MOVING ON
FABIAN BLACK
Published 2008
MOVING ON
Copyright © Fabian Black
ISBN 978 – 1 – 4092 – 2417 – 4
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form
or by any means without the prior written consent of the author and
publisher.
More gay romance fiction by Fabian Black at
http://stores.lulu.com/queer_fiction
1
Part One
The Dolls House
The dreams returned the night following the visit to the car boot sale.
I awoke with a start, my sweat dampened t-shirt clinging to
my body, chilling me. I could still hear the voice from my dream, a
whisper that seemed to rush from my mind and reverberate
accusingly around the room. I lay still for a moment fighting back a
sense of panic and then got up and headed downstairs, much to Bob’s
delight. He didn’t often get company at this inauspicious hour. Rising
arthritically from his basket he tottered towards me to be petted.
Leaning down I scratched him gently behind the ear and was
rewarded with a rusty purr of appreciation. Scooping him up I
rubbed my cheek against his craggy face for a moment.
“How about you and I have a little nightcap together Bob, huh, how
does that sound?”
His cloudy orange eyes gazed at me approvingly and I gave a small
laugh and set him back down on the floor.
Going to the fridge I got out the milk and poured some into a
bowl, reasoning that at his age he was entitled to have a treat once in
a while, and for that matter so was I. He fell on the forbidden fruit
greedily while I just as greedily helped myself to a large measure of
cooking brandy, the only available alcohol in the house, downing it in
2
one. It was rough and really better suited to lighting a barbecue than
quaffing neat, but still, needs must and all that. Just as I refilled the
glass Bob let out a small mew of pleasure alerting me to the fact that
our little party had been gate crashed by his favourite human being in
the entire world. I didn’t echo the sentiment, especially not when said
human smartly removed the glass from my hand and tossed the
contents down the sink. I gave a mew of my own, one of indignation
and protest.
“Thomas, I hadn’t finished with that!”
“I beg to differ.”
Oh how I hated it when he said that.
Re-corking the bottle with firm efficiency he put it back in the
cupboard. “If you’re having trouble sleeping,” he tapped my rump,
“the last thing you need is alcohol it’s a stimulant.”
“Not if you drink enough it isn’t.” I glowered at him resentfully.
“What are you doing up anyway, you usually sleep like the dead. Has
Halloween come early this year?”
Ignoring both the comments and the dirty look he grasped my
upper arm and escorted me out of the kitchen, switching off the light
and saying calmly, “if that cat is sick because of the milk you gave
him, you’re cleaning it up.”
He slipped a hand under my t-shirt smoothing it over my chest and
belly as we lay in bed. “What’s on your mind love? You were full of
the joys of spring this morning, persuading me to go out with you to
that wretched car boot thing at the racecourse, and ever since you’ve
been snapping and snarling like a dog with a tick in its tail. What’s
bothering you?”
I rolled away from him onto my side. “Nothing, well,” I glanced back
over my shoulder, “apart from the fact that I just fancied a little drink
to help me sleep and you act like an outraged Salvationist.”
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He let out a psychoanalytical sigh, “listen, when you get out of bed at
two in the morning to drink cooking brandy, then that tells me that
something is bothering you. Either you voluntarily come clean and
tell me what it is or I don my Top’s cap and make it a point of
discipline until you do. I might start suggesting you go to bed straight
after dinner each evening. How does that sound?”
“Huh,” I gave a disparaging grunt, “you can suggest all you like, but
I won’t bloody go.”
He kissed my cheek, “oh, believe me Andrew my honey, you’ll go,
and if I catch you near that brandy bottle again, you’ll regret it. You
know perfectly well that alcohol isn’t a problem solver.”
No, I thought sourly, but it’s a bloody good listener and it
doesn’t nag. I kept my opinion internalised. Thomas was apt to be
crabby if disagreed with on that particular point. I graciously
permitted his hand to slip inside my shorts and employ an altogether
less alcoholic but still persuasive means of inducing sleepiness in me,
and one that at least was guaranteed not to leave me with a hangover.
The subsequent release of tension brought pleasure, but sadly it was
transient and tension soon returned, and not in a good way. Turning
into Thomas’s comforting arms I determinedly blocked all anxious
thoughts and made myself believe that everything was the same as it
had been before the visit to the car boot sale.
Almost a week later, while turning the car into the road on my way
home from work, a ray of spring sunshine hit the chrome bumper of a
passing motor, momentarily dazzling me. I closed my eyes for a split
second against the glare and when I opened them, there she was,
standing by the side of the road, waiting. I’d been expecting her; all
the same it was a shock. My stomach lurched sickeningly and I
hunched over the wheel, fearful lest she see me. I managed to park
4
the car on the drive without mishap, though my hands were shaking
and my heart pounding so hard I thought I was going to pass out.
Thomas came into the hall, his homely features shaping
themselves into a frown of disapproval as I slammed the front door
hard behind me and hurled my bag aside.
“I take it you’ve had another bad day at work Andrew, but is that
really any reason...”
I didn’t give him chance to finish his sermon on the morality of door
slamming and bag hurling. “I help pay the fucking mortgage, so I
reckon I’m entitled to slam a door when I feel like it. In fact,” I opened
the door and childishly slammed it shut again. “I’m entitled to slam it
as many damn times as I like.”
“I can’t say I care for your attitude, how about you go out and come
back in again, preferably in a more civil manner.”
“Look, I’ve had a shit day and I just want to go for a bath.” Evading
his attempt to take hold of my arm I headed swiftly up the stairs and
locked myself in the bathroom. Turning the taps on I sat on the loo
seat bunching my lower lip between a thumb and forefinger and
chewing at the skin as the bath filled, ignoring the tapping on the
door.
“Andrew, open this door please. I want to talk to you.”
Turning off the taps I stood up, leaning my hot forehead against the
door’s cool grained wood. “I’m sorry for snapping your balls off
Thomas. I didn’t mean to take my mood out on you. I’ve got a
headache. I’ve had a pig of a day at work. Alex has been on my back
over bloody paperwork, I’m sick of her nagging. I just want to have a
quiet soak in the bath and de-stress.”
His voice softened, “take a couple of paracetamol sweetheart, there’s
some in the bathroom cabinet. I’ll make a start on dinner, don’t stay in
there too long, okay?”
5
“Okay,” I managed to prevent the tears that were running down my
face from sounding an echo in my voice.
Leaning against the door, I slid down to the floor, wrapping
my arms around my knees. Closing my eyes, I began rocking slowly
back and forth as a scene insistently unfolded in my mind.
Mile upon mile they stretched out ahead of us, a great carpet of
flowers, blue flowers reflecting the colour of the sky. It was
breathtaking, like a painting. The whole scene was like a painting
with the vivid blue wash of the sky, the brown barked trees with their
fresh green leaves, the cast of gold shed by the shimmering sun, and
then beneath the trees the bluebells. An Impressionist painting, that’s
what she said; we’re inside an Impressionist painting. She really
enjoyed art and someone had given her a lush book about painters
and their works for the Christmas that had just passed. She’d been
enchanted with it, especially the section on Cubism, which for some
reason fascinated her. She spent hours trying to draw and paint
pictures and patterns in the same style, patiently explaining to mum
and gran what they were meant to represent and getting cross when
gran totally failed to ‘get’ the concept of drawing something from a
different perspective. If you want to draw a vase then draw a vase,
gran would say, why try to make it into something else.
“Andrew!”
I jumped as Thomas knocked sharply on the door. From the tone of
his voice it wasn’t the first time he’d called me.
“Coming.” Scrambling to my feet I pulled the plug in the bath,
watching the unused water flow away, a small absurdly sensible
thought about waste of energy and resource inserting itself into my
mind. Changing quickly out of my clothes I splashed water on my
face and pulled on my bathrobe before opening the door.
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His verdant eyes surveyed me searchingly. “About time, I was
beginning to fear that you’d fallen asleep in the bath again and
drowned in there. Don’t lock that door again.” He followed me into
the bedroom. “Dinner’s ready, so don’t bother getting changed. You
can eat like that. The pasta will spoil if you dawdle much longer.”
I felt a flash of irritation. “Actually I’m not that hungry. I’m going to
get dressed and go out for a walk.”
“If by walk you mean a walk to the pub to get plastered like you did
the other evening then you can forget it. You’re staying in and you’re
having dinner. I don’t expect for a moment that you had anything at
lunchtime. Hunger always makes you snappy and bad tempered, as
the saying goes, a hungry man is an angry man, but not as angry as
the cook whose offering is rejected. So resign yourself. I’ve made it
now and it would be a crime to waste it.”
Slipping the robe off I walked across to the chest of drawers to
get out fresh underwear and socks. My hands were trembling slightly
as I fumbled among the chaotic mess looking for a pair of socks that
matched. As I fumbled my fingers brushed a small object that was
usually taped to the very back of the drawer, it had come loose. I
stared at it, my stomach tightening.
“Did you hear what I said?”
Whirling round I snarled, “of course I heard what you said. I’m not
deaf. It seems to me that you’re the one with the hearing problem. I
told you I’m not hungry and I’m going out for a walk.” Turning back
I savagely rammed the drawer home, dislodging a book that was
resting on top of the chest.
“Would you like to tell me what this paddy is in aid of?” Thomas
picked the book up from the floor and replaced it.
“No.” After tucking my attributes into clean briefs I sat on the bed to
pull on a pair of odd socks. Striding across to the window Thomas
began to pull the heavy curtains closed, blocking out the evening
7
light. “What are you doing?” I halted sock pulling in order to scowl at
him. I had a fair inkling of what he was doing, but still felt compelled
to ask. I was masochistic like that.
“Drawing the curtains,” he said, stating the obvious in that
infuriatingly calm way of his.
“Why?”
“Because, Andrew, in lieu of you being forthcoming about exactly
why you’re behaving like a fractious toddler I can only draw the
conclusion that its because you haven’t been sleeping well lately and
act accordingly. It seems to me that you’d benefit more from an early
night than a walk and if you don’t, then at least I will, because I won’t
get mauled every time I open my mouth. I’m tired of being snapped
at. I’ll bring you something to eat and then you can settle down.” He
briefly ruffled my hair as if I were indeed a tired toddler and then
walked out of the room, leaving me seething. As soon as his footsteps
began to descend the stairs, I defiantly flung the curtains back open
and dragged on jeans and a heavy knit jumper. It might well be
spring outside, but as yet there was still a hint of winter’s breath in
the air.
We met on the stairs. He was halfway up carrying a tray while I was
halfway down carrying nothing. He played the Grand old Duke Of
York to my man at arms, marching me straight back up to the top of
the hill. Well, not so much marching me back up as forcing me to
retreat, as he had no intention of halting his intended journey and I
couldn’t get past him on the narrow staircase. Like the staircase the
upper landing was narrow and he positioned himself dead centre,
elbows out, so I couldn’t squeeze past him, not without upsetting the
contents of the tray.
To my annoyance I was pushed back faster than the British
Expeditionary Force to Dunkirk though unlike those brave souls I had
8
no opportunity to turn defeat into a glorious triumph of the human
spirit over adversity. Using his right heel he closed the bedroom door
behind him and swiftly set the tray down on a chair. I was,
metaphorically speaking, stranded with the enemy to the fore and the
unfriendly sea to the rear and not a rescue craft in sight. Oh how I
hated being out manoeuvred.
“Get ready for bed.”
I shook my head. I wasn’t surrendering without a fight. Forcing back
a pout and an urge to leap up and down on the spot, I tried to make
my voice sound reasonable and steady, like the adult I was and not
the child I was beginning to feel like. “I’m not going to bed Thomas. I
know you mean well, but I’m not tired and I’m not hungry. I simply
want some fresh air, is that asking too much?”
“No,” he gave an eloquent shrug. “Fresh air is no problem at all
darling. Open the window and you can have all the fresh air you
need. Close the curtains while you’re over there, a dim light is more
conducive to rest.”
“I’m not budging on this Tom, I mean it.” Folding my arms I stared
at him stubbornly. We faced each other off for a few moments, and
then he gave a small shrug suggestive of regret and moved across to
his bedside cabinet. Pulling open the drawer he brought forth a
certain beastly little bat and laid it on the bed, making plain that we
were now in an official discipline situation and he had his Dominant’s
hat on.
“As you know Andrew I’m a fair man,” he gave a cool smile. “I’ll
give you a choice, bed without further ado or a bare backside
paddling and then bed.”
“In other words no choice at all.”
“Exactly, so do as you’re told please and do it quickly.”
I angrily dragged my jumper over my head. “You always get your
way don’t you? You’re just a bully and a damn dictator.”
9
Really, I had no grounds for such accusations. I knew the rules of the
game well enough and I knew they applied whether or not I was in
the mood for playing.
“Sticks and stones Andrew, sticks and stones.”
He set about picking up my clothes from the four corners of the room
where I’d flung them in juvenile pique, neatly folding them and
putting them on top of the chest of drawers.
“The end justifies the means. You’ve displayed nothing but ill
temper for days now. I warned you the other evening that I wouldn’t
put up with much more of it. Rest. You can call me as many names as
you like, as long as you wake up in a better mood tomorrow. Eat your
pasta before it goes completely cold. I’ll be up presently to get the
tray.” He placed the paddle on top of his bedside cabinet where I
could clearly see it. “Just to remind you that the sting is in the tail,” he
wagged his index finger, “or at least it will be in yours if you attempt
to defy the limitations just set.”
I pulled a face and stuck a hearty two fingers up as Mr
Proverb man exited the room. “Bossy, impossible, arrogant,
overbearing...” I gave up muttering and opened the drawer of my
own bedside table tipping the tagliatelle inside and closing it again.
My copy of The Da Vinci Code would never be the same again, but
then maybe that was a plus. Shoving the empty plate on the tray I
leaned my aching head back against the pine headboard and brooded.
How had it gotten here I wondered, bringing her with it. What if he’d
brought it? The thought that I might see him as well as her made me
feel sick and the vice around my head tightened further still.
“See, you were hungry.” Thomas smiled when he came back up for
the tray and saw the empty plate and I felt a spasm of guilt at
deceiving him. He cared about me and I really didn’t deserve him. He
compounded the guilty feeling by balancing the tray on his left hip in
10
order to free his right hand to tenderly caress my face. “You’ll feel so
much better after a rest love.”
He struggled heroically for a second his untidy brows bristling
slightly with the effort, but gave in to temptation, quoting another of
his beloved proverbs.
“One hour’s sleep before midnight is worth two after.”
“The darkest hour is before the dawn.” I countered sarcastically,
“and there will be sleeping enough in the grave.”
“Much more mockery from you and we’ll be putting that last one
into practice.” He sternly peered at me over the top of his half moon
glasses though the effect was endearing rather than intimidating, “the
trouble with you Andrew is that you always have to try and have the
last word and as everyone knows, in this house, the last word belongs
exclusively to me, so heed it and sleep.”
“I’m not a baby to be fussed over. I’m fine, I don’t need a rest.”
“You’re my baby, so at least try to sleep, to please me, if not
yourself.” He made a kiss at me before leaving the room closing the
door behind him.
The last thing in the world I wanted to do was sleep. Sleep
opened the gateway to nightmares and I wanted to keep it firmly
shut. Even without closing my eyes I could see the dolls house
standing on that rickety bric-a-brac stall at the car boot sale. It was the
same, the very same. I knew exactly what it would look like if I
removed the curved claw hook from the eye and allowed the front of
the house to swing open, revealing the rooms within. My skin
prickled as I tried desperately to blink the vision away.
Getting quickly out of bed I wandered across to the window
pulling aside the curtains to stare outside, watching as the evening
paperboy cycled down the opposite side of the street pedalling for all
he was worth, keeping time with whatever music was blasting into
his eardrums courtesy of iPod. The lowering sun caught the whirling
11
spokes flashing spears of silver. I blinked and then felt my heart leap
violently in my chest as she came into view again, standing on the
edge of the curb, waiting…arms wrapped tight about her thin body. I
hurriedly thrust myself back from the window before she could
glance up and fix me with those accusing eyes.
The brandy burned a path from my mouth to my stomach insulting
my taste buds en route and making my eyes water into the bargain.
Undeterred I slopped another generous measure into the glass,
gulping it down in one. I perhaps should have sipped it more
circumspectly, as my subsequent spluttering and coughing were not
advantageous to secret drinking, a case of alcoholics not so
anonymous.
“Andy?”
Book tucked under his arm, bemused expression tacked on his face
Thomas hurried into the kitchen. “What on earth do you think you’re
doing?”
I quickly poured more of the firewater into my glass, “what does it
look like I’m doing Tom, picking fucking daisies? I’m having a little
drink to help me sleep, that’s what I’m doing.”
He strode quickly towards me. “Give me that glass Andrew. NOW!
Do you hear me?”
Even the fact that he raised his voice, a rare occurrence, didn’t deter
me from gulping at the contents of the glass again and just about
gagging as the acrid liquid hit the back of my throat. Taken on an
empty stomach the alcohol effect was almost immediate, making me
reckless. I took another generous swig.
“Know what Tom, You’ve missed your true vocation in life. You
should have been an ear specialist instead of an optician, cos you’re
fucking obsessed with whether or not I can hear you.” I pointed to my
mouth, “read my lips…mind your own business.”
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“You’ve got exactly three seconds to do as you’re told and put that
glass down.”
“Whatever you say.”
Draining the glass I spitefully hurled it across the room where it
shattered against the wall with satisfying effect spraying fragments of
glass everywhere. “Hey, how about that, the glass is down and I’ve
still got half a second to spare. Shame this isn’t a game show, I’d have
won a prize. Who needs a glass anyway, certainly not me.” I tried to
push past him still holding the bottle. Not a hope in hell. He had
always been able to handle me with ease and I suddenly found
myself, sans bottle, nose to nose with Bob, who was sitting under the
kitchen chair that Thomas was now sitting on, looking as astonished
as I felt. I let out a yell as a large palm powered down on my
backside. Bob fled. I wish I could have joined him, but I sensed that I
was going nowhere for a while yet.
Thomas wasted no words. He simply concentrated on
spanking hard and fast. My sleep shorts offered little in the way of
protection. All the same I mourned their loss deeply as he lifted me
and tugged them down to my knees, exposing my buttocks to the full
scope of his punishing hand. All temper had gone out of me and I was
almost in tears when he stopped smacking and began rubbing a
soothing hand over my burning behind. Seeing as he was the one that
had made it hot and sore in the first place I didn’t really appreciate
the gesture.
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”
“Not being able to have a drink when I want one and the pain in my
bum.” I said facetiously, which was a mistake considering my
vulnerable position, bare backside at three o clock high. I yelped as he
sharply walloped it again.
“You don’t need the first,” he said sternly, “and you earned the
second. I won’t tolerate the level of disrespect you’ve shown towards
13
me this evening and I certainly won’t tolerate you throwing things.
Drink isn’t a cure-all. Whatever is bothering you is best talked about
and not temporarily drowned in alcohol. Is it work, has Alex been on
your bones again?”
“Yeah,” I twisted my head to look at him, “it’s work. Why don’t we
talk about it over a drink, you talk and I’ll drink.”
“If that’s going to be your attitude you leave me no alternative.” His
hand left my backside and pulled open the drawer on the pine kitchen
table.
Shit. I knew what was kept in that drawer and hurriedly tried to lever
myself off his lap. “Let me up you sadistic bastard!” Perhaps I should
have asked more politely. His arm tightened around my waist
securing me more firmly and I let out a howl of grief as he whacked
the wooden spatula across my already inflamed cheeks. “Oh God,
please Thomas, please I’m sorry...”
“I’ve had more than enough of your bad temper and foul mouthed
rudeness for one night. It may have escaped your notice, but your
destructive tantrum has cost me a cut to my foot. It’s not acceptable to
cause injury to others just because you’re feeling bad about something
that you refuse to talk about.”
I cried out as the spatula contacted my bottom harder still. The
damn thing hurt just as much if not more than the custom made
paddle. He wielded it expertly, landing smack after stinging smack to
my buttocks and thighs, stopping only when my frantic squirming
became a hindrance and I half slid off his lap. Re-arranging me over
his left thigh he pinned my right hand against the small of my back,
trapped my flailing lower limbs with his right leg, and resumed
punishment.
“I hate you Thomas. You do know that don’t you?” I spoke thickly,
my voice still tear thickened. The spanking he had given me had left
14
me in no doubt as to his disapproval of my behaviour. It had been
hard and it had hurt and given my already overwrought state I had
quickly succumbed to tears that once started I found hard to stop.
“If you say so honey.” There was a slight rustle as he turned the
page of the book he’d been reading for the past half hour. “I’ll take
comfort in the fact that you’re at least speaking to me again.”
“Is your foot alright,” I momentarily swapped detestation for
concern, “shall I look at it for you?”
“I’ve attended to it thank you.”
“What are you reading?”
“Justinian, The Digest Of Roman Law.”
“Sounds like real laugh an hour stuff.”
“It’s fascinating actually. Do you want me to read some to you?”
“No,” I kept my back turned to him. “I don’t want anything from
you. I loathe and despise you.”
“Saying is one thing, doing another.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What it means my dear is that you don’t mean what you’re saying.”
“I do. I really hate you.”
“Love me little, love me long.”
“I don’t even like you never mind love you. Thanks to you I won’t be
able to sit comfortably for days.”
“That’s entirely your own fault.” The mattress raised a little as he got
up.
I glanced back over my shoulder. “Where are you going?”
He removed his glasses and laid them on the bedside table along with
his book, “does it matter if you despise me so much?”
“Yes, I like to have you close by while I’m hating you.”
“Now you’re calmer, I’m going to sweep up the mess you made in
the kitchen. I’m also going to pour the remains of that brandy down
the sink, so you’ll have nothing further to tempt you out of bed.
15
Bourguignon is off the house menu from now on. Then I’ll let Bob out
for his evening constitutional and do a little paperwork. I’ll be back
up before you know it, then you can despise me to your hearts
content.”
He winced slightly and I felt a spasm of guilt. “Is your foot badly
cut?”
“I’ll live,” he said dryly.
“I really didn’t mean you to get hurt, I’m sorry. Are you sure it
doesn’t need stitches? I wish you’d let me look at it.”
“It’s minor, so stop fretting,” he lightly patted the covers in the
vicinity of my bottom, “the matter has been dealt with and you’re all
forgiven, so let it go.” He bent to kiss me, “please try to get some sleep
you really do look shattered. We’ll talk properly tomorrow and I’ll
expect some clear answers. I mean it Andrew; I don’t like to see you
in these ugly moods. You’ll tell me what the problem is and we’ll sort
it out, no more procrastinating.”
I was shattered, but I stubbornly lay awake, fighting Hypnos
every inch of the way. If only I hadn’t insisted that we go to that
damned car boot sale. I’d wanted a change, a break from the usual
ritual and routine of Sunday mornings. I’d persuaded Thomas to
come with me to the racecourse where people traded junk, their own
and other peoples, from the boots of their cars. What is it they say;
one man’s junk is another man’s treasure? Not the dolls house
though. It had never been treasure, or if it had it was cursed treasure.
The moment I’d set eyes on it, it was as if someone had jerked aside a
heavy curtain in my mind and all sense of peace I had vanished.
I was still awake when Thomas came to bed though I
pretended not to be, feigning sleep, in case he started asking
questions. He knew I was faking, but didn’t press, settling for
stroking my cheek and placing a light kiss on my shoulder before
settling down beside me. I lay wakeful long after he’d succumbed to
16
slumber, bless him, he could sleep on a clothesline. Sly Hypnos
eventually outfoxed me and won the battle, my eyes closed and
Morpheus took over from his father.
I could almost smell the flowers, the cool earthy scent of bluebells on
a May breeze. I watched my child self, laughing and shouting, a
typical eleven year old boy, brutally crushing the fragile blooms
beneath my feet as I ran and played among the trees. Not her though.
She picked her way delicately through the blue green sea of flowers
and grass to sit silently beneath a tree.
“The trees are whispering can you hear them?” She spoke to
me as I flopped down beside her for a rest, “they’re telling secrets.
Listen Andy,” she put a finger to her lips, “listen and you’ll hear a
secret.”
“You’re mad Issy,” I teased her. “It’s just the wind rustling through
the leaves.”
“Look,” she held out her hand. In it was a tiny doll, her counterpart
from the dolls house. “She likes it here Andy, she told me, she wants
to stay here forever.”
“Well she can’t, we’re going home tomorrow.”
She gazed at me solemnly. “Did you know that you mustn’t pick the
bluebells, that if you take them away from the trees they fade and die,
even if you give them water.”
She paused and then whispered, “I’ll die if I leave here. I’ll fade and
die. I want to stay with the bluebells.”
I mocked her, “you’re weird Issy, really weird, of course you won’t
die.”
The dream shifted in that sudden way dreams do. The front of
the dolls house swung slowly open revealing the rooms within: sitting
room, kitchen, a narrow flight of stairs, the bathroom and the
bedrooms, all so neat and perfect, and then there were the dolls. I was
17
shouting angrily. “You’re too old to be playing with dolls now. Why
don’t you go out, make friends. Get a life!” She said nothing,
continuing to play with the dolls house until I angrily pushed her
aside, slamming the front closed. Only it wouldn’t stay closed. It
bounced open again and again...whispers leaking from the walls,
invading my mind.
I awoke with a jolt, wiping away the sweat that was trickling down
my face, forcing myself to breathe deeply, using the soothing steady
rhythm of Thomas’s sleep breathing as a template. She always turned
up, always. Just when it seemed I’d successfully forgotten she
reappeared, driving me on. Only this time, for the first time, I didn’t
want to move on. I wanted to stay with Thomas, and conversely that’s
why I had to go. I didn’t deserve to be happy, that was the deal I’d
made with my conscience, and he’d hate me anyway, if he knew, he’d
hate me, just as I hated myself, just as Issy hated me
because…because…the word echoed madly around my head,
tantalising, daring me to complete the thought. She was closing in. I
had to leave before Thomas discovered what kind of person he’d been
sharing his life with.
I got up and dressed, wincing as I pulled jeans up over my still
tender backside. Carefully lifting a holdall from the top of the
wardrobe I moved quietly around the room gathering a clutch of
things together. I stood for a few moments looking down at Thomas’s
sleeping form, drinking in the plain kind features that had come to
mean so much to me. The time spent with him had been good, the
very best.
I left my mobile phone on the hall table, cutting myself off from easy
communication and then I quietly opened the front door, stopping
Bob when he tried to follow. He looked up at me askance and I felt a
18
pang of guilt bending down to pet him one last time. “Take care of
Thomas for me Bobby,” I whispered, stroking his soft marmalade fur
before pushing him back inside and closing the door on him.
I was crying as I drove away in the dim light of early dawn. If
this didn’t appease her, nothing would. I felt as if I’d given up my
soul. Surely she could ask no more of me.
19
Part Two
East West Home’s Best
The sun sparkles on the water. I repeated the words to myself like a
mantra over and over again in an attempt to block out other sounds
and other words. The sun sparkles on the water. It was true the sun was
sparkling on the water, little beams of light dancing to the tune of the
tide. Closing my eyes I wrapped my arms tighter around my body.
There was no warmth in the sun only a hard shining brightness, a
knife-edge of coldness that sliced into my bones. I heard the cry of the
gulls and desperately pictured them in my minds eye plummeting
from a colourless sky, predatory, black tipped arrows spearing life
beneath the waves. The sun sparkles on the water...the sun...the sun...the
sun...it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work, it doesn’t fucking work! I tensed
as a lilting tune floated on the sea breeze forcing itself into my mind,
the tune of My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean. Now there were no
sparkles and no gulls to hide behind, only two children playing at the
water’s edge. I was laughing as she sang alternative words to the song
learned from a boy at school; she loved silly rhymes and songs... ‘Issy,
don’t let mum hear you sing that, it’s rude,’ but mum was otherwise
engaged that day. I opened my eyes dispelling the vision, watching it
disintegrate before me like motes of dust in a shaft of sunlight.
Getting wearily to my feet I began walking, as I did every day
along the shoreline. The sea was the last place I actually wanted to be,
20
this was where it all began, right here on this very beach. I’d felt
drawn to the place, compelled, as if she were pulling me back to
torment me, and to punish me. I’d given up the thing that meant most
to me in the entire world, but it wasn’t enough. She would never let
me go.
I kept on walking. Scrambling mindlessly among the natural
boulders that littered this particular part of the coast, stopping
occasionally to rest, a huddled Neried sitting among the rocks
listening to the whisper of the wind as it skimmed the breakers.
Usually once I’d moved on she let me be for a while, but not this time.
Her presence was more tangible than ever. I could see her standing at
the outer reaches of my vision, watching, constantly watching and
waiting.
Picking up a pebble I savagely lobbed it towards the sea where
it bounced and skipped the surface of the waves, interrupting the
whispering incantation of the wind. I counted five bounces before it
sank, a record for me. We used to play ducks and drakes, Issy and I.
She was better at it than I was. It still rankled that a girl could beat me
at that particular game.
Thrusting my hands into my pockets I hunched my shoulders
and turned my thoughts to Thomas. I’d given up the secret hope that
he would come for me; it had been over a month now. I missed him
so much, more than I even thought I would, his absence was a
constant ache that I carried in my bones. I saw his shadow on the
Galloway hills, heard his voice in the rush and swell of the sea and
felt the kiss of his breath in the morning mists that wreathed the
lowland valley. If only I hadn’t insisted that we go to that car boot
sale, she might not have found me again and I’d still be at home with
him.
One of his maddening adages sprung to mind: It’s never too
late to mend. I smiled, picturing his face; his unconcealed pleasure at
21
finding a proverb for every situation. He collected them, diligently
jotting them down in preparation for compiling them into a book one
day. Sadly, the adage in this case did not apply; it wasn’t true because
it was too late, certainly for Issy, and also for me. It was for me to live
with what I’d done, me alone. I couldn’t bear for Thomas to know
how unworthy I was of his love, couldn’t bear the idea of reading a
message of disgust in his deep green eyes. I saw enough disgust
reflected back in my own eyes whenever I looked in a mirror.
It began to rain, a spiteful drizzle that sent me back in the
direction of the seafront caravan I was renting. I felt wretched and
suddenly aware of a prickling discomfort in my throat. I didn’t much
care if I got sick; I was sick already, sick of dreams and sick of life. I
reached the caravan inserting my key into the lock. As per usual it
was stiff to turn and I heaved and twisted, but this time it refused to
yield. The lock might not have yielded, but my temper did. Cold, wet
and thoroughly pissed off I let fly, booting viciously at the door until
the lock snapped.
Lurching inside I turned to close the door against the rain,
only it wouldn’t. Fucking great. I stared at it, now the bastard door
wouldn’t shut, this fucking shit hole was costing me a fortune to rent
and now the door wouldn’t shut! Conveniently forgetting the reason
why it wouldn’t shut, I punched and kicked at it again and again
catching it on the rebound until I was too exhausted to do it anymore.
Fuck it. I left it open. There was nothing worth nicking anyway; even
the television didn’t work properly. Sea to the fore and hills to the
rear played havoc with reception, it was like viewing through a
constant blizzard. Still, on the bright side the cast of East Enders had
never looked lovelier.
Making my way into the tiny kitchen I grabbed a bottle of red
wine toying with and abandoning the idea of making myself a cheese
sandwich to go with it. Both bread and cheese bore a lush fur coat that
22
a catwalk queen would have been proud to model. If I was any use to
the world, I’d take the opportunity to develop a range of antibiotics
from the mould, but I wasn’t any use, not to anyone. I never had been,
that was why...I strangled the thought in its infancy.
It was freezing in the caravan, even by British standards it was
turning out to be a cold spring and the gas bottle heating system was
totally inadequate. The broken door swinging back and forth in the
wind added to the Siberian ambience. Collecting a blanket from the
bedroom I also picked up the teddy bear that I had found in the
caravan when I took up residence.
Wrapping myself in the blanket I huddled up on the narrow
window seat, and began the serious process of drinking myself into a
stupor, as I did every evening. First wine, then brandy, cheap, but still
a step up from cooking brandy, though if I didn’t stir my stumps and
find a new job soon, even cooking brandy would be a luxury I
couldn’t afford. I needed to find a flat to rent in order to give myself a
bona fide postal address for work and benefit purposes, but I just
didn’t have the energy to look. Anyway, this was the last place on
earth I wanted to live and work in. I’d move on somewhere else,
perhaps tomorrow.
“Drink?” I generously offered the brandy bottle to my bear
companion having long since dispensed with the niceties of
glassware. Its glazed eyes gave a negative response.
“Teetotal eh, never mind, all the more for me then.”
I swigged from the bottle again, staring dully out of the salt grimed
window. Sky met sea in a heavy grey sulk that made it hard to
distinguish one from the other. I heard a faint echo of something, a
soft mocking note hanging suspended on the misty air. The words of
the childish song popped uninvited into my head...my brother lies over
the ocean, my sister lies over the sea, my daddy lies over my mammy and
that’s how they got me...
23
“A guilty conscience needs no accuser.”
Jesus, I grimaced as I heard my voice sound. I was quoting maxims to
myself now.
I stared down at the bear; its steady gaze suddenly reminding
me of Thomas. I cuddled it, but it didn’t feel right. I wanted it to
cuddle me and imperiously say things like: you need a hair cut, and
wouldn’t it be a good idea if you shaved before you went to
work...what did you have for lunch today and have you paid this
months instalment off your credit card debt? Then the stomach
turning, show me proof. Inevitably I’d end up being disciplined for
having accumulated yet more interest on the debt by not paying the
instalment at the appointed time and then for lying about it. He
refused to accept my excuses, just as he refused to take over the
paying of it. ‘How can you learn personal responsibility if I do
everything for you? I remind you when it’s due,’ he’d say, ‘and yet
still you manage not to pay it on time. We’d all prefer to feed the
ducks in our lunch hour Andrew, but most of us manage to get our
priorities in the right order.’ A bad excuse is better than none, I said to
him once, in an effort to forestall a painful trip across his knee, hoping
to disarm and charm him. He responded with, ‘never put off till
tomorrow what can be done today-especially when it comes to paying
your debts.’ Bastard, he always had to have the last word. I spoke
aloud to the teddy, “and he still whacked my arse, what do you think
of that?”
The bear said nothing preferring to keep its own counsel.
“Stupid toy.” I flung it across the room and then concentrated on
reaching the bottom of the brandy bottle.
Outside the rain grew heavier, pattering metallically against
the roof of the caravan. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. It
had been raining the very first time I met Thomas. I let myself drift
into inebriated sleep on the memory.
24
“Thanks,” gratefully opening the door I flung my bag into the back
of the car before flopping down on the front seat. I’d walked for hours
in the chilling rain with no offer of a lift and I was exhausted.
“Where are you headed?”
He peered questioningly over the top of his glasses in the endearing
way that I was to come to know so well.
“Anywhere.” I managed to gasp through a bout of painful coughing.
I’d had a bad cold for what felt like months, I just couldn’t shake it.
“East, west, home’s best?”
“Not always.” I smiled without humour at this first introduction to
his passion for proverbs, “just drop me where it’s most convenient for
you. I won’t complain.”
Neither of us spoke much and lulled by the rhythmic drumming of
the rain against the car roof and the slash and swish of the windscreen
wipers I drifted to sleep. I woke up two days later in his spare room.
I shifted uneasily as the dream I wanted to have faded away
and a host of other images and sounds replaced it.
“You made it?” I was impressed. “It’s fantastic...” Not that I was into
dolls houses or anything, but the craftsmanship was superb. Issy
loved it and the family of dolls that went with it. One to represent
each of us, he said, smiling, a new family, in a new home.
The dream jumped again: I heard doors opening and softly
closing, and then the whispering. Standing in the doorway to her
room I watched her crouching in front of the dolls house... her voice
singing softly through its interior as she arranged the dolls. She had
redecorated the bedroom where her doll slept carefully painting out
the chintzy wallpaper with an eye-confusing pattern of red and black
that was obviously influenced by the cubist art she liked so much.
Red and black whirled away as the dream kaleidoscope
turned yet again. Sunshine through trees, golden ripples of light
illuminating the fast fading flowers. We were late that year, it was the
25
year that mum died and we’d missed the full blooming. Issy scraped
the soil from beneath a tree, laying something in the ground. ‘I’m
returning mum to the bluebells and the trees, she loved it here,’ she
had said, ‘she’s home now.’
The wind rustled the leaves, whispering, east-west-home’s-best,
I wanted to go home...home...home...a mocking laugh and the dolls
house was there before me once more with its front swinging open.
She’d done it again. I darted forward snatching at the dolls, shouting
at her saying that I hated her.
The dream fast-forwarded again. Not this, I didn’t want this. I
tried to wake up, but couldn’t. Turning into the street I saw her, called
her name, there was a piercing flash of light.
I woke up drenched in sweat, lurching to my feet as nausea
swept over me. The empty bottle fell from my lap striking the edge of
the tiled coffee table and shattering into fragrant green shards that I
showered with a torrent of sick. She was there in the room, arms
wrapped tight about her body silently watching me.
“I didn’t know, I didn’t understand, not then!” I spoke the words as
a plea, not believing them for a moment, so why should she.
Snatching up a fragment of green glass from the pool of vomit I
scored its jagged edge down my forearm watching the skin split and
beads of blood bubble to the surface, feeling the sting of residual
alcohol from the glass in the open wound. I scored it again, harder,
slashing viciously, trying desperately to use physical pain to blot out
guilt and make sense of confusion. Her face along with the room
circled around me her whispers filling my mind. I shouted. “What do
you want from me?”
I got a shock as a firm hand took hold of my wrist and removed the
dagger of glass from my fingers.
“I want you to stop doing what you’re doing. Do you hear me
Andrew?”
26
It was as good a time as any to pass out.
Blackness gave way to a sickly artificial light as I regained some sense
and opened my eyes. I was lying on the caravan bed and Thomas was
cleaning and dressing the cuts on my arm, his glasses perched
perilously on the end of his nose as he concentrated on the task in
hand, murmuring to himself. I noticed that the hairs in his nostrils
needed trimming. If this was a hallucination it was a good one, visual,
auditory and tactile. I could see him, hear him, I reached out a
tentative hand, touch him.
“Lie still,” he said, his tone grim, “let me get done here. I hope you
realise that you could easily have cut a vein slashing at yourself like
that.”
There was so much I wanted to say, to ask, how had he found me,
why had it taken him so long? I opened my mouth, “how’s Bob?” I
couldn’t believe I said that.
“Slimmer since you deserted us and stopped feeding him forbidden
titbits. However,” he secured the bandage and turned his eyes on me,
“there are more ways to kill a cat than by choking it with cream. He’s
pined for you.”
The thought of Bob pining upset me. I glared at him, “you just made
that up. I don’t believe that’s a real proverb.”
“As you like,” he got up.
“Where are you going?” I panicked and tried to sit up, as he moved
away from me.
“To wedge that door closed and get a fresh basin of water to wash
you with. You smell none too fragrant Andrew. I’m certainly not
spending the night with that stench in my nostrils. Stay where you
are, you’re in no state to be walking around.”
27
After stripping off my soiled clothing he washed me, wiping
away sick and sweat. “That beard is coming off,” he said as he wiped
my face, “and you need a hair cut.”
I leaned heavily against him as he helped me into a pair of his
own boxers and a t-shirt. They were too big, but at least they were
clean, which is more than could be said for my stuff. Hygiene had not
been high on my list of priorities lately. I wanted to ask if he’d missed
me, but I didn’t dare in case he said no. “Has Bob really pined for
me?”
“Yes.” Thomas lowered me back into the bed and covered me up,
“though he settled better after I put a shirt of yours in his basket.”
His untidy brows suddenly knitted together in a frown of
consternation, “why did you leave us like that Andrew? It was most
unkind.”
Before I could respond she appeared behind him. I impulsively
clutched at him and he rocked me gently in his arms making soothing
noises as I sobbed like a child.
Next morning I didn’t so much wake up as slowly regain
consciousness. I lay there with closed eyes groggily trying to locate
exactly what part of my body hurt most. Fragments of the previous
night came back to me though I was hard pressed to distinguish
dream from reality. Thomas had been there, but that couldn’t be true,
it couldn’t be real because I’d left Thomas and he didn’t know where I
was. I put a hand to my chest, which felt hot, heavy...and furry.
Alarmed by this sudden explosion of chest fur where there had been
none and fearful that the mould that had got the bread and the cheese
had finally got me I quickly tilted my head up and opened my eyes,
staring straight into a pair of cloudy orange ones.
“Bob?”
28
He cocked his head to one side as if to say and just who else were you
expecting? His tongue rasped my chin and he shuddered as if the
sparse beard was not to his taste. Christ, I tightly closed my eyes
again and lowered my head back onto the greasy pillow. The
hallucinations were expanding to take in Thomas and now Bob. I
stiffened as a cool hand pressed itself against my forehead.
“Good morning,” said the hand, “how are you feeling? Rough I
expect, which is no more than you deserve for using alcohol as an
agony aunt instead of talking to the people who love you.”
I lay still, not believing it for a second. It was a continuation of
the dream I’d had. If I opened my eyes there’d be no one there
sweetly nagging me, so I didn’t open my eyes. A hand and a voice
were better than nothing at all. I pictured his hand with their strong
blunt nailed fingers and the scar from a boyhood accident that curved
across his left palm. I knew so much about him, his past, his
schooling, his childhood, his friends and his parents, even his lovers,
all of whom I hated even though I’d never met any of them. Thomas
was an open book, unlike me.
“Look at me Andrew.”
The hand regretfully removed its comforting touch, but at least the
voice was still there.
“I know you’re not asleep. I want some answers, you owe me them,
do you hear me?”
Fear and a confused unreasonable anger surged through me. Fear that
if I opened my eyes he really would disappear. Anger that he’d come
for me at all, even though I’d wanted him to and anger that it had
taken him so long. “Leave me alone Thomas, just go.”
“I can’t do that.”
I wanted him to yell at me, so I could yell back and offload all my
frustrations. I wanted a fight so I could make him hate me like I hated
29
myself. Opening my eyes I glared at him, snapping belligerently. “I
need a drink.”
His eyes met mine and I knew he was reading my emotions as clearly
as if they were written on my skin.
“I’ll get you a glass of water.”
“Not water, a proper fucking drink,” I mumbled thickly, struggling
to sit up and dislodging Bob in the process. All forgiving he
immediately clambered back onto the bed and lay down, his happy
rattling purr at odds with the tensing atmosphere in the small room.
“Water and tea are the only things on offer, black tea seeing as your
milk is well on its way to becoming cheese. Make your choice and
make it civilly.”
I tried to moisten my dry lips with the foul object that had replaced
my tongue. My throat felt as if it was lined with road chippings.
“Water,” I croaked, “I’ll have water.”
“What’s the magic word?”
It was surreal. I hadn’t seen this man for over a month and he was
admonishing me for my lack of manners, as if we’d just breakfasted
together and I’d rudely demanded he pass the sugar.
“Please.” I managed to force the word out through a bout of
sneezing that made my head thump more painfully than ever.
Wonderful. I had a rotten cold on top of the hangover from hell. A
cough confirmed both cold and hangover, as it further jarred my
muzzy head and made my throat and upper chest ache.
“Thank you, let’s not forget that manners maketh the man.”
He disappeared, returning a few moments later with the water and
some paracetamol, as if my liver wasn’t under enough stress.
“Take these, then we’ll see about heading for home. Bob doesn’t like
being away for too long. I only brought him because I didn’t know
how long it would take me to locate you, and there was no one
available to feed and water him. From the sound of that cough your
30
cold is settling on your chest, we’ll get the doctor to have a look at
you as soon as we get back. Though it doesn’t need an expert to see
that you haven’t been looking after yourself. You’re an absolute
disgrace.”
I swallowed the pills and the water, handing the empty glass back to
him with shaking hands. “Who says I’m going home?”
“I do Andrew.”
“What if I refuse?”
“You’re not going to refuse Andy love, because a refusal suggests
that you actually have some kind of choice in the matter, and you
don’t. I think it’s true to say that at this moment in time you are
neither thinking nor behaving rationally and are therefore in no fit
state to decide anything. I’m acting in your best interests. You’re
coming home, no arguments, and then we’re going to talk about
what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”
I rubbed a hand over my face, “I don’t need you managing my
life Thomas. I can manage perfectly well on my own.”
He shook his head. “No. I’m afraid you can’t. This place bears
testimony to just how incapable you currently are of managing your
life. It’s filthy. I hope to God that you haven’t paid some kind of bond
up front because there’s no way you’re going to get it back. I wouldn’t
blame the owner if they sued you for compensation. And this place
isn’t the only thing that’s filthy, so are you, filthy and emaciated.” He
shook his head again; his green eyes sad, “I never thought I’d see you
in this state again. How could you descend to this Andrew?”
“Sheer fucking talent I suppose.” I stared at him challengingly,
wanting to ruffle the air of habitual calm that marked him as a man
largely at peace with himself, something I definitely wasn’t.
“It takes two to make a quarrel Andrew and I’m not prepared to
quarrel with you.”
31
“No, you never are. You just lay down the law and expect to be
obeyed. You’re a dictator. I haven’t seen you in a month...”
He interrupted, “and whose fault is that?”
A spasm of pain crossed his face and I suddenly knew with certainty
that I had hurt him deeply. Bob wasn’t the only one who had lost
weight, so had Thomas and the dark shadows under his eyes were
second only to the ones under mine. I substituted fury and childish
spite for the guilt that surged through me. I was sick to death of guilt.
“Yours,” I croaked, “all yours, you’re so damn controlling. You
wouldn’t even let me have one stinking little drink!”
“Are you seriously telling me that this whole fiasco came about
because I stopped you having a drink?” He tapped the air with his
index finger. “I don’t believe that for a second. This isn’t about drinks,
or lack of, nor is it about me giving you some much-needed and well-
earned discipline. You know the rules as well as I do, you helped set
them in place, and you also know the consequences of breaking them.
I’m not prepared to see you doing things that are destructive, be it
drinking too much, throwing things or running away when problems
arise instead of facing up to them. We’ll discuss this at home, the
sooner I get you out of this hell hole the better.”
I shook my head miserably, “I’m not going home with you Thomas. I
hate you. That’s why I left.”
“No it isn’t.”
He jabbed a smug finger at a framed photograph on the tiny bedside
table. “You left with hardly enough clothes to get you through a long
weekend, and yet you packed a silly memento of our holiday last
summer. I don’t know why you left like you did, not yet, but you’re
going to tell me, and soon. Besides Andrew, as a dictator I can’t take
no for an answer, it would break all the conventions and traditions of
despotism. I suggest that you start making ready, before I decide that
32
you’re in dire need of a spanking right now. I’m sure you don’t want
to sit on a sore backside all the way home?”
“Am I speaking Dutch or what?” I snarled allowing my inner demon
to keep pushing to provoke him. “I told you, I’m not going back with
you. Piss off and leave me alone.”
“Forget the spanking. I’ve just upgraded you to a paddling.”
“You’re all heart aren’t you?” I sat up straighter in bed, folding my
arms confidently. “Anyway, you can’t paddle me without a paddle
and since I’m not...”
Thomas turned sharply on his heel and left the bedroom, reappearing
a few moments later with something horribly familiar in his hand. He
proceeded to wave it under my nose with an Errol Flynn type
flourish.
“Have paddle, will travel, and will use it, unless you start listening
to reason. You’re coming home and that’s that. I’m driving, you’re
probably still well over the limit, in fact you’re probably over an
entire rugby team’s limit. We’ll arrange for your car to be collected
later. No more nonsense Andy. Get up and get dressed, or I’ll drag
you out of here by the scruff and throw you in the car exactly as you
are.”
I stared at the nasty implement in disbelief. “I can’t believe you
actually packed the fucking paddle. I know you were a keen boy
scout in your youth, but this is just taking the piss out of being
prepared.”
“I packed it because I know what a stubborn brat you can be. You’re
giving me more and more reason to use this Andrew.”
“You haven’t seen me in a month and,” I halted, immediately aware
that I’d made a mistake in mentioning that fact yet again as his eyes
suddenly flashed fire. Bob gave me a sympathetic look. For a
nonagenarian moggy he moved fast, speedily vacating the room.
33
In a single fluid movement Thomas sat down on the bed and pulled
me forward across his lap. The overly large boxers were unable to
maintain a hold on my thin body and obligingly disposed of
themselves as he hauled me forwards. He pushed the t-shirt up my
back, well away from the intended target area, which he firmly
slapped with the palm of his hand. “You disappear without a word,
without a note, without your mobile, leaving me to suffer weeks of
hell and uncertainty and then you have the audacity to whine at me,
as if it were all somehow my fault. I’m the wronged party here, not
you. Have you any inkling of how I felt when I realised that you’d
vanished?”
I gave a howl as the paddle replaced his palm and landed with
a harsh smack in the centre of my rump. He then introduced it to the
rest of my bottom in a repetitive circuit that left it blazing from hip to
thigh. By the time he placed the last swats on the lowest curves of my
buttocks I was convinced that I would never sit again as long as I
lived. Flinging the paddle aside he lay back on the bed pulling me on
top of him where I clung to his neck, tears and snot pouring down my
face in a steady stream and collecting on his collar.
Despite the sting he had put in my backside it felt so good to
be close to him, to feel his solid warmth and have his arms around
me. Perhaps I’d pushed him into spanking me because I needed the
comfort that inevitably came at some point after punishment and I
didn’t think I had the right to ask for just the comfort. I cuddled as
close as I could, revelling in the scent of him. Clean, soap fresh with a
pleasing hint of aftershave, the Versace one that I’d bought him to
replace the Boots brand he’d used since Adam was a lad and which
smelled like fly killer. Neither of us spoke, we just lay together
reacquainting proximity. I didn’t want him to ever let go of me.
He broke silence first, “Andrew, if you ever put me through
anything like this again I swear I’ll be really rather annoyed.”
34
“You’re a beast,” I sniffled, “and I detest you. You’ve no idea how
much I abhor and detest you.” I tucked my head more securely under
his chin. “I’ve missed you,” I allowed him a small concession, “even
though you’re a horrible man.” I paused, and then added. “I’m sorry.
I truly didn’t think about how my leaving like that would affect you
or Bob.” I dragged in the cat just to prove that Thomas didn’t have my
sole allegiance I didn’t want him getting big headed, he exerted
enough control over me as it was.
“No man is wise at all times,” he said solemnly.
I suspiciously raised my head so I could see his face. Little glimmers
of light stirred the green depths of his eyes. His mouth twitched
slightly as he gently patted my rump and said, “no gains without
pains. You’re a wiser man now.”
I gave him a cold look, “if you quote one more bloody proverb at me
I’ll run screaming for the hills.”
“Darling,” he stroked his fingers through my dirty hair. “If you run
anywhere, ever again, without my written permission, in triplicate I
might add, I’ll wallop you while quoting an A-Z of my collected
proverbial sayings.”
The ache in my backside began to subside enough to allow for
lustful and erotic stirrings; after all I’d had only my right hand for
company for weeks. I was considering making a start on the buttons
on his shirt, when he spoke seriously.
“I’ve always known that you were running from something. When
you chose to stay with me I made myself believe that whatever had
driven you on had finally been dealt with, but that very obviously
isn’t the case. Something or someone provoked you to take flight
again. The fact is you can’t escape the past by moving on, it just
moves with you. It’s in your head love. You carry it around with you,
recent past, distant past, all of it intermingling. There comes a time
when you have to confront the things that scare you. It’s your time
35
Andy, everything you’ve done lately clearly indicates that this is your
time to face your demons; you can’t contain them any longer. Tell me,
tell me what it is that scared you so much that it made you
impulsively flee without a word and I promise I’ll try and help.”
Lust faded. I changed the subject, or attempted to, “how did
you find me?”
“The dolls house gave me a clue.”
A chill swept through me and I pulled myself away from him, my
heart pattering. “What do you mean, what do you know about the
dolls house?”
“When you left me I racked my brains as to the reason why. I
searched through all the things you’d left behind looking for hints, for
clues, and amongst other things I discovered that tiny little doll
hidden away at the back of your sock drawer. It suddenly dawned on
me that you started to behave oddly after the visit we made to that car
boot sale, in fact the moment you set eyes on that big dolls house.”
I got up and silently began to dress, easing my jeans carefully
over my backside as he continued to talk.
“You kept going back to it again and again, staring at it. Remember I
joked about you harbouring some childhood fantasy about owning a
dolls house, but you said you were just impressed by the carpentry
skills that had made it. After finding the doll I wondered whether in
fact you had recognised the house for some reason, wondered if
you’d once even owned it or knew someone who did and the doll was
a memento of some kind.
I went back to the racecourse, the first Sunday after you’d left,
hoping the woman who had been selling it was one of the regular
traders, but the stall wasn’t there. I asked around, but though some of
the traders knew whom I was referring to none of them knew how to
contact her. She was a regular of sorts, just not every week. I left my
name and phone number with a few of them asking them to pass it
36
onto her as a matter of urgency if they ever saw her again. I even
placed an ad in the local paper, but got no joy. I thought it was a cold
trail.
I contacted the police, who weren’t a bit interested in the fact
that an attractive gay man had left his older lover without giving a
forwarding address. You’d taken some luggage and your car, which
said it all as far as they were concerned. I was basically told to get
over it. I opened your bank and credit card statements hoping that
there would be some clue to your whereabouts there, but as yet your
recent spending hasn’t caught up with you and the bank refused to
give me a more immediate report of any personal transactions you
might have made.
I was giving up hope, then a few days ago I got a phone call. It
was the lady from the racecourse. Someone had told her I was looking
for her in connection with a dolls house she’d had for sale. It was still
for sale. I asked about its history. She didn’t know much about it. She
bought it last summer while she and her family were on holiday; it
was in a second hand goods shop not far from here. It was a gift for
her daughter’s birthday, but the child never took to it. I had a starting
point.
It seemed to make a kind of sense that if the dolls house had
reminded you of something or someone, then you might head back to
where it had come from and if not then I might at least find someone
who once knew you and could give me a clue as to where you might
be. As it turned out I found you fairly easily. I made a few phone calls
and discreet enquiries to hotels, holiday letting agencies and boarding
houses, and there you were, the man in the sea front caravan who
walked on the beach every day and spoke hardly a word to anyone.”
“So,” I said, “all those hours watching Miss Marple films
finally paid off.” He treated my facetious comment with the disregard
it deserved.
37
“You did recognise that doll house didn’t you Andrew?”
I nodded.
“Who did it belong to, and why did it upset you so much that you
felt you had to run away? It’s just a toy.”
Yes, a toy for a little girl to play with. I felt sick at the thought
of it. I stared at Thomas. If only he knew the secrets that lay within the
walls of that dolls house. I knew. I heard them echoing through my
mind, reverberating down the corridor of time, the past poking chilly
fingers into the present. He had made it for her, his new daughter. We
had been fooled, mum and I. He didn’t want us, he only wanted her
and he used us to get to her, made us like him and depend on him.
Thomas watched me from the bed. “Talk to me Andy. I can’t help you
unless you talk to me.”
I felt as if I was suffocating. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want
to remember. I needed air. Heading impulsively for the caravan door
I wrenched it open, clearing the steps in a single leap. She hated me. I
didn’t want Thomas to hate me too. I ran towards the beach where it
all began, by the sea one innocent summer, the last innocent summer
for her.
Laughter, I could hear it, childish laughter rising and falling
on a sea wind. Bare feet on sand, a giggle as he swept her up and
swung her round against the sky...a mackerel sky he said. That was
the name for the scale like formation of small white clouds against a
canopy of blue. A mackerel sky meant good luck, new beginnings. We
laughed at the name, mackerel sky, we were all so happy. The
laughter faded away, hers first and then mine.
He used my secret, the secret I had entrusted to him, against
me. I tried to block the memory but this time I couldn’t. ‘You pathetic,
dirty little queer’ he’d sneered the words. He couldn’t have hurt me
any more if he’d punched me and years of my childhood fell before
me as lies. ‘You knew all along. It was your fault, you should have
38
stopped me...you did nothing...you just didn’t care enough.’ His face
grinned mockingly into mine, ‘maybe you were jealous? Maybe you
wanted it to be you, is that it, did you fantasise about it, fantasise
about me?’
“NO!” I shouted denial into the wind, feeling sweat break the
surface of my skin as I struggled to suppress the thought he had
planted in my head. Maybe he’d been right, maybe I had wanted it to
be me, what kind of creature did that make me?
I ran blindly towards the waters edge with no clear idea about what I
was going to do once I reached it. Hands grabbed the back of my
sweater, pulling me back.
Thomas wrestled me to the sand, pinning my hands above my head
as I tried to fight him off. “You can’t keep running away. Dam it, talk
to me.”
“I let her die I let her die! I ignored all the signs, all the clues, because
I was happy and I didn’t want things to change for me. I thought the
world of him. I always wanted a father, a dad, you know like other
kids had. I trusted him, loved him. That’s why she hates me, why she
haunts me.”
“Let who die Andrew?” He gave me a shake, “who are you talking
about?”
“Isabelle, Issy, my twin sister. The dolls house belonged to her.”
He pulled me into a sitting position, wrapping his arms
around me. “No more secrets Andrew. Let it all out; tell me about
your sister. How did she die, how old was she?”
“She was sixteen, just turned sixteen, it had been our birthday a few
weeks earlier. I was returning from a friend’s house when I saw her
standing by the side of the road. There was something about the way
she was standing with her arms wrapped tight around her body.
Witnesses said later that she’d been standing like that for hours in the
same spot. I saw the car coming. It was coming fast, really fast. This
39
was the one she’d been waiting for and I knew instinctively what she
was going to do. I started to run shouting her name, and she looked
back once. The sun glanced off the car’s chrome bumper dazzling
me.” I clutched at him as the sounds and sights replayed in my mind.
“She was all broken Thomas, crumpled in the gutter. Her eyes were
wide open and staring at me and there was blood, so much blood
flowing from beneath her head and from her nose and ears. I knew
she was dead. The doll was in her hand, that fucking cursed doll that
she took everywhere, whispering her secrets to it, because she had no
one else to tell.”
“Dear God,” he hugged me fiercely. “I had no idea you were
carrying a burden like this around. I wish you could have told me.”
“I didn’t want to remember what I’d done, I didn’t want you to hate
me for it.”
“I could never hate you, and you didn’t do anything Andy, you
didn’t kill her, why would you think that? She committed suicide,
that’s tragic, and what’s even more tragic is that you witnessed it. You
didn’t kill her.”
“You don’t understand,” I wiped away the tears, only for more to
fall. “The post-mortem revealed that she was pregnant when she died.
He told the police that she’d been depressed ever since mum’s death
and had grown increasingly secretive, staying out late and he
suspected she was seeing a boy. The conclusion was that she’d had a
secret boyfriend and he’d dumped her when she told him she was
pregnant and on top of her grief over mum it was too much to bear,
so she killed herself. That was when it all fell into place; she rarely if
ever went out after school and no boyfriend was ever traced, so it had
to be him. I should have known what he was doing. I did, only I shut
it out, he said so.”
“What who was doing? Andy you’re not making sense.”
40
“She was my twin. I should have protected her. The clues were
there. The thing with the dolls, the way she laid them together. It
drove me mad and it scared me. I didn’t understand why she did it or
why it upset me so much, though maybe he was right and deep down
I did know and I just suppressed it because I didn’t want things to
change for me. I must have known Thomas, mustn’t I? I must have
and he was right. I should have stopped him. I’m evil.”
“Andy, look at me,” Thomas cupped my face in his hands, making
his voice very firm. “Tell me who HE is.”
“Our stepfather, the man my mother met on this beach when Issy
and I were ten. They married the following spring.”
“Come on sweetheart,” he drew me to my feet. “Let’s get you back
indoors, you’re absolutely freezing. We’ll talk there.”
I stood silently by the caravan window for a few moments listening to
the muted mew of the gulls as they dipped and weaved in the sky
outside, sounding a link between past and present. Pushing my hands
into the pockets of my jeans and hunching my shoulders I took a
breath and began to talk.
“It was wonderful having a mum and a dad. We never knew
our real father. To be honest, I don’t think mum knew him that well, it
was just one of those accidental things. I noticed the change in Issy
soon after we moved here, just before mum and him married. She was
quieter. I thought it was because she was homesick for bluebell
woods. I used to tease her about it, call her a baby.”
“Bluebell woods?”
“A nature reserve, close to our grandmother’s house in Yorkshire.
That’s where we lived before we came here. Issy loved the woods,
especially in May when the bluebells were in full bloom. We stayed
there, Issy and me with grandma, while they went on honeymoon.
Issy didn’t want to go back to Scotland, it had already begun and she
41
knew what was waiting. I should have known. I should have stopped
him.”
“Stop blaming yourself Andy. You were a child, just as she was a
child, innocent, both of you.”
He drew me away from the window, sitting down and pulling me
onto his lap, wrapping his arms about me.
“But I...”
“The crime is his, not yours.”
“But the clues Thomas, she was leaving me clues and I ignored
them.”
“She was a frightened little girl trying to make sense of something
she didn’t understand herself.”
“I confronted him after the inquest. I desperately wanted him to
deny it, to give me some other explanation, but he didn’t. With both
mum and Issy dead he had no need to be nice to be anymore. It was
almost like he enjoyed taunting me. He made me believe I’d been
complicit in it and that I could have stopped it if I’d wanted to. He
said I was jealous of her. I woke up one night to find him sitting on
my bed watching me; it scared the shit out of me and made me think
about Issy waking up to find him there night after night. He said if I
tried to make trouble he would convince people that I had attacked
and raped my own sister because she had taunted me over my
homosexuality. He said people would believe him and not me. I was
scared. I couldn’t bear being near him so I packed some stuff and left.
I took the doll because I couldn’t stand the thought of her, it, being
left in that house with him.
A friend’s family took me in after I told them that ‘dad’ and I
weren’t getting on because of the strain of Issy’s death. I called him
dad, we both did,” tears stung my eyes, “it makes me sick to think of
it. I should have helped her. I should have seen the truth when it
42
mattered. He was right, I didn’t see because I didn’t care enough. I’m
a bad person Tom.”
“Andy love, please, don’t continue to punish yourself for a crime
that isn’t yours. That man deceived and betrayed you all. You and
your mother were victims too. He’s the bad person, not you.”
“Poor Issy. The abuse must have gotten worse after mum’s death.
She died of a brain haemorrhage after supposedly falling and hitting
her head against a kitchen cupboard. She fractured her skull. The
coroner said she was unlucky; she’d hit her head where the bone was
thinnest. I sometimes wonder if she’d found out something and
confronted him and they had a fight and he pushed or hit her or
something. I’ll never know.” I couldn’t stop the tears; they flowed
from my eyes in a never-ending stream. “I don’t deserve to be happy.
How can I be, as long as she’s there despising me? She always turns
up again. I see her watching me. She’s really there.”
“No darling, no, that’s not true,” he cuddled me closer. “What
you see is a visual projection of the guilt you feel, a guilt he helped
instil in you and you use it to punish yourself. Issy doesn’t have any
hold over you. If anything you’re the one holding her, can’t you see
that? You can’t reverse what happened to her by denying yourself
happiness. Let her go Andy. Its time to lay that poor little girl to rest,
that’s what she wanted, to rest. Place guilt where it belongs, with the
guilty. Don’t let his wickedness destroy you as well as your sister.
Allow yourself some peace.” He tenderly scattered small kisses in my
hair, murmuring endearments until my tears dried and I slept a little.
When I woke up he’d packed my few belongings and had
tidied the caravan as best he could. Bob was in his travel basket ready
to go. Once set on a course of action there was little that would deter
Thomas from following through. It was one of the things that I
admired about him; it was also one of the things that drove me up the
wall with annoyance.
43
Before departing I stood facing the sea, hearing once again a trickle of
childish laughter on the briny air. For the first time in years I found
myself missing my mother and yearning for the days before he
crawled into our lives like a corruptive maggot. We had been happy
the three of us. I felt raw, turned inside out with emotional pain. I
wanted my mum and my sister back. I wanted to see them, hear them,
touch them, but they were gone, lost to me for all time. Tears
threatened again.
“Here,” Thomas gently took hold of my right hand, turning the palm
uppermost and placing four pebbles on it. He looked at me solemnly,
“humour me and choose the one you like least.”
I stared at the stones for a few seconds before pointing at one that was
a uniform grey with no pleasing marks on it.
“Sure?”
I nodded and he picked it from my palm, weighed it carefully in his
hand and then expertly bowled it towards the sea. It arched high in
the air and then dropped into the ocean, sinking to the seabed. “That
was your stepfather.” He gently curled my fingers over the remaining
pebbles, “and they’re you, the three of you. Let’s take you all away
from here.”
Touched to the core by the symbolic gesture I couldn’t speak.
Slipping the little pebbles into my pocket I then slipped my arms
around his neck and hugged him. Turning my back on the beach and
the ocean I walked away holding Thomas’s hand. As a place it was
tainted and I would never return to it.
The sickness grew on me as we neared home. Bob, nestled in the
basket balanced on my lap, sensed my unease and his purring
switched off giving way to a small meow of distress. I poked fingers
through the door grill, stroking his head, trying to calm myself, as
44
well as him. “You bought it didn’t you Thomas, you bought the dolls
house?”
“I bought it before I knew what it represented. It was my link to you,
so at least a tiny bit of good came out of it. It’s in the hall. I’ll get rid of
it before you come in, you won’t have to see it.”
“No, I want to see it, to touch it. I need to. You said yourself that you
have to confront the past in order to move on in a realistic way.” The
remainder of the drive home was almost silent, punctuated only by
Bob’s sporadic purrs as Thomas and I dwelled on our inner thoughts.
I thought I would be able to cope with seeing the house again and that
perhaps it would complete the process of exorcism begun when I
finally told Thomas about my past, but it didn’t. Even with him at my
side, I physically and emotionally recoiled the moment I set eyes on it.
It exuded evil, his evil and cunning and the desperate sick despair of
the child he had ensnared with it. I lurched back outside, crouching
on the drive.
“I’m so sorry darling, so sorry.” Thomas rubbed my back as I
wretched and vomited. “I’ll get rid of that filthy thing, you’ll never
have to see it again.”
Standing at the back bedroom window I watched as a ray of spring
sunshine caught the edge of the axe as it arched through the air,
splintering the wood. Tears trickled down my face as Thomas
destroyed the dolls house. He burnt the pieces, placing the male doll
that had been inside it, on top of the pyre where it warped and
twisted in the flames. I wondered what had happened to my doll, had
he disposed of it when I left, discarding me as no more use? I tortured
myself afresh with thoughts of what he’d done to her and what he’d
said to her to keep her quiet for so long. He would have made her
believe that what he did was her fault anyway, that’s how people like
45
him operated. They made their victims responsible for the wrongs
done to them. I also suspected he had used us, my mother and I, as a
way of keeping her compliant, her silence being the price for our
continuing happiness. I turned away from the window running
downstairs to meet Thomas as he came back inside, wanting his arms
around me.
Next day we travelled to Yorkshire, to the nature reserve that my
sister and I used to play in when we stayed with our grandmother.
Gran herself was long gone, a victim to the premature disintegration
of her memory, her body outliving her essence until it too ceased to
function after a bout of pneumonia. She had died not long after my
mum died. I missed her, as much as I missed mum and Issy, she had
been a vital part of the pre-him days.
The childhood vision withstood the test of time; it stretched
before me undiminished in beauty. It took my breath away. The
glorious spread of blue, the outstretched limbs of the trees against a
clear sky. Something, call it providence or instinct, led me to a certain
spot and I scraped back the damp earth beneath a tree. “Goodbye
Issy. I loved you so much and I miss you, please, please forgive me,” I
whispered to the doll, kissed it and then laid it in the ground
alongside the one that she had buried all those years ago. Then I
covered them over and flattened the soil pressing two of the pebbles
that I’d brought from the beach into the earth, gravestones for my
sister and mother.
I knelt for a while inhaling the cool scent of bluebells on a late
May breeze and for the first time allowed myself to mourn for Isabelle
and for all she’d suffered without it being poisoned by guilt and fear.
“Come on baby,” Thomas gently patted my shoulder. “It’s time to
go, you have a life to resume.”
46
I half rose, and then stopped, dropping back to my knees as
something caught my eye. I reached to pick an object out from
amongst a clump of bluebells; it was a tiny doll, weatherworn, but
still recognisable.
“What is it?”
“It’s me.” I stared at the doll in wonderment then laughed. “My
God, Thomas, it’s me, my counterpart from the dolls house. Issy must
have dropped it here years ago and its lain undiscovered all this
time.” Thinking I heard a small laugh I turned in the direction it came
from, my heart leaping as I glimpsed a young girl and a woman
standing hand in hand watching us, Issy with mum. I blinked and
they vanished. They were simply a trick of the light and my longing
for some kind of justice and kind outcome for my sister. All the same,
a sense of peace swept over me. Issy was home where she wanted to
be in bluebell woods, home and safe at last and hopefully so was I.
Standing up I dropped the doll into Thomas’s hand. “Take me
home.”
He slipped the doll in his pocket draped an arm around my shoulders
and then we walked away from the woods, leaving the sound of
birdsong and the whisper of the breeze in the grass and trees.
47
Part Three
A Touch Of Spring Frost
Coughs have a lot in common with dictators, give them an inch and
before you know it they’re taking over your life. It was best to keep
them firmly down. Gazing out of the car window I concentrated on
suppressing my rising cough rather than on viewing the scenery.
Some dictators of course refused to be suppressed.
“Let it out Andrew, for heaven’s sake, before you choke.” Thomas
glanced briefly away from the road we were motoring homewards
along.
“You know what they say; love and a cough can’t be hid, and that
shade of blue does not become you. Did you make that appointment
with the doctor as I told you to?”
“I don’t need to see a doctor,” I croaked as I tried to stop the cough
from erupting. “I’ve got a cold that’s all, I’ll just have to weather it.
You don’t see a doctor when you have a cold.”
“I don’t have a weak chest.”
The coughs demand for release became too much and I gave in,
proving the wisdom of Thomas’ proverb. Paroxysm over, I wiped the
water from my eyes and tried to keep the hoarseness out of my voice.
“Its just a dry tickle, I need a drink of water or a mint to suck.
Besides, with one thing and another I’ve hardly had time to make
medical appointments have I.”
48
If I was expecting sympathy, which I was actually, I was sadly
disappointed.
“I told you to do it this morning before we set off, you had plenty of
time while I was rearranging my appointments at work. The surgery
will be closed by the time we get home. You’ll make an appointment
first thing in the morning, and if you don’t I’ll make it for you. I’m not
having you go down with pleurisy again, or worse, pneumonia.
You’ve been living what amounts to rough for the past month, not
eating, not sleeping and drinking far too much. You’re ripe for a
serious illness. Hot bath and bed for you the moment we get home.”
I glanced at him, his face, outwardly at least, was as calm as
ever, but something about his manner had changed since we started
the journey home from bluebell woods. It was as if he’d slipped into
another skin, an all-together chillier one. We’d reached the car and
then he’d pulled me into a close embrace and kissed me deeply. I was
just about to suggest that we go back into the woods and do
something thoroughly indecent in celebration of spring, or perhaps
even do it on the bonnet of his car, when he’d opened the car door
and swatted my behind, saying briskly, ‘get in, we’re going home. It’s
time for us to put our lives back in order. You’ve got things to sort out
and put right. It wasn’t only me that you upset with your impromptu
disappearing act. Colin and Amanda have been distraught, all our
friends have. Then there’s work. You can’t just expect to reappear
without consequences. Incidentally, my man, speaking of
consequences we’ll be talking about the state of your finances at some
point. In particular a little matter of a new credit card applied for and
used without my knowledge.’
There had been an ominous ring to his words, in fact not so
much a ring as a definite loud clanging. I’d forgotten about the damn
credit card. I’d taken it out on impulse because it offered an
introductory interest free period of credit and I’d wanted to buy an
49
expensive new audio system for my car. As soon as the purchase had
been made and the payments were in progress I’d cut the card into
pieces and disposed of it so I wouldn’t be tempted to use it again. I
had not planned on Thomas finding out. I sighed, so much for that.
The fact that I’d virtuously cut up the card would cut no ice with him.
He was strict about rule breaking and the rule was that I didn’t
accumulate debt via a string of different cards, as I’d done in the past.
I was allowed one card and one only, and he kept his eye on that. I
tried to apologise and explain about the card, but he had sternly told
me that he would designate a time and place for discussing the
subject and it was off limits until then.
Another cough began to build and I made a concerted effort to
swallow it, knowing it would only add grist to a certain someone’s
mill, but it was uncooperative. More than uncooperative, after
refusing point blank to be swallowed, it spent the next five miles of
the journey spitefully reverberating around the car’s interior. My
plans for a kiss, cuddle and something frisky in front of the telly
looked unlikely to come to fruition.
Eyes watering copiously I slouched in my seat. I could
probably manage the kiss, as long as I didn’t start coughing. I could
definitely manage the cuddle, I’d missed cuddles so much, but I was
too knackered for the something frisky. Sex was becoming a distant
memory, we hadn’t even indulged the night before, too emotionally
wrung out by our reunion to do anything but curl up in each other’s
arms and sleep. It was what we needed. Morning might have brought
some action, but thoughts of the journey to bluebell woods had taken
precedence over thoughts of sex.
Thankfully, by the time Thomas pulled up on the drive at
home, I’d gotten my cough back under control and was feeling much
better.
50
Bob rushed to greet us as soon as we got indoors, well perhaps
rushed is an exaggeration, he staggered stiffly to his feet and lurched
out from beneath the hall table where he’d been snoozing the
afternoon away. I bent to scratch his ears affectionately. I really had
missed him when I was away. In a wild attempt to recapture his lost
youth he flopped playfully on top of my trainers, swiping an arthritic
paw at the hem of my jeans. I indulged him in his favourite sport of
fencing, finger to paw. Our sparring match was rudely interrupted.
“Never mind playing with Bob, up you go, the water is hot enough
for a bath. The steam will help ease your congestion.”
“In a minute.”
I continued to parry with Bob. I was gaining the upper hand and I
couldn’t give up now. I also had every intention of gaining the upper
hand where Thomas was concerned by evading the hot bath and bed
that he seemed hell bent on. I wouldn’t have minded so much if the
bed part had a more active connotation that included both of us and
some innovative positions from the gay man’s Kama Sutra. I flinched
as a claw suddenly carved a mark on the back of my hand. I conceded
the point.
“Touché Monsieur moggy.”
Bob relaxed, confident of victory, and I took advantage, carving a Z in
his orange flank with lightening speed. He purred happily, gallant in
defeat. In gentlemanly fashion I helped him get back on all fours and
stroked his soft fur, then yelped startled and in turn startling Bob, as
Thomas carved his own particular mark onto my flank.
“Now Andrew. When I tell you to, not when you decide it’s
convenient.”
Straightening up I glared at him defiantly. “I’m fine, honestly, I
don’t...” I jutted my hips forward as his hand struck my rear for a
second time.
“It seems that in your case actions speak louder than words.”
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They say a word is enough for a wise man, but wisdom had never
been one of my strengths. I opened my mouth to protest again, but
the only sound that issued from it was another yelp as his hand
contacted the same spot on my backside yet again. Damn the man. I’d
lost sight of how persistent, and heavy handed he could be in
situations like this.
“Don’t even think about arguing with me. Now, am I going to have
to apply more action to your stubborn rear or are you going to do as
you’re told?” His tone of voice was deceptively mild, it should have
warned me, but a month of living alone had tragically blurred my
perception and I completely misread the situation.
“For God’s sake Thomas.” I rubbed resentfully at the smarting spot
on my left buttock, “its only a little cough. I don’t know why you’re
fussing about it and I don’t see why I have to be despatched off to bed
like some little kid.”
Removing his jacket he hung it neatly on a coat peg and then began
pushing up his sweater sleeves in a purposeful way.
Bob glanced up at us, and then wisely headed for the kitchen.
Instinct reasserted itself on my part. “Okay, okay, keep your hair on.
I’m going.”
I sulkily headed for the stairs, thumping up them two at a time
in order to prove just how lithe and fit I was, an action regretted as I
reached the top and a burning shaft of pain in my chest caused me to
double over and cough so hard I thought I was going to hawk my
lungs up onto the carpet. Thomas was immediately beside me. He
helped me into the bedroom seating me on the bed, and rubbing my
back soothingly until the spasm passed.
“Better now?” He stroked my hair back from my forehead.
“Much, thanks.” I managed a small smile, though my throat and
chest felt unpleasantly raw from my hacking.
52
“Good, I’m pleased to hear that.” Leaning forward he very gently
kissed my cheek; it tickled, like the touch of a butterfly. In sharp
contrast, a crowd of wasps suddenly decided to hold a protest march
on my bare bottom, at least that’s what it felt like. It still had the
power to surprise me the speed at which a comfortable looking man
like Thomas could move.
I was pulled up off the bed, my jeans and briefs were pulled down
and I was belly first over his lap even before the touch of the kiss on
my cheek had faded away. His hand spanked a stinging lecture onto
my backside. “You appear to have completely lost sight of the fact
that when I tell you to do something, particularly on matters
pertaining to your health and well being, you do it immediately
without gestures and without back talk. Is your vision clearing with
regard to that very basic tenet of our relationship?”
“I hate you Thomas, I...”
“I asked is it clearing?”
He punctuated the last word with a tremendous spank that left my
buttocks vibrating with the after shock.
“Yes, it’s clearing, it’s clearing.” I said hurriedly beginning to feel
alarmed. They say the first blow is half the battle, from the way his
hand continued to smack my rapidly heating bottom and smack it
hard, Thomas was after winning a complete war.
“Let’s help clear it a little more shall we.” He suddenly stopped
spanking and leaned over me, reaching to pull open the drawer on his
bedside cabinet. “After all, is it not true that whatever’s worth doing
at all is worth doing well?”
“You’ve already done it well enough with your hand, you rotten
bastard.” I struggled, trying to push myself up off his lap, but he held
me firmly. “Thomas, please,” I immediately moderated my tone. The
paddling I’d got at the caravan had been refreshed by the hand
spanking I’d just received, leaving my bottom more than sore enough
53
already. “I don’t deserve to be paddled, not just for saying I don’t
want to go to bed. I don’t want to be on my own. I’ve been on my
own for over a month, don’t you even care about how lonely I’ve
been?” I wish I’d phrased it differently. He hit the roof,
metaphorically speaking at least. Alas the leather paddle that made
contact with my behind was anything but metaphorical.
“How dare you say that to me!”
Thomas rarely raised his voice, but here he was yelling, really yelling
at me. Somehow it was worse than being spanked.
He continued in a normal, if stern volume. “How dare you say that to
me Andrew. Did you care when you upped and left like the
proverbial thief in the night? Did you care about how lonely, how
worried, how upset I was? Over a month you were gone, a month
without a single word to let me know where you were, how you
were. Our friends, family, your workmates, your boss kept phoning to
ask if I’d heard anything. They must have wondered what I’d done to
drive you away. People were constantly whispering behind my back.
I felt like the chief suspect in a murder case without a body. You
could have written, faxed, emailed, telephoned, this is the age of
communication for heaven’s sake. Just a word or two on a postcard
would have sufficed, just to let me know that you were at least alive,
but did you? NO. You were too busy wallowing in alcohol.” He
smacked the paddle down firmly, “booze is another thing we’ll be
discussing in depth very soon.”
Closing my eyes I clutched hard at the duvet trying not to cry
out as my backside began to generate enough heat to smelt steel. The
pain became unbearable especially when the paddle began to
concentrate attention on the lower portion of my bottom where
buttocks curved into thighs. I finally stopped fighting the punishment
and submitted with a release of tears, which triggered another bout of
coughing. He immediately stopped the paddling, though any relief I
54
might have felt was quickly dissipated when he made me do the last
thing on earth I wanted to do…sit up until the spasm passed. It was
like sitting on a hot grill.
“I didn’t deserve that.” As soon as the cough retreated, I
pulled away from him and lay down on my stomach, keeping my
head turned away truly shocked that he’d paddled me for what
amounted to nothing. “You punished me at the caravan, you
shouldn’t have punished me again, not as hard as that.”
“I’ll decide what you deserve Andrew and by the by the paddling at
the caravan was for your behaviour at the caravan. The paddling I’ve
just given you was for blatantly ignoring the basic principles our
relationship has been built on. Hopefully it will serve to refresh your
obviously jaded memory with regard to them.”
He walked briskly out of the bedroom, returning a minute or
so later with a damp flannel to wipe my face free of its accumulated
secretions. That done he freed my ankles from their tangle of socks,
jeans and briefs and then pulled me roughly to my feet, peeling my
rugby top over my head and casting it aside leaving me un-erotically
naked.
“I’ve started running a hot bath for you, the steam will do your chest
good and you can soak that bandage off your arm, that way it won’t
pull at the wounds. I’ll re-dress them afterwards if necessary, they’re
not too deep they should soon heal. I hope you understand that such
behaviour is never to be repeated. If you require pain I’ll deal it in a
manner that doesn’t involve blood loss and won’t leave permanent
scars.”
I stared at him. There was a definite sharp hint of frost in his voice
and a matching coldness in his eyes. I didn’t like it.
I spoke challengingly. “You hardly seem overjoyed to have me back.
It makes me wonder why you bothered seeking me out at all.”
55
He met my gaze without flinching the frost in his voice turning to
pure ice.
“The truth is you expected me to seek you out. The proverbial
Knight on a white charger riding to the rescue at the eleventh hour,
no questions asked, no payment expected. We’d return home, the
loving rescuer and rescued beloved, and given the sad circumstances
the incident would never be mentioned again. The slate wiped clean
without penalty. I’m disappointed in you Andrew; you should know
me better than that. All else aside, I needed to find you. I needed to
know that you were safe. I was worried to death.” The ice cracked
slightly, “and I’m not made of stone, I have feelings, vulnerabilities. I
needed to know why you left me like that. I know what I am Andy
and pretty I am not. I wondered whether you’d met someone younger
and more attractive and just hadn’t had the courage to tell me. If that
was the case I needed to know for definite, I needed closure so that I
could move on with my life.”
Hot shame swept over me as I realised in depth what a
misguided, selfish, inconsiderate bastard I’d been. Guilt is a funny
thing. It can be misdirected in many ways, blaming yourself for things
that are not your fault, as I had done with Issy, and blaming others
when the fault is yours, as I was now doing with Thomas. I should
have apologised to him, tried to explain the confused emotions and
warped logic that had driven my actions. I had never intended to hurt
him, never, the only person I had wanted to hurt was myself. He
would have listened and understood. I didn’t. I let sulky resentment
at being disciplined take charge of me and headed voiceless for the
bathroom, a case of me running away again.
He followed. “Do you need any help?”
“I’m neither infant nor geriatric. I don’t need your fucking help to
take a bath.” I made to shut the door in his face.
56
He stopped it with his foot, giving me a look that seemed to go on
forever before saying crisply; “I’m beginning to wonder what you do
need me for Andrew. Perhaps while you’re in there, you should give
it some thought.” He turned and went downstairs.
I shut the bathroom door just short of slamming it.
Stepping into the deep Edwardian style bath I eased myself
down into the pine scented water, hissing as my horribly sore bottom
made contact with something that was only marginally hotter than it
was and hissing yet again as the water seeped through the bandage
into my self inflicted cuts making them sting. What a stupid mess I’d
made of things. I lay back, sinking into the warmth, resting my head
against the back of the bath.
The heat and scented steam should have relaxed me, but they
didn’t, for one thing my poor backside was prickling in a most un-
relaxing way, and even worse than that was the uncomfortable
prickling going on in my mind. Maybe I didn’t need Thomas after all.
I could certainly live without the discipline he meted out. Maybe now
that I’d finally started to face up to the past, it was time to think about
the future and maybe that future didn’t include Thomas laying down
the law. I sighed and regretted it as my ribs ached and a faint rattle
from the vicinity of my chest indicated that my bronchial tubes were
tuning up in preparation for an orchestral performance. I hadn’t felt
this bad for a long time. In a futile effort to shut in the tears that were
welling up I tightly closed my eyes, but they refused to be confined,
tricking down my cheeks to merge with the bath water.
It was a bad hangover, definitely a bad one, like I was coming back
from the dead. I forced myself to swim through the waves of cloying
darkness and open my eyes despite the pain that I knew would occur
as soon as the light made contact with my retinas. I felt disoriented
57
sensing even before sight confirmed it that I was in unfamiliar
territory with no recollection of how I’d got there.
“Hello there, it’s nice to see you awake again.”
The man sitting by the side of the bed removed his half moon specs,
giving me a small smile as I forced up the lead weights that had
replaced my eyelids.
I stared at him in confusion; he looked vaguely familiar yet I was
convinced I’d never met him before in my life.
“Where am I, and who are you?”
At least that’s what I tried to say, but my vocal chords refused to fully
cooperate, and all that came out of my mouth was a series of hoarse
grunts that left me exhausted with the effort. He must have had a
knack for strange languages, because he seemed to understand.
Laying aside his glasses and the book he’d been reading he spoke
gently. “Don’t you remember me, I gave you a lift two nights ago.”
A little glimmer of memory returned, the pouring rain, the car, and
gratitude for a brief respite from the weather, then a blank. I struggled
to sit up and immediately began coughing painfully, feeling as if
someone was attempting to pull out my lungs with a corkscrew.
“Lie back against the pillows young man, don’t over exert yourself.”
Ignoring him I pushed back the duvet and swung my legs over the
side of the bed. A strange rattling sound reverberated around the
room, and to my dismay I realised it was coming from my chest as my
lungs struggled to function.
“Hey,” I gasped as he firmly scooped my legs back into bed. For a
comfortable looking man he had a surprising turn of speed and
strength. It was a bit like a tortoise suddenly turning into a
thoroughbred racehorse.
“I told you to stay put.” He lifted me back against the pillows and
covered me up, “please be good enough to heed me.”
58
Only the fact that I was still struggling to breathe prevented me
telling him to get stuffed, or words to that affect.
“Facts are stubborn things young man, and the facts are these: you
are going nowhere, you are ill. The doctor says you need rest,
antibiotics, good food, more rest, warmth and more rest, and rest is
what you’ll jolly well have. It seems obvious that you have nowhere
specific to go. According to Doctor Robertson you show all the signs
of someone who’s been living rough for a while. There’s nothing
spoiling so stay in that bed.”
I was astounded by his audacity. “Look mister...”
“My name is Thomas, Thomas Hall.”
“Look Thomas Hall.” I paused to gather breath. “While I appreciate
your kindness, I think I can decide for myself when...”
“Young man...”
“Andrew,” I wheezed, “Andrew Benson.”
“Andrew,” he said gently. “I don’t think you’re in any condition to
make decisions. I’m warning you, stay in that bed unless you want to
risk incurring my displeasure.”
I was thoroughly taken aback, more than that I was
flabbergasted. I sank back against the pillows totally unsure of how to
react. I searched his face for signs of humour, but there was nothing to
suggest he was joking. An unexpected but welcome distraction came
in the form of a large marmalade cat that jumped up onto the bed,
misjudged the edge plunged back to the floor, and unperturbed,
reappeared seconds later. I smiled despite myself; the creature was
comically inquisitive, as it thoroughly looked me over from its deep
orange eyes. “Hello,” I croaked, weakly lifting a hand towards it.
The cat’s ears twitched and drew back a little at the sound of my
rough voice and it glanced at its owner as if to say, what manner of
creature is this?
59
Thomas smiled, “Bob’s been waiting for you to wake up. He’s a
sociable boy, he likes to have company in the house.”
Bob, the name suited him somehow. He seemed to think I was safe
enough and stuck his head under my hand. I stroked him, childishly
pleased when he settled himself on the bed, tucking his paws neatly
under his chest and purring loudly.
“Do you want me to chase him, not everyone is attuned to cats?”
I shook my head, croaking,” no, he’s fine, really.”
“Good,” Thomas nodded approval. “He can keep you company
while I make you some lunch...oh don’t worry,” he affectionately
tickled the cat under the chin as it mewed at the word lunch, “I won’t
miss you out.”
As soon as the man left the room I took the opportunity to get
up. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed was effort enough, but
nothing compared to persuading them to actually support me. They
felt like wet spaghetti as I heaved myself to a standing position. It was
a mistake, the room spun wildly and it was only sheer bloody
mindedness, and a good grip on the headboard that kept me upright.
I swallowed hard willing my legs to stop shaking beneath me in such
a pathetic manner. Gazing around the room I wondered where he’d
put my clothes and the few possessions I’d been travelling with, one
item of which I was particularly interested in. My sight fell on a small,
old-fashioned wardrobe across in one corner. It seemed a good bet
that it would contain what I sought.
It wasn’t a big room, not in theory, but after taking a few
unsteady steps I felt I had stepped through a C. S. Lewis wardrobe
into a room that had expanded into Narnia type proportions. Less
than halfway to my goal I was sweating and shaking so violently I
thought I was going to throw up, worse, the searing pain in my chest
seemed to be expanding and filling my entire body, making it a real
chore to breathe. I began to panic, and sank to my knees with my
60
lungs desperately labouring to function. Bob circled me, meowing
loudly as if sensing my distress and trying to alert someone to it.
“Hasty climbers have sudden falls,” a serene voice cut though
the sound of my gasps and wheezes.
Thomas wasn’t quite Aslan, but at that moment he was more than an
adequate substitute. I found myself picked up and effortlessly carried
back to the bed where I collapsed exhausted against the pillows he
plumped up behind me. I had never felt so ill in my life. Seating
himself on the bed he took hold of my hand and began to circle his
thumb around my inner wrist, I didn’t have the strength to pull it
away, besides, it was oddly pleasant and soothing, distracting my
thoughts from the discomfort in my chest and the deep ache between
my shoulder blades. I began to calm down and some of the pain
eased.
“Better?”
I found the strength to nod.
“It would appear,” his voice was suddenly stern. “That where you’re
concerned, words go in at one ear and out at the other, well, you’ve
learned the hard way, the truth of the maxim, he is no man’s enemy
but his own. Still,” he patted my hand, “it’s never too late to mend.”
I opened my eyes and stared at my riddle talking benefactor
somewhat bemusedly. He obligingly translated.
“I told you to stay in bed and you took no heed of my advice, which
was given only for your benefit. You found out that your wilfulness
was ill advised, and thus that you were your own worst enemy.”
He gave a sudden broad smile that lit up his face.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to forgive me, I’m rather fond of proverbs. I
collect them and I do strongly feel that one should at least try to use
the things one collects, instead of just keeping them out of sight under
dust covers.”
61
I felt suddenly overwhelmed by the whole situation, by this eccentric
stranger’s kindness, and by my own undoubted weakness.
Dangerously near to tears, which I fought to control, I rasped. “I don’t
want to impose on you. Give me a night or so to pull round, and then
I’ll get out of your hair, as well as your spare room.”
“Andrew, I will tell you when and if you’re imposing, until that time
the subject is non existent.” He indicated the tray he’d brought up,
“I’ve brought you some soup, nothing too heavy, just something to
start building your strength back up.”
“Not hungry, thanks.”
“Just a few spoonfuls.”
I shook my head. “I’d like a drink though, I need one.”
He reached for the glass and carafe that stood on the bedside table
and I took a small sip of the water he poured, my hands shaking so
violently that the water was in danger of spilling onto the covers. “My
bag, I had a holdall when you picked me up, where is it please?”
“In the wardrobe along with your clothes, which I took the liberty of
laundering, its quite safe I assure you.”
“Please, would you mind getting me it?”
He gazed at me in an uncomfortably shrewd way.
“If you want the bottle of brandy that was in it, then I’m afraid
you’re out of luck. The top hadn’t been replaced properly, hence the
need to launder your clothes. Besides alcohol is the last thing
someone in your condition needs, especially at this time of the day.
More importantly, the antibiotics you’re on specify no alcohol to be
consumed during the course or for several days after. Now, let’s give
your body something it does need, food.
“Was there any brandy left in the bottle, surely it can’t all have
leaked?”
“Tell me Andrew, are you an alcoholic?”
62
“NO.” I glared at him indignantly, feeling my face flush hot denial. I
drank too much at times it was true, but I wasn’t an alcoholic, not yet
anyway, though a small voice in my head whispered that I was well
on my way to helping them out when they were busy.
“In that case forget the brandy, as I said the antibiotics prohibit
alcohol. You need some food.”
I felt as close to sulking as someone in my condition was capable of.
“I told you, thanks for the offer, but no thanks, I’m not hungry.”
“You misunderstand Andrew,” he reached for the tray he’d brought
up and balanced it on his knees. “I wasn’t asking you. I was telling
you. You’re underweight. Malnourished was the word the doctor
used. You need some meat on your bones. I know that eating
probably has little appeal just now, nevertheless, you will take a few
spoonfuls.”
I felt myself flush at his peremptory tone, “what gives you the bloody
right to...”
He killed my fledgling tirade. “You became my responsibility the
moment you vomited all over my car, and me, after which you all but
collapsed into unconsciousness. That responsibility will remain mine
until such time as you are in a fit condition to resume it for yourself.
Currently, you have rather severe pleurisy, the result of a long
neglected chest infection, and as such you’re in no state to go
anywhere, least of all to trudge damp streets or doss down in germ-
laden hostels. I won’t have your death on my conscience, now that
truly would be an imposition upon me.”
Scooping soup onto the spoon he held it to my lips, which I
kept firmly closed. No one was going to force feed me, least of all
some bossy espouser of proverbs. I glared at him stubbornly. He was,
relatively speaking, a plain man, homely, except for his eyes which
were housed under bushy brows. I looked more closely; I’d never
63
seen human eyes that shade of green. He had nice hair too, dark
blonde and expensively cut, it was obviously a vanity.
“Tell me Andrew,” the bossy espouser kept both the spoon and his
extraordinary eyes steadily focused on my person, “as a matter of
interest, have you ever been spanked?”
My face flushed pink and I felt my eyes grow as round as the
proverbial saucers. I was frankly dumfounded by the sheer effrontery
of the man. Who did he think he was, trying to intimidate me with the
implied threat of a spanking? All the same, an inexplicable
nervousness swept over me; there was something about the way he
spoke that made me decide I had nothing to lose by at least trying the
soup. I opened my mouth and swallowed the spoon contents. It was
good and I was actually very hungry, but a few mouthfuls later I’d
had enough, shaking my head as he scooped up another spoonful.
He nodded, setting the bowl aside.
“Well done Andrew, it’s a start. You’ll manage a little more next
time I don’t doubt.”
Later I was to learn a proverb that summed up Thomas perfectly:
Gentle in manner, but resolute in action, in other words the iron hand
in the velvet glove.
“It’s time for your antibiotic,” he reached for a blister pack of tablets
on the bedside table, pressing one out onto the palm of his hand and
holding it out.
“Do you think you can manage to insert it, or do you want me to
continue to medicate you?”
I blushed almost purple as it hit home what he meant.
“You’ve been all but out of it for two days,” he spoke matter of
factly, “and in no state for oral medication. You needed the antibiotics
urgently, and I’m not qualified to give injections so therefore this was
the best way. I’m not embarrassed in the least, so there’s no need for
you to be. I’m a competent nurse in my way. I cared for both my
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parents in their latter years. I’ll telephone the chemist this afternoon
and see if I can get the rest of the prescription changed back to an oral
one now you’re marginally back in the land of the living.”
“I’ll wait until then.”
“No,” he kept those verdant eyes fixed on me, “it’s vital that you
keep on top of that infection, and that means not missing so much as a
single dose of medicine. If you can’t, or won’t do it yourself, I’ll do it
for you, is that clear?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you have more front than
Brighton?”
“It has been hinted at upon occasion, now, what’s it to be.”
“I’ll do it myself.”
“Fine,” he handed me the suppository and a disposable surgical
glove from a box on the bedside cabinet. “I’ll wait outside the door,
call me if you need to.”
He paused for a moment, impaling me with a sudden sharp look,
“and don’t seek to deceive me, I’ll know.”
Scooping up Bob, he left the room.
I stared after him. What an arrogant bastard, and how had he
known that I was thinking of shoving the damn thing under the bed,
anywhere but where it was supposed to go. It was ridiculous really.
I’d had bigger and stranger things than a pill inserted into my rectum,
but still I railed against the idea. He’d never know if I hid it, I stared
at it, and then at the glove, would he? The glove seemed to magically
mould to my hand, damn the man, the sooner I was fit enough to
escape him the better. I was beginning to fear that I’d been sucked
into a Kathy Bates film. However, Misery didn’t begin to describe my
feelings as I laboured to medicate myself. Just the effort of turning on
my side and rearranging the nightshirt I was wearing left me in
serious straits. By the time I’d managed the evil deed, I was
shamefully close to crying with the toll it took of me.
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He briefly knocked and re-entered the bedroom just as I flopped
exhausted back against the pillows.
“Alright?”
I very obviously wasn’t and he sat on the edge of the bed wiping my
sweating brow with a cool moist tissue, discreetly wiping away the
tears that had forced their way out of my eyes. “You should have
called and asked for help, you know what they say, pride goes before
a fall.”
It was said in a tone of compassion rather than censure and without
thinking I shakily held out my hand, wrist uppermost, he
immediately took it, repeating the comforting thumb circling motion
of earlier, extending it to the palm of my hand.
“I’m doing it next time,” he said quietly, as I slowly gained ground
in my bid to breathe more normally.
It was a statement and I have couldn’t cared less, because as far as I
was concerned there wouldn’t be a next time. I was going to die at
any moment, so ill did I feel.
I closed my eyes, conscious only of two things, the pain in my
chest and the stroking of my hand. I tried to concentrate on the latter,
slowly drifting back into a world populated with dark shadows and
distant sounds.
From time to time the shadows and sounds took on clearer
dimensions and I glimpsed the face of the stranger who had taken me
in, much as one would take in a sick stray. Perhaps that’s how he and
Bob got together. I smiled slightly as a vision of the craggy faced cat
swam into my fevered consciousness. Perhaps Thomas Hall
specialised in rescuing waifs and strays. Some people did, it fulfilled a
need in them, a need to nurture.
Fatigued in mind, body and spirit, I allowed myself the luxury
of rest and nurture in warm, clean surroundings. I hadn’t rested in a
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long, long time, never feeling worthy enough to deserve rest and
peace.
The next time I properly surfaced the sun was streaming in at the
window pooling on the bed. It had that melted butter shade so typical
of early autumn, retaining within it a lingering remnant of summer’s
opulent spirit.
Cautiously easing myself into a sitting position I felt every
muscle in my body quivering with weakness, my chest tightening
with the effort, but at least the pain had diminished a little, and I felt
more alert.
Reaching for the glass of water that stood on the bedside table
I saw the book left open from the night before, and memory stirred.
As I had lain drifting in and out of sleep, Thomas had read to me. I
had felt inexplicably comforted by something I had not experienced
since childhood. I couldn’t recall the content of what was being read,
just the action of reading, which was perhaps just as well. I grimaced
slightly as I noted the book title, Beowulf, not exactly a light subject.
The previous evening had been the first time I’d been fully aware of
his presence in any real sense, but I suspect he’d been there for several
nights, reading aloud to me, keeping me company, and keeping an
eye on me.
Tears stung my eyes, fool that I was. I blinked them away, it
was time to be letting this man have his life and bedroom facilities
back...as well as his cat. I smiled as the door was head butted open
and Bob ambled in, leaping onto the bed promptly disappearing from
view as he misjudged the end, he just couldn’t seem to get it right.
Undeterred, he tried again, making a successful landing this time. I
scratched behind his ears, “well Bob, it’s been nice meeting you, but I
think I really ought to be getting along now.”
67
He stopped purring to give me an odd little look, and then with a
small shake of his head he jumped off the bed with a thud and
disappeared.
Feeling a little better while sitting up in bed is one thing,
retaining that feeling while trying to support yourself on legs that
seemed less than user friendly was quite another.
Once again I reached the centre of the continent that the room
had turned into feeling thoroughly wretched and out of breath, my
heart hammering as if I’d run a Marathon and then to cap it all, the
dam cough started. I utilised the floor as a stretcher, lying down on it
and closing my eyes, until the spasm passed.
“What are you doing out of bed?”
I opened my eyes, gazing up at the tray-bearing figure that was
gazing down at me over the top of half moon glasses with a distinct
air of disapproval.
“Lying on the floor,” I said weakly, “I fancied a change, you know
what they say, a change is as good as a rest.” Rolling onto my front I
got myself onto all fours and prepared to make for the wardrobe that
held my clothes.
“Youth must have its fling, I suppose.”
He set the tray down on the chest of drawers by the side of the bed,
“and I’d say that as far as today is concerned you’ve had yours, now
back to bed with you please. We’ll start introducing exercise in due
course.”
“I need my clothes.” I stubbornly laboured onwards. Walking on all
fours wasn’t as easy as Bob made it look, my respect for him grew,
and he did it without coughing like a one-man chest clinic.
“Youth and age will never agree, certainly not in this case. You’re
going back to bed, and if you leave it again without my express
permission, you’ll be a very sorry youth indeed.”
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I let out a squawk of absolute outrage as he scooped me up as easily
as he would have scooped up Bob and put me firmly back to bed,
drawing the covers up and tucking them around me. “I’ve brought
you some breakfast.”
“Stuff breakfast,” I wheezily kicked the covers off and swung my
legs out of bed. “I want my clothes. You’ve been very kind, but I’m
okay now, and I’m out of here.”
“I beg to differ Andrew,” he put my legs back onto the bed.
“You’re not fit enough to leave. You still need antibiotics, you’re
anaemic and the doctor wants to check you over again in a week. He’s
a busy man and he can’t really spare the time to track you down in
order to do so, he’s already put himself out for you, and the national
health budget doesn’t run to hiring private detectives qualified in
health care.”
“I’m fine,” I growled determinedly swinging them out again, “I
don’t need to see him again.”
“There’s a remedy for everything but death,” he folded his arms and
gazed at me from eyes that suddenly looked like a winter sea. “You’re
going nowhere until you’re fit enough to do so.”
I suddenly felt a bit panicky; having someone tell me what to do was
something I was unused to. I’d been answerable only to myself for a
very long time.
He continued, “you’re going back to bed, you’re having some
breakfast and you’re going to cause me no more trouble, is that
clear?”
I stared at him in disbelief. The man was a fucking terrier he
never let go. My temper surged and before I knew it the tray with the
breakfast things was on the floor and I was marching across the room
towards the wardrobe which was beginning to assume something like
the qualities of the war time Swiss border, I feared I’d never reach it. I
say marched, because in my mind that was exactly what I was doing.
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In reality I reached the end of the bed and hung onto the bedstead as
the room spun and I began a painful bout of coughing that made me
wonder why God had lumbered us with so many ribs and every
single one of them prone to agonising pain at times like this; it was a
serious design fault.
“Silly stubborn man.” Thomas guided me back to bed, “trying to run
before you can walk.”
I lay back against the pillows watching as he gathered the spurned
contents of the tray together, mopping up the mess I’d made. “Sorry.”
He reached out a large hand and patted mine kindly. I nearly cried,
especially when he walked out without saying anything. He should
have yelled at me and called me an ungrateful bastard.
I apologised again when he reappeared with a freshly
prepared tray, setting it down on the chest once more.
He gazed at solemnly. “I’ll allow for one tantrum in the
circumstances. You’re a proud and determined young man and you
don’t like being beholden. I understand that. However, I’m a stubborn
man too, and as I said before I will tell you when you’re imposing.
Enough nonsense, let’s just get some food into you.”
“Not hungry thanks, just get my things and I’ll be on my way.”
“There’s a proverb that says desperate diseases need desperate
measures,” he sat down on the side of the bed. “In your case the
disease appears to be a quite extraordinary dose of obstinacy, which is
hampering good sense. Now, I have told you several times that you
are not well enough to go meandering around damp autumn streets. I
also warned that if you persisted with wilful and reckless behaviour
that you’d regret it.”
I swallowed slightly, although he was taller than me by a good
couple of inches he wasn’t what you’d call a big man, but he was
strong and somehow very imposing and I was suddenly rather
nervous. I was also something else. I was excited. I could feel it in my
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guts and balls; a flickering quasi-sexual undercurrent, such as
accompanied a desired danger like riding a huge roller coaster or
bungee jumping. It confused me and I resorted to aggressive
defensiveness.
“Just get me my damn clothes and I’ll fuck off out of your space,
then we’ll both be better off.”
“A man of words and not of deeds,” he pulled back the covers on the
bed, “is like a garden full of weeds.”
Before I could so much as blink, he reached for me and manoeuvred
me face first across his lap. I squawked an obvious protest and
demanded to know what the hell he was playing at.
“I think you’re pushing for me to prove that I’m more than a man of
words Andrew, that I can perform the deeds to back up the words. I
can. You’ve tried my patience to its limits this morning. I thought
we’d agreed that you were my responsibility until such time you were
able to resume it for yourself. I’m not in the habit of having to repeat
myself, so I’ll try and get the message across once and for all.”
My eyes widened and I flushed with embarrassment as my
nightshirt was briskly folded back exposing my bare bottom. Though
God knows why I should be embarrassed, after all he’d cleaned my
backside often enough in the last few days. I then got the shock of my
life, almost jumping off his lap with fright as his hand contacted my
buttocks with a resounding crack.
“When you leave here to resume wandering,” his left arm secured
me around the waist, while his right hand delivered a second slap to
my bottom, “you will do so with a clean bill of health, is that
abundantly clear young man?”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I tried unsuccessfully to reach
a hand back to protect my backside, sucking in my breath as his hand
cracked down harder still.
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“I asked you a question, and I suggest you reply in the affirmative or
else I’ll assume you’re disobeying the edict that the question was
posed around and be forced to take even sterner action.”
“It’s clear.” I hastily gave the affirmative response, anything to get
out of my startlingly vulnerable position.
“What’s clear?”
Temper flared again and I yelled, “it’s clear that you’re a sadistic
pervert!”
“Not the answer I was looking for I’m afraid.”
A fourth searing smack shocked my backside. It was swiftly followed
by a fifth and then a sixth. I gave in and gasped out what I hoped was
an acceptable answer. “I don’t leave until I get a clean bill of health
from the doctor.”
He patted my smarting bum, “and are you going to stop being
awkward and do as you’re told from now on?”
“Yes.” I ground the word out from between gritted teeth. With my
bare bottom on hot display I really didn’t feel I was in an ideal
position for arguing.
“Good boy. You’re catching on fast.” Lowering my shirt he returned
me to bed, drawing up the covers and tucking them around me. Bob
made an appearance, jumping onto the bed and looking from one to
another of us in a questioning way. I stroked him with a hand that
was trembling, and not just with weakness. I shifted slightly,
conscious of my stinging cheeks rubbing against the sheet. My facial
cheeks were also stinging, flooded with indignant heat. “I could have
the law on you for that. It was an assault.”
“I’d like you to have some breakfast first,” he picked up the tray,
“then if you wish I’ll bring up my mobile phone and you can call the
police and report being very mildly spanked. No doubt the tale will
quickly find its way from a police desk to a reporter’s desk. I’m sure
the tabloid press will be very interested in the story of a gay
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hitchhiker being given a spanking by the gay man who picked him
up. They won’t be a bit interested in the fact that the spanking was
well deserved and given from concern and aimed at correction, rather
than for sexual gratification. Fodder for the masses, they’ll love it and
rest assured neither of us will shine well.”
I stared at him silently for a moment, then moistened my lips,
“you’re gay?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know I was?”
“You had several copies of the Gay Times in your possession along
with an interesting magazine on male anatomy, sadly all rendered
unreadable due to the leakage in your luggage. Now to breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.” I scowled at him, reaching a hand under the
covers and slightly raising myself to rub my buttocks, “and it didn’t
feel very mild.”
Settling the breakfast tray on his knee he said, “believe me Andrew, it
was very mild, as you’ll discover if you don’t make a reasonable
attempt to eat a little of the second breakfast I’ve prepared for you
this morning.”
“Has anyone ever…”
“Told me that I have more front than Brighton, yes actually, you did.
Now, are you going to make an effort to eat something or am I going
to have to put you back over my knee and prove just how hard I can
smack a young man’s obstinate backside?”
To my shame I suddenly burst into tears. He quickly set the tray aside
and without thinking I reached my arms around him sobbing into his
chest as he soothed and cuddled me.
“It’s all right Andrew,” his voice was kind. “I admit that I can take a
little bit of getting used to. I’m a touch old fashioned and I’m rather
fond of things being done my way, but only because its the right way.
You really are not fit enough to be living a nomadic life at this time of
73
year. If you’re really so keen to escape my spare room and my
company, it might be wise to start building up your strength by
eating breakfast.”
“I can’t.”
I sniffed, making no attempt to pull away from the embrace. It had
been a long, long time since I’d had a cuddle and I was enjoying it.
The men I usually encountered weren’t much interested in cuddling.
They simply wanted sex, plain and unadorned, a receptacle to empty
their balls into with hard thrusts and few words.
“You can, just a little, a few spoonfuls.”
“I really can’t.”
“Why ever not Andrew?”
“Because Bob’s eating it.”
“What!”
Bob raised his head from the bowl of creamy porridge he was
enjoying in order to give his owner an apologetic look that said, sorry,
but I just couldn’t help myself.
Thomas was not amused. “That’s you on shortened rations for the rest
of the day Robert Hall, make no mistake.”
Bob’s reaction was to put his head in the bowl again, wolfing the rest
of its contents, obviously making the most of his available rations. I
glanced up at Thomas and suddenly we were both laughing.
“I can’t tell you how nice it is to see you smiling. You have a lovely
smile.” He stroked my overlong fringe back from my eyes, “did you
know that you often cry in your sleep, it’s quite heartrending.”
“Must be a guilty conscience.”
“What have you got to be guilty about?”
“Those papers you found in my luggage weren’t mine, I nicked them
from WH Smiths.”
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“Naughty boy, you need taking in hand,” he playfully tapped my
knee and then smiled. “So we’re agreed, you’ll behave yourself and
stay until the doctor says you’re fit and healthy again.”
I gave a nod, feeling suddenly shy, “okay, but only because I like your
cat and he seems to need my company as a break from you.”
“Fair enough. Now, let’s try for third time lucky where breakfast is
concerned and then it’s a rest for you.”
I gazed at him solemnly repeating a collection of words that popped
to mind. “The best physicians are Dr. Diet, Dr. Quiet and Dr.
Merryman, or so my gran used to say.”
His green eyes shone with delighted amusement, “yes indeed, and as
soon as I’ve tended to your breakfast that goes straight into my
notebook. I do believe I’d missed that one, thank you very much.”
I rested my head against the pillows watching him leave the
room, absurdly pleased that I’d given him a small gift in the form of a
proverb that I hadn’t even realised I knew until it unexpectedly
resurfaced in my mind. Strange, the things we retain without realising
it, but then the mind is a repository with many hidden corners and
secret chambers.
The days passed and I got to know my benefactor a little bit better. I
discovered that by profession he was an optician and that he owned
his own practice, situated immediately next door to the Edwardian
house in which he lived. He’d bought the neighbouring house when it
came on the market, converting it into business premises in order that
he could combine continuing to work with caring for his parents as
they aged, thus allowing them to stay in the home they loved. He had
been the late and only child of people whom he’d obviously adored
and who in turn had adored him. Caring for them in their latter years
and helping them retain a sense of some independence had been a
privilege rather than a burden he said. It was as I thought; Thomas
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Hall was a man who had a need to nurture, it was an ingrained aspect
of his personality.
I learned that he’d been a keen rower and cricketer in his
university years and some way beyond, until running a business and
caring for his parents had taken precedence over all else. His latter
day sporting activities went some way to explaining the surprising
strength and flexibility that lay beneath his comfortable looking
exterior. He still played summer Sunday cricket upon occasion and
did the odd afternoon of rowing on the river Ouse.
I liked to hear him talk about his activities past and present.
I’d always preferred other people’s lives to my own. He asked me
very little about my background and I offered even less, saying
simply that I’d always had itchy feet and liked to keep moving
around. A lot of homosexual men and women have wandering feet. It
comes from a lack of acceptance and welcome and I guess he thought
I was another young man who had been rejected by his family on
coming out, and had consequently lost direction in life.
As he literally only had to walk out of his front door in order
to be at work I saw a lot of him. He checked on me regularly during
the day, nursing me in his determinedly bossy, but essentially kind
way. I began to look forward to the evenings when I’d have his
company for a longer space of time. We’d watch television together
and talk or play chess until he decreed that it was time for me to settle
down and rest, whether I wanted to or not.
October moved into November with a slow, steady grace that saw the
leaves on the cherry tree outside the bedroom window drift down
into the garden below leaving the branches all but naked except for
the odd, stubborn leaf. I gradually regained health and strength and
despite my best intentions began to feel at home with Thomas and
Bob.
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Doctor Robertson smiled with professional brightness as he took the
stethoscope from his ears, “that’s excellent Andrew, nice clean tubes
without a hint of a rattle. I’m giving you a clean bill of health.”
I swallowed down a slight resentment at my rattle-less tubes,
resisted a rude desire to tell the good doctor where to stuff his clean
bill, and thanked him for the time spent in treating an unregistered
patient. Glancing out of the bedroom window I watched as the last
crisply withered leaf detached itself from the tree and floated adrift
on the breeze.
I straightened my clothing while Thomas saw the doctor out,
and then began packing my belongings into a holdall that still smelled
faintly of brandy. I hadn’t had a drink in over a month, and it hadn’t
bothered me, but suddenly I longed for one. Sensing I was being
watched I glanced up to find Thomas standing in the bedroom
doorway. He was wearing his work suit, a smart brown pinstripe,
well cut, if rather old fashioned.
I broke the silence. “I’ll be moving on now, let you have your life
back. I’ve got friends to see and things to do. Thank you for
everything.”
He smiled, saying softly, “I see you’re grasping your freedom with
both hands. At least I know you’re as fit as you can be. Hopefully
you’ll take better care of yourself and remain that way.” He moved
forward holding out a hand, “goodbye Andrew, and good luck. It’s
been a great pleasure having your company.”
I shook the hand, feeling my throat constrict at how easily he was
letting me go. I’d begun to imagine that he felt something for me
beyond charity. He followed me downstairs into the hall where Bob
trotted towards me winding about my ankles, purring in that rusty
friendly way of his. I bent to scratch his ears. “Bye Bobby,” I
whispered. “I’ll miss you.”
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A tangle of thoughts and emotions swept over me as I straightened
up and looked at Thomas who was holding out my jacket. I actually
didn’t like him at all. He was too dictatorial. I took the jacket and
shrugged it on, giving an experimental cough as I did so, half hoping
he’d start fussing, and demand I go upstairs for a rest at once, as he
usually did. He didn’t. Well, it didn’t matter, because I really did not
like him. He was much too old for me, and not at all good looking or
handsome, despite those wide almond shaped eyes of verdant green
fringed with thick dark lashes.
No, I zipped up my black bomber jacket; he was not attractive
at all. And he was so damn sure of himself, albeit in an understated
kind of way. I’d never heard him raise his voice. He had a mellow
voice, almost musical.
I picked up my bag, glad to be moving on and away from this
odd, domineering man, but domineering in a way that I had to admit
rather thrilled and also strangely reassured me. When I actually
thought about it, he was usually right about a lot of things, not that
I’d let him know that. Oh dear God no! Give a man like Thomas Hall
an inch and he’d assume control of the rest of my life and it wasn’t as
if I even liked him. I coughed again.
“Would you like a drink of water before you go Andrew, it sounds
like you’ve got a dry throat there?”
I shook my head and was just wondering whether I could fake a
reasonable faint when he opened the front door. He obviously didn’t
want me to stay.
“Thanks again for everything.” I stepped outside into air that had a
definite edge of frost to it.
“I’m more than glad to have helped. Take good care. Let me know if
you ever need or want anything else from me. I’ll be here.” He paused
for a moment then said, “you definitely have somewhere to stay
tonight?”
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I nodded, “bye Thomas, you take care.” Turning up my collar I
walked away without looking back.
I trawled the shops looking at things I couldn’t afford to buy because I
hadn’t worked in a while and my bank account was barren except for
an ocean of red ink. I hadn’t told Thomas quite how rock bottom skint
I really was; even going through the charade of offering him money
for all the care he’d shown me. To my secret relief he’d crisply
declined. I owned nothing but debt and the contents of my holdall.
After losing my last job for turning up drunk I’d impulsively left my
miserable rented bedsit and taken to the road hoping to find a new
job and a new start in another town. I’d always been fairly lucky at
finding something. Not this time though. I was on the downward
spiral fast running out of money and luck.
I moved to a variety of towns where instead of jobs I found
bars where my youthful looks got me picked up a few times, but not
by anyone who wanted to keep me. Anyone who says it’s romantic to
sleep beneath the stars probably has a nice five-bedroom house on
standby for when the romance wears off. All I’d had, if I was lucky,
was a bed in a YMCA hostel.
After window-shopping I went for a walk in the park. The day
moved on. It got dark, it got colder, and then it snowed. There I was
sitting on a park bench in a fucking snowstorm, like a tramp without
a flea to call a friend. I had no job, no money, and no friends to go to.
You don’t make friends when you wander from place to place, you
meet other sad people like yourself, people who are trying to escape
from something and you share a few words, sometimes a drink or a
needle or maybe sex and then you move on and you never see them
again. Tears stung my eyes and I reached into my jacket pockets
searching for something to wipe them away with. Not only did I not
find a hanky but my fingers touched against something secreted deep
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in the lining that made my tears flow even faster. I hastily took my
hands out of my pockets utilising my sleeve as a tissue to soak up
self-pity. My only prospect seemed a return to prostituting myself for
a few drinks, a bed and a meal. ‘If you ever need or want anything else...’
his words echoed in my mind.
Somehow he didn’t look surprised to see me.
“Did you leave something behind?”
Only my fucking heart, I thought sarcastically while trying to affect an
air of casual calm.
“No, it’s just,” I swallowed, “my plans fell through. The friend I
hoped to stay with had to go away at short notice. I wondered if I
could stay...” I stopped, embarrassed and suddenly tearful. What the
hell was I playing at, imposing on this good man?
“Of course, all you had to do was ask. Come in Andrew, you look
absolutely frozen.”
I took a deep breath, gave a shaky smile and stepped inside,
setting my holdall down on the floor. Bob materialised, butting my
ankles and making loud purring noises of welcome and I bent to pet
him. As I straightened, the room suddenly dipped and wavered in a
disconcerting way and I swayed. A hand was immediately at my
elbow securing and steadying me.
“So much for looking after yourself, you’ve obviously not had a
thing to eat or drink today, and as the saying goes, nature abhors a
vacuum. You’ll be making yourself ill again you foolish man.”
He lowered me onto the bottom stair, pushing my head down
between my knees until the faintness wore off.
“You need someone to take care of you Andrew, because you
certainly don’t take care of yourself.”
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The faintness passed. Taking a deep breath I got to my feet, slipped
off my jacket and flung it over the end of the banister. “I don’t like
you, you do know that don’t you?”
“Of course,” he pointed at the coat hooks and I immediately hung
my jacket up properly.
He continued, “it goes without saying that you find me loathsome,
but as they say, any port in a storm and it is a pretty bad storm out
there, and I have no doubt from those wet clothes that you’ve been
mooching about in it all day. You need a hot bath, go on, go up. I’ll
get you something to eat and drink.”
“I don’t want a bath, thanks all the same.”
“I’m not asking whether you want a bath Andrew. I’m telling you to
go and take one.”
“I’m fine, really…hey!” I finished on a yelp as a sharp smack landed
on the seat of my damp jeans.
“Tell me Andrew,” folding his arms he gazed at me steadily, “why
did you come back?”
I shrugged, dropping my gaze to avoid his. “I told you, my friend...”
“No,” he interjected, “that won’t do. There was no friend. In all the
time you stayed here you never once mentioned friends or family.
You said you knew no one in this area when I asked if I could call
anyone for you; so don’t persist in lying to me, or to yourself. Why
did you come back here?”
I struggled as I tried to find words to fit feelings, ending up getting
angry. After all, what right had I to expect anything from him? I took
refuge in temper.
“I don’t fucking know. You’re an uptight, pernickety, overbearing
bloody pain in the arse. I’m sorry to have imposed on you. I’ll go.” I
turned to grab my jacket and promptly tripped over Bob, sprawling
full length on the hall floor. Bob gave a screech and streaked off like a
rocket.
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“Is he alright?” I heaved myself onto hands and knees. “I haven’t
hurt him have I?”
“He’s fine, don’t worry.”
Thomas offered a hand to help me up. “He likes you. I’m sure you’re
already forgiven.”
“Do you like me?”
The words blurted from my mouth as he drew me level, well, almost
level with him. I felt like a kid with a crush on a teacher. A look
passed between us, a look that finally acknowledged the chemistry
that had been slyly building between us. Our lips met and we began
kissing passionately. It felt good, very good; somehow I’d known he’d
be a great kisser. A tingle of arousal spread through my body. I don’t
know who fumbled with whose buttons first; I only knew that
suddenly we were both shirtless running our hands over each other’s
bodies. He grabbed my hand staying it, as I greedily reached for the
zip on his jeans.
“Bed, let’s go to bed darling. You might be young and supple
enough for the hall floor, but I’m not and I want to enjoy you in
comfort.”
I awoke next morning to find the room bathed in that strange ethereal
light that indicates a substantial amount of snow has fallen overnight,
a kind of soft mistletoe sheen of milky grey. I mused pleasantly on the
previous evening. It had been good, more than good it had been
fantastic. I had never experienced sex like it. He had completely
dominated me, expertly manoeuvring my body for his pleasure and
consequently pleasuring me in ways I had never imagined. I had
loved every moment of submission to his attentions. He had also
introduced me to the concept of sensual spanking, the antithesis of a
painful discipline spanking. They were two different components of
the same drive, he explained, each one serving to underpin the power
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dynamic that was developing between us. Just thinking about it
excited me and made my cock harden.
However, while I might be drawn to Thomas Hall in some
odd way, I didn’t really like him. It seemed important that I remind
myself firmly of that fact, but he was warm and cosy to cuddle up to
on a cold, snowy morning, especially when you were naked. Actually,
being naked in his bed was something I’d fantasised about for weeks
past and the reality outstripped the fantasy by several leagues. I
cuddled still closer to him inhaling the arousing musky scent of our
combined body juices, sweat and semen.
He stirred, murmuring a sleepy greeting and I kissed him,
shyly at first and then more assuredly as he made known his
pleasure. Waking up to someone who really wanted me was an
aphrodisiac in itself. Sex was less intense than it had been the night
before, but more emotionally intimate as we made love face to face in
the missionary position. It made me feel special to be tenderly kissed
and have sweet endearments spoken to me during the act of sex and I
suddenly understood what ‘making love’ really meant.
Afterwards I lay contentedly in his arms. “Why didn’t you
ask me to stay yesterday?”
“You didn’t say you wanted to stay.” His lips softly brushed against
my hair, “and I needed to hear it from you. I wanted it to be your
choice and your decision. Why did you come back?”
“Velcro,” I said solemnly.
He understood what I meant. Somehow I knew he would.
He gave a small laugh. “Velcro, I like it, I’m the hook to your loop. I
felt that too. Let’s hope that we bond as strongly as that worthy
material.” He kissed me thoroughly, and then patted my rump, “go
and have that somewhat delayed bath now. I’ll make breakfast and
then we’ll talk. There’s one proverb that I don’t agree with, and it’s
the one that says silence gives consent. I need to know that you fully
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understand what I’m about, and what our life together would entail. I
think you do know, but we need to be sure, for both of us. Go on my
beautiful boy, do as you’re told and have your bath.”
I opened my mouth to argue, and then shut it again, what was
the use, as ever he’d issued an instruction not a suggestion. It was a
bad habit I’d just have to try and break him of.
I never did break him of that particular habit. He continued to issue
instructions and ultimatums, which led to consequences, though the
latter became less frequent as I learned that obeying the instruction in
the first place was usually better all round. That said there were some
habits that I retained in spite of his very best efforts, one of which was
falling asleep in the bath. Bad enough in moments of rude health, but
much worse when weakened by a month of chronic self neglect. I
awoke from my dream of yesteryear with a start, floundering like a
salmon in its dying throes, as pine flavoured bath water invaded my
mouth and nostrils. I instinctively grasped for the side of the bath to
haul myself up, but my wet hands couldn’t gain purchase. I slipped
back under the water, my sleep drugged body feeling heavier than I
had strength to control. Oh God, I flailed around desperately, I was
going to drown in a Radox bath, still at least my corpse would smell
nice.
The bathroom door flew open and Thomas’s frost sharp voice
cleaved my panic. “A drowning man will clutch at a straw. Unless
he’s named Andrew, in which case he’ll clutch at a bath sponge and
hope that someone hears him choking and gurgling. How many times
have you been told about napping in the bath you silly man?”
I was briskly pulled clear of the water, smacked once on my
poor beleaguered backside, swathed in a huge bath towel and
escorted back to the bedroom still coughing and spluttering. He sat in
the rocking chair gathering me safely on his knee.
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“Sorry,” I rasped, when able to speak again. “I just closed my eyes
for a moment, didn’t realise how exhausted I was, must have drifted
off. You were right. I should have made that doctor’s appointment. I
feel horrible Tom, really rotten. I think I’ve got another chest infection
starting up.”
“I know pet, I know,” he gathered me closer on his lap. “However,
no matter how rotten you feel, drowning yourself in the bath isn’t the
answer. We’ll sort out that doctor’s appointment first thing in the
morning.”
The frost melted from his voice and my heart lightened. The cold snap
was over.
“Besides,” he said with a touch of wry humour, “not even death by
drowning could save you from the retribution you have coming for
letting yourself slide into this state.”
I gave a weak smile and snuggled closer against him, still
shivering from a mixture of fright and a gradually rising temperature.
The words he’d said prior to me going for a resentful sulk in the bath
came back to me, ‘I’m beginning to wonder what you do need me for?’
Well, one thing was for sure, he was handy to have around as
an antidote to drowning in the bath. And, when I thought about it,
drowning in the bath wouldn’t even be an option if it weren’t for
Thomas. If providence had not decreed that Mr Proverb man pluck
me from the side of a rain soaked road, I would have died of
pneumonia in a winter ditch a few years earlier, my instinct to survive
fatally eroded. Every time I attempted to move on from the pain I
carried inside, I lost a little more direction spiralling down into
uncaring, self-hating, self-neglect. He had helped put in place the
means by which I could reattach myself to the world. He had given
me the purpose and structure that I had probably always craved, and
a sense of being safe. He had helped me remember who I was. I had
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forgotten all that, or at least pushed it aside the night I fled in self-
absorbed panic.
The month at the caravan had been a nightmare and not just
because of the maggots crawling from the corpse of the past, but
because I had found myself without anchor once more, set adrift and
shocked and frightened by how quickly the horizon disappeared from
sight.
The misery of the nights when I’d sat drinking in a futile
attempt to keep bad memories at bay pressed in on me afresh and I
began to cry. I’d fled without thought for anyone but myself, trying to
escape something that needed to be faced and running from the one
person who would willingly have helped me face it and supported
me throughout. I’d totally disregarded his feelings and sensibilities.
No wonder that a hint of winter had touched his manner.
He was right. I had expected him to come rescue me from my
self-destructive impulse and had grown angry and resentful when he
didn’t come as quickly as I wanted him too. Moreover, I had expected
a warm welcome with no repercussions. I’d shove the past back into a
drawer and neither he nor I would mention it again. My vision
cleared and I saw that for what it was, futile, wishful thinking.
When he’d told me to have a bath, it was less about bathing
and more about re-establishing authority. He was resetting the
parameters of our relationship that been disrupted by my foolish
flight. I knew what our relationship was about, the way it worked,
and escaping consequences was not one of them. I didn’t always like
the consequences. I didn’t like being disciplined, but I did like bowing
to an authority that I respected and trusted.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I broke trust between us. I nearly lost
myself again, nearly lost us. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I tilted my
head back to gaze at him. “I can’t do it Tom. I can’t do life on my own,
I just mess it up. I don’t want to be on my own.”
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His fingers pushed a path through my damp hair, “you’re not
alone. I’m here and I love you. I think it will be a good idea for us to
arrange some professional counselling for you. You suffered a terrible
trauma and you need unbiased help to put that part of your life into
perspective, it’s the only way you’ll be able to move on from it in any
healthy and positive sense. As for us, you and I, I’m taking you back
in hand Andrew. I think we need to redefine some boundaries after
everything that’s happened. I think you need the security offered by a
firm structure. You can take breathing for granted, all else you’ll refer
back to me until I deem you ready for a bit more self-government
again. The first priority is to get you well again and then my boy we’ll
have a good long chat about certain things.”
His words sounded horribly ominous, all the same, nestled in
his arms I felt suddenly at peace. I was home and safe. Just like Issy. I
was where I wanted to be. I gazed at him solemnly. “East west,
home’s best, even if it is inhabited by a domineering ogre with
rampant megalomania.”
“Don’t go kidding yourself that you’d want it any other way. You’re
many things my darling, but vanilla isn’t one of them. You like being
taken charge of, by me at least. Now, let’s get you dried off and
tucked up in bed. I’ll bring you something to eat and then you can
rest.”
“I suppose a damn good shafting is out of the question?”
“All in good time Andrew,” he laughingly swatted my hip. “I’m just
as eager as you are, however I prefer to have sex with someone who
has a fighting chance of riding out an orgasm without expiring from
lack of breath.”
I was still awake when later he climbed in beside me. He looked at me
sternly over the top of his half moon specs.
“I seem to remember telling you to go to sleep.”
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“I was waiting for you.” I snuggled against him. That was something
else I’d desperately missed during my reckless sojourn, having
someone to cuddle against in bed.
“Well, I’m here now, so go to sleep.” He kissed me, “shall I read to
you?”
“Depends what it is?”
He reached for a book from the bedside table and held it out. I read
the title aloud, “Tacitus, The Annals Of Imperial Rome.”
I grinned at him, “tell me that annals is an archaic spelling of anal and
that Tacitus is a centurion slut describing how he shags a succession
of royal bum boys and I might actually consider letting you read it to
me.”
“Behave yourself. It isn’t like that at all,” he tapped me smartly on
the hip with the book.
“Then I’d rather drink a bath full of Pine Radox.”
“It has no nutrients, so we’ll stick with food for the mind... ‘When
Rome was first a city, its rulers were kings. Then Lucius Junius Brutus
created the consulate...’
As he read a wave of intense sleepiness swept over me, as of course
was his plan, the bossy sod.
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Part Four
Christmas Spirit
‘…Well here it is Merry Christmas, everybody’s having fun…’
Such was the legend bellowed forth from the supermarket
sound system by Noddy Holder and Slade. It was a message they’d
been sporadically bawling since Halloween, and frankly Noddy was
lying through his teeth, because aside from the fact that I personally
was not having fun, Christmas wasn’t even here, at least not quite yet.
It was only Christmas Eve, and as far as I was concerned the event
could come and go. I just wasn’t interested.
Someone bumped their trolley hard against my heels almost
pitching me headfirst into my own. Turning, I growled at the plump
woman responsible in a less than festive way, “excuse me, is there a
white line painted up the middle of my back leading you to suppose
that I’m some kind of public highway, thus explaining your apparent
desire to drive your shopping trolley up it?”
“There’s no need to be rude.” Her jowls wobbled indignantly, “I
didn’t do it on purpose and you are blocking the aisle standing there
like that.”
“That’s no excuse. I hope you drive your car better than you drive
that trolley, you have absolutely no clutch control.”
“Actually, mister clever clogs,” a note of triumph replaced
indignation, “I don’t drive!”
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I smiled sweetly, “so there is a God, it almost makes Christmas worth
celebrating.”
“It’s people like you that ruin the holiday for the rest of us. You need
to get yourself a little Christmas Spirit.” Giving me a dirty look she
steered her laden trolley around me, narrowly missing my toes.
“Bah, humbug,” I muttered traditionally, scowling after her and
wondering how many people she was entertaining over the festive
period. She had enough food in her trolley to feed a small continent.
People stocked up as if for a siege, and the shops were only shut for
two days, if that.
I shuffled irritably from side to side as people jostled by,
hoping that Thomas wouldn’t take too long to complete the quest
he’d just set out on. I had opted for standing stock still with our
trolley, refusing to even contemplate steering it back through the
thronging Christmas masses in order to get a jar of forgotten honey
that was located in an aisle near the front of the building. I was all for
leaving the honey where it was, but when Thomas wrote a shopping
list it was as if he became Moses inscribing on tablets of stones. All
that was written had to be obeyed to the letter: thou shalt buy
everything on thy shopping list. Knowing Thomas he’d stop en route to
exchange pleasantries with every bespectacled old age pensioner in
the shop, most of whom he’d supplied with their eyewear, he’d be
adjusting and tightening their frames while discussing the benefits of
varifocals and I’d be lucky to see him again before Easter.
‘…You’d better watch out, you’d better not cry, you’d better not pout, I’m
telling you why, Santa Claus is coming to town…’
“Oh, shut up!” I growled as the speakers blasted out yet another
festive tune.
“Cheer up mate. It’s nearly Christmas.”
A shopper wearing a Santa hat with a bell on it grinned merrily as he
steered his booze-laden cart around my un-jolly person.
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Resisting an urge to rip his hat off and strangle him with it, I settled
for muttering an obscenity under my breath, while giving him a false
smile. When I thought about it, the over laden plump woman had
made a good point. I looked thoughtfully in the direction that Santa
Prat had come from, a very good point, in fact an excellent point. I did
need to get myself a little Christmas spirit.
Optically challenged pensioners were obviously thin on the ground
because Thomas returned from his honey quest far sooner than I
thought he would.
He looked at me quizzically, “is that a generic sour expression on
your face Andrew, or does it denote some particular problem that’s
arisen since my departure?”
I omitted to mention my exchange with the one-woman food
mountain, sensing that he would share her view and deem my
reaction to be rude, he was old fashioned like that. One did not insult
ladies no matter how obnoxious they might be to you. Instead, I
shoved my hands deep in my pockets, “and why would there be a
problem Thomas? I absolutely love trawling around a jam-packed
supermarket on Christmas Eve with crap music assaulting my
eardrums and panic-buying people trampling me underfoot. I’d do it
every day of the year if I could.”
He gazed coolly over the rim of his half moon specs, “I gave
you the choice of staying at home.”
I scowled ever harder, feeling a real empathy with a certain Ebenezer,
and I mean before his misguided conversion to rampant
Chrimbophile.
“I believe the choice was that I stay at home writing out lines about
pulling my weight or I come and help you with the shopping, that’s
not much of a choice in my book.”
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“But a choice nonetheless, and one that I’ll take out of your hands
altogether if you continue with this surly childish attitude. I like the
conditions no better than you do, but the shopping has to be done and
I don’t see why I should do it alone. We have friends and family
coming for dinner tomorrow, we can hardly expect them to bring a
packed lunch.”
He made to place the honey in the trolley and then halted, his
mouth taking on an even sterner set as he spied something I’d
hurriedly concealed or thought I’d concealed, behind a box of Bran
flakes. He addressed me quietly, “take it back Andrew.”
“If you insist, though I thought you liked Bran flakes, the cereal that
moves you like no other,” I quipped innocently. There’s a proverb
that goes, ‘bees that have honey in their mouths have stings in their
tails.’ As Thomas fixed his verdant green eyes on me, I mentally gave
it a modern spin to suit my own case: ‘Tops who have honey in their
hands and a certain look in their eyes are very likely to leave a sting in
their partner’s tail.’ Even so, my stubborn streak set in, which I tried
to disguise as reasoned argument.
“Look, I actually think I’m entitled to treat myself to something I like
to drink, especially at Christmas.”
“I’m not going to argue this point,” he placed the honey in the cart,
then ticked it off his shopping list, a commandment upheld. “Just put
it back where you got it from.”
Pointing a finger up at the store speakers I said, “listen to the
lady Thomas. Santa Claus is coming to town. He’s coming, this very
night, and I think we ought to have something ready to offer him
should he call at our house. I’ve heard he’s partial to brandy and I’ve
also heard that Rudolph is a bit of a plonky on the side, how else
would he get that red nose.”
Thomas was not amused. “You might deem that to be wit,” he said
coldly “I deem it to be cheek. Now do as you’re told.”
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I was being foolishly obdurate; I knew it, but once set rolling it was a
hard ball to stop. “I think you’re being unreasonable actually, and
very unfair, where’s your Christmas spirit when it comes to my
Christmas spirit?”
“Put it back,” his shaggy brows came together, “before there’s real
trouble.”
“Come on Tom, lighten up,” I looked at him appealingly, “what
harm can it do.”
“Put it back.”
“You put it back.” I snapped, “seeing as you’re the one that doesn’t
want me to have it.” I suddenly found myself squarely behind the
trolley handle, with Thomas squarely behind me, steering us both
towards the drinks aisle as fast as the human congestion around us
allowed.
“You had no business taking that bottle from the shelf in the
first place, it was totally inappropriate.” He stopped at the spirits
section, “and you’re personally going to put it back where it belongs,
even if we have to stand here for the rest of the day, until the store
closes if necessary.”
It was pointless arguing any further. I knew he meant what he
said, his stubborn streak made mine pale into insignificance.
Snatching up the bone, or rather bottle of contention I thrust it back
onto the shelf I’d taken it from while he was on his honey mission.
The sound of tinkling glass reverberated around the shop as the bottle
made hard contact with the one behind smashing both in the process.
Showers of green glass and dark brown liquid cascaded to the floor
sending out a rich pungent odour. My face flamed as dozens of
curious eyes turned in our direction, curiosity turning to either
amused sympathy or mild disapproval, according to the personality
of the eyes’ owners. The look that Thomas bestowed upon me was
neither amused nor mild and it made my stomach knot.
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I made a hasty attempt to absolve myself, “it slipped out of my hand
Thomas. I didn’t mean to break them, really I’m sorry...”
He brusquely interrupted, “have you cut yourself?”
I shook my head almost wishing I had, it might have turned his icy
disapproval into something more sympathetic. One thing was for
sure. I was up shit creek without a paddle, but that didn’t matter
because I knew someone who had a paddle that they’d be more than
willing to share with me, or part of me anyway.
“Go and wait in the car,” taking the keys out of his pocket he handed
them to me. “I’ll take care of things here.”
I didn’t argue. I was in enough trouble as it was.
It was freezing sitting in the car and I turned the engine over so I
could benefit from the heater and then sat watching miserably as
people unloaded their groaning trolleys into the boots of their cars
and drove home. More ardent festive shoppers soon filled the newly
vacant parking spaces. I was far from ardent. I didn’t want to do
Christmas this year, my heart just wasn’t in it. All the little joys of the
season, dressing the tree, putting up decorations, had turned into
chores, something that had to be done.
I turned the dial on the car radio seeking distraction and
finding it, but not quite in the manner I’d hoped for. Fingers of ice
raked down my back as a familiar carol rang out from a radio
concert…‘O little town of Bethlehem, How still we see thee lie!’…I
hurriedly turned the radio off, but the hymn seemed to linger, softly
reverberating around the car interior. I hastily switched off the engine
and got out, preferring to wait for Thomas in the frost crisp air of the
car park.
Shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans to try and keep
them warm I paced up and down in front of the car wishing I’d
heeded a certain someone’s advice about dressing more appropriately
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for the weather and put a coat on. The smell of brandy oozed
tantalisingly from the front of my t-shirt that had caught drops of it as
the bottles broke in the shop. For a second, I almost considered
sucking at it, but dignity prevailed, besides, I doubted there was
enough to obtain the effect I wanted.
I glumly scuffed at a tattered brussel sprout lying on the
ground, obviously an escapee from someone’s Yuletide shopping.
After rolling it under the sole of my trainer for a few moments I
pressed down and crushed it underfoot. Staring down at the
squashed vegetable I felt suddenly tearful and regretful of my action
and then felt foolish because I actually felt sorry for a sprout. With it
gone as a form of distraction I had only my thoughts to mull over. Of
all the Christmas hymns and carols that could have sounded from the
radio, why had it been that one?
I glanced around as I heard the sound of trolley wheels on
tarmac feeling the cold intensify further as I saw Thomas approaching
with our own fairly modest provisions. There was a stern set to his
mouth that caused my stomach to flutter and made my hands want to
protectively cup my backside. My offer to help unload the trolley was
met with a sharp instruction to get in the car before I froze to death
for heaven’s sake. His tone of voice didn’t invite argument and I did
as I was bidden.
I tried to apologise again for the brandy incident as he climbed
into the driver’s seat, but was crisply reminded that silence was
golden. In other words, shut up. He put the car heater on full blast as
he started the engine but a hint of chill remained in the air. He was
definitely cross with me.
Snow began to drift from a low grey sky as we drove silently
homewards. It was going to be a white Christmas by the looks of it.
Normally I would have felt a thrill of child like excitement at the
prospect. There’s something about a white Christmas that adds
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enchantment to the festival, but not this time. The coldly falling flakes
just made me feel more miserable and added to the sick sense of
foreboding that had been creeping up on me all week.
By the time the car pulled up on the drive the snow was falling
thick and fast, draping the shrubs and trees in the garden with
mantles of sparkling white. It would look stunning as night fell and
Christmas lights from windows and gardens reflected its surface.
However, snow might be beautiful to look at, but it had a cruel and
deadly heart, especially towards the vulnerable. I slipped my seat belt
off saying abruptly, “I’m going for a walk around. I’ll put up some
more posters, there’s a few left.” My arm was caught and held before
I could get out of the car.
“There’s not a bus stop or lamp post within five miles that doesn’t
already have a poster on it. Aside from that you’re not dressed for icy
rambling. You’ll freeze. The only place you’re going is indoors. We’ve
got a few things we need to discuss. ”
I tried to pull away, snarling furiously, “what the fuck is wrong with
you man, don’t you care about Bob, are you made of stone? Look at
the damn weather…” I sucked in my breath as he yanked me
forwards across the car seat in order to land several hard slaps to my
left flank before righting me again.
“I will not be spoken to in that manner,” his eyes held a gleam of
danger. “I’m going to put the car in the garage. You’re going to go
indoors and find a corner to stand in.”
Storming out of the car I let myself into the house, slamming
the door so hard behind me that it bounced back open causing the
Yule wreath adorning the outside of it to jump and turn the wrong
way round. I slammed it again, successfully. Hanging my jacket on
the hall floor I marched into the kitchen, slouching in the corner
closest to Bob’s favourite place, the radiator. His basket was parked as
close to it as was possible, only it was empty and had been for days.
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The sound of Thomas’s key in the lock and his rapid footsteps down
the hall set my heart pattering uncomfortably and I suddenly wished
that I’d been a little more decorous when I’d gotten out of the car.
“A work ill done must be done twice,” he said proverbially,
matching up the slaps he’d landed on my left buttock earlier with
several on my right plus a few to the centre. Grasping my elbow he
then whisked me out of the corner and down the hall, where he made
me straighten the wreath on the front door before leading me back out
onto the snowy drive.
“See that,” he indicated the passenger door on the car, which I’d left
wide open when I exited, “close it, in an appropriate manner.”
I hastily did so, the handprints on my bottom throbbing a warning
against stubborn procrastination of any kind.
“Thank you.” Turning me back towards the house, he dealt my
bottom another good smack. “Now get inside, close the door civilly,
pick up your jacket and put yourself back in that corner, standing not
slouching, hands behind your back. Is that clear enough for you?”
“Yes, thank you Thomas,” hot faced, I glared at him, “it’s clear
enough.” I headed back to the house, conscious of his eyes watching
my progress.
The sound of carrier bags being neatly smoothed before being put in
the basket under the sink to be used as bin liners told that Thomas
had finished putting the shopping away. My stomach lurched as it
heard the ominous sound of a chair being pulled from beneath the
kitchen table. The corner I had been standing in for some fifteen
minutes suddenly seemed very snug and friendly. I wasn’t sure
whether I could bear to leave it.
“Come here please Andrew.”
“I don’t want to,” I mumbled.
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“In this instance I’m afraid that want is not your master, I am, and
my patience is exhausted. Come here immediately.”
Folding my arms tightly against my chest I walked across to
where he was sitting, casting my eyes down to examine the top of his
feet, expecting to find myself staring at the kitchen floor at any
moment. Extracting one of my hands, he pulled me down onto his
lap, onto and not over, wrapping his arms around my waist. I let out a
tiny sigh of relief.
“Tell me Andrew,” his eyes gazed solemnly from beneath the untidy
canopy of his eyebrows, “do you have a desperate desire for a
spanking. Is that what that nonsense at the supermarket was all
about?”
I was startled by the blunt question. For a start, it was pretty
obvious that neither he nor I was in the mood for bedroom frolics, so
his question could only mean that he was asking if I felt desirous of a
real spanking, the discipline type that was as far from sensual
foreplay as you could get, the type that hurt like hell and which
usually ended in my tears, as opposed to our mutual satisfaction. He
must be mad. I put this to him, “are you mad, why on earth would I
desire a spanking?”
“The incident at the shop was so blatant it made me wonder if you
were acting out, bratting, purely to provoke a response from me?”
I made a sound of protest and he patted my hand.
“Hear me out. Bob going missing has made you unhappy. I fully
understand that. It’s also made me unhappy, he’s been a treasured
companion for thirteen years. I’m missing him dreadfully. I suspect
that in your case, as well as missing Bob, his disappearance has
thrown you off balance. This has been a hard enough year for you in
the emotional stakes and stability is especially important. There have
been several occasions lately when I really ought to have disciplined
you, but I didn’t, because I knew your attitude stemmed from upset
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over Bob. I wonder now whether that was a mistake, whether my lack
of action just added to your sense of insecurity about things changing
without you having any control over them?”
I gave him a little kiss on the cheek, feeling suddenly guilty. “I
honestly wasn’t trying to deliberately court your attention by putting
that brandy in the trolley Thomas. I’ve understood and appreciated
why you’ve been giving me more slack than usual so it hasn’t
unnerved me, not in any sense. You’re right about Bob though, I do
feel thrown by his disappearance. I liked the way things were, the
three of us. I don’t want them to change. If he can just disappear,
maybe other things will.” I frowned, trying to put vague feelings and
masked anxieties into words. “I’m afraid I’ll wake up and find that
you were just a dream, that I’m on my own again making a bloody
mess of life and never knowing how things are going to be from day
to day.”
He hugged me, “you’ll never be on your own again, not if I
can help it. So,” he brushed my hair with his fingers, “if your
behaviour at the supermarket wasn’t a way of drawing my attention
and making me validate my role, what the heck was it about?”
I shrugged, uncomfortably aware of what my action had been
about. Basically, it had been about me, and me only. Thomas hadn’t
entered into the equation. I had not been attention seeking, far from it.
Miserable, angry, irritated, resentful, I’d wanted something to make
me feel better. I admitted it to him, “it was about me wanting a fast
and easy antidote for misery. You know, the proverbial drowning of
sorrows and all that.”
“I see,” he looked thoughtful. “So, in other words you instinctively
reverted to an old habit in time of stress?”
“I suppose,” I shrugged again, “yeah, if you want to look at it like
that. I basically just wanted a drink to help take the edge of things.”
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“Do you think having a drink will make everything alright in the
long run, that it will somehow make Bob return home?”
Some subtle change in his body language and vocal tone sent warning
signals along my nerve endings and I was suddenly acutely aware of
his presence on a level besides the purely physical. I remained silent.
I’d said enough already, too much in fact. It occurred too late that I
should have just agreed with his personal theory about the brandy in
the basket.
“I’d like an answer please Andrew, do you think drinking will solve
this problem?”
“Of course not,” I released a small uncomfortable laugh. “I know it
won’t. I just needed…wanted…I wanted a drink to dull my senses for
a while, as an escape I suppose. Can we stop this now Thomas? I
think all that needs to be said on the subject has been said and I’d like
to go out while there’s still some light to see by. I’ll have another walk
by the railway line.” I tried to get up off his lap.
“I’m not finished yet Andrew,” he restrained me. “I think we have
an issue here, an issue that needs dealing with. You say that you don’t
need a spanking, but I beg to differ. I’m afraid I think you do. I think
you deserve one, regardless of whether or not you want it.”
My jaw dropped lower than that of Jacob Marley when the
bandage around his chin and head was removed. “You’re going to
punish me,” I looked at him, injecting a pitiable note into my voice,
“you’re actually going to punish me, on Christmas Eve?” His features
showed no signs of being moved to pity. He’d obviously used up his
stores of leniency as far as I was concerned.
“The date is irrelevant Andrew, but your behaviour isn’t. Would you
care to hazard why, quite aside from your disgraceful public display
of bad temper, you deserve to be punished?”
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“I don’t think I do deserve it. I didn’t mean to break those bottles of
brandy. It was an accident, it could have happened to anyone.” I tried
once again to get up off his lap, without success.
“Sit still Andrew, you’re not going anywhere. It was temper that
broke those bottles, whether or not you meant it to, temper at not
getting your own way, but that isn’t the main issue.”
My treacherous temper flared again. “I don’t see that there IS an issue,
the only issue is you being a pedantic pain in the arse, as per bloody
usual.”
His ability for speed of movement never failed to instil a sense
of surprise in me, it just wasn’t right. I went from being on his lap to
being over it with my jeans undone and pulled down around my
knees in less time than it took to squawk a protest. His hand struck
the centre of my brief clad backside. “I’m not putting up with
anymore uncouth outbursts from you today. There is most definitely
an issue here and I suspect you’re well aware of what it is, and if
you’re not, then you need to be made aware. So settle yourself and tell
me why you even considered putting the bottle of brandy in the
trolley? That more than anything else is puzzling me. I want to know
why you imagined, even for a second, that I would allow it to pass.
You can’t seriously have thought I wouldn’t notice it go through the
checkout. Short sighted I may be, but I’m not blind. What on earth
were you thinking, were you actually thinking?”
I pushed my palms against the floor in a fruitless effort to
lever myself off his lap. Another hard swat warned me to desist and I
shouted, “I was hoping that the Christmas Spirit might warm your
heart and make you human for at least once in the year. Some hope
that was, miracles really don’t happen.” My sarcasm, though
momentarily satisfying, cost me dear. My underpants quickly joined
my jeans around my knees and Thomas proceeded to solidly spank
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my bare backside for several minutes. I was almost in tears by the
time his hand stilled.
“Be warned, any more backtalk and I’ll send you to get the paddle if
not the slipper.” His hand took rest against my chastised rear. “I’ll
ask you again, why did you put that brandy in the trolley when you
must have known that I would never be persuaded to change my
mind about you having it, you say that it wasn’t to deliberately court
my attention, so why?”
I gave in and finally admitted the truth, “I never intended for
you to actually see it. I was hoping I’d have time to pay for it
separately before you got back from finding the honey. I was going to
bag it and pass it off as a Christmas present I didn’t want you to see,
but I spotted you trundling up before I could even get near a fast
track checkout and quickly shoved it in the trolley hoping to dump it
somewhere without you noticing.”
“I thought you looked less than charmed to see me,” he said sternly,
while rubbing my stinging backside. “So, what you’re telling me is
that you were looking to buy it and sneak it covertly into the house,
and that only the circumstance of me returning sooner that expected
prevented that happening?”
“Yes,” I said miserably. It sounded bad put into actual words,
underhand, which of course it was, but still, one prefers not to admit
it.
“You and I have relatively few concrete rules Andrew, but after
what happened in the spring we do have a distinct, and very strict
agreement when it comes to alcohol, what is it?”
I took stubborn refuge in my right to remain silent, which was short
lived as his hand lathered my behind once again, causing me to howl
aloud. He has a palm like steel and he isn’t shy about using it to full
effect.
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“You’re in no position to be practising defiance Andrew. I strongly
suggest you answer me. What did we agree about alcohol?”
I gave up trying to fight him, chanting our agreement verbatim,
“alcohol consumption is now severely restricted due to my tendency
to abuse it. I’m only allowed wine or light beer with your permission,
spirits are not permitted under any circumstances whatsoever.”
“That’s it exactly.” His hand busied itself about my backside once
again, packing a painful sting behind every one of his words. “You
had a serious lapse earlier this year, which had repercussions on your
health, that’s why we tightened the rules regarding alcohol
consumption. I was all for banning it entirely, but at your insistence
we negotiated concessions whereby you may occasionally have wine
or beer with my permission and under my supervision, but spirits are
totally forbidden. Therefore, it stands to reason, does it not,” he
smacked harder, “that you do not attempt to deceive me by sneaking
some into the house behind my back. I’m disappointed that you even
gave consideration to such underhand behaviour Andrew, really
disappointed. You demean us both by it.”
I burst into tears, and not just because of the pain in my
buttocks. He didn’t let my tears put him off, continuing to give his
words a physical presence on my rump. “In the past, when crisis has
struck, your first resort has been to use alcohol, primarily spirits, as a
prop, consequently you end up flat on your face in more ways than
one. Drinking doesn’t solve problems. You know that all too well, it’s
an ineffective, destructive coping mechanism, isn’t that so?”
I didn’t reply, which was a mistake as his hand fell harder still.
“Isn’t that so?”
“Yes!” I yelled desperately kicking up my jean tangled legs in an
effort to block his hand from heating my poor behind any further and
almost sliding off his knees in the process.
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Hauling me back into position he anchored me by wrapping his arm
tightly around my waist. Drawing me firmly against his body he then
resumed spanking my bottom. “By your own admission your
behaviour today stemmed from a selfish desire to have something
that would make you feel better, regardless of how short term that
feeling might be, regardless of whether or not it was good for you,
regardless of the fact that the ‘something’ concerned is not allowed,
regardless of the fact that I was on hand for you to talk to about how
you were feeling and therefore able to help you get past it. To my
mind Andrew your behaviour amounts to nothing more and nothing
less than a case of deliberate rule breaking.”
He stopped smacking my bottom with his hand in order to
employ it in pulling open the drawer in the kitchen table. My heart
plunged to join the clothing corrugated around my ankles. I knew
what evil implement resided in that drawer. My eyes showered wet
stars onto the kitchen floor, “why are you being so brutal about this? I
didn’t get the brandy, and I haven’t had a drink.”
“Not for want of trying. The intent was there. Let me make it clear,
I’m not disciplining you for being tempted to revert to old methods of
coping with unhappiness, that’s alright, it happens. It takes time to
replace one set of instincts with another. However, the fact remains
that the brandy should not even have been lifted from the shelf,
because it is not allowed, that’s the rule, and you broke it the moment
you picked the bottle up. That’s why I’m disciplining you Andrew,
for not submitting to the rule in this instance. Rules are not to be
flouted, certainly not when the very situations arise that they were
put in place to help deal with. It’s especially important at those times
that you adhere to them, no ifs, no buts, that’s all you have to
remember.” Resting the cool wood of the kitchen spatula against my
seared behind he said quietly, “I’m not being harsh for the sake of it
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Andrew. I’m making a point. I think your behaviour this afternoon
shows that you need me to make this point, and make it strongly.”
And make it he did.
The snow was still falling. I lay on my side watching it flitter
relentlessly down past the bedroom window, entertaining a small
fantasy of plunging my exceptionally sore bottom into a pile of it.
Thomas had done a thorough job of both spanking and paddling me.
I’d hoped it would be a hard and fast paddling, something that stung
like mad while it was happening, but was literally over in a handful
of seconds. He’d opted for the prolonged approach applying the
paddle to my backside with light to moderate strokes and the
occasional heavier ones for what felt like hours, but was more likely
five minutes or so. The heat and pain builds up gradually layer on
layer until it becomes unbearable. By the end of it I was bellowing and
bawling like a baby, convinced that my backside was blistering.
Footsteps on the stairs preceded the opening of the bedroom
door. I didn’t turn around, keeping my sight fixed on the fast falling
snow outside.
“I’ve brought you some tea,” he placed the cup on my bedside table.
“I don’t want any tea. I hate you Thomas.”
“I know you do sweetheart,” he settled himself comfortably beside
me on the bed, picking up the book he was currently reading. “You
utterly despise me, you made that very clear from the outset and I
respect you for it.”
“I don’t know why I’ve stayed with you all this time, you and your
bloody rotten rules.”
“No one can rule anyone who doesn’t first agree to the ruling, and
you did that Andrew. As I’ve said many times before, you knew
exactly what I was about, right from the start and you like it. It’s what
you want, and what you need, and that’s why you stay.”
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I felt obliged to apply some kind of argument. “I wanted the brandy,
but I didn’t get it did I.”
“In that context, what you wanted was certainly not what you
needed.”
“I didn’t want the paddling you’ve just given me, but I got it
anyway.”
“Yes and you deserved it, so stop griping and accept it with grace or
I’ll assume you’re still practising defiance and put you back over my
knee to add a postscript,” he said, without a hint of remorse in his
voice. “A rule is a rule, and that is a particularly important one, not
for me Andy, but for you. You needed to be reminded of that and if
necessary I’ll remind you again, ad infinitum. Bear it in mind next
time you’re tempted to even think about deceiving me. Drink your tea
before it goes cold.”
I took a sip, grimacing, “it’s like a virgin’s piss.” I grumpily set the
mug back on the cabinet, “you didn’t let it brew long enough. You
never let it brew long enough.”
He gave a little grin. “Andy my honey, in the mood you’re in nothing
I do will please you. If I’d let it brew until it was like treacle you’d
have grumbled about that.”
He had a point. I suddenly admitted my shame to myself. My
behaviour in the shop had been sly and dishonest.
I rolled over, plucking the book from his hands and cuddling
against his side. “I’m sorry Tom. I can be such a fuck head
sometimes.”
“I know.” He put his arms around me and hugged me.
“Know what, that I’m sorry or a fuck head?”
“That you’re sorry,” he tapped my thigh, “and you swear far too
much. I’m going to set up a charity box and make you put fifty pence
in it every time you utter an expletive, we’ll be able to wipe out world
poverty in a matter of months.”
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I made myself comfortable against him, well as comfortable as I could
get in the circumstance, resting my head on his chest. “I’m still going
to give your Christmas presents to a charity shop, along with that pig
of a wooden spatula and that evil bloody paddle.”
He gave a rich little laugh; “you do that my darling, if it makes you
feel better. I’ll just buy them back later.”
“What would you have done if I had put that brandy in the trolley
purely to court your attention?”
“I’d have given you what you needed, my attention, and a spanking,
nowhere near as severe as the one you’ve had, but still a spanking.”
“So, I get a sore arse either way. I can’t win with you.”
“I thought you’d worked that one out long ago,” he said,
comfortably dropping a kiss on my head.
We lay together in companionable silence listening to the
whisper of snow falling outside the window.
“Tom,” I raised my head to look at him, “I’m sorry I accused you of
not caring about Bob. I didn’t mean it. I know how much you love
him, and I’m sorry for wallowing in my own self pity.”
He smiled a little, “don’t you think I know you well enough to realise
what you mean and don’t mean, and feeling grief for something isn’t
being self pitying.”
“I should have been more considerate of your feelings though. I bet
Bob means more to you than I do, he’s been with you far longer?”
“Now there’s an unmet need if ever I heard one.” He laid several
gentle kisses on my lips, “I love you and no matter how long you’re
with me it will never be long enough.”
I hugged him tightly for a few moments and then finally asked the
question I’d been avoiding asking for several days past. “Do you
think Bob is dead?”
“I don’t know,” he played with my hair. “I want to believe so much
that he isn’t, but we have to face facts. He’s an elderly cat and even
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when he was young and frisky he didn’t wander far from home for
any length of time, certainly not five days. I hate to say it, but I think
something has undoubtedly befallen him.”
I was choked. I’d never spent a Christmas with Thomas that
didn’t include Bob. Everything felt off key and wrong. “I know he’s
old,” I couldn’t keep the tears back, “and that he couldn’t be with us
forever, but I want him home, even if it’s only for one more
Christmas. I hate to think of him dying alone. He should be with us. I
want him back, that’s all I want for Christmas.”
Thomas gathered me closer in his arms as I gave my sadness full vent.
By the time I managed to get a hold on my emotions the room
was in virtual darkness, the weak winter sun having slunk away
leaving only a street lamp and the reflection of snow to illuminate the
bedroom. Raising my head from Thomas’s tear soaked shirt and
pulling free of his arms I sat up, snuffling, “I’m going out to search
again.”
He spoke firmly, “no, I’m sorry Andy, you’re tired. You’ve had a hard
week at work and you’ve barely slept a wink since Bob failed to come
home last Sunday. You’re going to wash your face and get ready for
bed.”
“I want to look for Bob, I need…”
“What you need is rest, so do as you’re told Andrew. I won’t brook
any stubbornness from you.” He kissed me tenderly on the lips and
then traced his fingers along my jaw, “I’ll have a good scout around
again later I promise, and if I see a bus shelter or lamp post that
doesn’t have our Bob’s details on it you can be sure I’ll rectify it. Go
on darling, have a wash and get ready for bed. There’s nothing to be
gained from both of us roaming around in the dark and cold.”
The front door bell suddenly chimed and he pulled a face,
“that’s either more carol singers, or my aunt Edie arriving early for
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Christmas dinner. You know what she’s like for getting the days
mixed up.”
“Let’s hope it’s the former then, at least you can pay them to go
away pretty quickly.”
“Behave,” he stood up, “and get ready for bed. I’ll get the door.”
I rinsed my face thoroughly, pressing the towel against my gritty
eyes. I really was tired and copious crying hadn’t helped, I felt utterly
drained. Opening the bathroom door and stepping out onto the
landing I almost crashed into Thomas, as he hurried back upstairs,
“who was it,” I asked, “more carollers repeatedly singing we wish you
a merry Christmas?”
“It was Amy.”
“Amy!” I was puzzled. “I thought she was away spending Christmas
with her family in the Midlands?”
“She was, is, she suddenly realised that she’d left one of her sisters
Christmas presents in the bottom of the wardrobe. She’s had to trek
back to get them or else risk never being spoken to again. Listen,
Andy, her car has conked out on her and she needs to drive back
tonight. I’m going to go and have a look at it. I’ll be a little while.”
He sounded odd, edgy almost, which was most unlike him and there
was a distracted look in his eyes, as if he was mentally somewhere
else. I laid a hand on his arm, asking anxiously, “what’s wrong
Thomas, are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” He patted my hand, forcing a smile, “tiredness seems
suddenly to have caught up with me, that’s all.”
“Give me a minute to grab my trainers and coat, and I’ll come and
give you a hand with Amy’s car. Have you any idea what the
problem is?”
“Not yet and while I appreciate your offer I can manage perfectly
well. I know my way around an engine far better than you do. It’s
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bitter cold out there; it won’t do your chest any good. I’m not having
you go down with bronchitis for the New Year. Go on Andy,” he
sounded suddenly clipped, “bed, now, and that’s a non negotiable
order, so hop to it young man.”
I was taken aback, and a bit hurt by his manner.
“Fine, if that’s the way you feel, I won’t give you my obviously
inadequate help.”
“Now you really ARE being self-pitying, and I haven’t got time for
it,” he gave me a cross little kiss. “I’ll be back as soon as I can and I’d
better find you in bed, otherwise we’ll be discussing the subject of
rules again, my rule that is, which is absolute.”
And on that tyrannical note he quickly headed downstairs.
I gave a sarcastic salute as the front door closed, “all hail the
conquering hero, and God help all small countries that he comes
across en route to conquer the conked out car.” Though admittedly,
there wouldn’t be that many, not between our house and next door
but two, where Amy lived, not unless you counted the Lego style
village that our immediate neighbour had found necessary to
assemble in his back garden. Bob had loved that model village; he
would squeeze his furry bulk between the miniature houses looking
like a feline Gulliver exploring Lilliput.
After undressing I got into bed trying to find a way of sitting
that didn’t remind my bottom of the recent ordeal that had befallen it.
I gave up in the end, opting for moving my pillow to the foot of the
bed and lying on my stomach. Flicking on the television, I settled to
watch the traditional Christmas Eve broadcast of lessons and carols
from Kings College Cambridge. It was an old fashioned sort of
programme, but I liked it, perhaps because it reminded me of the first
Christmas Eve I ever spent with Thomas and Bob. I smiled at the
memory. It had been the best and happiest Christmas of my adult life.
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The lesson being read came to an end, and the famous choir launched
into a Christmas hymn…O little town of Bethlehem. Talk about the
ghost of Christmas past! I sat up abruptly as a vision of my sister
Isabelle came powerfully to mind. This had been her favourite
Christmas carol; she would sing it over and over again. Just as in the
car earlier the tune caused icy fear to rake my skin, only this time I
didn’t succeed in blocking out the memories it brought in its wake.
Getting out of bed, I moved over to the window. Staring out I
felt the coldness of snow strike through the glass, but saw with my
mind’s eye, the warm interior of my grandmother’s house on a
Christmas Eve years in the past. Issy was there sitting at gran’s feet,
playing with her dolls, singing along to the hymn being sung on a
religious programme that gran was watching on television. It was the
Christmas preceding my mother’s marriage to the man who would
ultimately destroy Issy, the last Christmas that she was ever happy
and safe. I wanted to go back with all the painful knowledge I now
had and warn my mother that she was putting her daughter within
reach of evil.
Then a thought struck me. If I did have the power to go back
and change things then I wouldn’t meet Thomas, because our meeting
only came about as a result of the tragedy of Isabelle’s death, and its
effects on me. A pure young voice suddenly sang...Yet in thy dark street
shineth, the everlasting light; the hopes and fears of all the years are met in
thee tonight…and I quickly turned to switch the television off, unable
to bear the poignant hymn for a second longer, only to find that I’d
already done so. The singer was Isabelle. She’d had a beautiful voice,
a voice that gradually faded to silence broken only by whispers in the
dark. I suddenly saw her face reflected in the icy pane and felt cold
and sick, fearing to turn around in case she was there in the room
behind me. I tightly closed my eyes. Bob’s disappearance had really
disturbed my equilibrium, now in conjunction with these sudden
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painful memories of Issy it also seemed portentous. What if his going,
and her returning to haunt me somehow signalled other bad changes?
What if Thomas decided that he didn’t love me after all? I
couldn’t bear the thought of having to move on without him. In all his
honest plain glory Thomas Hall was the most subliminally exciting
man I’d ever met. I’d felt an emotional pull from the moment I first set
eyes on him, something in me recognising and responding to
something in him. He was my lover, my companion and so much
more. I liked the way he cared for me and the way he made me feel
safe. I liked who we were together, our lifestyle. He was the man I
wanted to grow old with. And now everything felt threatened.
A great wash of anxiety and fresh guilt swept over me, guilt
for having found happiness as a result of my sister’s misery. Poor
Issy. It wasn’t fair, the way she had suffered. I had no right to be
happy, no right at all. That’s why Bob had vanished. The Fates, God,
something, was reminding me of how little I deserved to be happy
and how fragile happiness could be.
Look how fragile her happiness had been. The caring
stepfather who made her a wonderful dolls house had taken her soul
in payment and left her to decide that death was preferable to life.
Her choice of escape blazoned to the forefront of my mind in all its
horrific detail: her broken body, the blood, her blank eyes and the
horror stricken cries of the poor man whose car she’d deliberately
thrown herself under. He was yet another victim of my stepfather’s
wickedness. How many other victims were there, how many others
like Issy? How many might I have saved if I’d had the courage to stay
and say something instead of fleeing? I had loved and trusted him, it
made me sick to my stomach with self-disgust and guilt to think that I
had genuinely loved the man who had repeatedly abused my sister.
I was downstairs before I knew it. I needed a drink and not a
nice cup of tea, or even a passably civilised glass of wine. I wanted a
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strong drink. Something that would go straight to my Solar Plexus
and obliterate all the excruciating emotions currently clustered there.
There were no spirits in the house, not of the alcoholic variety
anyway, but I knew where I could lay my hands on a passable
substitute.
Kneeling on the sitting room floor I scrabbled among the gift-
wrapped packages under the Christmas tree, withdrawing a box that
was addressed to Thomas’s aunt. It contained a bottle of expensive
Port; high alcohol dessert wine liberally fortified with my old pal in a
crisis-brandy, the pal I’d first discovered in my friend’s family drinks
cabinet when I was sixteen. It had cost me my friendship in the end
and my safe haven, neither my friend nor his family could cope with
my drinking bouts and I was asked to move out after disgracing
myself and abusing their kind hospitality once too often. Rocking my
weight back onto my heels I made to tear the ribbon from the
package, only, as my bottom came to rest on the feet folded under me,
I was sharply reminded of the discipline spanking that Thomas had
not long since given me. It was like a dash of iced water to my senses.
I sat there trembling, the box clutched in my hands. Getting
drunk wouldn’t change the fact that Issy was dead; it wouldn’t
change the details of what that evil fucking bastard had done to her
and it wouldn’t lessen his betrayal of my mother and me. It would
solve nothing. It would simply lessen my self-respect and bring me
more grief from Thomas. I looked at the box, my fingers hooked in the
ribbon ready to pull it loose. Part of me cried out for and demanded
the comfort of old coping mechanisms, perhaps part of me always
would, but I had other means of coping now. I applied the rule, it
wasn’t easy, but I applied it, thrusting the box and its forbidden
contents back under the tree as if it were red hot.
Stumbling back upstairs I curled up under the bedcovers
closing my eyes, hoping that Thomas would come back soon.
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She was in front of me, in the distance, running through the grass
meadow that sloped down into Bluebell woods. We were children
again and I was chasing her, our childish laughter drifting as lightly
as dandelion seeds on the summer air.
Even in sleep I felt a pang of sorrow for the loss of her physical
presence and for the emotional closeness we’d once shared. We were
twins after all. We’d shared the womb together and emerged into life
just minutes apart, she being the eldest by three of those minutes. We
had a special bond, until he came and oh so cleverly took us away
from one other. In the end she wouldn’t even let me hug her. She
didn’t like it; she said it made her sad. I though it was just another of
her odd quirks. It was only later that it made sense.
In my dream she disappeared into the wood and I followed,
calling her name, weaving in and out of the dark trees, admiring the
rippling patterns of mellow sunlight trickling through the canopy of
branches. She was up ahead, I could see her, sitting on a fallen log,
“what are you doing Iss, what have you got there, let me see?” I
approached her curiously, bending down to see what she was holding
on her lap. I felt my heart thumping as my adult self recognised the
marmalade cat that my child self in the dream was now stroking, it
was Bob.
“He likes you Andy, listen, he’s purring.”
Issy grinned happily bending to kiss the top of the cat’s head, and
then she kissed me too, on the nose, bursting into giggles at my
squeak of protest. Bob suddenly leapt from her lap running away
through the undergrowth. We ran after him, two happy excited
children enjoying a small adventure on a summer day.
I caught up with him first, just as he reached the edge of the
meadow, scooping him up, turning and expecting Isabelle to be close
behind me, but she wasn’t. She had vanished into sunlight. I called
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her name, but the only sounds that came back at me were nature
sounds, grasses rustling, the soft drone of insects and bird song, and
the rusty purr of the cat in my arms.
Suddenly I was no longer a little boy in the dream, but a
young man standing bewildered and grief stricken at the edge of
bluebell woods. All the people I had loved, my small family, my
mother, sister, my grandmother were gone, prematurely removed
from me by cruel death. I was alone and frightened. The cat I was still
holding meowed and I buried my face in his soft fur, feeling the rasp
of his hooked tongue against my chin as he licked at the salty tears.
The dream faded and curiously, as it did so a renewed sense of peace
seeped through my body and into my mind. I woke up.
Something was wrong, because though I was certain I was
awake, I could still hear the rusty purr of the dream cat and feel the
rough lick of a tongue on my chin. I ventured to open my eyes,
staring in amazement at the furry apparition occupying my chest. He
was a lot slimmer, but then he could stand to lose a few ounces. The
orange eyes were a little cloudier, but it was still Bob, in all his
wonderful craggy faced beauty. I let out a cry. “Bobby!”
Quickly sitting up I gathered him into my arms, hugging him,
his resulting purr sounding like a traction engine.
“I thought you’d be pleased.”
After making the understatement of the year Thomas sat on the bed,
“who says there are no miracles anymore.”
I grinned at him happily. “The Christmas fairy obviously took pity on
a pair of his human counterparts.”
Thomas laughed and slipped his arms around both of us. He looked
radiant with joy at having Bob back home. I demanded details, where,
how who?
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It seemed that Bob had somehow got himself trapped in our friend
and neighbour’s house. In all likelihood, Thomas treated me to a
severe look at this juncture, he’d gone over there looking for snacks,
as Amy was as bad as I was for constantly pandering to his greed.
He’d probably slipped inside unnoticed as she packed her stuff in the
car ready for her trip. She had then closed up the house, inadvertently
shutting poor Bob in the conservatory. To her utter dismay she had
discovered him when she had returned home to collect the forgotten
presents. Thank heavens for her bad memory, or as she had put it,
thank God that one of the gaps the evil bloody menopause was
leaving in her memory had at least proved provident. He probably
wouldn’t have survived otherwise, as she hadn’t planned to come
home until New Year. After calling for a vet she had come over to our
house.
Thomas had feared the worst from what she told him; Bob was
apparently in a bad way, very weak and hardly able to stand. He
decided not to say anything to me until after he’d seen for himself
how bad things were, feeling that I’d been through enough upset and
that I really didn’t need to see Bob in that state. After giving him an
injection and getting some fluids into him, the vet had pronounced
Bob remarkably sound for a cat his age that had gone through such an
ordeal. My over feeding him with titbits seemed vindicated, it meant
he’d had enough excess body weight to carry him through almost five
days without food. The vet also suspected that Bob had probably
gleaned some moisture from the plants in the conservatory, which
Amy had watered shortly before leaving on her trip.
Later, after dinner, I curled up on the sofa next to Thomas stroking
Bob, who was snoozing on his lap. I told him about the Christmas
hymn and how it unnerved me because I thought it was Isabelle come
a haunting again, even though deep down I knew that the pure clear
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voice had been an auditory memory from a time that was now dust
rather than a song sung by a ghost, but still, it had frightened and
unsettled me. I also told him about the dream I’d had. I didn’t tell him
about the Port, I saw no need. I’d done no less than he would have
expected.
“Christmas is a time that seems to lend itself to remembrance
of the past,” he pulled me into a comforting hug. “And from what
you’ve said this was a positive memory. You were seeing Isabelle at a
happier time and remembering her as you loved her best.” He kissed
me, “you have to stop being afraid of memories Andy. Your therapist
told you that it’s normal and healthy to think of her, to remember her.
It’s the way you suppressed your memories that was abnormal,
because as you know all too well they find a way out eventually. She
also told you that you have to accept that you’re as entitled to
happiness and love as anyone else and you have to stop punishing
yourself for her death. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know, most of the time anyway.” I laid my head against his
shoulder, “and I’ve been thinking about the dream. It was like Isabelle
was offering me a link between one happy part of my life and
another. I think she was telling me it was alright to be happy again
and that she was glad for me, glad that I had found someone special.”
I tickled Bob under the chin utilising that strange voice reserved for
talking to animals and babies, “and you are very special and I do love
you Bob, don’t I, yes I do, and I’m so glad you’re home where you
belong, yes I am.”
I then gazed at Thomas, saying solemnly, “and I almost like you too.”
He didn’t laugh as I expected him to. Instead he gently lifted
Bob from his lap setting him down on the rug in front of the fire.
Taking my hands in his, he silently studied my face for a few
moments. His voice when he spoke was soft and low. “Say it to me
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Andrew. You can trust me enough. I won’t throw it back in your face.
I won’t betray you. Say it.”
Meeting the gaze of his fine green eyes I finally spoke the words that
confirmed what he already knew, but which until now I’d withheld
for fear that they’d somehow cause the object of my love to be
removed from me.
“I love you,” I swallowed, my throat tightening with emotion. “I
love you so very much.”
The world didn’t crumble. Thomas didn’t vanish. In fact he
looked as if I’d handed him a gift beyond price and suddenly I was
crying, and to my consternation so was he. Quickly sitting astride his
lap, I wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling his arms come
around my waist. We didn’t say anything, just held each other for a
good long time until Bob decided it was time he got in on the act and
jumped up on the couch mewing for his share of attention and
affection.
Suddenly the alcohol free Christmas Spirit hit me with a
vengeance. I was safe at home with those I loved best and looking
forward to the festivities. Settling back down on the couch with Bob
on my lap I quoted the first proverb that Thomas had ever quoted at
me. “East, west, home’s best.”
His smile and Bob’s purr confirmed that in this instance the
maxim held truth.