Christmas At Leo's - Memoirs Of A Houseboy (27 page)

Taking the shell booty out of my pocket, I worked two big whiskery prawn heads under the left shoulder epaulette and two long tails under the right one. You couldn’t see them, but in time you’d certainly be able to smell them. They’d make a pong sandwich out of his big head. The coral coloured shells might look delicate, but they would pack a powerful punch. There’s nothing nastier on the nostrils than the niff of decaying crustacean.

I re-wrapped the remaining head and tail, intending to bin them. I changed my mind when I saw Jak’s leather biker jacket. Share and share alike. They had acted like a pair of stinkers so they could both smell the part. I slipped the remnants into one of Jak’s pockets and re-zipped it. I then relocated both jackets towards the back of the cupboard. Mischief complete, I was on the verge of exiting, when I noticed Pat’s smart overcoat had been hung in the cupboard. It would be a shame for it to be contaminated by the smell from the husks as they decomposed.

I slipped out of the cupboard and darted upstairs, taking Pat’s coat with me. I found his room and draped it over a chair. I then went to our bedroom and used the toilet in the ensuite to flush away the shredded paper napkin.

After washing my hands, I inspected my face in the mirror. My heart sank. I looked dreadful, even worse than I’d imagined. There was a film of greasy moisture on my pale face. It accentuated the red spots around my nose, along with old indentations left by repeat eruptions. I’d soon be eligible for membership of the mafia. Scar face indeed. I also had heavy dark smudges under both eyes, as if I hadn’t slept for a week. I didn’t look anywhere near my best. I felt like punching my reflection.

I got my tub of medicated cleansing and exfoliating pads out of the bathroom cabinet and began to clean my face. Throwing the used pad into the sink I got another one out, concentrating on scrubbing it around my nose.

I sensed rather than heard Shane approach, glancing up into the mirror to see his face reflected behind me, wearing an unfathomable look, pained, almost. I dropped into defence mode. “What? You did give me permission to pee and you didn’t specify how long I should take.”

The look changed, becoming recognisable. He has a dash of Welsh blood in him, and at that moment he looked as dark and forbidding as Snowdonia in deep winter. It made my stomach turn over.

“Don’t take that unpleasant tone with me. What are you doing in here?”

“Drugs, if you count Clearasil as a drug. I’m cleaning my face. My skin is greasy.”

“Over cleaning will aggravate it and make it more greasy not less. All you’ve done is make it look inflamed.”

“Gee thanks, that was just the confidence boost I was looking for.”

He didn’t say a word. Snatching up the tub, he screwed the lid back on and thrust it back into the cabinet. Gripping the hood of my top he used it as a handle to propel me out of the ensuite, the bedroom and down the stairs into the hall, where we met Dick coming out of the lounge. He was holding two empty wine glasses and an Italian dessert dish with a spoon in it. He evaluated the situation in a second and stepped in as rescuer, of sorts.

“Just the boy I need.” He proffered the dish. “Do me a favour, honey, get Pat another helping of trifle while I get him a glass of wine.”

I glanced up at Shane, who nodded curt permission. I pulled my dishevelled top straight, took the bowl from Dick and strode down the hall.

The kitchen had emptied of people. Setting down the bowl, I got myself a glass of water, gulping it down, hoping it would help cool my skin, and my temper.

Dick came in and began to pour red wine into one glass and white into the other. Picking up the bowl I spooned a helping of the lush boozy trifle into it. It had proved popular. There wasn’t much left.

Dick spoke to me. “Shall I get you a drink while I’m on, a coke?”

“No. Coke is full of sugar. According to Dr Vince it makes acne worse.”

“You’ll have to switch to the diet variety.”

“I don’t like the taste.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it, Dick, okay, I don’t fucking want to get fucking used to it.” I thumped the bowl of trifle down on the worktop. “You told me that when I felt angry enough to want to punch you, I should say so, well I’m saying it now.”

Dick fixed me with a calm look. “You may also recall that I said I’d help you ride out the anger in any way I can, but I can’t help if you won’t let me. You’ve kept me at arm's length all day.”

“I don’t want your help,” my voice caught in my throat. “I want to be left alone to do what I want to do.”

He wagged a finger. “Take yourself to hell in a handbasket, you mean. It isn’t going to happen, pet, not on our watch.”

I snatched up the trifle. “I’d better take this to Pat, before I’m tempted to throw it at you.” Sticking my nose in the air I marched out of the kitchen.

Chapter Twelve - Puzzle People

“Thank you, dear.” Pat took the bowl of trifle from me. “I shouldn’t, but it is delicious. It is Christmas after all. If you can’t indulge at Christmas then when can you.”

Never, not in my case anyway. I kept the sour words to myself. “I don’t think you need worry about calories, Pat,” I said, and then grimaced, wondering if he’d think I was being critical of his sparse frame. There’s often a fine line between compliment and insult.

He smiled. “I suppose one of the advantages of getting old is that you stop worrying about your figure because you know no one is going to fancy you ever again, no matter what size you are. The elderly are not considered attractive. You become invisible in some respects. People don’t want a reminder of where they’re headed, so they blank you out.”

“I think age is irrelevant. You look fine to me. You’re too elegant to ever be invisible, and you have beautiful bone structure.”

His smile broadened. “I think I like you, Gillibran Brown, you’re quite the young gallant. Charm is an underrated quality these days. My Bill had bags of charm.”

I turned away from him in time to catch one of the loaded looks that Vince and Jak seemed to relish passing between each other. A sting of colour came to my cheeks. I suspected I was the cause of the look and immediately felt like a fool.

Dick came into the lounge. He handed Pat a fresh glass of wine and then seated himself next to Shane. He didn’t spare me a glance. I knew he was cross from the set of his lips.

Quelling guilt, I fetched one of the chairs from under the card table and placed it next to Pat’s armchair. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was better than sitting on the floor and putting myself on a lower level than everyone else.

Pat interpreted my chosen proximity as an invitation to chat to me about his partner Bill, and how they used to celebrate Christmas. I didn’t mind. It offered immunity from having to talk to anyone else. Besides, I rather like listening to older people reminisce. I know some folk find it boring, but I don’t. I think it’s a privilege to be given glimpses into another person’s life. I guess I’m curious, or maybe just plain nosey. I’ve always been the same, even as a tot. I was the darling of elderly neighbours and the old boys who used to tend the allotments where Lee’s grandfather spent his retirement days. They’d reached a point where to talk about the past was more relevant than to talk about the future, simply because more years lay behind them than stretched ahead. Listening to those who will pass on before us is the humane thing to do.

Pat excused himself, to pay a visit to the little boy’s room, leaving me feeling exposed. I glanced around the room, catching Shane’s eye. I immediately looked away, reluctant to meet his gaze. I stood up, seeking distraction in activity, collecting empty dessert bowls and plates. Leo stopped me.

“Put those down, Gilli. You’ve done more than your share today.” He got to his feet, clicking his fingers in Vince and Jak’s direction. “You two, up off your backsides. You can wash up, while I dress the dining room table ready for tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind washing up.” I hugged the crockery I’d collected. I wasn’t being altruistic. I wanted out of the room, to snatch some personal space.

Jak flapped a lazy hand at me. “Let him do it, if he wants to, after all it is his area of expertise.”

Vince added. “You can’t get in the way of a man’s vocation, if housework can be considered a vocation.”

Shane leaned towards him, his voice cold. “All work is vocational if you choose to make it so.”

“Of course, Shane, you’re right. I didn’t mean to imply any other.” Vince lowered his lashes in a display of penitence.

“Fair’s fair.” Mike joined in. “Gilli has pulled his weight. The kid’s been on the go all day. It’s your turn now.”

Leo resolved the matter using his best Dom’s voice. “Move, both of you.”

Jak got to his feet at once. “Pass the pots, then.”

I parted company with the dishes I’d collected with a measure of reluctance. I tried a last ditch attempt at escape. “I’ll come and help you with the dinner table, Leo.”

“You will not.” He said bluntly. “My blood pressure isn’t up to it. I’ll manage better without your
artistic
interference.”

“I won’t interfere. I’ll do exactly what you tell me to do.”

“You never do as you’re told, Gilli. I enjoy dressing the festive table and I want to do it my way, thanks all the same.”

“You’re just scared I’ll make a better job of it than you.”

He gave a hoot of laughter. “In your dreams, laddie. You’ve got some miles to cover before you catch me up, and besides everything you’ve learned has been learned from copying me.”

Bastard. It was true, though. Observation had played a large part in my transformation from clueless boy to professional houseboy.

As soon as Jak, Vince and Leo left the room, Shane turned to me, barking an order. “Sit down and stop playing the household paragon.”

I bit back an angry retort. Belying Leo’s unfounded claim, I did as I was told, settling on the hard chair once again, even though there were more comfortable options available now that the bondage twins and their master had left the room. I know. I know. Biting my nose off to spite my face, and my arse.

I shuffled uncomfortably, darting a dirty look in Shane’s direction. He darted it straight back, and with prick shrivelling interest. Scary sod. He’d terrified and excited me in various degrees since the day I first clapped eyes on him. Folding my arms I turned my gaze on the comforting orange glow of the coals in the grate.

Pat returned to the lounge, bringing something with him.

“I hope no one minds, but I brought a jigsaw puzzle with me.” He shook the box he was carrying. “It was a tradition with Bill and Emma. We always did a new jigsaw over the Christmas period. I’d like to continue, by way of memoriam if nothing else. I don’t suppose anyone wants to help me get it started? It’s only a thousand pieces, child’s play really.”

“I’d love to.”

I stared at Mike in astonishment. “I didn’t have you down for a puzzle person, Mike.”

“Takes me back to being a kid. We always did a big jigsaw at Christmas. I think it’s probably a tradition with a lot of families. We’d clear the table after Christmas dinner and start on the puzzle, timing how long it took us, trying to beat the record we’d set the year before. It was fun.” He stood up. “Come on, Gil, join in.”

As I’d once told Dick, I hate jigsaw puzzles. They take something I don’t possess much of - patience. On the other hand, anything was better than sitting idle under the stern eye of my tormentor. I looked towards him, seeking a sign to proceed, part of me suspecting he’d withhold his permission as a continuance of punishment. He didn’t. He gave a subtle nod.

I got up, taking the chair back to the table. I gathered up the cards still littering its surface and returned them to the sideboard drawer.

Pat opened the puzzle box and took out the bag of pieces. Tearing the plastic bag apart, he spread the pieces on the tabletop. “Sorting out the straight edges is the boring bit, but it won’t take long with the three of us.”

Any ideas I’d had about the jigsaw being a kinky BDSM scene were dispelled when I saw the lid of the box. It depicted a homely cottage in a snowy landscape, with glimpses of a happy family Christmas taking place behind quaint frosted windows. I examined it, experiencing a pang of longing for something that probably didn’t exist anywhere for anyone. Perfect families sharing perfect Christmases are a sentimental fabrication of the Victorians, the glossy layer covering a dark seam of smut. A BDSM scene would probably have been more realistic and true to life. From what I’d read on the subject the Victorians were a kinky lot on the sly, the wealthy ones anyway. The poor ones were too busy dying of hunger and disease to take an interest in kinky frolics and spanky hanky panky.

There was a comfortable silence, as we winkled out the pieces with straight edges. The corners were located and put in place. The outer frame began to take shape.

I mulled over the notion of families as I matched and slotted puzzle pieces together. Mike sounded like he’d had a happy childhood. A question formed in my mind. I cleared my throat. “Mike,” I said, “is it all right to ask you a personal question?”