Copyright Alex Douglas 2009
Author's note: This is a revised version of a previous unfinished story. It's taken me 6 years to finish it, so finally here it is. All feedback greatly appreciated. Email me at alex_d0uglas@yahoo.co.uk and I'll do my best to reply.
Sean was silent on the drive to Cal's, holding his breath every time Cal mounted a kerb, or grazed the wing mirror of a parked car. He watched the raindrops race crookedly across the glass, as the buildings and streets outside became more and more affluent. He wondered where he was going, where this was all going. It was a ride into the unknown, into the enigma that Cal had become.
Cal looked as if he was about to start speaking, taking a breath and opening his mouth, only to exhale again with a frustrated look on his face. There was ice between them still, memories of that untalked-about night still hanging in the air. And yet the scent of Cal's body, the faint memory of fingers tangled in hair, alcoholic breath hot on cheeks...Sean sighed, irritated with the tricks his head was playing and turned his attention back to the road, rubbing his aching leg almost unconsciously.
Cal lived in a large detached house in a leafy suburb, half hidden by willow trees. Built of red brick, probably over 100 years old. A grey Mercedes was parked in the drive. Sean exhaled. "Wow, you've done well for yourself!" he couldn't help remarking. It was a far cry from his own little terraced house on the edge of a dodgy estate.
"Not me, mate," Cal said with a wry smile. "Come on."
There was a woman on the steps of the front door, the same woman Sean met that day in the Sainsbury's car park. She was on her knees, scrubbing at something on the door. As she heard the crunch of their approaching footsteps on the gravel path, she stopped what she was doing and turned, a helpless look on her face.
Straightening up, she pulled a strand of dark hair out of her mouth and tucked it behind her ear. "Oh Cal..." she murmured, her eyes bright and glittery. "I'm so sorry."
"Another one?"
"The same wee bastards, I nearly caught them this time, so they didn't quite finish...I hoped I'd get rid of it before you came back but..." She looked at her feet and bit her lip.
Cal put his arms round her and she squeezed him as he kissed the top of her head. Suddenly uncomfortable, Sean looked away from the motionless figures and scrutinised the door. A faint stain remained, a black streak of spray paint slashing across the dark wood.
"Don't worry, Jude," Cal whispered into her hair. "It's nothing, just some stupid kids"
She smiled through the tears that were still threatening to fall. "You don't deserve this."
"I'll live." Cal ran a hand through his hair and sighed, casting a critical eye over the damage. "At least it's washable this time. Let me give you a hand?"
"No, no, I'm nearly done...I'll just finish this then I'll make lunch, OK? You've got better things to do, my love."
"Thank you...oh, you've met Sean? Sean, this is Jude."
She smiled and extends her hand. Her grasp was firm as dimples appear in her cheeks. "Hi again!" She pumped Sean's arm up and down until his fingertips were numb. "Will you be staying for lunch?"
Cal clapped her on the back. "Of course he will," he said. "Thanks again Jude. We've got plenty of catching up to do and..." he turned to Sean and smiled. "I want you to meet someone."
The hall was long, the ceiling high and the white walls were decorated with framed black and white photographs of models, men and women emerging from the darkness with coy smiles and half shaded faces. They looked familiar, but Sean couldn't quite place them ...but the living room put it out of his head. It was like a room in a show house, pale wooden floors giving the feeling of space, white walls and brown leather furniture, the kind of sofa he would never dream of getting out of. A huge plasma screen TV on the wall, a bookcase full of DVDs, CDs and books. X box, Playstation and a whole load of games stacked up beside a monster PC desk where every PC accessory known to man existed. Sean felt like a guest on "Through the Keyhole." He had never seen equipment like it. Momentarily forgetting himself, he gaped around, mouth open like a child in a toy shop.
Cal sank into the sofa, covered his face with his hands and sat like that until Sean started to feel uncomfortable again. There was a painting above the fireplace, swirls and slashes of blues and blacks like an angry sea, interrupted by tiny bulging eyes which burst through the paint like boils. It made him shiver, the feeling of being watched growing by the minute and making the hair at the back of his neck stand up. Too many eyes, staring from the walls. He wondered how Cal could stand living under such scrutiny.
"So who am I going to meet?" he said eventually, wondering if Cal had fallen asleep.
Cal nodded towards the painting above the fireplace. "What do you think of it?"
Sean took a deep breath and decided to be honest. It couldn't be Cal's anyway, he was always rubbish at art. "It makes my skin crawl."
His face breaking into a grin, Cal said, "Excellent, he'll be happy to hear that."
"Who'll be happy?"
The smell of cigarette smoke wafted into the room, followed by a blond man whose face Sean knew but couldn't quite place. His face and arms were streaked with red, and his green eyes were watering as he extended a hand, exhaling a cloud of smoke with a series of coughs and wheezing. "Sorry," he said, his grip a cold and clammy imprint on Sean's palm. "Haven't quite got used to smoking yet."
"Er...no problem," Sean wondered how to respond to that, still racking his brain to remember where he had seen this man before. Hopefully not in the toilets of some dodgy bar?
"Most people hate it."
"Smoking?"
The man laughed, and coughed again. "No, the painting. I love it when my work disturbs people." He turned to Cal. "Aren't you going to introduce us?" His eyes were bright with amusement, a faint smile forming on his lips as he stubbed the cigarette out in an ornate ceramic bowl full of sand.
To Sean's surprise, Cal was blushing, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. He didn't meet Sean's eyes as he said "Jeff, this is Sean Rooney, an old friend from school, and Sean, this is Jeff Sullivan, my...well, partner."
Jeff chuckled. "Wow! That was some introduction, Cal. Your, well, partner would like some beer, if you don't mind going to the garage?"
"Jeff...you shouldn't be drinking." There was a helpless note in Cal's voice, a pained expression on his face as he watched the blue curl of smoke rising from the ashtray. "Or smoking. You know what the doctor said."
"Yeah, yeah. Go on out and get it. " Jeff waved his hand at Cal as if shooing a pest away. He reached the packet of cigarettes towards Sean. "Want one?"
Mechanically, he reached for one, almost forgetting that he hadn't smoked in ten years. With a shock that size to absorb, nicotine seemed like a good idea all of a sudden. This man was Cal's boyfriend? And there was something so familiar about him...the memory was dancing around in his head as his tongue struggled to spit it out... "Jeff Sullivan...the photographer, right? You did the publicity photos for our brochures a few years ago! I knew I knew you from somewhere."
Jeff sighed and lit another cigarette, sucking on it, breathing the smoke deep inside. When he exhaled, he smiled. "Getting better at this," he said. "I quite fancy trying some grass, but Cal won't bloody get it for me. Yes, I've done photography, but it's just a sideline to pay the bills while I work on what I really love, which is painting. You'll have to come to my last exhibition. It's going to be in the Ulster Museum, starting September 1st. Do you like art?"
Sean flushes. "I'm a bit of a philistine," he said. "I've never actually been to an art exhibition. Or the Ulster Museum."
"You're having a laugh."
"Seriously," Sean smiled. "I was always more into outdoorsy stuff, sport and that."
"You were?" A raised eyebrow, another drag of the cigarette.
Sean held up his crutch. "Not a lot of "crutch rugby" around," he said, his mind wandering. Something Jeff said was bothering him, and he searched his memory again. "Your last exhibition?" he said, realising the word that had jarred. "Are you giving it up, the painting?"
Jeff shrugged. "You could say that," he said. "I'll be dead long before September, according to the doctors. I've got pancreatic cancer. The docs don't expect 35 year olds to get it, so I waited a bit for the diagnosis. Wasn't really worth the wait to be honest. I'd have been happier with gallstones."
Staring at him, Sean felt as if he had been struck by a swinging bag of cement. "Oh, man..." he whispered, shocked to the core.
"I can see Cal's told you nothing." Jeff said, sighing. "Typical."
Sean's heart was thumping hard in his chest, now the full horror of Cal's situation was beginning to sink in. No wonder he had been so strange, so tired and anxious. He stared at Jeff, at a loss for words. It was hard to believe that this man was so seriously ill. Apart from the pallor, the flushed cheeks and the coughing, he looked as if he had nothing more than a bit of flu.
There was the sound of a slamming door, the clink of glass. Cal came back into the room, holding two bottles of beer. "One for you..." he muttered, twisting the lids off and reaching one to Jeff, then to Sean, "...and one for you. You look like you need a drink."
Jeff took a sip and grimaced. "I don't think this is going to go down well, babe." He set the bottle down and reached for the cigarettes.
"Then why the fuck..." Cal bit his lip and made a visible effort to be calm. "Jay, please stop smoking. It doesn't suit you."
Jeff stood up. "I'm going back to the studio." Wobbling slightly, he caught hold of the mantelpiece and gritted his teeth. "Got a deadline to meet, and all."
Cal's face was white. "Do you need a hand with anything?"
"Would you stop fussing and let me breathe?" Anger split through Jeff's face like a lightning bolt. "Why don't you go out somewhere and leave me alone to work while I'm still able, for fuck's sake!"
"Fine." Still ashen, Cal grabbed his coat and stalked out. "See you later. Bastard."
Sean gulped and stood up. "Er..."
Jeff sighed. "Look, he knows I don't mean it." A look of pain crossed his face and he clutched at his stomach, gasping. "Go on, go and catch up. It was nice to meet you, after all his talk. I'll be OK, don't worry."
Sean forced a polite smile and followed Cal outside, where he was pacing in the driveway. The black mark was gone from the front door. The smell of bacon frying was wafting out of the kitchen window. He stared at Cal for a moment, his heart aching at the shadows in Cal's face, the lines of worry scarred into his forehead. Jeff's angry words, ringing in his ears.
"What's with the black marks anyway?" he said.
Cal sighed. "Local kids. Of course in their tiny, tiny minds, a gay man who's dying has to have AIDS, right? I mean, what else would possibly make sense? So they get their kicks by spraying our door with graffiti. I knew moving back to this shitty country was a bad idea, but Jeff wanted to. That stuff doesn't bother him."
Sean stared at the door, appalled. "Let's go down the pub and get pissed," he said, putting an arm round Cal's shoulders. "Never underestimate the power of alcohol. And you're not driving again."
"Are you sure? It's no bother, I'm not much of a drinker these days."
Sean laughs. "With your driving? You don't need it. Come on, let's get the bus."
= = = = =
A few beers later, and Cal was visibly more relaxed. The conversation had been superficial, and he looked relieved to talk about everyday things, just as Sean was, as he was still trying to digest the morning's occurrences. He listened to Cal chatting about the more recent Star Wars movies, remembering when they went to see the originals way back on a sunny Saturday in 1985 when the local cinema was showing all three episodes in a marathon matinee.
Strange, the power of assumption. From the way Cal was talking, it seemed he had bought the idea of "heterosexual" Sean totally, just as Sean had assumed Jude had been Cal's wife. What a pair of arseholes we are, he thought, watching Cal order a fourth pint, feeling the alcohol course through his veins mixed with a melancholy that was settling over him like a fog. It seemed that the world had shifted, that there was no going back to yesterday, when all that had to be done was deliver Cal's jacket and leave. Better to let Cal believe it now, that he was straight. If anything remained of the way things were, the last thing Cal needed was a lustful friend hanging round, complicating things.
Cal sat back, and patted his pockets. "Bollocks!" he said. "Jeff's nicked my cigarettes."
Sean nearly spat out his beer. "I thought you were totally against smoking!" he said. "It's supposed to age your skin and all."
Cal snorted. "Fuck that, and don't lie, I look bloody awful these days. I just started when Jeff did. To try and stop him, like, but it didn't work. It is kind of... relaxing, I have to admit."
"When was that?"
"When he found out the cancer was kicking off in his lungs, he thought he might as well smoke, to do something to deserve it, like."
There was a silence. Sean stared into his pint, watching the bubbles burst on the surface.
"Were you surprised?" Cal said suddenly, a glint in his eye. "About me, I mean."
Sean looked up, and that melting feeling came over him again. He remembered Megan's words. Just be careful. "Yeah, I suppose."
"You know, after that night at the White Horse..." Cal said, taking another gulp of his pint. "I hated you. For years after."
Sean gaped. He did not expect Cal to bring that up, not now. Somewhere inside, he had expected it to be different. He thought Cal would have been more apologetic about it at least. What do you want me to say? "Yeah, well, sorry about that. I was plastered."
Cal stared down into his drink and drummed his fingers on the table, glancing wistfully at a couple of smokers sitting at the next table. He was on his fifth pint already, and his eyelids were starting to droop. "Sometimes I wish I'd just persisted with what's-her-name, that twin. Do you think things would have been easier? And then this..." his hand waved vaguely in space. "...This wouldn't be happening to me. God!" He leant his elbows on the table and rubbed his face. "That's so selfish, forget I said it."
A great swell of pity stirred in Sean's heart, and he felt choked by it. He took Cal's hand and squeezed it. "It would have been a lot worse, and you know it," he said, trying to ignore the fires inside, ignited by the touch of Cal's skin. I'm just a friend, he thought, just a friend. Oh God.
Cal squeezed his hand back. "I've missed you," he said, his eyes black in the dim light of the pub. "You can't imagine how much. I'm so sorry for what I did, the things I said to you. You know." Sean knew the beer was loosening Cal's tongue, and he wanted to stop it but Cal rambled on. "It was a surprise, that's all. I just wasn't ready for it, the way it just felt so...right."
Sean freed his hand from Cal's and drained his pint. It took all the effort he had left, but he still said it. "I think I'd better go." He started fumbling in his pockets for his wallet, trying not to notice how his hands were shaking. Get out of here, now.
"Are you angry with me?" There was a plaintive note in Cal's voice, and he looked as if he was about to burst into tears. His hair all messed up and his cheeks flushed. Beautiful. Oh God.
"Of course not." He forced what he hoped was a friendly smile. "Come on, let's get a taxi. I'll drop you off, make sure you don't get into trouble."
Cal was as docile as a sheep, allowing himself to be led out of the pub and into a taxi without another word. The minute they were inside, with the heater blowing in their faces, he fell asleep. For a moment, the worry lines were gone, all the pain forgotten. His lips were parted slightly and his eyelashes lay black and sooty against his skin. Sean swallowed the lump in his throat and looked out of the window, trying to ignore the feeling in his heart that nothing good was going to happen.