasionally, in the quieter streets and alleyways James would make a grab for Terry’s hand, and often Terry would let him hold it for a moment or two.
“I just love that chair,” Terry said pointing in a shop window to a richly gilded throne with a deep blue pattered brocade upholstery.
“That is so camp!” laughed James, tickling Terry in the process. They were like children on a day out.
By early evening they found themselves close to York Minster and decided to go in for evensong. This was unfamiliar territory for Terry, for his attendance at church had been sporadic. As an openly gay man he felt excluded from the worship life of the church. It may have been an excuse, as so often is the case with most of church avoidance, but Terry had encountered the disapproval of his church-going neighbours who objected to his lifestyle. In a town it might not have mattered, but in his village these feelings infected the social fabric of the community. Instead, he would visit his local church when it was empty, and there would pray to an understanding and uncomplaining God, who did not share the prejudices of most of his ardent devotees.
“The service of evensong will begin in five minutes, please enter here, no charge,” announced one of the vergers, used to dealing with the tourists who come just to watch.
Before long they were ushered into the stalls to sit quietly. As the service proceeded it washed over them and made few demands, other than to stand and sit at the appropriate points, and at one stage to turn to face the great East Window and bow in the right place. The engagement was at a different level, somewhere below active consciousness. It gave James a deep sense of peace, and even endorsement. He had kissed Terry in Beverley Minster, and now they sat together in the stalls of York Minster. God knew what was going on, and God, James was convinced, was in some way delighted that two souls had found the space and energy to dance as one. It was what creation was for, the acting out of God’s love upon the earth. But like so many things that are good and precious the church had no capacity for seeing it.
Halfway through the service James opened the prayer book and finding Psalm 42, underlined with his finger the first few verses for Terry to read: ‘like as the hart desireth the water-brooks: so longeth my soul after thee...
“It is our song,” whispered James, “but in funny words.”
Terry looked back almost as if he had been shown a dramatic revelation in the Bible. Part of him understood it as significant, but the rest unschooled in ecclesiastical culture felt bemused. He knew, or at least at that moment he knew, he loved James so totally.
After a short sermon about loving God with all your heart, soul and mind, though with no practical application, a parsonic voice intoned elaborate prayers, mostly for the dead. James wondered why it was still necessary to pray for Roger, ‘prependary of this church’, who departed this life in 1223. Surely nearly 800 years of intercession must have paid off the debt of sin by now, unless his deeds had been particularly abominable.
Another hymn and evensong was over. Terry and James filed out with the other tourists who were in the same sombre mood in which they had entered.
“What did you think of that?” asked James, elated by some of the experience.
“Ok, I suppose, but I didn’t like the sermon. Did you see that man in the choir? I am sure he was looking at me.”
James could only answer with a roll of his eyes.
They found a restaurant nearby and enjoyed a meal as they planned a new life together. Terry said that he would sell his house, and move to another village somewhere deep in the countryside where they could set up a guesthouse. Victor would be fine because he already owned a flat in town, and Rachel could have the bulk of James’ assets, leaving her and the children in their home. Both of them were concerned about their partners, for there was nothing vindictive or cruel in what they dreamed. They wanted everyone to share their happiness.
“Victor will probably go back to France,” Terry said, with a note of hope in his voice. “He has his family and many friends there, and never really liked living in this side if the channel. He tried to persuade me move there with him last year, but I could never leave England. Can you image me living aboard?”
“Only in British India as some kind of sahib,” joked James.
He looked at Terry and smiled. So much of Terry delighted him: his way of dressing, fashionable but conservative, his understated manners and quiet polite voice, his attention to detail in the way he ate, walked or just stood. He hardly noticed that he smoked, for Terry kept that habit very private, snatching a cigarette in quiet
moments and hidden around a corner. The smell of smoke was masked by Terry’s cologne, always so fresh and pungent. He was above all a clean man, with a body of classical proportions and form.
It was their bodies that they enjoyed again when they got back to the hotel, falling into each other's arms on the bed just as the room door closed behind them. For the first time there was no need to hurry, no curfew, and no place to be but there. So they made love slowly and purposely pleasuring each other as if time had stood still and the world had disappeared. Contra Mundi. Sometime later they lay there cuddled in exhausted satisfaction.
“I brought you here to see if we could survive 24 hours together,” confessed Terry. “I needed to know.”
“I think we are proving we can, and probably for a lot longer,” replied James. At times like this he could be so hopeful.
After a time of silence they lay with their eyes wide open, not wanting to sleep. They loved to talk together, sharing their innermost thoughts. It was a way of being even more vulnerable than when they made love.
“You are not the first, you know,” Terry confessed.
Quite startled James sat up and looked at him. “What do you mean? I thought you had been completely faithful to Victor.”
“I have really. I don’t know why because he hasn’t been faithful to me. I saw him once, he doesn’t know I know this, but I saw him once in a public toilet ogling the other men, planning to do something.” A look of disgust overtook his face.
“That changed everything,” he continued, “and I couldn’t really sleep with him anymore. We could cuddle, but nothing else. Somehow he had ruined it and there was no going back. That was five years ago, and we have been celibate ever since. Well, I have, at least.”
Gay Before God: An Awakening Love Forbidden by the Church Page 6
