Gilliflowers (28 page)

Shane rolled his eyes in a way Simon Cowell would envy, making Dick and I grin at each other.

Once the requisite clearing away had been done I joined them in the lounge, sitting between them on the couch. We chatted, or at least I did. They inserted comments when I paused for breath. I told them about mum being in Scarborough and how the seagull cries had made me feel sad because they sounded mournful, like heralds signalling the final chapter of something. Dick said ‘oh, honey’ and leaned to kiss me. Shane swatted my flank and said, ‘you dwell too much on the morbid.’ I told them I reckoned Eileen had a beau in the making. Dick said, ‘really, what’s he like?’

Shane said, ‘keep your nose out of the lady’s private life.’ I told them about the fucking fucker and how I’d nobly ignored his insult. Dick said, ‘well done, hun.’

Shane said, ‘make sure you keep ignoring him.’

There wasn’t much on television, so Dick got out his guitar and he and I practiced a couple of the Simon and Garfunkel numbers we were trying to learn. They were proving elusive. If Dick wasn’t fluffing guitar chords I was fluffing lyrics and pitch or we were both fluffing harmonies. The only one we were getting close to perfecting was called ‘Leaves That Are Green.’ It’s a song about the transience of life. The lyrics are lovely, but sad and also tinged with a faint bitterness.

I closed my eyes as I sang. It’s a way of concentrating, immersing myself completely in the song. My mind cast up random images to the words. The young soldier’s frost kissed grave and the delicate flowers I had placed there and then my mother and her seaside day. How many more would she have, or any of us have? The curtain between life and death is as flimsy as gossamer. It can tear in a second.

“Sing something cheerful for the silly boy, Dick.” Shane pulled me onto his lap for a cuddle. I hadn’t even realised I was crying until I felt his thumbs wipe away the tears seeping from beneath my lids.

So Dick improvised a rude version of a song called ‘Handy Man’ making me laugh with his lascivious facial expressions as he sang. I finished the evening lying between them with my head on Shane’s lap and feet on Dick’s. It was good.

In sharp contrast Sunday morning wasn’t good at all, though it started well enough. We had a nice lie in followed by a three-way love in and then I got up and made a good old traditional bacon and egg brekkie. On a Sunday the men folk usually retire to the lounge after breakfast to read the papers and quaff coffee. Not this morning. I sensed a subtle change in the relaxed atmosphere as I stacked empty plates and used cutlery to take across to the sink. I noted an exchange of looks between them and a faint nod, as if in agreement over something. Dick sat up a little straighter.

Shane made the announcement.

“Leave those for now, Gilli. You can do them later. Dick and I want to have a word with you in the study.”

“Study?” I turned my mouth down. “Sounds a bit formal. What’s wrong was your egg yolk too runny? You’re not going to have me shot are you?”

“Hold the twaddle.” He stood up. So did Dick.

“Don’t worry, Gil, you’re not in trouble. We just want to talk to you about something important.”

I entered the study, my heart beating an anxious refrain. Something was brewing.

Shane pointed to the chair in the window alcove.

“Sit down. I’m coming to talk and you’re going to listen, that’s all you have to do.

It isn’t a discussion, so there’s no need for you to speak. If you interrupt me I’ll discipline you.”

Heavy stuff. I sat on the edge of the seat, my hands pressed between my knees, my heart beating faster still as I wondered what the hell he was going to tell me.

Perhaps they’d decided to replace me with a domestic robot that doubled as a sex toy.

Dick would be able to plug himself into it and use his cock to suck loose change from the back of the couch and vacuum the skirting boards and stairs, all while enjoying an orgasm. I’d be a redundant houseboy. I’d have to don my low riders and cruise gay bawdy bars looking to earn a few pennies.

Folding his arms Dick leaned against the closed study door, perhaps to stop me escaping. Shane parked his lordly bottom against the edge of the desk. “We owe you apologies with regard to recent events.”

For a happy moment I thought he was going to say the booze ban they’d imposed had been too tough and they’d decided to lift it early so I could go to Lee’s party and have a good old knees up with my mates. No such luck.

“Dick and I have talked long and hard. We believe alcohol poses a distinct health risk for you. We should have forbidden it as soon as your fits started getting worse.

Not to do so was a grave error of judgement on our part. We feel we’ve let you down in a significant way, something we deeply regret. We also feel we were wrong to give you the expectation of a review of the current situation. It’s left you unsettled.

There’ll be no review in six months or any other time. We’ve decided alcohol is permanently off limits for you. You haven’t had a fit to speak of since Easter, which is evidence in itself that this is the right course of action.”

Leaving his desk perch he walked over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s a hard limit, Gilli, like your meds.”

In power exchange relationships there are hard and soft limits. A soft limit is negotiable under certain circumstances, but a hard limit is set in stone, immutable.

I stared up at him. “So you’re saying I can’t ever have a drink again, not even on my birthday or at Christmas?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “You know exactly where you stand now, so you can settle down and not be continually fretting over the matter.”

My temper flared and scrabbled for a rock to fling. “There’s no point in me continuing to take the meds then. According to your logic removing alcohol from my diet amounts to a miracle cure. Hallelujah! I’m no longer a member of the twitching club. Praise be to Dick and Sha…” My rant ended in a gasp as I was raised to my feet.

“Hard limits, Gillibran.” His hand swooped on the seat of my jeans, once, twice, three times. “No discussion. No negotiation. No whining.” He released my arm. “Get used to it. You take your medicine. You don’t drink. We’re done here. There’s nothing more to be said. Get on with your work. Dick and I will have coffee in the lounge when you’ve washed up the breakfast things.” He deposited a kiss on my forehead and swept out of the study.

“One day at a time, Gil,” said Dick gently. “Approach it one day at a time. You can do this. You’ve got the mettle.”

“Easy for you to say.” I swallowed hard. “Is this all because I kicked off on Friday?”

“Let’s say it brought things to a head. We were building towards the decision anyway. We care for you, and we have care of you. This is now about protection, not punishment. You’re an epileptic, whether you want to accept it or not. You spend long periods home alone. Risks have to be minimised to keep you safe. We can’t remove every risk, but we can remove the obvious ones. Alcohol posed an obvious risk, now it doesn’t. Be good. Accept it and you’ll be fine.”

I didn’t respond and he followed in Shane’s footsteps. I parked my backside back on the chair. There was no sense of peace in knowing exactly where I stood. I resented the ruling. I was as far as the moon from earth towards accepting I could never enjoy a drink again. Six months with the potential for it to be forever had been difficult enough to handle. Having the ‘forever’ bit realised was a shock to say the least. I admitted a truth to myself. I had not for a moment ever believed it would happen. All other tests fell by the wayside. This was the toughest yet, a hard limit indeed. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want it.

I forced myself to stand up, to walk towards the kitchen, to wash up, to make coffee and to serve it, but Gillibran Brown, professional houseboy and forcibly accredited epileptic was not a happy bunny.

By Sunday afternoon the antibiotics were playing full havoc with my system.

While unpleasant I welcomed it on one level, because it gave me a good excuse to keep my distance from the men folk and to lay low without the danger of being accused of sulking.

Time is a prisoner to his own schedule and must move continuously on. Lee’s engagement party soon loomed on the horizon. It was arranged for the Friday night, coinciding with the late May Bank Holiday weekend. The original plan was for me to attend the do, stay over at Lee’s place and then travel home some time on Saturday.

I’d avoided talking about the party. In fact I’d avoided talking about much at all, preoccupied with my antibiotic misery. I spent most of my time in the bathroom, or at least that’s how it felt. Shane broached the subject during dinner on the Thursday evening prior to the party.

“There’s no need to prepare a meal before you go off tomorrow, Gilli.” He set his knife and fork neatly together on the plate he’d just cleared. “We’re going sailing on Saturday with Leo. Seeing as you’ll be away he’s invited us to dine with him tomorrow night and stay over so we can get an early start.”

Dick chipped in. “Have you bought an engagement gift yet?”

I shook my head.

“Leaving it a bit late aren’t you?”

“No.” I pushed the remains of asparagus risotto around my plate without looking at him. “I didn’t know what to get them so I put a cheque in a card and sent it off yesterday. They can buy something they like or save it towards their wedding.”

“The post can be unpredictable. You could have saved the postage and handed the card to them in person at the party.”

I glanced at him, saying casually, “I’m not going to the party.”

There was a brief silence during which they exchanged a look. Shane elected himself spokesman. “Why not?”

“Bad guts.”

“You said the diarrhoea had stopped.”

“It has, but my stomach is still delicate.”

“I’m sure it will be fine by tomorrow night.”

“I’m not going. I don’t feel up to it.”

“How much was the cheque for, Gilli?” Shane gazed at me steadily.

“Not much.” I stood up and began to gather the used plates and cutlery, avoiding looking at him. “Who wants dessert?” Shane refused to let sweet considerations distract him.

“Fetch me your cheque book.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “It was for sixty quid, okay, happy now.”

“Sixty pounds, for an engagement gift.” His dark brows came together in a frown of disapproval. “Most people give small household items or a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolates. You save the big guns for the wedding.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“All the more reason for you to attend his party instead of sending guilt money.

Have you told him you’re not going?”

“Not yet. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“You’re being shabby.”

The comment stung. “For not feeling well enough to attend a party?”

“For letting a friend down, and why, because you’re still bloody sulking over not being allowed to drink.”

“If you think it’s as simple as that then you’re even more insensitive than I thought you were!” Snatching up the dirty plates I walked out of the dining room.

Setting them by the sink I leaned my hands on the worktop and hunched my shoulders. “Bastard.” I muttered. “He’s such a bastard!” He was right though. I was letting Lee down and I felt like shit about it, but I didn’t want to go to the party and not just because I was pissed off about not being able to have a drink. It was more than that. I jumped as Dick’s voice sounded. I hadn’t heard him come into the kitchen.

“Need a hand?”

“No.” I didn’t turn round. “I’ll bring dessert in a minute.”

“I’m not trying to rush you. Shane doesn’t want dessert, and I can’t say I’m in the mood this evening. Coffee will do, in your own time.” He came to me, rubbing his hand down my back. “Are you really going to miss your friend’s party because you can’t have a beer? Seems rather selfish.”

“You make it sound straightforward and it isn’t, Dick, it isn’t, okay!”

Shane joined the fray, appearing in the doorway. “What are you shouting about?”

“I’m not shouting, so fuck off!” (Lie detector says NO!) Okay, I didn’t tell him to FO, but I thought it. I was mad at him damn it. The shabby comment had hurt. “I’m trying to do my job. This is a kitchen, my kitchen, not a social centre. If you want coffee then go away and let me get on with making it.”

Ignoring my territorial claim on the kitchen he pulled a chair out from beneath the kitchen table. “Sit down. Let’s talk about this big issue.”

“Big issue?” I raised my eyebrows. “Is that your way of telling me I’m jobless and homeless and you want me to hit the streets?”

He surveyed me from flinty eyes. “If I don’t end up standing trial for murdering you it will be a major miracle.” He pointed at the chair. “Sit your backside there, boy!”

I marched over to the chair and sat down, folding my arms.

“You accepted the invitation to your friend’s party and you’re going to go to it.

You have to face up to things and learn to enjoy socialising without having a drink.”

“Shane’s right, honey. I’m sure all that matters to Lee is having his oldest friend present at an important life event, regardless of whether he has a pint in his hand.

Attending the occasion is what matters, not having a drink.”

“It matters to me. I won’t fit in, don’t you get it!” I tried to stand up, but Shane shoved me back down onto the chair. “It’s bad enough being gay where I come from, but being teetotal is taking queer a bit too far. People drink on social occasions.

They’ll think I’m being funny by not joining in. They’ll think I’m looking down on them in some way, being a snob. That’s the way people in my town think.”

“It’s the way you think,” said Shane sternly. “You’re projecting your own feelings. I’m sure most people won’t give a damn whether you drink or not.”

“I know you, Gilli. You’ll regret it if you don’t go and you’ll beat yourself up over it. I’ll come with you if you like, lend some moral support.”

I almost laughed at Dick’s suggestion. He had no idea what it means to be homosexual in my hometown. There were no Pride marches through the local shopping centre. You kept as low a profile as possible. The return of the gay native and his upper class boyfriend would not be heralded with trumpets and fanfares. Posh people were viewed with almost as much hostile suspicion as gay ones and we’d be lucky to escape being lynched. “No thanks, Dick. It’s sweet of you to offer, but it wouldn’t work. It would be awkward.”