The Beard (25 page)

Amy was also relieved that she wasn’t going to have to field all the usual enquiries that accompanied her return home. “When are you going to get a boyfriend?” would, sadly, be replaced with, “Any dates in mind?” This tickled her, momentarily. Sadly, any warmth that it generated also had a cold, bitter edge, given that everything was an illusion.

Her story was fairly sound and everyone knew that. She’d met Tom through work (true). She and him had started up a friendship (true). She mentioned him to her parents a lot (also true). Out of respect for Tom’s obsessive secrecy, she’d omitted one small detail: that he was gay. It never came up. So when she told her parents that he and her had started seeing one another, it was a perfect story (false).

As field after field melted into one green blur, Amy began to consider what lay ahead. Her lack of concern about how Tom would be received also overlooked something significant: how would her parents be? As Amy’s first true love to visit the family, this was a major event – not only for her parents but also for the family at large. Aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbours – you name it, they’d all want to meet the man who’d finally tamed the untamable. As Amy pondered the ramifications of her inevitable role as museum exhibit, as people came to witness for themselves, point, stare and touch, her nerves returned.

She knew that she’d be on display, that both of them would be judged, scrutinised and assessed. Tom had been in denial about being gay for so long that no one ever guessed. He’d played straight for such a long period that no one could tell the difference. Even those with an atomically tuned, laser-guided gaydar struggled to identify him. Amy wasn’t concerned about anyone questioning Tom’s sexuality. No one ever did. Her concern rested with him and his newfound desire (of all times) to be out and proud. She supported this, but was crystal-clear that it could wait. Although not given to the dramatic, she didn’t want any clichéd, theatrical coming-out at her family home. That might make Tom feel a lorry-load better, but she was happy for him to stay miserable and closeted for at least the next 72 hours.

“I’m going to tell your dad you like being handcuffed and whipped,” Tom suddenly said as Amy spun around immediately and stared at him. “Yes, tell him you’re a right little goer!”
He smiled at what lay ahead, as Amy began to wonder what was about to unfold.

As they turned into the drive towards Amy’s parents’ impressive house, a stifled silence pervaded the car. Nerves had set in. The issue wasn’t whether they could or would pull off the illusion but, rather, what they’d be expected to do. What if they were expected to kiss? Slow dance on the dance floor? Smooch? The intricacies of an auspicious occasion such as a family wedding hadn’t
really been considered.

The drive up to the house was as big as the road Tom lived on. Mature trees and shrubs lined the approach, culminating in a small, semi-circular green in front of the house with its small, stone portico entrance.

The house was big – at least eight bedrooms, Tom estimated as they drew nearer. What lay ahead was an old estate house, hundreds of years old, with masses of charm, character and cost. In many respects, it was intimidating. He could fit his house into their garage and still have enough room to park a number of cars.

As they navigated closer to the house, slowing down, the crunch of gravel under tyres dissipated to a satisfying stop. With no noise to cloud their thoughts, the mundane reality of what lay ahead hit them.

Tom and Amy turned to look at one another. As they did so, no words were needed – their respective glances said everything that they felt.

They sat, transfixed in the moment, until a wedding ring, attached to an impatient hand, banged on the car window. Both of the occupants jumped and looked out to see Amy’s mother.

A middle-aged woman with a perfectly manicured perm and a traditional Home Counties twin-set stood peering in. Her jewellery suggested wealth but was elegantly understated. She was, at this point, bent down and staring into the car. Despite Amy being in the passenger seat, it was almost as if her mother was checking that there was a man in the car with her. Her eagerness to meet Tom and validate his existence overrode any sense of decorum. As Amy tried to open the car door, it was as if she was fighting to get out of a mosh pit. Her mother had little immediate interest in her. As soon as both got out of the car, Judith was already on her way to the driver’s side to welcome Tom.

Tom, looking slightly overawed by the highly personal greeting, stood firm. Abandoning etiquette, Amy’s mother launched into an immediate bear hug. The relief, gratitude and excitement were palpable. Tom shot a glance to Amy, who looked on aghast.

“So delighted to meet you!” Amy’s mother declared, before adding, “I’m Judith, Amy’s mother,” in relaxed but precise tones. Then, taking Tom’s arm, the keys still in the ignition, she led him towards the house. “Come and meet Amy’s father,” she said, looking up at him. Amy stood by the car, wondering if her mother had noticed that she, too, had made the journey home.

Amy remained fixed to the spot and watched as Tom and her mother vanished in through the solid oak door that had kept the elements at bay for hundreds of years. Amy was astonished at her mother’s immediate reaction to Tom. On the one hand, if this was how her mother would greet men, her next (hopefully real) boyfriend would be met with great generosity of spirit. That said, given the effervescence lavished on Tom’s inaugural seconds on family turf, whoever followed
him was always going to be second best: “He’s nice, but we both really liked Tom,” they’d say. Whatever joy Amy felt at seeing her mother happy was inevitably going to be short-lived.

Amy opened the back door of the car and started to collect her bags. Tom can get his own, she thought, slightly aggrieved. Laden with bags, her shoulders seemingly dragging in the gravel behind her, she staggered to the door. It was only as she got halfway there that her mother reappeared. Amy smiled, satisfied that her presence had at least been acknowledged. “Come on, Amy, you’re hold
ing everyone up,” Judith barked before vanishing again. Amy stopped dead and sighed. It was obvious to her there and then that, while she was to be treated like the useless maid no one had the heart to dismiss, Tom would be fêted like a visiting dignitary.

She
stumbled into the large, wood-panelled hallway to see Tom and her father chatting and laughing. She dropped the bags with undisguised disdain.

“Amy!” said Tom. “I’d have brought those in for you!”

Amy’s mother swooned at the old-fashioned charm and made a cooing noise. “What a gentleman!” she said.

“Well, where was the bloody gentleman a few minutes ago?” Amy snapped back.

“AMY!” her mother retorted. “Don’t be sour. No one asked you to behave like a Suffragette. Now, come on in.”

Amy glanced up and saw that both Tom and her father had a glass in their hand. “That was bloody quick, wasn’t it?” she observed tartly.

Amy and her father embraced as Amy’s mother looked back at her with disapproval. “Can we leave the industrial language at the docks, please, dear?” Judith questioned.

“It’s a special occasion,” her father replied jovially. Tom took a sip of his scotch and gave Amy a ludicrously cheesy and theatrical smile. Amy grizzled back at him. It was immediately apparent that the weekend’s wedding was a mere sideshow –
 to Amy’s parents, at least. Tom was the only show in town. Amy looked at her parents fawning over him and felt a pang of guilt. She hadn’t fully appreciated the depth of their desire to see her partnered. To her, Tom was a means to an end, someone to stop her mother nagging all the time, a mechanism to shut her up. Tom didn’t care for the people he was lying to; Amy hadn’t factored in the fact that she did.

To her parents, however, Tom represented hope, possibilities – a bright new future. This left Amy with conflicting emotions. Yes, she felt guilty because she was deceiving them, but she was also annoyed that they obviously believed that she needed a man in her life to make it something meaningful. Yes, she could be a bit ditzy, but it was deeply offensive to assume that she needed a man to shape and guide her life. Was she so worthless on her own?

Yes, her parents wanted grandkids. They’d never made any secret of that – quite the reverse. They’d taken every opportunity to remind her of the fact. Even shopping for vegetables at the local market, Amy’s mother would say, “Carrots are good for you and for children, if you ever have any…”

So, Amy was in no doubt that they wanted her married off and reproducing within a heartbeat. Obviously, it had to be done in that order: courtship, marriage, family. There could be no deviation from that. If she every declared that she’d got pregnant from a drunken one-night stand and intended to raise the child alone, she was sure that she’d hospitalise her parents through shock. She had no intention of doing that, but that didn’t stop her threatening to. Whenever her mother’s pestering grew too loud, Amy would suggest that she’d advertise for a sperm donor and move into a lesbian house share. The pr
essure would subsequently abate as her mother feared that maybe, just perhaps, she was pushing too hard.

With Amy being an only child, the interminable pressure to deliver a
‘happily ever after’ was multiplied. Amy’s mother would often sigh at the end of family evenings together, or at Christmas or Easter – or any day of the week, come to that – then say, “I hope I don’t die leaving you alone and unloved.” This, Judith assured everyone, wasn’t emotional blackmail.

As such, Tom was a beacon penetrating the darkness of Amy’s hopelessness. It wasn’t so much that Tom was the first man Amy had ever brought home, more that he was normal, articulate, intellectual and good
-looking – and he smelt divine.

Amy was both guilty and irritated at her parents. It was their continued harassment that had driven her to such extreme lengths of deception, but she never wanted to hurt anyone. Thankfully, with the attention off her, she could brood about Sam and what might’ve been. She felt raw, hurt, offended and just plain wrung out. Now that Tom was a lightning rod for her parents’ attention, it served her well.

As she stood there in the hall, surrounded by bags, she watched them stare at Tom. She half-expected her mother to pinch him. “Do I not get a drink, then?” Amy asked, a note of sourness in her voice.

Her mother turned around as if surprised that there was someone else in the room with them. “Oh, Amy,” she said, as if seeing her for the first time. “What are you doing loitering back there?”

Amy put her hands on her hips. “Oh, nothing, just watching the appreciation society in full throttle.”

Her
parents stood, staring at her in mild pain. Why did she have to be so tetchy all the time? It baffled them. Tom threw another cheeky grin towards Amy, flicking his eyebrows up and down as if to taunt her. He raised his glass up and shook it a little while grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Why do
n’t we all go through and have some food, before Richard gives Tom a tour of the house?” cooed Judith.

Amy balked audibly at this, leading everyone to look at her again. “Well, it’s not as if he’s moving in, is it?” she said testily.

Her parents looked away and an awkward silence followed. It seemed to Richard and Judith that Amy was as caustic with a partner as she was without. This caused her mother to say, “I only hope my daughter is more gracious when you’re alone than she is when she’s with us.”

With the passive-aggressive rebuke delivered, she led Tom through another solid wooden door towards the kitchen for an informal
buffet lunch. Amy sighed as she saw both disappear into the bowels of the house.

Her
father wandered over to Amy and put his arm around her shoulder. “You know what, poppet?” he said, pointing with his empty glass. “You’ve got a good one there.” Then, nodding in agreement at his own statement, he added, “I have a good feeling about this one. He’s a real man’s man.”

Amy smiled. “I couldn’t agree more,” she added coyly. “Shall we eat?”

Amy’s parents had agreed to host the wedding reception on their expansive lawn. As Tom and Amy arrived, the marquee was already up and hordes of staff were ferrying various things to and from the mobile catering tent.

Inside, the marquee looked, as far as Tom could see, just like any wedding marquee. Ribbons, whites, pinks, balloons, flowers, over-the-top table decorations – they were all in place. People would say it looked lovely, and it did, in a conventional wedding-in-a-marquee way. That wasn’t to say a lot of effort (and money) hadn’t gone into it.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” said Richard, surveying the room with Tom, as preparatory bustle unfolded before them.

“Hmm, yes,” Tom replied politely, conscious not to offer unconditional support.

Richard nodded a silent agreement. “I know what you mean, Tom,” he declared. Tom turned to look at him. Did he? If Tom was that easily read, the weekend was going to be problematic. “It’s a bit too frilly. A bit too girly, eh?”

Tom smiled; he was safe. “Well, a bit,” he said. “For my tastes. Although, I’m sure the bride will love it and that’s the important thing.”