Warning. You are in an archive of gay themed literature, so it shouldn't come as a shock to you to learn that the following story has a gay theme.
You should leave if any of the following apply.
You don't like reading about gay people hoping to create happy meaningful and loving relationships with one another.
You are below the age of consent in your community to be reading this type of thing.
Your local laws prohibit you from reading material of a homoerotic nature.
Lastly if you've opened up this file in search of something to get you off quickly, then maybe you should think about trying something else. The story is slow-paced and character-driven.
This story was written by me; I don't want you copying it or displaying or archiving it on any other website or newsgroup without my prior written permission. This story has been submitted to the Nifty Archives under the terms of its submission agreement.
It's fiction folks; it's all made up, not real. No one in the story exists in real life.
Apologies must go to my two editors, John and Lars, I neglected to acknowledge their contributions last time around, sorry.
Chapter 2
A couple of days after Robbie had moved back home, he began to get himself and the house organised. He rang up a swimming pool company in Manchester; they had a cancellation, they said, and could be out to look at the pool the next day. Robbie also rang a firm of joiners to come and give him a quote to have the woodwork in the hallway cleaned or whatever. They too were able to send someone out the next day to give a quote. Robbie had walked through the house with Sarah that morning, and they'd discussed re-decorations for the various rooms upstairs. Though Robbie conceded that, as many of the rooms wouldn't be occupied that often, there wasn't much hurry. He also determined to rid himself of some of the heavy looking and frankly very uncomfortable furniture.
The next morning, as Robbie drew back his bedroom curtains at 9 am; he had enjoyed the luxury of a lie-in that day, he noticed a van parked in the driveway. The painted sign on the side of the van read 'Primrose Pools'. Though Robbie remembered they said that they wouldn't be with him until late morning. It didn't really matter, because he knew Sarah would be up; she never stayed in bed later than 6 am anyway. So Robbie padded across the landing in his boxer shorts and went into the bathroom. As he ran some water into the basin, he heard the pipes knocking. "Another thing that needs fixing." He grumbled. He also mused about moving himself out of his bedroom and into the much larger master bedroom. This room also had it's own en-suite facilities. Though Robbie liked his own room. He'd have to give it more thought.
After attending to his ablutions, Robbie went back into his bedroom and got into some comfortable, fairly old clothing. He always felt more comfy in a worn pair of jeans and a large T-shirt; he had to wear a suit for work normally, so he relished the prospect of being able to slob around. He knew Sarah wouldn't approve though. She was always one for keeping up appearances.
Robbie went downstairs and followed his nose into the kitchen. There he found Sarah bent over a large frying pan of bacon and sausage. Evidently the two workmen, one thin with light brown hair receding from the front; the man appeared to be in his early forties, the other a pimply youth who couldn't have been much past his eighteenth birthday, had persuaded Sarah to make them breakfast. Sarah was always a soft touch when she saw someone who she thought was "In need of a good feed." So the sight that had greeted Robbie didn't really surprise him.
"Oh, I'll get your breakfast ready in a minute, Mister Robert." Sarah said, noticing him enter the room. Robbie groaned inwardly. 'We're back to Mister Robert because we've got the tradesmen in,' he thought.
"Yes, thank you, Sarah."
"Will you be eating in the dining room, Mister Robert?" Sarah told more than asked Robbie just as he was about to sit down at the table.
"No, here will be fine." He said, sitting. He could feel Sarah's disapproving eyes boring into the back of his neck.
The two introduced themselves. The older of the two called Robbie 'Sir'; this Robbie realised was due to his accent, or rather lack of it. He, unlike Ralph and the younger man Ian, didn't speak with the local Lancashire accent. His time at Oxford and the many years he'd spent working in London meant that Robbie had lost what little accent he'd once had.
As they spoke Ian, the teenager kept referring to the older man as Uncle Ralph. Sarah had cooed over the fact that Ian was going into the family business, a thinly veiled rebuke aimed at Robbie who had pointedly refused to follow in his father's footsteps. Though Robbie received a modicum of satisfaction when Ian told the pair that Ralph wasn't actually his real uncle, he was just a friend of his dad's. Robbie felt an urge to stick his tongue out at Sarah for getting it wrong, but he managed to restrain himself.
Neither Robbie nor Sarah, who normally missed nothing, saw Ian's trainer-clad foot stroking the inner thigh of Ralph's leg. Ralph treated his 'nephew' to a stern look; this only encouraged the youth though.
After they had eaten, the three men made their way to the rear of the house, into a very large room with high windows on three sides. The floor was covered with grey textured tiles, so people with wet feet wouldn't slip. The room was dominated by a large empty rectangular space, and sounded somehow rather hollow to Robbie's ears due to the lack of water in the pool. It also lacked the familiar damp atmosphere and the odour of chlorine. Robbie took an immediate right turn and led the pair into the small room that contained the filter equipment and such. He told the pair that he knew little of the goings-on in the cubbyhole; he just showed them the control knob that regulated the temperature of the water.
"That's the only thing I've ever touched in here." He confessed.
"That's alright, Sir." Ralph said.
"Please call me Robbie, I haven't been knighted by the Queen." He grinned. This put Ralph at ease a little.
"Yes, well, we'll clean out the filters, run some water through the system and see what happens. The tiles in the pool look like they need a good steaming though."
"Can you do that?"
"Oh yes, but we'll have to come back another day to do it. It'll take a couple of days too, and I'm afraid the whole job won't be cheap."
"Yes, I suspected as much, but I do like being able to go for a swim."
"Can't say I blame yer, mister." Ian the pimply youth spoke up. "I'd be in it every day if I 'ad the chance."
Ralph frowned at his nephew; Robbie feared that he was going to get a clip round the ear. So he spoke up to try and defuse the situation.
"I know what you mean, when I lived down south, I really missed having the pool. It was my dad's idea to get it, it is a little extravagant I have to admit.
"Well anyway, I'll let you get on with it." Robbie said taking his leave. "If you need anything I'm sure Sarah will be hovering around, so just ask her, she'll be round in another couple of hours or so with a pot of tea I imagine."
"Lovely. See you later then, Gov." Ralph said.
Robbie left the pair and went into his father's study. He had a few telephone calls to make; he had to discuss a number of matters arising from his father's will. Though Samuel Parker, the family solicitor, was a competent enough chap. Robbie always had to stifle a giggle when he saw the man, because the 5 foot 9 inch learned gentleman always seemed to have a facial tick; Robbie couldn't look directly at him for long before the muscle in Samuel's left cheek began to twitch.
"It'd be great if we 'ad a set up like this 'un." Ian told Ralph.
"Yes, well if we work hard and save our money, then maybe we might be able to afford one."
"Yeah right." Ian said disbelievingly as he closed the door to the little pump room.
"Ian, we can't." Ralph knew what Ian was about to do; the dirty little bugger always had sex on the brain, though he had to admit that he sucked a pretty mean dick.
"Oh, you heard his lordship, he said we'd be left alone for a couple of hours."
"You shouldn't say that about him, he's not a bad bloke."
"Talks funny though."
"No, he speaks proper English like what you and me ought to." Ralph said as the zipper on his boiler suit was being slowly and sensuously lowered by his young lover.
Ian moved Ralph in front of the heating unit, a stainless steel object about the size of a worktop high refrigerator. Ralph perched himself on the edge of the unit and opened his legs to give Ian better access.
Ian traced his tongue down Ralph's hairy chest, sweeping up occasionally to nibble on a nipple. Ian used his hands to massage the inner thighs of his lover. Ralph began to squirm at the electric tingles that were coursing through his body.
Ralph had known Ian's dad Eric for years, the two had gone to school together. Ralph was secretly in love with Eric, though his feelings were never returned. For reasons that Ralph could never understand, Eric went and married the town mattress Josephine Taylor. Even Ralph who was a confirmed queer had had a ride on Josephine Taylor. He hated the experience, and it merely confirmed to him that women weren't for him.
Ralph had confessed his love for Eric on Eric's stag night. Ralph, who was Eric's best man, had decided to drown his sorrows at losing his best mate to a woman. His tongue loosened by the drink, Ralph confessed his undying love. Eric had long since suspected that his best friend had more than friendship in mind, but he wasn't gay, but due to an uncle who was 'that way' Eric didn't condemn his friend for his feelings.
Baby Ian emerged less than six months after the ceremony. No one believed Eric's assertions that Ian was premature. Not when they saw the size of him, and heard him in full cry, anyway.
Married life didn't suit Josephine; she particularly disliked the monogamy which such a union usually forces upon a couple, and therefore one night she left the two-year-old Ian with a neighbour when Eric, who then worked as a coal-miner, was on the night shift. She disappeared into the night, never to be seen again, leaving Eric quite literally holding the baby. He had to deal with a number of debts that Josephine had run up, too.
Ralph, who was then unemployed, moved into Eric's home and helped to look after his 'nephew'. Over the years Ian and Ralph's relationship grew into mutual love for one another. At first Eric was horrified at the thought of his friend being in love with his young son. He forced Ralph to leave the house, however Ian who was in his mid teens by this point, turned surly, as only teenagers know how. This soon escalated into rudeness, and anti-social behaviour. After the police had brought a drunken boy back home for the second time, and with the prospect of Eric facing criminal charges for not looking after his son properly, Eric relented and asked Ralph to move back in with them.
Ralph who was pining away in a bed and breakfast dump a few miles away, leapt at the chance to be with his young lover again, and the two had a tearful re-union. Ian went back to the fairly quiet boy that he'd been previously, Ralph too returned to his happy-go-lucky self.
"I'm cumming!" Ralph tried not to shout. Ian had been Hoovering up and down his thin pole for the past five minutes, treating his lover to one of his better blowjobs. Ian's hands hadn't been idle either, they'd been busy stroking Ralph's thighs as well as massaging his ball sack and perineum. The chance of the pair being discovered had also heightened their lust for one another.
Ralph gushed his bitter semen into Ian's mouth. Ian had once read an article on the Internet about how semen changed flavour as a person aged. His own was still nice and sweet, but Ralph's now had a bitter edge to it. Though this didn't matter to the young man because he loved Ralph more than any other man alive. He loved his dad too, but it just wasn't the same. Whenever Ian saw Ralph in his boiler suit, warmth crept through his body, and stiffness crept into his underwear. Ian enjoyed that most delicious of combinations, lust and love for the same guy.
Ralph on the other hand was totally devoted to his young charge; he'd do anything for him. He was still totally amazed that 'the young'un' wanted to stick around a balding man who was in his forty-first year of life. Ralph's biggest fear was that Ian would meet and fall in love with someone his own age, someone better looking and with more sexual staying power. This would never happen though, because Ralph was everything Ian desired and more besides.
"You'll be the death of me." Ralph said once he'd recovered his senses.
Ian treated his lover to a lascivious grin before licking his lips. "That was just for starters."
"No, love." Ralph said easing himself from the heating unit. He took Ian into his arms and gave the young man a slow loving kiss. His tongue explored inside Ian's mouth, tasting his own essence. Withdrawing a few inches Ralph looked at Ian with a softness in his eyes that almost caused Ian to weep in happiness. "No, my little one, we've got work to do. If we do well here, we might get the maintenance contract. You'd like that wouldn't you?"
"Yeah, it's a cool place, I 'ave to give 'is nibs that. The furniture's a bit old-fashioned, but I could really see meself as lord muck 'ere."
"Rubbish, you just want to ride down the banisters on your arse."
Ian grinned, then he disengaged and the two got on with overhauling the pool.
Robbie had finished his phone calls; he'd arranged yet another meeting with the twitching solicitor for the next day. He wanted to finalise some minor point regarding the joint ownership of the factory with his sister. Though it was purely academic, as neither he nor Beatrice intended on having much to do with the goings-on in that establishment. It being almost eleven, he went back into the kitchen to see about coffee. Spying a batch of biscuits on a cooling rack he advanced towards them, and was just about to sneak one away when Sarah's voice stopped him.
"Not until your coffee, Mister Robert."
"Sarah, remember what we talked about the other day, you know the throwing-off of the yoke of serfdom?"
Sarah wasn't sure what he was going on about, but she got the gist of it. "Sorry Robbie, I'm trying. But you're still not having a biscuit."
"Aww!" He said.
"And the little boy act doesn't wash with me either, young man."
"So when are we having coffee then?"
"It's just coming through the machine. I've made a pot of tea for the tradesmen."
There was no point in trying to convince her that they might prefer a cup of coffee instead. In her book all tradesmen drank tea, and that was that.
"Okay, I'll take the tray to them." Robbie said. Sarah was about to raise an objection, but she caught herself in time. She didn't believe that the man of the house should wait on trade, but 'times change,' she said to herself.
After arranging the tray, she put a handful of the still warm biscuits on a plate too, she thought that nice young lad might like a few. She then allowed Robbie to take the tray into the poolroom.
"TEA UP!" Robbie called out as he entered the cavernous room.
Ian poked his head out of the pump room door. "Cheers Gov." He said.
"You're lucky, Sarah's baked a few biscuits, if you like them and you talk nicely to her, she might let you take some home in a bag." Robbie smiled.
Ian extended a grubby hand and took one of the biscuits, cramming half of it straight into his mouth. "These 're great." He said whilst still masticating the biscuit.
Ralph winced at his uncouth lover. "Sorry Sir, he don't know any better."
"Oh it's fine." Robbie said smiling, "Sarah is a good cook. Would you like one too?" He said holding the tray out to Ralph.
Ralph took the tray and set it down on one of the wooden tables that stood at the poolside. "I shouldn't really, but they do look good."
The three sat down at the table and with mugs in hand, the two men described what they'd done, and still needed to do. It seemed the pool would be out of commission for at least a week. When Robbie entered the pump room to check on their progress, he couldn't help smell that all too familiar odour of men in rut. His eyebrow rose in perceptively. "Well, I'll leave you two to it then." He said cryptically. "You've brought your own sandwiches I take it?"
"Oh yes Gov, we did." Ian piped up.
"Good, well I'm sure we can supply you with more liquid libations." He said pointing at the now drained mugs.
"Huh?" Ian said.
"Tea." Robbie said simply.
"Oh right." Ian said. 'Why didn't you say that then?' He thought to himself.
Leaving the two workmen to it, Robbie took the tray back to the kitchen so he could enjoy his own drink. Though when he got there he saw another man dressed in overalls. This he learned was Philip Carver, the joiner.
Delaying his coffee, Robbie took Philip back into the hallway to show him the state of the woodwork. "I don't think the old timbers have seen much attention since they were installed. I can recall skateboarding up and down here when I was little." Robbie said gazing at the length of the hall.
"Oh well, yes, it does seem to need some work doing to it. It's a big job though." Philip said looking upwards at the seemingly endless staircase. He began to scratch the side of his head.
'Why do all workmen scratch the sides of their heads when they're thinking?' Robbie mused. Philip's continued lack of enthusiasm soon grated on Robbie. "Do you want the job?" he finally asked after Mr Carver had said 'it's a tricky job this one.' For the six or seventh time.
"Well, erm, yes, but I've got a lot on you see."
"Right." Robbie said resignedly. "Give me a quote anyway and I'll think about it." Though Robbie had no intension of hiring him.
Robbie quickly ushered the man out of the door and returned to the kitchen.
"That didn't take long." Sarah observed.
"No, he didn't want the job. Or rather he put up so many obstacles to him doing it, he gave me that impression."
"Oh dear."
"Yes, I imagine I'll have to get the Yellow Pages out again and search for someone else."
Sarah wasn't sure if she should speak up, but something inside her told her that she ought to. "Erm, Robbie?"
"Umm." He said swallowing a mouthful of coffee.
Sarah moved to sit next to him putting her hand on his own. "I'm not sure if I should say this, but your old friend Carl Powers is a very good joiner, carpenter or whatever. And I heard on the grapevine that he's fallen on hard times."
"Oh, I don't know, Sarah." Robbie said remembering the mixed emotions he had about Carl. The man as far as Robbie was concerned was sex on legs. Though with Carl now safely married off, perhaps he might be able to cope with seeing his old friend again.
Robbie realised that his mind had gone walkabout. "Sorry, Sarah, what did you say about Carl falling upon hard times?"
"Well, he has to bring up his young son on his own. I don't rightly know what happened to his wife. But he's a good workman, Robbie, and I know he'd do a good job."
"I'm not sure."
Sarah remembered Robbie's old feelings towards Carl. "You'll cope." She said squeezing his hand.
"Yeah."
Robbie looked up the number, he dialled it but no one picked up, so he left a message on the answering machine for someone to call him back later. He then tried to push the images of a beautifully muscled stud athlete in a sweaty soccer jersey out of his head. Draining the last of his coffee, Robbie decided he'd go into town for a bit to re-familiarize himself with the place. He told Sarah what his plans were, she asked him to pick up a few items for her from the supermarket, as well as a loaf of bread from the bakers.
"Why can't I buy the bread from the supermarket?"
"Because they don't bake it on the premises, and I won't have any of their plastic bread served out of my kitchen."
Suitably scolded, Robbie went back up to his bedroom and retrieved his wallet. Once outside he decided to walk down into the town. It was a nice day, and thinking of his health, he decided not to take the car. He could always get a taxi back if necessary.
As Robbie made his way down the hill, he began to reflect once again on his past. His quiet and unassuming boyhood universe was shattered one day when he encountered Carl, a boy who more than fulfilled every single aspect of Robbie's desires, when the latter had come crashing into his life.
Carl was tall, fair-haired, broad-chested, devastatingly good-looking, well-muscled and intelligent. Robbie, who was something of a geek, just didn't think it fair that Carl should be gifted with all those attributes, when he had been so short-changed in those departments. Though Robbie took some comfort in the fact that he was intelligent and was top of his class in all his subjects, with the notable exception of Physical Education.
The Powers family had moved into the area, and Carl had started at St Winifred's at the beginning of the spring term. Robbie, who was busily minding his own business, absentmindedly musing over the fact that the new maths teacher had made a mistake in one of the quadratic equations she was writing out on the blackboard; he'd spotted the error immediately and rather undiplomatically had pointed out the mistake to the teacher. This had labelled Robbie as a show off to the rest of the class, and a 'right clever little bugger' to the novice nun whose first day's teaching hadn't exactly gone off with a bang.
Robbie was regretting his outburst when he rounded a corner in the corridor, and ran straight into Carl, sending the latter's books flying. Robbie immediately squatted down and helped pick up the scattered tomes. On straightening up again Robbie was hit right between the eyes by Carl's magnificence. He remembered taking a step backwards in awe. An unfortunate move, because it resulted in him treading on the left foot of the Headmistress Sister Margarita, who was just recovering from having a toenail removed.
Carl immediately took charge and saved the situation. He defused the scene telling the Head that the whole thing had been caused by his own clumsiness. This, as far as Robbie was concerned, elevated Carl into sainthood, because Sister Margarita was a cantankerous old git who hated schoolchildren on principle. She roamed the corridors, a rosary in one hand and a cane in the other, preying on the unsuspecting boys and girls.
Carl thought that Robbie's lack of co-ordination was rather cute, and the two formed an unlikely friendship, which lasted all the way through high school. Robbie couldn't, of course, tell Carl that his lack of co-ordination had been due to the fact that he was lusting after the studly athlete, but nevertheless they had sufficient other interests, most of them relating to their studies, which enabled their friendship to thrive. Though Robbie always felt a little uneasy at the feelings that he held for Carl. Robbie's lust pretty soon cooled, but it was replaced with a deep abiding love; he just wanted to be held securely in Carl's strong arms. However, Robbie was too frightened to mention his feelings, being fearful of rejection or ridicule. He became a master at burying his emotions down deep, only allowing them to surface when he was alone in his bed at night, when he would alternately pound his pud or weep with frustrated, unfulfilled and unrequited love.
Still Carl had been a good friend to him, his alliance with the best athlete and second best academic student in the school (Robbie being the most academic) did wonders for his credibility. As soon as Carl came onto the scene, the teasing, which had been part and parcel of his daily existence, ceased completely. This of course further heated Robbie's love and respect for his friend.
Things had progressed throughout the remainder of Robbie's high school career pretty much unchanged, though he found it increasingly difficult to hold back his emotions whenever he was alone with Carl. Robbie had just celebrated his eighteenth birthday, and was beginning to knuckle down to his A-level revision, the end of year final exams were rapidly approaching, when his world came crashing down.
During lunch one day, which the two boys always took together, Carl told Robbie that he'd spent the previous evening with Maureen Leicester, a girl in their Physics class. Robbie had managed to conceal his misery as Carl proceeded to tell Robbie in detail about how Maureen had let him feel her breasts when they'd gone out for a burger and coke. Robbie had wondered why Carl had been unavailable to study with him that night. As soon as he could, Robbie had gotten away from Carl, running all the way home, not caring about the rest of afternoon school. When he'd reached the sanctuary of his bedroom, Robbie wept uncontrollably for a solid hour.
He'd read of hearts breaking; he'd always imagined that such a thing couldn't happen, but knew then that he'd been proved wrong. He had a deep ache in his chest that seemingly wouldn't go away. For a couple of days Robbie withdrew from the world, he told his mother that he was ill and couldn't go to school. As Robbie was normally such a good student who didn't fake his illnesses, Gloria didn't question her son, though she asked him if she ought to get Doctor Finch to drop in and examine him. Robbie told his mother that it was just the flu or something, and he'd get better soon.
After Robbie hadn't appeared at school for two days, Carl rode up to Robbie's house on his bike to find out why his best friend hadn't been in school, or been in contact with him. Those few minutes alone with his friend were the worst Robbie had ever spent in his short life up to that point. Robbie realised what a bloody fine actor he was telling his friend that it was just a bug he'd picked up. Carl smiled at his friend, squeezed his shoulder and hoped he'd be back on his feet soon. "Cause it's not the same without my mate by my side."
"Yeah." Robbie said looking out of the window.
"Okay, mate, better get off now, I'm taking Maureen to the pictures tonight, you know back row and all that."
Robbie bolted for the bathroom. Gloria must have heard her son retching into the porcelain, she'd been in the next door room, and once she'd assured herself that he was okay, she told Carl that he'd probably be better off going home. Carl not understanding that he was the cause of Robbie's illness had called out through the closed bathroom door that he'd come and see him again in a few days time. Carl didn't realise then that it would be over fourteen years before he would fulfil that promise.
Robbie began to rebuild his life. He felt in order to do so, he'd have to cut off all ties with his friend. He just couldn't be in the same room as Carl, knowing that Carl could never be his. The fact that Carl hadn't had a girlfriend up until that point, had allowed a tiny spark of hope to remain alight in Robbie's heart. However with Maureen in the picture, Robbie knew that the torch he'd been holding had been extinguished. A range of emotions swept through Robbie; he shifted from despair that all his dreams, unrealistic as they were, had been ended, to deep anger at how Carl, his best friend could treat him so cruelly. Out of a sense of self-preservation mixed with a healthy dose of fury, Robbie ended his friendship with Carl. He told him that they were obviously heading on different paths, and of differing social classes. As soon as the words had been uttered, Robbie had regretted it, but it was too late. He watched in horrified fascination as Carl's expression changed from amazement to anger. Carl grew bitter, thinking his former friend was a snob who didn't want anything more to do with the likes of someone who had a builder for a father, and a shop assistant for a mother.
For the couple of months that remained of the school year, the two would avoid one another in the corridors, sat at opposite ends of the classrooms, and ate at separate lunch tables.
Picking up a wire basket from just inside the supermarket entrance; Robbie began his shopping. A sense of self-preservation prevented him from picking up one of the loaves of fresh bread on the bakery shelves. 'Better do as Sarah says', Robbie thought, walking past.
Consulting his list, Robbie made his way around the supermarket, occasionally placing an item in his basket. Sarah had asked him to get her a bottle of shampoo; as was his wont, Robbie read the directions on the side of the bottle. He amused himself reading the warning that advised, "Do not use if seal is broken." He wondered how one was meant to access the contents without breaking the seal? He always enjoyed these conceptual conundrums.
His shopping done, Robbie made his way to the checkouts. He often liked to play a little game with himself at such places. He looked at the four lines of customers who were waiting in front of the tills to have their purchases rung up. Seeing that the first line had a single mother with two rather restless and vocal children in tow, Robbie didn't join that line. The next had an older couple in it; Robbie felt that the two pensioners would be slow in doing their packing so he rejected that line too. The third line was the express checkout with the sign "Ten items or less." Counting the number of items in his basket, Robbie found that he actually had eleven. He thought about trying to sneak through, but had second thoughts. The fact that the sign was grammatically incorrect also irked him. He remembered once in London telling the rather dim-witted checkout girl that the sign should read "Ten items or fewer". She didn't understand the concept that the word 'item' could be broken down into discrete quantities, therefore 'fewer' should be used in preference to 'less'. However Robbie only made himself look foolish to the other customers by being so pedantic. Though he did read an article once, which said that Mark's & Spencer had changed their signs in accordance with the rules of English grammar.
Robbie joined the final queue of people waiting to pay for their purchases. Unfortunately the woman in front of him had spent £1.26 more than she had in her purse. The woman grew very embarrassed; the checkout girl was about to ring the bell to summon the manager to deal with it, when Robbie pushed a five-pound note into the woman's hand. She looked gratefully at him.
"It's okay." He said quietly giving her hand a quick squeeze.
The woman offered him the change once she'd been given it, but he waved it away.
Robbie soon had his own purchases run through the till, leaving the woman who was in front of him still packing away her groceries.
Robbie then trudged round the local antique shops looking for furniture for the house. He spotted a couple of gate-legged coffee tables in one of the shop windows, and he went inside to take a closer look. Although he wasn't an expert in antiques, the tables looked pretty good and weren't too expensive either. The obsequious shopkeeper told him that the tables would be delivered "up to The Big House tomorrow." Whilst Robbie liked to see good service, he hated all the bowing and scraping in which some retailers indulged. Though he had to admit that such behaviour was preferable to the reception he'd received in some places, where he'd been given the distinct impression that his presence was a nuisance to the assistant, who was more interested in filing her nails on a piece of emery paper.
As his feet were beginning to ache a little, he decided he'd have a coffee in one of the cafés just off the High Street. Settling his packages on the chair next to him, he ordered himself a Cappuccino along with a Danish pastry. "I'll start on the diet tomorrow." He told himself.
Robbie drank his beverage from his seat in the window. He liked to sit and watch the world go by. Although he'd gone into town to re-familiarise himself with the place, he'd soon come to the conclusion that the exercise hadn't been necessary. The town hadn't changed that much at all since his childhood. This, Robbie mused, would have annoyed him fifteen years ago, but now he drew quite a bit of comfort from the fact that his home town had remained the same.
"And where is the bread?" Sarah asked once Robbie had opened up his shopping bag.
He looked stunned for a moment, cast his gaze down at the items spread out on the table then had to confess that he'd forgotten it.
"Oh never mind, I've got some pita bread in the deep freeze, that will have to do for lunch."
"Oh you just see to yourself, Sarah, I had a pastry in town."
"Okay then. Oh by the way there was a phone call for you while you were out. Carl Powers returned your call. He's coming round this evening after he's finished the job he's working on."
"Right." Robbie had mixed emotions about Carl's visit. Though he knew that with his increased maturity, and the knowledge that Carl was straight, he'd cope. It might be uncomfortable for him, but he'd cope. "Any tea in the pot?"
"I'll make a fresh one." Sarah said feeling the now lukewarm teapot.
Robbie sat himself down at the kitchen table and watched his friend work. "I hope I'm doing the right thing, opening up the old wound again, Sarah."
"You'll be fine, love. You've both grown up a fair bit since your schooldays."
"Yeah, I was just thinking the same myself a minute ago. I hurt him Sarah, I hurt him a lot when I broke off our friendship. I just hope there won't be an atmosphere when he calls round."
"Well, just look upon it as a professional thing then. You know, you're the client and he's the workman. He might not want to delve into the past, either."
"Yeah, I suppose you're right."
Robbie drank his tea, mulling over the old days when he and Carl would wander the local countryside together. Carl always seemed to take the lead, he was the brave one of the pair, the first to jump over a fast flowing stream, or the one to suggest climbing a high tree. Robbie always seemed to be hanging back a little, not quite sure if what they were doing was quite safe. Though to his credit, Carl never teased his friend for being more reserved.
To be continued.