by Ellie Thomas
On Sunday, he arrived as usual at his parents’ house in time for church and felt a warm sense of shock as he saw a letter had been put aside for him on the hall table. His heartbeat quickened as he recognised Alf’s neat handwriting on the envelope.
Yes, Alf had told him he would write to him, but Adam had not had any expectations. After their talk in the pub, Adam had convinced himself that Alf would regret promising to keep in contact and have second thoughts about them meeting up again. He could not bear to think any other way, only to have his hopes dashed.
Before the family descended from the upper reaches of the house, Adam quickly ripped open the envelope. The note inside was brief to the point of being terse. However, it informed Adam that Alf would be down in Bristol on business this Wednesday and he would meet Adam after work in the same pub. Adam felt almost dazed with happiness.
In church, at least he was not expected to talk and could use the lengthy sermon to quiet his racing thoughts. During lunch, he responded automatically, keeping up his end of the conversation without remembering much what it was about and passing condiments around the table when asked.
The one thing he was aware of was of being sure to refuse any plans his mother might make for Wednesday evening. Of that he was determined. But thankfully the issue never came up and he happily went along with the organising of his Friday and Saturday night socialising.
Monday, Tuesday, and particularly Wednesday after lunchtime passed painfully slowly. Adam glanced up almost every few minutes at the clock on the office wall, willing the time to be later than it actually was.
At last, when the hands slowly moved around to five, he was free to go. He tried to be affable and unrushed in his farewells to his colleagues and grabbing his hat and coat, he almost ran down Corn Street. When he reached the Duke of York, he was out of breath. He looked around the busy public bar almost wildly and for a horrible moment thought Alf was not there, after all.
At a second glance, he spotted the familiar figure seated at a corner table, pint mug in front of him, reading the paper. Adam let out his breath in a whoosh, not even realising he had been holding it. To buy himself time, he ordered a drink at the bar and took it over to the table.
As he approached, Alf glanced up skittishly. Adam noticed despite the relaxed pose, he was holding himself tensely. Funnily enough, it reassured him that Alf was anxious too.
In contrast to their first meeting, this time it was easier. They skirted around anything personal, simply making small talk about work. When Adam offered to get a second round in, Alf complied with no comment. The atmosphere between them might not be warm but Alf was staying at least for another drink with him and that was all that mattered.
Once the drinks were finished, Alf made a motion to stand, mentioning again about the mealtimes.
This time, Adam spoke up. “There’s a pub near my place that does decent enough food. It’s a bit of a walk up the hill, but if that’s no issue?” he shrugged, leaving the decision up to Alf. The silence seemed to last hours.
“Sounds good,” Alf said with a slight twist of his lips. “Anything would be better than overcooked rissoles and watery cabbage like last time.”
They made their way up Park Street and turned left towards Clifton Village with the same intermittent casual conversation. Having got this far, Adam was terrified of scaring Alf away and spoiling things.
The pub was redolent with the good smell of home cooking and Adam was greeted like the regular he was. Alf seemed to relax at this atmosphere. They found another corner table and were quickly served with plates of steaming sausages and mash.
“No watery cabbage here,” Adam said with a grin as they both tucked in.
Once they had eaten, the food had been praised to the landlord and they had ordered more drinks, the atmosphere between them was relaxed if not convivial. An unexpressed parley, at least.
Eventually, Alf yawned and stretched, glancing at his wristwatch. “I should probably order a cup of tea to sober myself up before I start off back to the guesthouse.”
Adam weighed his words very carefully. “I only live around the corner,” He said. “It would be easy enough to boil a kettle there as here.”
Alf paused and said mildly, “All right then.”
They left the pub and walked along the quiet towards Boyle’s Avenue. This time there was no handholding or attempt at an embrace but a strained silence, only broken by the echo of their footsteps on the pavement. They walked under the arch to Victoria Square and Adam ascended the stone steps of the house and opened the front door.
Once in his flat, with their coats and hats deposited on the coat rack, he went into the kitchen, lit a match for the gas, and filled the kettle. Alf was in the living room staring out of the window at the darkened square.
“There’s a nice view in daytime,” Adam said lightly and Alf jumped at his voice as if he had been miles away. He turned his head and they looked at each other for a long moment and Adam came towards Alf and put his arms around him.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, feeling the warmth of his body.
Alf shuddered but didn’t pull away. Encouraged, Adam kissed his neck and Alf glanced towards him.
“You’d better turn off that kettle before it starts shrieking,” he said unsmilingly.
Adam quickly did as he was told, not quite believing that this was happening. He returned and came towards Alf again, who was still facing away from him and placed his hands on Alf’s shoulders.
He was as still as a statue in the twilight, but not unyielding. So Adam started caressing him again, gently at first over the layers of clothing until at last, craving the touch for bare skin, he pulled up Alf’s shirt to feel the warm flesh of his flat belly and chest. Alf’s racing heartbeat was the only thing that betrayed him.
“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked in the same impersonal tone.
Adam led him by the hand into his room, only letting go of him to switch on the bedside light. Alf started to strip, shrugging off his jacket, sliding off his tie, and pulling his shirt over his head.
Adam watched transfixed at his lover’s emerging nakedness, longing and desire washing over him. Alf pulled down his trousers and underpants in one, his eagerness only showing in his body’s response. He stretched out on the bed.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked abruptly.
This cold manner was not like the Alf he had known and loved but at this point, Adam was so aroused he did not care. He ripped off his own expensive tailor-made clothes with no concern for their welfare and joined Alf on top of the covers.
Running a hand down that wiry almost hairless chest, Adam leant over to kiss him but Alf turned his head away. Undeterred, Adam kissed his body instead and was not rejected. His mouth trailed over his collarbones and he took his time over the already hardened nipples, eliciting a grudging moan as though Alf simply couldn’t help himself.
He continued his journey down Alf’s torso until he reached his hardened leaking cock. Adam ran the flat of his tongue over the length of it. Alf clenched his hands into the blankets and let out a gasp. “You bastard!”
Taking that as encouragement, Adam used his hand and mouth to worship Alf until his torso was rising off the bed, his whole body taut as a bowstring until he burst into Adam’s mouth in a wordless cry of release.
His own arousal was aching, but this time was all for Alf. Adam did not let him go altogether, but continued with careful kisses on his groin and inner thighs until Alf was finally still.
He looked up to see Alf’s hand over his eyes, shielding his face.
“I’m going to get some water, do you want some?”
Alf nodded but said nothing.
Adam padded naked through the living room to the kitchen, not bothering with the lights as he filled two glasses with water from the tap. When he returned to the bedroom, he half expected Alf to be dressing and ready to leave and was unconscionably relieved to find him in bed under the sheet.
Adam carefully put the glass on water down on Alf’s side of the bed and switched off the light, taking a gulp from his own glass before he got into bed.
He reached for Alf, who lay on his side away from him. He stayed very still but was unresisting. Adam gently kissed those tense shoulders, careful not to rub his hungry erection against him, tempting though it was.
“This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven,” Alf said muttered.
“I know,” Adam said softly, whispering into his ear. As his lover’s breathing evened out, he too fell into an uneasy sleep.
When Adam awoke the next morning, Alf had gone. He sighed but was unsurprised. Guest houses tended to have pretty strict rules about comings and goings so Alf probably made sure to be there for breakfast as if he had slept in his own bed and to pack his things ready for his train to Birmingham.
Putting on his own dressing gown, he went through to put the abandoned kettle on the hob. He glanced over at his writing desk and blinked to see a folded note with his name on it. He had the presence of mind to light the gas before looking at the note.
On it were a few simple words, followed by a list of numbers. “My work telephone number,” was all it said. But that was more than enough.
Chapter 9
It took a few days for Adam to work up the courage to make that call to Alf. It was partly nerves that held him back but also opportunity since the telephone at Merryweather’s was in a hallway for general use and strictly for official business only.
One lunchtime, when Adam happened to be the last person left in the office finishing a task, he took his chance. Feeling ridiculously self-conscious, he glanced around to see if the coast was clear. He felt tense as the operator transferred him and he was put through to the line which rang and rang.
The voice that eventually answered was unfamiliar, and so Adam put on his best professional voice as if ringing about Alf’s business in Bristol. A few heart-pounding moments later of silence, Alf came on the line.
“Hello?” he asked.
“It’s Adam,” Adam replied. There was an intake of breath that Adam could hear across the connection. His greatest fear was that Alf would hang up on him without another word. “You left your number,” he added.
“Yes, I did,” Alf said with an exhale that Adam hoped was not regret. Alf continued, “It was good of you to call.” His voice might sound cool but at least the words were encouraging, Adam thought.
Alf carried on, “It’s good timing, actually. I’ve been called down to Bristol next week to deliver more papers to the solicitor’s.”
It was on the tip of Adam’s tongue to suggest meeting up when Alf went on, “If I come down on a Friday, perhaps I might stay the weekend, since you have your own place? After all, it would save the works some money on the guest house and me a plateful of overcooked grub.”
Adam was shocked into wordlessness, then he almost babbled his delight at this unexpected suggestion.
“That’s settled then,” Alf said. “If you phone here next Thursday week at lunchtime then I’ll be able to confirm with you.”
After a few pleasantries, Adam hung up and felt weak with relief and surprise. He’d hoped that Alf would speak with him, or even agree to meet up again in the weeks or months ahead. But Alf going as far as proposing a visit to him and so soon? His head was reeling. He dared not speculate on Alf’s reasoning or he would drive himself round the bend with incessant self-questioning.
It seemed to be a week for pleasant revelations, as Mr. Briggs caught him before leaving the office the next day.
“Ah, Mr. Adam. A moment, please,” he said. He went on to suggest that Adam enrol in an evening class for a bookkeeping and accountancy course. “Of course, the expense would be covered by the firm since it would be to our advantage if you had the necessary qualifications. But doing the work required would be up to you,” he added severely, as though he hadn’t given Adam a golden opportunity.
Adam stammered his thanks, seeing a real career path open up before him almost miraculously.
On Friday night, he was ready to celebrate. The Merryweathers were having a family dinner. The extra number of people diluted the formal atmosphere so that the always excellent food could be enjoyed without an air of repression.
As the Pembroke Road contingent arrived, Adam noticed that Cat was looking particularly well. Rather than unrelieved black, her costume was in a smart shade of navy and shorter in length and her long hair had been tidily arranged to emulate a bobbed style.
“You look wonderful,” Adam said warmly, greeting her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Something flickered briefly in her expression but then she smiled in return.
After dinner the atmosphere unbent enough for the younger crowd to pile into one of the downstairs parlours to drink cocktails and play jazz records on the gramophone. Adam noted how Cat joined in with the dancing, her pink cheeks and happy expression was wonderful to see. It was if the old, fun-loving side of his beloved cousin had re-emerged from deepest grief.
A little later when the music was less frenetic and they were fox trotting around the room, Adam said something to this effect. After gracefully accepting the compliment, Cat said to his surprise, “You’re looking happier too.” She looked up at him, a question in her eyes.
He said softly in her ear, “Alf and I have been in touch. He said he’ll come to stay with me next weekend, work permitting.”
“Oh Adam,” Cat gripped his hand more tightly, her eyes shining with happiness for him. “I’m so pleased for you.”
“As long as I don’t mess things up this time,” he said half-jokingly.
“You won’t,” Cat said firmly.
As if to make up for the informality of Friday evening, Sunday lunch was stuffier than ever. Adam tolerated his mother’s commandeering of the conversation until she started on the subject Cat.
“It’s a relief to see Catherine smartening up her appearance at long last,” she began. “She even looked somewhere near fashionable at dinner. I must have a word with her mama and give some hints about further improvements. I’m sure we can her invited to places where she can meet someone. I was thinking of a widower or someone recovering from a war wound.”
To Adam’s horror, she turned to her elder son, “Perhaps you might have some suitable acquaintances?”
Knowing that such breath-taking meddling would be guaranteed to send Cat straight back into her shell from which she might never emerge, Adam defended his cousin.
“I don’t think that’s necessary, Mother. I’m sure Cat is perfectly capable of extending her own social life as and when she feels ready. There’s absolutely no need for any of us to stick an oar in.”
Mrs. Merryweather was so astonished by her usually easy-going middle child’s firm intervention that she merely gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing without making a sound. Before she could think of a retort, his father took up the conversational baton and smoothly changed the subject.
Later, Adam thought how much easier it was for him to stand up to his mother when Cat’s feelings were concerned, rather than his own. He sighed at his cowardly weakness.
Chapter 10
The next week passed surprisingly quickly, mainly due to his occupation, which was becoming an increasingly enjoyable challenge. Having had Alf’s arrival confirmed by telephone on Thursday, Adam considered walking from the office to Templemeads station to meet Alf’s train on Friday after work. Then he vacillated in case he was left lingering on an empty platform with Alf having changed his mind. That would be unbearable.
Instead, they planned to meet in one of the ancient Tudor pubs near the docks. Taking a leaf from Alf, Adam had a newspaper tucked under his arm, in case there was a long wait. However, as he was about to enter the tavern, he heard Alf’s voice behind him.
Adam tried to hide his joy as they shook hands briefly. Once inside, Adam was about to find a table, when to his surprise, Alf pointed to an empty snug. He did not know whether it was a good or
bad thing that Alf wanted some privacy. Was he going to announce that he was leaving on the next train back to Birmingham?
Once seated and served with drinks, the snug door closed behind the barman, Alf looked down at the table, removed his glasses and polished them with a handkerchief before speaking. Uh-oh, here it comes, thought Adam gloomily.
To his surprise, Alf said quietly, “I owe you an apology.” Before Adam could interrupt, he carried on, determined to say his piece. “I behaved very badly last time, which is part of the reason why I’m here today.”
Those clear green eyes gazed intensely at Adam as he cleared his throat. “You have no reason to be sorry,” he said.
“I was selfish and treated you, well…I used you,” Alf continued. “I was ashamed of myself. That’s why I left the telephone number.”
“I’m glad you did,” Adam said simply.
Alf took a sip of beer and fiddled with the arm of his glasses. “I wanted to hate you so much. I tried to blame you for being too damned handsome to resist,” he said with a twist of a smile. “But I knew I was lying to myself.” He paused, before saying, “I’d got so used to blocking you from my mind, telling myself that this was a closed book in my life. Then I thought about what you said that night and realised that there was no reason why you weren’t telling me the truth. I mean, you didn’t have to bother to explain all that and the proof is in the pudding. You aren’t married, after all.”
Adam said nothing, a surge of hope starting to rise in him.
“So,” Alf continued, “considering I still find you moderately attractive,” his eyes gleamed with dry humour, “I decided to give you, and us, another chance. If that’s what you want,” he finished modestly.
“God, yes,” Adam said fervently, “more than anything,” and he gripped Alf’s hand across the table. At that contact, Alf grew flustered but squeezed Adam’s hand briefly in return.
