Christmas At Leo's - Memoirs Of A Houseboy (28 page)

He exchanged an amused look with Pat. “If you must, Gil, if you must.”

“How did your family react when you came out? Were they cool with it?” His reply was not what I expected.

“They weren’t anything. They didn’t have to be, because I never came out to them.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “It was different for my generation, love. Being gay was a bit like being a spy involved in covert operations. You kept quiet. I had a good relationship with my parents and my sister. I didn’t want to risk it by revealing something I felt they didn’t need to know. I didn’t want to put them under pressure, or myself. Being involved in the music scene made things easier. I travelled a lot. My parents seemed to accept I wasn’t the settling down type. They assumed I had a girl in every town I visited. I never disillusioned them. I suspect my sister suspects I’m gay, but we’ve never talked about it.”

“And you don’t feel any resentment over it?”

He shook his head. “As far as I was concerned, not telling my family I was gay fell into the same category as not telling them I was into the S&M scene. It was my private life, end of.” He gave a thoughtful pause before continuing. “In some respects I think you young ones have a harder time of it. Staying in the closet is almost as despised and frowned upon as coming out of it used to be. With us there was no real expectation of
coming out.
You’ve now got pressure from two sides: one that demands a proud revelation of your sexuality and the other that still hates you for it.”

“I suppose.” I chewed on my lower lip. Would things have been different at home if I’d stayed quiet about being gay, never told my mum or anyone else? Maybe staying in the closet had its good points? Mike guessed at my thoughts.

“Listen, Gilli. Each of us does what feels right at any given time, even if it doesn’t always work out well. What I did suited me, but I know it wouldn’t be right for everyone. Some people have to claim themselves by being themselves out in the open. I respect that.”

“I didn’t have the luxury of choice,” said Pat, his voice sad. “I was targeted and ostracised because I fitted the ‘homosexual’ profile that most people carry in their minds: the effeminate poofter with a fondness for pretty things. I never actually confessed to the crime, but it didn’t matter. I was marked. I couldn’t have hidden if I’d wanted to. My father hated my guts and let me know it at every opportunity. My existence was an embarrassment to him. He and my two brothers delighted in persecuting me. My dear mother took money from me when I started working, but treated me like dirt. She gave the dog better food than she gave to me.”

I felt guilty for having raised the subject. “I’m so sorry, Pat. I didn’t mean to stir up bad memories for you.”

“No need for sorry, dear. I’m fine with it. I long ago accepted that my family were cruel beggars. I found another family amongst friends, but most of all with Bill and his darling sister. My parents are now dead, of course, but my brothers linger on, pair of vile bastards. I don’t consider them as family.”

Given how much I swear his vehement use of the B word shouldn’t have shocked me in the slightest, but it did, because of what Leo had said. I felt my jaw drop open.

He patted my hand. “I’m so sorry if my bad language has shocked you. I don’t hold with swearing in general, but there are moments and certain subjects when only a profanity will do. Bill taught me that.”

“No worries.” I said solemnly. “I’ve been known to swear upon occasion myself.” I carefully avoided looking at Mike, who I could sense was grinning from ear to ear.

By the time the bondage boys and Leo came back we’d almost completed the outer rim of the jigsaw.

Leo brought wine with him. He played waiter, cruising around the lounge dispensing top ups of red and white, as desired. He refreshed Pat’s glass, before asking. “Do you want anything, Gilli, while I’m up? A coke, mineral water, cup of tea?”

“No thanks.” I tried to quench the burn of fresh resentment I felt at having to forego the holiday pleasures everyone else was indulging in.

I must have exuded atmosphere, because Pat gave me a quizzical look. He didn’t follow through with a question though, for which I was grateful. Perhaps Leo had informed him of my ‘dry’ status, and its reason. Resisting the temptation to deliver a dirty look in Shane’s direction, I slotted the last piece into the bottom of the puzzle frame. It felt oddly satisfying.

I studied the puzzle box lid. “We should try compiling a section each.” I pointed at the picture. “I’ll do the Christmas tree in the downstairs window. I’ve already spotted some pieces that might fit.”

“Watch yourself, Pat.” Leo cut in. “Gilli’s fond of doing things his own way. If you’re not careful you and Mike will end up on the sidelines while he takes over. He’ll force together pieces that don’t fit and you’ll end up with something resembling a poor Picasso.”

Keeping my tone cordial, in case Shane was eavesdropping, I said, “shouldn’t you be taking your false teeth out and having a nap, Leo? You must be tired after a busy day, a man your age.”

“My teeth are my own.” He patted my head with a condescending hand. “And there’s plenty of energy left in me. I can outlast you any day of the week, my enfant terrible.”

Bastard. I glared at his back as he walked away.

Pat offered a soothing smile. “Doing a section each sounds like a plan, Gilli. We’ll make a puzzle person of you yet.”

“Gilli’s a puzzle person in his own right, Pat. In fact, he’s a bit like a Rubik’s Cube - damn near impossible to solve.”

I stuck out my tongue by way of good-natured reprisal. I didn’t mind Mike’s leg pulling, perhaps because I don’t see him as a rival in any way. His teasing has a big brother aspect to it that I rather like.

We’d completed a fair portion of the puzzle when Pat declared his eyes were tired and needed a rest. He thanked us for indulging him and excused himself from the table, going over to where the others were congregated around the hearth.

Leo helped him settle into an armchair by the fire, plumping the cushion up behind him, asking if he were enjoying himself. Pat said indeed he was. Leo took hold of his hand and gently kissed the back of it, saying it was a delight and an honour to have his company. It was a gracious and touching gesture, bringing a smile to Pat’s face. For a fleeting moment I almost liked Leo.

“I think I’ve had enough for tonight as well, Gil.” Mike pushed back his chair and got up, stretching his well muscled arms above his head. “How about you, ready to throw in the towel?”

“I’ll spend a few more minutes.”

“Don’t marginalize yourself, Gil. It never ends well.” Mike squeezed my shoulder and went to join the others.

I studied the puzzle pieces spread out before me, but the momentum was broken. I let my thoughts freewheel. They strayed to the box I’d left in the den, to the CD and the song my mother wanted sung at her funeral. It brought an odd thought. The person she wanted to connect with most in whatever afterlife existed was her father, rather than her first husband, my father. Maybe everyone close to death imagines being reunited with those who gave them life, a closing of the circle kind of thing?

As a theory, it didn’t hold water. I glanced towards Pat. The last people he’d want to be reunited with were his parents. They might have given him life, but they hadn’t given him love or nurture. Bill was his afterlife choice. Maybe my mother wanted to be reunited with her father as a way of returning to the child she had once been rather than the adult she had become? Some folks never make a clean break from childhood, for many reasons.

Who would I hope to meet after death? My dad, if only to satisfy my curiosity. It begged the question: how would I recognise him seeing as I’d never viewed so much as a photo and had no memories to go on? Maybe he wouldn’t want to be reunited with me because I was gay? My mum hadn’t exactly been positive about the revelation. Chances were my dad might have been even more upset. What did it matter? There’s probably no afterlife for rainbow people anyway. We’ll be denied recognition and equality in death, just as in life, consigned to some painful limbo of never ending loneliness, by way of appeasing the God bothering thugs and bible bullies.

It wasn’t a happy thought. Taking a long, slow breath, I made a concerted effort to turn my thoughts away from the morbid puzzle of death and back to the puzzle on the table in front of me, an idyll of happy family perfection.

Chapter Thirteen - Truffle Trouble

Christmas Eve settled down into companionable noise: conversations, reminiscences and soft laughs, the chink of glassware, the hiss of coals settling in the grate.

I remained marooned at the table, pushing puzzle pieces around, making pretence of industry.

Leo turned down the ceiling lights in favour of table lamps and firelight. He also lit some spicy scented candles. He left the room, returning with a tray of refreshments, decanters of whisky and brandy along with dishes of prime olives and nuts for folks to help themselves to. He had something for me.

“Here.” He set a pretty, pierced sterling silver dish before me. “Homemade chocolate truffles. I made them especially for you without the addition of liqueurs.”

I viewed them without enthusiasm. I would have preferred the liqueur versions, but didn’t say so. I forced out an appropriate response. “Thank you.”

Leo, like Shane, tends to speak his mind. He asked a blunt question. “Are you going to join the rest of us, or are you going to sit here in sullen detachment all evening?”

“I’m not sullen. I’m enjoying doing this puzzle.”

“Rubbish. You’re being passive aggressive, and it’s been noted.”

I gave him a saccharine smile. “Thanks for the psychological assessment, and the truffles. I’m sure they’ll be
quite
nice.”

Leaning down towards me, he said very softly. “You’re a catty little scallywag, and you deserve everything you get.”

He walked off. I popped a truffle in my mouth and crunched it, releasing a burst of orange flavour. It was rich and delicious, but somehow left a faint sour taste in my mouth. Shame.

Dick fetched his guitar, warming up by finger picking a version of ‘Jingle Bells.’ It prompted Leo to try and drag me back into the fold. He called over to me. “What was that song you were asking me about earlier, Gilli, something about hills? Maybe someone else will know it.”

I resented him asking about the song, and not only because it put me on the spot. I felt threatened, as if he were trying to take something from me. The song was between my mother and me. I should never have asked him about it. I shrugged a reply. “I can’t remember.”

Leo gave me an exasperated look, like he wanted to strangle me, but made no further comment.

I gave up the pretence of doing the jigsaw, fiddling fretfully with the silver dish, pondering on Leo’s words about ‘being noted.’ It didn’t need Sherlock to work out by whom.

I reached for another truffle, more by way of nervous activity than sweet desire, glancing at Shane as I raised it to my mouth. He didn’t see me looking, but Vince did. He was watching me intently. As my eyes met his, he gave his head a subtle shake, while stroking the skin around his nose, mouthing something at me from behind his hand. I couldn’t quite make out the words, but his inference was clear. Chocs make spots.

It’s amazing how far a chocolate truffle can travel when fuelled by rage. I relished the look on Vince’s puss as the confection hurtled towards him like a miniature cocoa dusted cannon ball. He squawked a loud protest as the confection bounced off his knee and dropped to the floor.

“What the hell did you throw that for? It could have hit me in the face.”

That had been the plan, but never mind. My moment of satisfaction was short-lived. A plethora of other protests came my way, accompanied by furious looks, demanding to know what I was bloody playing at. Even Mike looked proper pissed with me.

My innards turned to gunge and my knees to jelly when Shane got to his feet and struck out for my table island. Shit! I’d allowed my temper to rule yet again. Retribution for my reckless impulse seemed imminent. Petrified by the prospect of being taken over his knee and spanked in front of everyone I launched into a desperate attempt to exonerate myself.

“Vince mouthed something at me when he saw me about to eat the truffle. I thought he was asking me to pass one over.”

It sounded what it was, a weak excuse. It wouldn’t have been accepted, had it not been for Pat. He blocked a denial on Vince’s part.

“You did say something to Gilli, Vince. I saw you. I couldn’t quite make it out, but you did say something.”

Bless the man. I shot him a grateful look, making a mental note to write to the Vatican and nominate him for canonisation, as the patron saint of transgressing houseboys.

“Vince?” Leo’s voice was sharp.

Vince was caught and he knew it. He made an attempt to volte-face. “Yeah, but I didn’t ask him to chuck it at me.” He made a show of brushing cocoa powder off his glossy trews. “He could have brought the dish over to me.”

“Sorry.” I tried to sound contrite. “It was a playful impulse. I thought you’d catch it easily. It’s not like PVC stains. A quick wipe with a damp cloth and you’re sorted.” I got to my feet. “I’ll go and get one if you like.”