FELTENHAM BLUES
Michael Gouda
"Happy birthday, darling."
Alan Forrest, legally an adult only since midnight, opened one eye, acknowledged that the interrupter of his sleep was his mother and closed it again.
"Come on, old stick-in-the-mud. You don't want to sleep away your eighteenth birthday." Alan, who at this moment certainly did, pulled the covers over his head and tried to shut out the insistently cheerful tone.
"I'm cooking you a big breakfast - your favourite." Alan groaned. She obviously wasn't going away but he did try one last effort to disappear under the bed clothes.
"And your dad wants to speak to you. Before he goes off to work."
This last seemed to have more effect for Alan suddenly sat up revealing a shock of dark brown hair, spiky after a not very peaceful night's sleep and two anxious eyes battling to combat his gummy eyelashes.
"OK, Mum, you win. I'll be down in a minute. But just toast and coffee, please."
His mother departed with a disappointed grumble leaving Alan to hoist his body from the warm nest and worry about what his father wanted to say. Bound to be something unpleasant. He pulled his shirt over his head and then a thick pullover. So I'm eighteen, he thought. Legally an adult, able to do all those things that I couldn't yesterday - like have sex with another man (and in particular Keith) - and boring things like take out a mortgage, serve on a jury. Underpants and jeans over slim hips and long legs. Do I feel any different, he thought. No older certainly but just a little excited. Socks and trainers. He paused and peered at himself in the mirror. Do I look any different? Same youngish-looking face, no extra spots, in fact none at all. He smiled. Still attractive. He breathed a sigh of relief and then laughed at his own foolishness.
His father was sitting at the breakfast table drinking a cup of tea, defensive against the world with a copy of the Sun newspaper. Balding with black eyebrows that met in the middle and always made him look as if he was angry - even when he wasn't.
"Morning, Dad."
His father grunted.
"Happy Birthday, Alan," said Alan, reminding him.
"What," said his father. "Oh yes." He took another sip from the cup and turned over a page. "Happy Birthday." It sounded almost grudging.
"You wanted to speak to me," suggested Alan.
His father focused, put down the newspaper. "Your mother . . . ," he said, paused, then went on. "Your mother and me. We think . . ." He sounded embarrassed. Alan waited. "We think - your mother and me - that you'd be much better off - er - happier - if you was out of here. You know a place of your own."
Alan could scarcely believe his ears. It was not the sort of birthday present he was expecting. He found himself getting angry.
"You mean you want to get rid of me because I'm gay. And that Bloody Inspector outing me! One thing on top of another. Just because I found a body on the common."
Alan's membership of the Feltenham Gay Club, The Olympia, had been divulged in front of his parents with a disconcerting viciousness and his father had reacted badly.
"We don't want your queer friends coming out here, showing us up in front of the neighbours," he said.
"I've never brought any 'gay' friends here," said Alan. emphasising the adjective. "I'd be afraid they'd be insulted."
"What about that Denny?"
"Straight," said Alan. "He's just someone I work with."
"Whatever," said his father, perhaps not believing. "Course we don't say move immediately. Just look round for somewhere, bed-sitter, small flat. You know. I'll give you a cheque to help you on your way. Sort of Birthday present."
For a moment Alan was tempted to say 'stuff your cheque' but common sense prevailed. "Don't worry," he said. "I won't embarrass you any more. I'll get out as soon as I can."
Alan wasn't sure which shift Keith was on that day down at the Police Station but he gave him a phone call anyway as soon as his father had gone off to work. The ringing sound went on and Alan could picture the room with its comfortable sofa on which so much exciting activity had taken place between them. And the tender, togetherness scenes, sitting closely in front of the TV, eating meals off trays, just holding hands. No one replied and Alan was about to put the receiver down when he heard the connection being made.
"75522. Keith Hatch." He sounded a bit out of breath.
"It's me," said Alan.
"Hello, me," said Keith pleasantly. "How's things? I was just on my way downstairs off to work when I heard the phone and rushed back."
"I've been chucked out. From home. They want me to leave."
There was a pause from the other end while Keith digested the news.
"Are you at the shop?" asked Keith.
"Not yet," said Alan. He didn't want to say too much in case his mother was listening. Keith seemed to sense this.
"Can you get over? I'll get someone to stand in for me at the Nick this morning."
"Thanks, Keith. Love you."
He went upstairs and started packing a suitcase. Just the essentials, underwear, jeans, sweaters, socks. He could always come back and collect more later. Neither he nor his father had said anything irrevocable. He packed the bear he had had since he was three years old but then thought it was stupid and tossed it out. There was a soft knock on the bedroom door. His mother's anxious face peered round the jamb.
"I didn't know he was going to say that," she said. "We hadn't planned anything like that."
"It's all right, Mum. It's probably better if I go."
She looked as if she was about to burst into tears.
"I'm a man now," he said. "Time to move on. I'll come and see you."
"You'll always be my little boy."
He closed his case but when his mother had left, opened it again and repacked Teddy.
Keith's flat was at the top of six flights of stairs. It had originally been the attic servants' quarters of an elegant Regency house in Cadogan Square, Feltenham and, perhaps unusually, had been converted in a sensitive and attractive way. The ceilings sloped to follow the incline of the roof and the dormer windows looked out onto the grassy square with a cedar tree in the centre and bordered by a verge of graceful silver birches.
Alan had been more upset than he realised by his father's shock announcement. Though he had controlled himself well, as soon as he saw Keith's sympathetic expression and felt his arms around him, the tears came welling up in his eyes and he could not restrain a sob in his throat.
"Sorry," he said, trying to make a joke of it. "This is not the way a man should behave."
Keith took his head in his hands. Then he kissed the tears.
"A real Mills and Boone moment," he said. "Good thing no one's watching."
"But what can I do? I haven't got anywhere to go."
Keith looked at him seriously for a moment. He seemed to be making up his mind. "You can stay here," he said.
Alan knew immediately that the decision had not been an easy one. Keith was a Detective Constable in the Feltenham Police Force. Though technically being gay was not a bar to being a copper, it was not an orientation he actually boasted about in the canteen. Quite a few of his workmates expressed homophobic attitudes, as did his boss, D.I. Newman. Keith knew that, should the fact ever come out, his own promotion prospects would be severely restricted - even though no one would be prepared to admit that that was the reason. He had, therefore, always been very circumspect in his behaviour and his relationship with Alan, though in fact having lasted for some five months, had always been very low key. Having Alan move in with him altered the situation in a very real way. There might - no, would be problems but for the moment Alan was so relieved that he didn't want to consider them.
"Thanks, Keith," said Alan
"Well I need a little help with the rent. I've got a birthday present for you," said Keith.
"There's only one thing I want from you at the moment," said Alan and pressed his body up against him there on the sofa.
"Insatiable," said Keith but responded. Their bodies moulded into each other with a relaxed, unreserved familiarity. They knew every aspect of each other's bodies but there was still an excitement, enhanced today by the new situation, by Alan's relief and his sense of the newly-gained legality.
All at once Alan felt an almost frenzied elation. He wrenched at his pullover, pulling it over his head. He wanted the touch of skin on skin. He tore at his shirt and the buttons shot across the floor. Keith laughed at his eagerness but then was caught up in the intensity of the passion.
Alan took the initiative, kicking off his trainers, unzipping his jeans and pulling both them and his underpants off, flinging them aside. Then, deciding that Keith's undressing was too slow, he did the same for his lover, pulling down his trousers, revealing the firm, flat belly, the curly spring of pubic hair into which he buried his face, smelling the clean smell of soap and underneath the subtler, more arousing smell of man.
Keith's erection probed his chin, insistent, demanding attention and Alan grasped its hardness, gently ran his tongue tip from helmet to spear base before enclosing the head of his long prick in the warm, wet closeness of his mouth. He cupped the ballsack in his hands and delicately fingered the passage between his fork. Keith gave a low moan of pleasure and arched with his hips so that his prick filled Alan's mouth.
"Move round," said Keith indistinctly but Alan understood. He swivelled his body so that it was above Keith's, his own cock imprisoned in Keith's mouth. His hands grasped Alan's boyish buttocks, a long middle finger probing into the secret fastness of his anus.
He lowered and raised himself so that the pricks were fucked in their mouths. He in charge. He dictating the rhythm, speeding the pulse. Then, as the excitement built up, the structure collapsed onto the carpet and they rolled on their sides, two bodies coiled on the floor, naked as God intended, hands, tongues touching, caressing, stroking to a living flame the two elements of their separate beings, then the coming together in the orgasm.
Alan came with a great cry and Keith, more quietly, a second or two later.
They lay together in the tender aftermath and planned their immediate future. Alan had to go to work, Keith also. For the evening, though . . .
"Shall we go to The Olympia?" suggested Alan. "To celebrate."
"Wouldn't you rather get in a really good take-away - the Thai place is marvellous. Some wine and just us," said Keith.
Alan was only the slightest bit disappointed - he would have liked to go out - to show off Keith at the Gay Club for a start, but his hesitation was so brief, it was scarcely noticeable.
"Fine," he said. He kissed Keith on the lips. "Now where's my present?"
Alan told Denny, his fellow assistant in 'Geraldo's CD's', in one of the few slack periods that afternoon, that he had moved into Keith's flat. Denny worked full time and Alan was envious. He claimed he was straight though Alan thought he looked much too pretty not to be gay.
"Are you sure you want to settle down to 'happily married life' at your time of life?" Denny asked. "You ought to play the field like I do."
"You knock off birds like they was clay pigeons. 'Playing the field' is dangerous these day," said Alan. "Anyway Keith and I are good together. But not living with my parents now, I need a full time job. I've gotta pay my way."
"You could live off Keith," suggested Denny smiling. "Sounds like a much better idea. I've always fancied being a toy-boy to a rich old widow."
"Keith isn't rich. He isn't old either," objected Alan. "Do you think Mr Geraldo would take me on full time?"
"I think he likes you. Ask him."
"I like him too . . . No, not that way, you berk."
"You'll have to ask him. We certainly need two full-timers but he's as mean as shit. He'll be in tomorrow morning. Look it's nearly closing time. Let's go and have a drink before you go home."
"As soon as the shop shuts, I want to get back to the flat. Get things ready for when Keith comes off his shift."
Denny laughed. "Quite the little housewife, aren't you!"
"You should see me in my pinny! And not much else . . ."
The two friends left arm in arm, like soccer players.
But Mr Geraldo, always the tight wad, said the shop wasn't making enough profit at present to take on two full-time staff and Alan had to put up with it or look elsewhere for a job.
During the week that followed he saw his mother a couple of times and she confessed herself pleased that he was happy and settled 'with a nice friend' as she put it. She said, vaguely, that she'd like to meet Keith - some time, though made no definite arrangement. He did not see his father, nor did he receive the promised cheque.
He enjoyed living in the flat with Keith but was lonely especially in the evenings when Keith was on duty and came back in the small hours, sometimes too tired to want sex. And even when he was home in the evenings, Keith never wanted to go out, to the Club, not even to a pub, he even seemed to look guilty when they went shopping together.
"You're ashamed to be seen out with me," Alan accused him one evening.
Keith denied it - strongly.
"Why can't we go out together?" Alan demanded. "I met you in the Club, for God's sake. I want to be seen with you. I'd be proud for others to know we're a couple."
Keith took his hand. "It's difficult," he said. "You know what would happen if it got out - round the Station I mean - that I was gay, that I was living with a young kid."
"I'm eighteen," said Alan.
"You weren't when we first met. Anyway in the Club that first time, I was on a case."
"Fucking Babysnatcher . . ." said Alan, not smiling.
"Alan you have to understand. I have to work in the community, I can't have it known I'm a queer cop."
"Only queer thing about you, is you won't take me out." Alan said sullenly. He'd heard his mother behave like this, and regretted taking after her.
"What's on the Telly?"
"'Real policeman car chases, your favourite . . ." he said sarcastically.
The radio communicator crackled and then said. 'Control to 4 - 5.'
P.C. Colin Carey sighed and spoke into the mouthpiece. '4 - 5 receiving.'
'Break in and burglary reported at 2 Cadogan Square. Get round there and see what it's all about, will you, Colin. Complainant's name's Barrington. Ground floor flat.'
"OK, Sarge."
The door was opened nervously by an elderly lady whose grey hair was tortured into an elaborate style at the top of her head. She wore glasses and, after he had shown his warrant card, seemed very pleased to see him.
"I didn't know what to do," she said, hovering along the hall. "I've been so worried, what with being all alone and everything. I didn't touch anything. That was right, wasn't it?" She looked at P.C. Carey anxiously for reassurance.
"Quite right," said Carey. He was good with elderly women. "Now let's see about getting you a nice cup of tea and sorting the whole business out."
The flat was at the back of the house. A living room - Mrs Barrington called it the lounge - looked out onto the garden through a pair of French windows, one of which was broken. A kitchen and small bathroom led off to the right and a bedroom to the left. The burglar, whoever it was, had been fairly considerate and hadn't left much mess. Some could be absolute bastards, Carey knew, especially the young ones.
It didn't look as if anyone had been in the kitchen so he put the kettle on and, when it boiled, made a pot of tea for the both of them. Mrs Barrington, he despatched into the other rooms to see if she could tell what was missing. "Don't touch anything though," he said.
They sat down together at the kitchen table and drank their tea.
"Some jewellery," said Mrs Barrington. "Never wear it, of course. Old fashioned stuff, but it's insured." She seemed to have recovered her composure. "Wasn't much else to take. He didn't even take the TV."
Carey, who had noticed the old fashioned set when he had looked at the lounge, was not surprised.
"Sentimental value," he said sympathetically. "The jewellery, I mean."
"Oh no," said Mrs Barrington. "My late husband gave it to me. Hated the stuff. Ugly - " she paused " - like him." She laughed.
Carey was almost shocked - but didn't show it. "When did you discover the flat had been broken into?" he asked.
"When I got back from doing the shopping," she said. "About 10.30. I'd only been out for an hour."
"Right. Did you see anyone suspicious hanging around outside - sort of watching?"
"No," said Mrs Barrington, "but I'm a bit short-sighted. Anyway he broke in from the back didn't he?"
"There's a way into the garden from the back then?"
"Oh yes. Along the alley and over the wall. A kid could do it."
A kid probably did, thought Carey. "Right, Mrs Barrington," he said. "We'll get someone to test for prints though I doubt whether anyone's been stupid enough to leave any. These days everyone knows about fingerprints." Even kids, he thought. And DNA. Even rapists are wearing condoms.
"I wonder," he continued, "if anyone else in the house might have seen anything suspicious."
"Probably all be out at work," said Mrs Barrington. "Mr Patel above me - "she pointed at the ceiling - "he's got the grocery store in the High Street. He leaves very early. I suppose Mr Hatch at the top of the house might be in. His flat looks out both at the front an the back. He works shifts though and I don't know when he's at work."
Carey was surprised. "Keith Hatch?" he asked.
"Yes I think that's his name. Tall young man, short hair, nice looking. Always very polite."
Carey reported back, asked for a SOC man to test for prints, then climbed the stairs. No one answered his knock at Mr Patel's door and he went further up to the top of the house.
It would be difficult to decide who was the more surprised when Alan opened the door to see P.C. Carey standing outside. Alan recognised him immediately as the same officer who had interviewed him he had discovered the body of the young boy on the Common five months before, and had also been present when Keith had arrested the killer. He felt awkward as the young bobby also knew Alan was gay.
It was equally obvious that the policeman recognised him. Carey was the first to recover.
"Mr Forrest," he said. "What a surprise."
Alan was at a disadvantage. He couldn't remember the name of the policeman with the moustache.
"I was expecting to see Keith Hatch," said Carey. "Doesn't he live here?"
"Er, yes. It's his flat," said Alan.
"May I ask, sir, what you are doing here?" The question was perfectly polite but, Alan felt, unwarranted. What business was it of his, why he was living here. Yet not to say anything would be to suggest that he had something he was ashamed of. 'I'm living with him and we have mad, passionate sex at every conceivable opportunity' crossed his mind as one possible answer - though he dismissed it immediately.
He tried to think of something which sounded plausible - and yet wouldn't sound suspicious to a straight policeman. Best to keep as near the truth as possible, though. The pause was getting embarrassing.
"Well, Keith and I got friendly after he rescued me from that man and, when I had to leave home, he said I could stay here for a while," He paused. "Only until I found a place of my own," he added and felt he was saying too much.
However, it seemed to satisfy the policeman for he changed the subject. "The woman on the ground floor, Mrs Barrington, has had a burglary this morning. I wondered if you'd seen anyone suspicious hanging around - out the back in particular."
"No," said Alan. "No, I haven't."
He watched him go down the stairs. Tall, lean, blond. In other circumstances he might have fancied him.
When Keith came home that evening - he was on days that week - Alan was not sure whether he should tell him about the visit made by the policeman. He felt, in a rather stupidly obscure way, that he had somehow betrayed Keith though it could hardly be called his fault that the call had been made. Anyway, as nothing he had said had had any possible connection with the burglary there was probably no reason why it should even be mentioned to anyone at the Police Station. Eventually he decided to say nothing; there was no point in worrying Keith unduly.
But even this decision made him edgy so that he did not return Keith's kiss as avidly as usual.
"Let's go out tonight?" he said.
"I'm tired," said Keith who had had a bad day.
"Oh you're always tired."
"Well, I've worked all day. What have you done?" His tiredness gave him a whining edge to his voice that annoyed Alan even more - especially as he himself had done very little - except tidy up the flat, watch TV and, of course, answer the door to the policeman.
"Not satisfied with the little woman at home all day doing the cleaning and the washing?" he asked sarcastically. "Washing your socks and your dirty underpants."
"Stop it, Alan. I'm not in the mood." He went into the bedroom and started to change from his work clothes.
After a while when he didn't return, Alan followed him in. Keith was sitting on the bed looking miserable and very young. He had taken off his jacket but, unusually for him, had not hung it on the hanger but just discarded it onto the floor. His tie was unloosened, his top shirt buttons undone.
Alan launched himself at him. "I'm sorry, Keith," he said, pushing him back onto the bed and his mouth finding his friend's. He removed it just enough to say "I've been behaving like a fucking shit. I did clean the oven though. It was bloody thick with grease. Took three hours. On my hands and knees."
"I wish I'd been there," said Keith.
Keith's arms came round him holding him close, their bodies pressed together. Alan could smell his aftershave, the slight smell of sweat from a healthy body. The intimate contact as usual made Alan's prick harden and he could feel Keith's respond. "Not all that tired," said Alan and pushed his tongue into a willing mouth. Their tongues entwined, the supple muscles twisting like snakes, their other erect and hard muscles jousting through the folds of their clothing.
Alan withdrew his tongue and nuzzled at the place in the neck just below his ear that he knew Keith loved. Then one by one he undid the rest of the buttons of his shirt and cat-licked his way down the centre of his chest to his umbilicus and after that, unzipping his trousers and pulling down the elastic waistband of his shorts, he tasted the head of his cock which exuded a transparent drop of excitement.
Keith lay there passively while Alan rubbed his body and tickled him around the waist so that Keith was forced to squirm and respond. He could feel Alan's cock, hard and thrusting, against his stomach and knew that his was erect as well. Alan could not keep still. Like a young animal he worried and played with Keith uttering little whimpers of enjoyment. First his head was under Keith's arms and he felt a tongue licking the bushy hair, then in an instant alan's head lay on his stomach and his teeth were gently nibbling at his skin. Meanwhile one hand was on his chest, the fingers playing with his right nipple while the other hand crawled up the inside of his thigh until it reached just below his scrotum. Keith was entranced; it was as if he were in bed with at least three people. He tried to respond by grabbing hold of him but Alan would not allow himself to be caught, first rolling aside and then almost immediately rolling back to mould to his body all the way down, lips kissing his, chest and stomach joined, Keith's legs under Alan's, Keith's cock imprisoned - happy captive - in the moist fork between Alan's legs.
Now Alan was quiet and still, his lips gently grazing and then the point of his tongue emerged, insistently probing inside Keith's, past his teeth, into the mouth and meeting the other tongue, tasting the saliva, joining the two tongues. It was as if this inspired a fresh urgency in the groin, each pushing against the other, Alan's hands cupping the cheeks of Keith's buttocks, the middle finger of his right hand now exploring the deepness of the cleft until it found and entered the crinkled hole. Keith gasped. He was suddenly aware of what Alan wanted and knew that this was what he wanted too.
Keith, from the sounds he was making, seemed to have recovered his energy. He grabbed hold of Alan. "I want you to fuck me," he said.
Alan was laughing delightedly, nuzzling, like a young puppy, at his throat. "Oh Keith," he said, "I really am eighteen."
Alan was taking the initiative. Keith felt another finger inserted and both moving, enlarging the hole. He opened his legs and then raised his knees so that the access could be easier and the fingers probed deeper. Now Alan's cock had found the cleft and Keith raised himself up even further, Alan's body between his legs, his cock piercing the sphincter, sliding in, lubricated by its own clear juice, joining as Alan's cock entered the body of his lover and Keith felt the hard rod piercing him, transfixing him to the board of sexual ecstasy.
Again there were little animal noises gradually rising to a crescendo of excited yelps and Keith pushed against him and felt alan's tense body straining, the passion building up and then the orgasm pulse and pulse inside him. Alan shuddered and collapsed onto him murmuring his name again and again.
When they had recovered Keith sat up and said, "You'd like to go out, wouldn't you?"
"Not really bothered," said Alan, satiated now with sex and warm with the closeness of his lover's body. He kissed his ear, which was the nearest part to him, and inserted his tongue in an exploratory foray.
"We'll have a shower, go out for a meal and then call in at 'The Olympia'."
The Olympia Club, centre of Feltenham's gay community, if you didn't want to frequent the public lavatories, which were smelly and unhygienic, or Clarence Park which was dangerous and subject to frequent but unannounced police raids.
By the time Keith and Alan got to the Club, it was full. The small square dancing area was packed with couples, gyrating more or less in time to the music, a record which, two months before, had been Top of the Pops. Various 'young men' of assorted ages jostled at the bar and tried to catch the attention of Nick, the barman who was on his own and struggling rather. The atmosphere was full of smoke and redolent with a heady combination of sweat and body-splash.
Alan was in his element. They had wined and dined lavishly at the Italian Trattoria and both were feeling mellow and perhaps slightly foolish. Seeing the melee around the bar, Alan charged forward with a shout of "I'll get the drinks".
"Steady, Tiger," said Keith grabbing at him but he had almost disappeared into the gesticulating crowd. Nobody seemed to mind his boyish enthusiasm or the fact that he had pushed in front of them. He felt more than one hand rest tentatively on his hip or thigh and one clasped his groin in a warm grip. "Not tonight, darling," Alan said. "I'm with my friend."
"I'll take him as well," said the voice in his ear.
"Nick," called Alan waving, and the barman heard him above the music and the noise of other voices. He looked up and saw Alan.
"Be with you in a sec, Douglas," he said. Every time Alan went to the Club, Nick called him Douglas and each time Alan meant to tell him that he had the name wrong.
"Rushed off my feet," said Nick handing over two pints of lager. "Talk to you later."
Alan and Keith found a corner, drank their beers, danced. Alan flirted with a couple of guys and Keith pretended to be jealous. Alan kissed him and went off to the bar for more drinks. He returned with Nick who had been relieved at long last by another barman. He had his arm around Alan's waist and they both were giggling at some joke.
"What's so funny?" asked Keith.
"I always thought his name was Douglas," said Nick. "All the time I've known him."
Keith felt there was some closeness between the two - or at least that Nick would have liked there to be.
"Haven't seen you in recently," said Nick to Keith. There was a tension in his tone, almost as if the remark was an accusation. He looked at him speculatively then felt in his pocket and produced some pills. He handed one to Alan who gave a sharp glance at Keith to see how he would take it. Keith shrugged. It was up to Alan, but refused one himself. Alan swallowed the pill washed down with a gulp of lager.
"Do you want to dance?" asked Nick. He was looking at Alan.
Again Alan glanced at Keith. "You don't have to ask my permission," said Keith. He watched them go, threading their way through the crowd towards the dance floor. He wondered how long it would be before Alan really left him. He was so young, much too young to make any real commitment.
When Alan came back, it was obvious that the E had taken effect. He was brimming with energy, almost frenetically so. "C'mon, Keith," he said. I wanna dance with you."
The music had become sharper for him, more intense The rampant rhythms, and piercing guitars, sometimes appearing as fat, lazy cumulus clouds, then sharp and stabbing like hard rain. Strident drum riffs that hit you in the hip area. Then an emphatic crash on the cymbals - an explosion of green crystal shards, then dreamily lying in a meadow, as the music softly abated. He covered himself with his hands as he didn't want the others to see, the music had given him an erection.
He showed it to Keith though.
"It's time to go," said Keith.
Alan was disappointed but did not argue.
The air was cold on Alan's super-heated body. He shivered and clutched at Keith, holding him tight, feeling for his warmth. Keith looked round anxiously but no one seemed to be taking any notice. The two of them came out of the Gay Club, and walked off, holding each other amorously, into the night. Anyone might have seen them.
The talking started on Monday morning in the canteen.
Two constables who were chatting at a table near the door when Keith went in, looked up and one said loudly, "Backs to the wall, lads." Keith glanced at them sharply but they weren't looking in his direction.
Keith who overheard - and was obviously meant to overhear - pretended to ignore the comment, picked up a bun on a plate and joined the queue at the tea counter. Detective Sergeant Wilks came in behind him and smiled, he thought sympathetically. He felt a chill creep up his spine. It had happened - at long last what he had always dreaded had happened.
The queue moved and as Keith was handed his cup a spoon clattered onto the floor. "Don't bend down to pick it up," warned someone. Despite himself Keith felt his hand shaking and the tea slopped into the saucer. He took it to a table and sat down. Immediately - it might have been coincidence - the young copper who was sitting there got up and left.
No one else seemed to want to share his table either so he was pleased when Colin Carey came in through the swing doors and said, "Save us a seat, Keith." There wasn't much chance of anyone else taking it, thought Keith wryly. He saw Carey chatting to some of the others in the line and they all turned to look at him. He wondered whether this would mean that Carey wouldn't come over but he brought over his food and sat down.
"I was at your place yesterday," he said, unloading a plate of eggs and bacon, two rolls and a cup of coffee from the tray. Keith looked at the greasy food and felt slightly sick. He sipped at his own tea but ignored his bun.
"There was a robbery on the ground floor, Mrs Barrington's - you probably know her?" He paused as if expecting an answer but when Keith did not say anything, he went on. "I just wondered if anyone else in the house had seen anything suspicious." Again he paused.
"I'm on days all week," said Keith.
"I didn't know that," said Carey. "The boy, Alan Forrest, answered the door."
So that was how it had got out, thought Keith. A chance call and now it was all over the Nick. Keith Hatch is gay, a fucking queer. He's living with a boy. He felt a sudden surge of fury wanting to lash out at Carey. Knock that stupid moustache down his fucking blabbering throat. One unnecessarily indiscreet remark and his career was ruined. How long would it be before the report reached D.I. Newman and then the shit would really hit the fan?
"Did you have to tell everyone?" he asked.
"Oh I didn't report it," said Carey. "There was no point. He hadn't seen anything. I haven't mentioned it to anyone else. Just thought you should know." He smiled as if in complicity.
Lying bastard, thought Keith. A line from some play he had had to learn at school suddenly flashed into his head - That one may smile and smile and be a villain.
"Gotta go," he said wanting to get out of the place, away from the jeering comments, this bland hypocrite.
"Don't you want to eat that bun?" asked Carey.
"Have it," said Keith - and though he didn't say it, thought, I hope it chokes you.
At the end of the day a message came through. Detective Inspector Newman wanted to see him. Well, he had been expecting it, but the arrival didn't make it any the less welcome. The door to his office was shut - as usual. D.I. Newman wasn't the sort of boss whose door was always open to his underlings.
Keith knocked. He waited. It was typical of Newman that he never said 'Come in' straight away. And if you went in without an invitation he invariably told you to wait outside until he was ready. He was about to knock again when a voice said, "Enter."
D.I. Newman was sitting behind his desk, a fat man, small eyes peering out of a jowlly face, wearing a uniform which looked too tight, some folders arranged with an almost meticulous obsession with order in front of him. He looked up as Keith came in and stood at attention.
"Ah, Hatch, " he said, "Glad you could pop in." - as if he had had the option - "Like to clear up a point. There's been a disturbing rumour that you're gay - homosexual - " He pronounced the word incorrectly as if it had been derived from the Latin word for 'man' rather than the Greek word for 'same'. Keith felt like correcting him but better judgement prevailed.
Instead he said nothing.
Eventually, after a pause, Newman went on. "Now I know that there's no actual bar to a gay person being in the Police but there is a certain amount of anti-gay feeling amongst the lads . . . " He left the sentence unfinished but Keith could quite well 'hear' his unspoken comment - 'and I personally think they should all be castrated.'
Again he said nothing.
"So I'm asking you - so that we can get things straight - " he obviously did not see the irony of the word - "are you in fact gay? Of course you do not have to say anything." In his mind Keith heard the continuation of the caution - but it may harm your defence if when questioned you do not mention something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?' It sounded as if he was being charged and immediately he felt very angry.
For the first time in the interview, he spoke. "Yes, sir, I am gay."
"Ah," said Newman as if that was the satisfactory answer he had been hoping for. "And are you at present in a relationship with a young man by the name of - " he glanced at a piece of paper in front of him " - Alan Forrest?"
"I do not wish to answer that."
"Sailing a bit close to the wind, Hatch. Policeman have to be whiter than white, you know." 'Including black officers' crossed Keith's mind, but he did not say it.
"There could be a problem here," said Newman.
Keith fumed but he knew Newman had him. There were plenty of people who knew he had met Alan while he was only seventeen - Alan's parents for instance, P.C. Carey, members of the Olympia Club. No one could prove they had had sex together at the time but suspicion is powerful - and the Law retroactive.
Newman suddenly reached into a tray of papers and shuffled through them. He found what he was looking for. Keith would have been surprised if he hadn't. From where he was standing, it looked like an Inter-Service memo.
"Wait a minute," Newman said. "I may have a solution." He read out, "'Recommendation for post in London Borough of Kensington. Community Liaison Officer to work with the Gay Community. Police officer required of specific homosexual orientation.' The very thing, Hatch. Sergeant's post. You should apply."
"I'm not sure I want to go to London, sir."
"May I remind you that your future prospects here are very limited. I would think about it very carefully. It sounds a marvellous opportunity. - Very carefully indeed."
He handed over the form and busied himself with a folder on his desk. Keith had been dismissed. He turned to go out.
As he reached the door, Newman said, "I would not advise taking Mr Forrest with you - when you go."
Keith had made up his mind what he would do by the time he left work that evening.
All the same it wasn't going to be easy telling Alan, especially if he was in one of his 'you're ashamed to be seen out with me' moods. Keith had rehearsed various opening lines from the reasonable, 'I have decided to accept a transfer to London' through the jocular 'How would you like to be a Sergeant's wife?' to the near hysterical 'I've been outed at the Nick by that bastard Carey'.
It was something of an anti-climax therefore to find that, when he actually got back to the flat, Alan was not in. Which was unusual. He had told Keith that morning that he would be home at lunch time, that he would get the evening meal ready, that he would be waiting for him when he got home.
Not that Keith was worried. Kids have no idea of time. Alan had perhaps gone out in the afternoon, lost track, met up with a friend.
Keith dug a couple of frozen TV dinners out of the freezer and put them into the microwave on defrost. He'd shove them into the oven as soon as Alan got in. Perhaps later they'd go out to the pub - or the Club - after all it didn't matter now if anyone saw them together - not now that everyone knew.
He whistled as he put the food into the microwave. He switched on the TV and, although there wasn't much to watch, left it on with the sound turned down until the News. He sat on the window seat and looked out at the Square.
There were still a few people walking past in the gathering gloom of evening. Keith watched the tops of their heads. The street lamps switched on, first ruby red and then bleaching to the full orange sodium, the vivid shade which faded all other colours to a uniform grey scale. Some cars passed and a lone cyclist in Lycra body gear. Looked young and quite attractive.
The microwave pinged.
Keith felt a sudden sadness. The room in darkness apart from the flickering light of the telly. This was what it would be like without Alan. Where could he have got to? He felt a sudden twinge of anxiety.
But before he could change the worry into some sort of practical action, he saw him, turning the corner into the Square in a wide tacking arc, weaving across the pavement, almost tripping at the curb.
Alan was drunk. And Keith's sudden relief turned to a spurt of anger.
He heard the unsteady stumbling steps up the last flight of stairs and the scratching of the key in its attempt to find the hole but did nothing, just sitting there in the semi-darkness until the door burst open and Alan, hair dishevelled, a vacuous grin on his face, almost fell into the flat.
"Where have you been?" Keith demanded.
Alan wasn't drunk enough not to know that his absence would have upset Keith. Not that there was any reason why either of them should not go out on his own but Keith had been expecting him. It was just that Mr Geraldo had that very morning offered him - at long last - the full time job he had been hoping for. Kept him on for the afternoon, in fact, and when he and Denny had finally left the shop at closing time, Denny's suggestion that they stop off for a drink - to celebrate - had been too tempting to refuse. And of course one drink had stretched to two, to four, to an uncounted - but who's counting? - number.
He would apologise to dear old Keith who would understand immediately he told him about the new full-time job, with a salary which would mean he would be able to put so much more into the communal kitty, practically afford to pay the rent all on his own, if it were necessary. "So - sorry - I'm late," he stuttered but his words were drowned by the cold demand from out of the darkness, "Where the fuck have you been?"
Unspoken words of apology disappeared to be replaced with those of outraged vindication. "Just out for a drink - with Denny. What you sitting here in the dark for?"
Keith got up, switched on the light, busied himself with the meal. Alan collapsed on the sofa. "Got some good news, Keith," he said. "Old Geraldo's taking me on full time. Gotta real job at last." He smiled unsteadily. "Just had a drink to celebrate. Or two. Y'not cross are you?"
Keith turned to the boy on the couch slumped, looking almost boneless and vulnerable, brown eyes large and appealing, in a face scarcely yet formed into manhood. Who could resist that puppy look?
"No, of course not," he said coming across and sitting next to him, taking Alan's hand, warm, dry and responsive, into his. "It's just that my news isn't so good. Well it's good and bad." He tried to make a joke of it. "Which do you want first?"
"Gi' us the bad. Get it over with." He looked anxious.
"OK. I've been outed. That bastard, Carey, told everyone I was gay. I was living with you. Newman told me I've got to transfer to London." It seemed a catalogue of disasters. What could be 'good' after that.
Alan hardly seemed to take it in. "London," he said as if it was 'Beijing' or 'Los Angeles', somewhere the other side of the world rather than perhaps 100 miles due east down the motorway.
"I get made up to a Sergeant," Keith added. "And I work with the Gay Community so I don't have to hide it anymore. You could come with me." Bugger Newman and his warning about not taking Alan.
"London," repeated Alan numbly. "But I just gotta job. Here. And Mum. I couldn't leave her."
He looked like a small boy who had just had his iced lolly snatched away from him. Keith was suddenly reminded of the shabby and rather worn-out bear Alan had unpacked from his case when he had first arrived. He was still little more than a boy. London must seem a momentous step.
"Alan," he said gently, "I've got to take the job. It's not a question of either/or. All you've got to decide is if you're coming with me. If you don't, you can take over the lease of the flat - now you can afford it. But I'd like you to come with me."
He kissed him, tasting the alcohol on his breath.
"You're leaving me," said Alan, his tone a mixture of bitterness and grief.
At that moment Keith knew he would be going to London alone.
Playing the field, Denny had advised. Could be dangerous - but not if you took suitable precautions. The uniform jacket lay draped over the chairback in Keith's old flat, now Alan's, and the policeman's helmet was on the chair, looking freshly shined. Alan sat on the bed, opened his bare legs, while the officer kneeled. The moustache tickled but not unpleasantly and Colin Carey's naked body against his was exciting.
"Never realised you was gay," said Alan.
"Closet gay," said Carey. "Only out to special friends, ones I can trust." His hands brushed against his smooth skin, gently, tenderly, inflaming the senses so that Alan's cock stood up. "I'll have to take care of that." and fastened his mouth over it, enclosing it in his warmth.
"You never snitched on old Keith though?" asked Alan. "He thought you did."
Carey couldn't answer, his mouth being full, but he shook his head which pleased Alan - and his cock.
"I always fancied you," said Nick. "Got quite jealous of that copper friend of yours." His hand found Alan's cock and grasped it, feeling its length and hardness.
"How did you know Keith was a policeman?" Alan asked.
"Oh we barmen find out things like that," said Nick. "I was surprised when he picked you up though. Bit of a hypocrite, pretending to be on duty, finding that murderer and really only out for what he could pick up."
"Don't stop," said Alan.
"Got him, though," said Nick, increasing the pace a little. "Told the cops down at the Station they had a queer in with them." He laughed. "So he's gone to London, has he? Left you in the lurch?"
"Bastard," said Alan, and then a little later. "I can think of somewhere I'd like to put that."
8234 words
Completed:
11th July 1998 12:48:00 pm
--
/ | / (_) | | __ __ | |
/ |/ | |/ | / / | | //|__/||_|/_|_,_ |_|