Wyoming 2007
Their new brat looked so young it was
almost painful.
As a matter of fact, he was in his early
thirties, but when you were just about left of sixty, suddenly everyone looked
like kindergarteners. He and Riley were damp haired and fresh from the shower,
sitting on the hearth-rug with Flynn and Jasper near the lower branches of the
Christmas tree. Luath had the chair nearest them and was tuning in the World
Service on the radio, a little in advance of the Christmas carol service from
England that had been heard in this house every year since…
Well. No one knew truly since when. But
James, Wade and Niall, the oldest of them, remembered it from their first
Christmas here.
The family room was full, and so was the
kitchen. When they were all here the ranch was stuffed with men in all
directions, from early morning when the oldest members of the family, who slept
the least and started their day the earliest, tended to gather around the
kitchen table to talk. Late at night the middle to younger family Tops tended
to linger the longest by the fire, ostensible and considerately to let their
partners have freer access to the bathrooms, but Miguel was not alone in the
suspicion that they just wouldn’t admit to enjoying having the peace to talk
together.
The kitchen table, which had all the
leaves out around a candle lit centrepiece of holly, was groaning with plates for
the buffet they usually ate on Christmas Eve, and Paul was in his element with
the catering, apparently without breaking the faintest sweat. He loved these
times of year where he got to push his house keeper skills to their limit. His
pleasure in it shone out of him, and as usual the family room was beautifully
decorated which was also largely his touch and Jasper’s. Flynn would hang
things if asked, but draping greenery and putting up cards was not in his
nature. Paul still did it very much as Philip had always done; to eyes that had
loved this house for some decades now it still looked like home. Darcy, wearing
something glittery and extremely tight fitting, was curled up on the arm of the
couch beside Gerry, his dark hair hanging loosely across his forehead and the both
of them nursing plates. Gerry was chattering, one hand moving gracefully and
expressively as he talked to Ash and the group gathered on the couches. Bear,
the armchair nearly groaning under him, was chuckling at intervals with his
deep voice underpinning the sounds of conversation through the room. Some of the
older members of the family had gathered together in the chairs at the far end
of the room where the conversation was a little quieter, and more of them were
in the kitchen, stood with their plates or sitting around the table and
chattering.
“Here.”
Miguel looked down at the plate being
gently pushed at him and took it, moving over on the hearth stone to let Tazio
sit down beside him. It was thoughtfully selected, if somewhat heavy on the
salad and vegetable dishes. Taz had something of a thing about that; much like
he insisted they walk together to and from the University on a daily basis so
they both did something other than sit and stare at books. The food smelled
wonderful, Paul was an excellent cook and his buffets were something special,
but Miguel found his eyes wandering again to the newest member of the family.
He was dark haired, but he was fair
skinned with it in the English way, and there were strong angles in his
cheekbones and jaw. The eyes were grey, almost startlingly so. He was quiet,
soft voiced and very much on the reserved side from what they’d seen of him so
far, but he sat with his back straight, his eyes steady on whatever he watched,
and he had a kind of a presence that could be felt, even with him sitting at
Flynn’s feet.
“He’s permanent,” Gerry had said in his
phone call in the summer, when a sudden call to a funeral for a friend of
David’s on the ranch had come with too short notice to escape teaching
commitments and come out from Rome. “The five of them actually came out of the
house with rings on, so as far as any of us can work out there’s some kind of
group marriage they seem to be declaring - not that any of them ever explain
anything. They all of them look very happy with it though. Dale is rather
lovely, once I persuaded him I wasn’t a complete PITA.”
“We all had to go through that stage
Ger?” Miguel said with affection. Gerry laughed.
“I am a very nice PITA. I just don’t usually have to prove to anyone that I can
brat properly. Riley adores him, they all do.”
That was easily apparent. Riley was always
the weather vane for those four but there was a sparkle to him this year that
was somehow brighter than Miguel remembered, and he and this new man seemed to
do most things together. Paul and Jasper were always too elusive to let anything
much show, but in Flynn there was a flat-out blaze, like a bonfire. He watched
this boy with his eyes on fire.
“What?” Tazio said in his ear. Miguel
felt Taz’s arm slide around his hips and squeeze. He pulled himself together
and tried one of the pastries on the plate, which was still warm and spicy. There
was a burst of static from the radio and an English voice said crisply from the
radio,
“This is the World Service.”
The chatter in the room quietened down.
They never put the main lights on at Christmas Eve; it was another habit of
Philip and David’s that they had all inherited, so the only lights came from
the tree and the candles around the room, and from the crackling fire in the
hearth. The room smelled of faint wood smoke, cinnamon and spice from the
buffet and the pine of the Christmas tree cut only this morning, and the dim
light was inviting and comfortable. To Miguel it had been the essence to him for
years of what Christmas felt like. These voices, these scents, the soft light
and the comfort of a houseful of people who were happy to be together.
“How did he know?” he’d asked Gerry in
that phone call, trying not to sound as hungry for the details as he suspected
he did. “He was a client, wasn’t he?”
Gerry had no difficulty in knowing what
he meant. There were some secrets only the family brats talked about among
themselves. “Well, he thought he was, and they thought he was – I don’t think
that lasted all that long from what Riley’s told me. It’s been the same for
most of us, hasn’t it? I turned up for a few nights in the warm and a chance to
nick whatever I could. You came for a few months study leave.”
“No, I got sent to Philip for a few good
kicks up the backside.” Miguel corrected. He could hear Gerry’s smile.
“And stayed how many years? We all
wandered in- or got reeled in or dragged in – and realised in our own good
time. Happened to us all, Mig.”
Some faster than others. On the radio he
could hear a single boy chorister begin Once
in Royal David’s City.
Paul took a seat on Miguel’s other side with
a plate in his hand, and passed him a letter.
“I thought you’d like to see this. It’s
from Trent, they don’t have cards available where he is but he always writes at
Christmas and he always sends his love to you.”
“Trent’s the hippie?” Tazio said,
looking over Miguel’s shoulder as he unfolded the letter. Trent’s handwriting
was still large and enthusiastic. It was hard to imagine Trent having aged. Miguel
still imagined him as the happy, bare foot and often bare chested young man
with the long curly hair whom he’d shared this house with.
“Well he was. He’s still out in Uganda
with some aid agency. He’s perfect for the work, he’s a lovely guy.”
“Top or brat?”
“Neither.” Paul took a mouthful of
sausage, dipping it in one of the several sauces on his plate. “Although Miguel
knows better than me. Trent and I have been corresponding for years since I
first started putting notes in with Philip’s Christmas cards, but I’ve never
met him face to face. He’d left with the aid programme before I came here and
he’s moved around with the same programme for going on thirty years now.”
“He was here when I first came,” Miguel
said absently, reading the letter. “Working like a kind of really odd au pair.
Things were very brat-heavy at the time and he was competent, he organised a
lot of the household chores and kept an eye on the rest of us.”
“How on earth did Philip end up with a
hippie in the house?” Taz demanded. “How hippie do you mean?”
“Oh all the way.” Paul confirmed. “I’ve
heard the stories. He lived with a commune in New York for a few years in the
golden age of it all going on in the parks until he got bored, and decided he
was going to drive himself alone across the states. I think it was a find
himself kind of a deal. He got as far as Jackson and found the ranch – or David
found him, depending on how you look at it- and stayed about eighteen months.”
“Nope, I’m serious. David actually did
kidnap him.”
*
The battered, rusting VW camper van was
in the barn, covered in paintings of sunflowers and rainbows, Bob Dylan and
several tarpaulins, and it was still lacking an exhaust pipe or a carburettor.
Which rendered it undriveable, but then the heavy falling snow made it still
more undriveable than usual. The snow was coming down purposefully; fast and
hard, in a way that suggested by day break they were going to have a good few
inches.
Up in his room, Miguel tore his eyes
away from the window, the barn and the falling snow and looked at his watch.
Then he marked his place in his book, closed it and collected up his papers,
putting the pile of work that was an emerging PhD dissertation on the shelf
designated for it. Above the fiction shelf, which was leisure only reading;
Philip insisted on the separation of the two physically as well as mentally.
He jogged downstairs into the greater
warmth of the family room where the fire was lit. In the kitchen, Gerry was
working at the table on what looked like his geography paper. He was nearly a
term into eleventh grade at Jackson High. From what Miguel understood it had taken
him a long, slow slog to reach that point, mostly needing eighteen months or
more to complete each grade, although he was tentatively proud that he’d
completed last year in the same time as the rest of tenth grade. He looked up
and gave Miguel a faintly harassed smile. Trent, bare chested and barefoot as
he usually was in the house, was in the open doorway of the laundry room,
patiently trying to teach Bear to fold laundry. His easy voice reached Miguel
as he went to put the kettle on.
“See? You take the shirt and fold it
lengthwise like this so the sleeves match. Now you try.”
Bear, also visible in the doorway, was
watching with wide eyes and his mouth slightly open, looking somewhere between
bewildered and alarmed. The shirt was dwarfed in his hands, he mostly wore vest
t shirts and overalls whatever the weather.
“Sleeves first?” Trent prompted
patiently.
Bear held it, still staring at him. Miguel
mutely rolled his eyes at Gerry, unsurprised. Trent’s patience was inexhaustible,
particularly for Bear, and Bear therefore couldn’t resist winding him up at
every possible opportunity.
“Fold it in half,” Trent reminded him.
“Like this. You do the other one. Bear? Just try it out. Find a sleeve-”
Gerry put his pencil down and got up. “Oh
good grief I can’t stand it. I’ll do
the shirts. Bear, roll the socks before I’m forced to make you eat them.”
“He needs to learn at some point, and it
doesn’t hurt you to let him.” Trent pointed out.
“Oh it does, it’s agonising.” Gerry
assured him, taking the shirt out of Bear’s hands. “And do you know what? He
can learn on a day when I’m a really, really long way away, and just think how
fun that will be for all of us.”
Bear crouched his big frame over the
laundry basket, obediently matching and rolling socks. He glanced up at Miguel,
catching his eye, and Miguel caught the very swift but unmistakeable wink from
one soft, brown eye which made him have to swallow a laugh, fast. Trent rolled
a pair of socks too, kneeling on the floor beside him.
“Hey Mig. How’s it coming? You look
tired, are you ok?”
He noticed that kind of thing, and there
was genuine care in it.
“Just fed up. I think I crossed out more
than I wrote today.” Miguel confessed, getting the jug of milk out of the
pantry. “I’m making tea, who wants some?”
“David and Rog are in the yard; they
will. It’s freezing out there.” Trent threw another rolled up pair of socks into
the basket. “I took Philip one an hour ago, but he might be ready for a re fill.”
Miguel left the kettle to boil and went
through the family room to tap quietly at the half open door of the study.
Philip’s answer was immediate and cheerful.
“Come in.”
He was writing something at his desk but
he laid his pen down, looked up and smiled as he saw Miguel, as if he welcomed
the interruption. “Good afternoon. You’ve finished in good time.”
Which was something Miguel had learned
after his first few weeks here of Philip very firmly putting the boundaries
around his study time that Miguel had been unable to do for himself when
studying alone. Starting anything had been a problem; procrastination had been
something he excelled at, and then putting the work down to do things like eat,
sleep, change clothes and turn work in on time – that had been another problem.
Not so in this house. Philip had been clear at the start about the set times Miguel
had for study- and he was generous with that time - the times Miguel needed to
spend on the ranch work and helping with chores, and the time he needed to take
off altogether to relax and socialise with the rest of them. As he backed that
up with a paddle and no qualms whatsoever about using it very efficiently
indeed, Miguel had got it together quite quickly. Roger, who was an extremely
sweet man whom to Miguel’s eyes was an utter disaster area, said he had come to
the ranch for similar reasons, the main one being as he explained to Miguel, a
habit of reading most of the night and being oblivious to time as a moving
force, which had made it difficult to stay on any University course without
failing, or to hold down a job. He wasn’t joking about his being oblivious to
time. Philip had absolute zero tolerance for Roger not organising himself to
have all his responsibilities honoured; he was significantly tougher with Roger
than Miguel knew he had ever needed, but he saw it work for Roger too much the
same way it worked for him.
“I ended up watching the snow more than
writing anything worth reading.” he said wryly. “I’m making tea, did you want
some?”
“Yes please.” Philip capped his pen and
got up, following him into the kitchen. The laundry patrol was still in action
with three of them around the basket, although Bear’s rolling of socks speeded
up considerably as he saw Philip. Roger wandered in, snow dusting his jeans and
coat, and went to check the now gently steaming kettle.
“Hey. Ger, how’s the essay going?”
“Slow.” Gerry said without enthusiasm.
David opened the kitchen door and leaned through it, sounding irate.
“Rog, get your backside back out here now unless you want me to bury you in a
bloody snow drift. Bear, I need you.”
Bear left the laundry with alacrity,
grabbing a heavy coat from the rack and pulling boots on. He never had the
faintest trouble understanding instructions to be outside, or with the stock,
which was the work he much preferred to anything indoors. Miguel had a
suspicion too that outside, when he was alone with David, he spoke. It wasn’t
something he’d ever seen, but there was something in the way that Bear
interacted with David that made him wonder, and the two of them spent a lot of
time working together outside since Bear’s strength and his skill with the
stock made him a highly efficient ranch hand.
“Would you like any help?” Philip
inquired. David waited impatiently for Roger.
“No. Stay in and stay warm, I can see a
storm coming in. We’re going to have a white-out in about forty minutes from
now.”
“A blizzard?” Gerry demanded. David
shook his head, his voice softening.
“It’s just a passing storm, don’t flap.
It’ll be nothing like last year.”
“We had a major blizzard last
Christmas,” Gerry told Miguel as Roger, Bear and David disappeared into the
heavy snow outside. “We had no power for a week, and it was five days before
the snow ploughs got out here to clear the road.”
“We were fine,” Philip reminded him. “We
had plenty of candles, oil lamps and fuel, and plenty of food. We can always heat
our own water and keep the house warm. We’d be fine for weeks if necessary.
Everyone out here is used to it.” he added to Miguel just as reassuringly which
was faintly annoying as Miguel didn’t think he looked worried. “We keep plenty
of stores, although it’s rare we get snowed in. The road clearance here is
extremely good, and we have horses and tractors, there’s no difficulty in
ploughing our own paths and tracks down to the road.”
A childhood spent in the rural districts
of Tuscany where the average winter low was about 4 degrees didn’t prepare you
for heavy snow. Miguel’s family had moved to New York when he was fourteen, and
the winters had come as quite a shock, albeit an exciting shock to a boy who had
never seen deep snow. In the University – which David referred to with some
justification as Ivory Towers – so long as the path between his room, the
canteen and the library stayed clear he didn’t notice much else. It was a bit
different here when weather was something you were out working cattle in on a
daily basis.
Philip paused by Gerry’s essay open on
the table, glancing through it. Gerry got up rather sharply from the laundry
basket, going to hover near him. Philip always checked all of Gerry’s school
work. Miguel wasn’t exactly sure why and had never liked to ask. It wasn’t like
Gerry to look this concerned about it though.
“It’s probably not very good,” he was
saying lightly, “First draft kind of a thing, I’ll work on it again when I have
all the rough ideas down-“
Philip didn’t look round, but he put an
arm around Gerry, rubbing his back as he read.
“I can show you when it’s done,” Gerry
suggested even more brightly, trying to ease the pages out from under Philip’s
eye. Philip put a hand on them, not letting Gerry take them away. Gerry tugged,
sounding pleading.
“Philiiiiiip…”
“Corner.” Philip said gently, not
looking up from the pages.
Gerry made a sound somewhere between
pleading and frustrated, but after a moment where Philip still didn’t look up,
sighed and went to the kitchen corner, standing facing it. It was not an
unusual sight in this household; it was somewhere Gerry and Roger in particular
spent a lot of time. Miguel still quietly watched as he took the whistling
kettle off the stove. Gerry wasn’t supposed to get wound up about his school
work; Philip always interrupted any hint he saw of it. Trent finished the
laundry and put the basket upstairs. Miguel put the tea pot on the table to
brew. Philip put Gerry’s pages together, giving Miguel one of his quick, warm
smile that seemed to reach out to you and stop time, as if for that second you
were the only thing in Philip’s world.
“Is there anything I may help you with
regarding your work today?”
“Thanks.” Miguel took down cups. “It’s
more a case of figuring out the argument I’m trying to make.”
“You appear to be having a harder time
with this section.”
“I guess I need to put more reading in.”
“Are you feeling as if that’s your
primary problem?”
Miguel stirred the pot the several times
David always demanded, since he’d been known to call weak tea names that got
him stood where Gerry was currently standing. “It must be. Everything else has
come together up to this chapter. I’ll take tomorrow off drafting and go back
to reading around it, maybe that’ll clarify-”
“- If we’ve got the amount of snow
tomorrow it’s looking like, we’re going to be digging out the yard and the
cattle, not writing anything.” David herded Roger and Bear ahead of him to get
the kitchen door shut as fast as possible and reduce the icy blast of air that
came with them. All of them were heavily dusted with snow and Roger’s
cheekbones were bright red from the wind as he and David had been out in the
cold for several hours. They stripped off coats and boots leaving rapidly
melting flakes of snow everywhere. Philip poured a mug of the tea and handed it
to David, pouring another one for Bear.
“Roger, get straight under the shower
please. You have ten minutes to dinner, get yourself warmed through.”
He took a warm towel from the stove
rail, giving Bear’s face, scalp and hands a thorough rub down. “David, go and
use our shower.”
“I’ll have a bath later.” David said
dismissively.
“I shall look forward to that.” Philip
took David’s hat off his head, reaching up to kiss him. “In the mean time you feel
frozen, and I’d like you to shower.”
He ran the towel over David’s face,
wiping off the worst of the wet, and his hand lingered slightly longer than
necessary. David gave him a half growl and half the glinting, blazing smile
that Miguel often saw him flash Philip’s way and took the towel, briskly
scrubbing off his wet hair as he went upstairs.
“Is Mildred warm enough?” Philip said to
Bear. Bear never answered; he’d never spoken at all in Miguel’s hearing or to
Miguel’s knowledge in anyone else’s, but Philip and David both always spoke to
him as if he took part in the conversation. Bear nodded, pointing Philip at the
yard. Miguel moved far enough to see through the glass with Philip. The stable
and cowshed doors were both closed and a tarpaulin hung over the cowshed door,
covering the cracks to prevent snow drifting into Mildred the cow’s little
sanctuary. There were tractor tracks in the new snow in the yard; if Miguel had
to guess, David and Bear had just done a quick run to put several new bales of
hay in the pasture for the cattle who were stoically gathering together to
weather a cold night. Philip went into the laundry room to find a large
sweater, one of the several of the very large ones Philip had managed to
acquire for Bear, and helped him into it since any clothing that Bear had to
pull over his head and therefore blocked his vision tended to make him unsteady
on his feet.
“Set the table please, you two.”
“What are we having?” Miguel asked, since
whatever was in the oven smelled good. Trent came back with the empty laundry
basket and put it in the laundry room.
“Beef casserole and dumplings, which
Philip made. Although you’re more than welcome to share my bean casserole and
rice if you want?”
“Thanks for that.” Miguel said dryly.
Trent put an arm around his waist, giving him a hug and a grin as he passed,
never offended.
“It’s healthy. I respect my body.”
The effects were certainly nice to look
at. Miguel cast a look at Trent’s carved abs and biceps with covert appreciation.
“Miguel, this was in amongst the post
David brought up from the road.” Philip said, putting a hand to the inner
pocket of his jacket to withdraw an envelope.
“Thanks.” Miguel took it, recognising
the writing on the front. It had been redirected from the university; his
family had no clue he was currently hanging out on a ranch in Wyoming. The
questions about that would be a little…. tough to answer. His mother always
wrote in Italian and her looping handwriting covered several pages. Miguel
scanned through them, trying not to wince.
“Everyone well?” Trent asked, starting
to dish up vegetables. Miguel nodded, giving one last glance to the final
paragraph, then folded it and pocketed it.
“Yeah, they’re all fine thanks. Just my
mom sending me the updated family news of who’s not talking to who and why,
which will have changed by next week. It’s all high drama most of the time.”
“You don’t sound very worried about it?”
“I’m not, there’s no real bad feeling
involved, it’s just what they’re all like.”
All the time. It was exhausting and it
always escalated around Christmas. Philip had gone to Gerry in the corner and
Miguel tried not to look at the hands he had on Gerry’s shoulder or the quiet
conversation they were having that wasn’t reaching anyone else’s ears. He did
see Gerry turn around and give Philip a hug before they came to the table. David
jogged downstairs, his hair wet from the shower and one of his worn, threadbare
sweaters on that were going at the elbows but he always wore at home as
comfortable, and helped Bear and Miguel shift dishes to the table before he
took a seat. The casserole smelled wonderful; both Philip and David were good
cooks. Miguel took the dish of baked cauliflower passed to him, and spooned some
on to his plate. Trent, perfectly happy with his dish of brown rice and another
of beans and vegetables, settled at the other end of the table and passed Gerry
the bread.
“We shall make a trip to Jackson on Thursday,”
Philip said, putting horseradish sauce on the side of his plate. “Miguel, Roger
and I will go for haircuts while we’re there, would you like one?”
“Not this time thanks.”
“I shall assume you prefer to enjoy
continuing as you until you disappear from view?” Philip said to David who
snorted at him, digging into casserole.
“In this cold, yes. And when I want to
cut my hair, there’s scissors here.”
Philip smiled but didn’t argue, simply
continuing; “Lito and Colm are planning to arrive on Friday and I will expect
most of the others to arrive on Saturday, so we will need to stock the pantry
and freezer. If there is any Christmas shopping you would like to do we will
need to do it then.”
“So I only have until Thursday to finish
my essay?” Gerry demanded in horror.
“The school won’t be open past Thursday
anyway?” David reminded him. “You knew that?”
“If necessary I will ask for an
extension for you as I have done plenty of times before,” Philip said calmly.
“You only need to let me know that it is necessary.”
Who seriously needed two days to
complete a mostly done 500 word essay? Miguel swallowed the question since no
one else seemed surprised. Gerry shook his head, looking very subdued.
“No sir, it’s not necessary.”
“I asked John to put a couple of hams
aside for us,” David said to Philip, “I’ll take Gerry across to the school and
pick those up. Bear and I stocked up the woodshed this morning, there’s plenty
of wood drying, and I’ll get more paraffin in town. And light bulbs, the
stock’s low. Ger stop looking so dramatic. You don’t need to go full Lady
MacBeth about it. Write the damn essay or don’t, it doesn’t matter.”
“You never understand anything,” Gerry
flared, his voice rising. Philip put a hand out to cover his, clearing his
throat quietly but distinctly. David cast a glare at Gerry but stopped. Roger
emerged from the shower, still pulling his shirt on and looking surprised at
the sight of the meal half eaten. Philip kept hold of Gerry’s hand, giving Roger
a tranquil look that took in his state of undress.
“How nice of you to take the time to join
us Roger. Would you be kind enough to wait in the study please? Thank you.”
*
Roger tapped at Miguel’s door where
Miguel was sprawled, reading on his bed.
“Philip says to come and read downstairs
with us, he’s forgetting what you look like.”
Miguel closed his book with a sigh.
Roger waited for him in the doorway, his usual easy going self, albeit slightly
red around the eyes.
“Ok?” Miguel asked him discreetly. Roger
shrugged, not looking particularly upset.
“Paddled.”
No surprises there. Philip tended not to
discuss Roger’s time keeping; he merely got out the paddle and used it. And if
you wanted to eat with everyone else, you turned up on time and behaved
pleasantly or you ate sandwiches later under Philip’s supervision. Miguel had
seen a number of them fall foul of that one. Not him. His sole fault was being
incompetent about organising his study time; he wasn’t one of the ‘brats’ as
Gerry, Roger and Bear termed it.
“Aren’t you tired of sandwiches?” Miguel
asked as they headed downstairs together. “The casserole was good.”
“It smelled good. The time got away from
me.” Roger said with mild regret. Miguel resisted the urge to shake his head,
unsure how anyone lost track of time in a shower. The record player was on
downstairs, playing one of David’s favourites, Miguel knew it well.
Skipper’s
in the wardrobe drinking gin
I
don’t mind knocking but I ain’t going in
Jimmy’s
laughing like a drain
Been
looking at the comic cuts again
Hi
ho chicken on a raft, Hey ho chicken on a raft, Hi ho chicken on a raft
Sitting
there picking at a chicken on a raft
Bear was sprawled comfortably on one of
the couches. Philip was occupying one end of the other couch and Roger
collapsed down beside him. Gerry was laying on the floor flicking through a
magazine. There was no sign of Trent who often preferred some time alone in the
evening to do yoga or meditation in his room, but David was sitting with his
back against the hearth stone as he often sat in the evening, his whittling
knife busy with a ridiculously delicate and tiny little boat no longer than his
thumb, but still complete with mast and sails. The mantel above the hearth was
decorated with greenery and candles, and held some of the fifty or more
Christmas cards currently around the room. They arrived in handfuls every time
the postman visited. Miguel sat on the hearthstone beside him, unable not to
take a closer look at the boat in David’s hands.
“That’s lovely.”
“Most of the boats in the harbour I grew
up on looked like this.” David paused, blowing softly to clear dust and
shavings from a sail. “I was going out on them from the time I was five, old
enough to help pull a net.”
“With your parents?” Miguel asked him.
David never spoke much about his family. David shook his head.
“Most of the fishermen on the boats knew
me and would put up with a kid trailing them around.”
Taking a five year old deep sea fishing
seemed a little more than letting them hang around.
“Why in the world is this man singing
about a chicken on a raft?” Gerry demanded before Miguel could ask any more.
David turned the boat around, beginning work on another sail.
“It means fried egg on toast. Naval
slang, it’s complaining about the ship’s breakfast. When I was working out of
Dover, the Jimmy was the first lieutenant and the comic cuts were the
divisional orders.”
“Did you grow up in Dover?” Miguel asked
him. David shook his head. His hair was bright white, as bright as his eyes,
and the firelight threw all kinds of colours into it.
“No. Further along the coast in Sussex.
Fishing town called Rye-”
“Let’s play something.” Gerry interrupted,
going to search the bookcase where the games were stacked.
“Anything but Monopoly.” Roger pleaded.
“Or Clue. You freak out and Bear can’t play.”
“I like
Clue.”
“You hate Clue.” David blew more wood
shavings off. “Which is the point, isn’t
it? You’re looking to start a row.”
“Fine, if you think I’m that much of a
witch we don’t have to play anything.” Gerry snapped back at him. Philip
interrupted quietly, his voice level.
“I’ll have the Dickens compendium on the
second shelf behind my desk please Gerry. You and David have always liked that
one and I’m sure Bear hasn’t heard it.”
Gerry scowled but stalked past David
towards the study.
“Flounce properly if you’re going to do
it.” David said irritably without looking up. “Or put on a pair of heels, I
don’t care which.”
Gerry whirled, outraged. Philip snagged
his wrist, pulling until Gerry, willing or not, found himself on Philip’s lap. “David,
I think we’re about ready for some cocoa.” Philip said serenely, wrapping his
arms around Gerry to stop him squirming. “Perhaps you would see to that? And Miguel,
would you mind getting the book please?”
David grimaced but put his carving down
and went. Miguel searched for the book. It was one of Philip’s leather bound
ones, elderly and if Miguel had to guess, had belonged to several generations
before him. Gerry was looking furious but was sitting quietly on Philip’s lap, his
legs curled under him. As lightly built as Gerry was he wasn’t much weight.
Philip took the book with his free hand and laid it on Gerry’s knee, turning
the pages until he found what he wanted.
“Marley was dead: to begin with.”
Miguel smiled
faintly, taking a seat on the hearth again. The fire was crackling quietly, its
warmth against his back. Bear was listening with interest. Roger clearly knew
the text as well as Miguel did. Gerry did not look happy but he leaned back
against Philip, his arms folded over Philip’s arm around him.
“There is no doubt whatever about that.” Philip read on in a calm tone. “The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail. Mind! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.”
*
Thursday 22nd December 1977
“We’ll wait, get a bloody move on.”
David pulled the truck up on the kerb by
Jackson High School. They had dropped Roger and Philip at the barbers on their
way and Trent had gone with them, although for shopping rather than a haircut
as he liked his long and shaggy curls. Another quick detour had led to two
large hams, wrapped and currently occupying the chest in the back of the truck.
That left Gerry, Miguel and Bear in the truck, and Gerry took his envelope with
the completed essay from the front seat where Philip had left it. Philip had seemed
for some reason to have expected it to get lost if it was left in Gerry’s hands
and had packed and brought it himself.
“If you’re going to stuff it somewhere
and work on getting into trouble for an incomplete I’d shove it in one of those
bushes,” David added, nodding at several on the front lawn. “Or the boiler room
furnace?”
“You’re not funny.” Gerry told him
sourly. He jogged up the path, envelope in hand. The semester had officially
finished on Tuesday, but there were a lot of kids being dropped off and coming
and going; Jackson High met the needs of plenty of kids from distant ranches
and small settlements, who studied from home and dropped and picked up work
when they could, especially during the winter. The essay was apparently done.
Gerry had not found it easy; there had been tears and more time spent in the
corner yesterday, after which Philip had confiscated the essay as complete and
put it away. Gerry was always a volatile person in their house, as vivacious as
he could be temperamental at times, but this kind of stress and almost kamikaze
looking for trouble wasn’t something Miguel had seen him do before.
“Why would he want to hide it?” Miguel
said on impulse. There was only Bear listening who being non verbal was about
the most discreet of everyone in the household.
“Because he’s wound up so tight about
Christmas he’s twanging.” David said succinctly. He glanced back at Miguel in
the back seat and his eyes softened slightly. “He tries not to. This is nothing
like he used to find it, but Christmas is hard for him.”
Why?
Miguel didn’t ask it. Philip and David valued privacy and respect for each
other. It was people’s right to tell you themselves what they chose to entrust
you with. But Gerry seemed to want to get himself into as much trouble as he
could, and that wasn’t easy to understand. Being in trouble with Philip was
something Miguel hated and avoided as much as he possibly could; it was a great
motivator to make himself do what he needed to do. He couldn’t imagine wanting
to seek that trouble out on purpose.
Gerry reappeared in the doorway with a
new envelope in his hand, surrounded by several other kids from eleventh grade;
three boys and two girls. Gerry was actually in his mid twenties, but he didn’t
look it and stood amongst the other kids he passed easily for seventeen. He looked
very at home, laughing at something one of them was saying, one hip tipped as
he stood, his hand brushing his hair back out of his eyes. David abruptly swung
out of the driver’s seat and stood in plain sight, leaning against the car and
watching with grim eyes. It was one of the expressions in his repertoire that
made him look like a particularly bad tempered bandit, and the effect was
intimidating. He worried for Gerry. Miguel had seen it before and understood
why. In their house, none of them looked twice at Gerry being himself. It had
been a freedom that had whacked Miguel around the head in his first few days in
the house, having lived in a world where you didn’t let it slip, you never let
it show, and the men who didn’t easily pass for straight were at best the objects
of sideways looks and disgust. Gerry’s expressive hands and eyes, his tricks of
speech, his natural way of walking and talking did not scream straight or butch
at all. But the other kids were chattering with him, Gerry looked very much
himself with them, and as one of the boys glanced at David with distinct
apprehension, Gerry looked too, grinned, and took his leave of the group,
waving as he ran down the path to the truck.
“David, you really don’t need to stand
there looking like you’re going to eat them. They’re perfectly nice people.”
“Good.” David still waited until Gerry
was in the truck with the door shut before he got back in to the driver’s seat.
“Picked up your holiday assignments?”
Gerry gave the kids another wave as he
pulled out, turning back towards town. “Vacation. Christmas is a holiday, in
the school vacation.”
“Holiday.”
“Vacation.” Gerry said, grinning. With
the essay gone, he seemed considerably more cheerful. “Vacation vacation
vacation-”
“Holiday.
Did you?”
“Yes. The school secretary has two boxes
on her desk, assignments in and assignments out, she’s exchanging for most of
the kids over our way. Can we split up in town and do some shopping?”
“Have you got any cash?” David turned
into the main street, looking for parking. It was busy today, the streets were
full of shoppers.
“I pleaded with Philip after breakfast
and got an advance on my allowance,” Gerry said cheerfully. David grunted.
“Great. You owe me six dollars and Roger
about half the national debt.”
“Which I’ll repay after Christmas.”
“I won’t hold my breath.” David parked
the truck neatly in a small space. “Bear, come with me, he’ll spend hours
hanging around looking at glittery tat. Mig, coming with us or heading out on
your own?”
Miguel considered, and David stepped
past him, waving to a man packing a van.
“Lyle! I’ll take whatever you’ve got for
us.”
It was their postman. Miguel recognised
him as he looked up and gladly dug for a bag. “Great, that saves me twenty
minutes. What are the roads like up your way?”
“Fine with care, the ploughs have been
through regularly.”
“There you go.” The postman handed David
an armful of envelopes and parcels. “I’ll try and get down again on Wednesday.”
“Thanks.” David put the parcels in the
car and had a quick skim through the envelopes. He picked out a couple to hand
to Miguel. “Two for you. Nothing registered; maybe New York’ll leave Philip
alone for a week.”
It was an aunt’s writing on one and a
sister’s writing on the other. Super. Miguel pocketed the envelope, not letting
anything show on his face.
“I’ll come with you.”
“Ger, don’t make me come and find you.”
David ordered. “Antler arch in an hour.”
“Of course.” Gerry paused as David
caught his arm, glanced at what David pushed into his hand and gave David a
swift hug. “Thank you!”
“Get off. Don’t bring sparkly tat home.”
David dug his hands in his pockets and walked with Bear and Miguel up the
street. The Christmas decorations in the shop windows were bright, the overhead
Christmas lights were on over the street and the sound of the Christmas music
came out of the shops. Miguel recognised one of them, a distinctive guitar riff
and an English voice singing a hit from last year he’d heard plenty of times
from rooms around the University halls.
They
said there’ll be snow at Christmas, they said there’ll be peace on earth
But
instead it just kept on raining, a vale of tears for the virgin birth
I
remember one Christmas morning, a winter’s light and the distance choir
The
peal of a bell and that Christmas tree smell, and eyes full of tinsel and
fire
The melancholic tone just about suited
Miguel this morning. There were posters everywhere of storm troopers, Darth
Vader and Mark Hamill with a light sabre; they were still pasted up around the
cinema. Miguel hadn’t seen it, but apparently Gerry and Roger had seen in when
it came out in May, and then two further times, dragging Philip with them.
“We don’t get gifts for each other
much,” David said seeing him looking in the windows. “Too many of us and not
necessary. Everyone coming to stay will bring something for everyone to share
in over Christmas. Food. A game. Something like that if you want to spend
money.”
Miguel, used to the gifting chaos of a very
large family, found that quite restful to think about. Bear’s large eyes were
on the lights strung over the street and the brightly lit windows. He came to a
halt in front of one of them, and Miguel paused to look with him, aware that
Bear, who rarely showed much focused attention on anything that didn’t go
neigh, woof or moo, was looking at the twinkling strands of light with his
angelic face enchanted. Spellbound like a kid; there was real magic in this for
him. It was lovely to see when you felt like a cynical bastard yourself.
“You!”
It was a bark in an unfamiliar voice,
and it made Miguel glance round. A youngish man in a Sheriff’s deputy uniform
was making his way rapidly down the street, his hand on his gun.
“You! What’s your name?”
It was Bear he was speaking to. Miguel
realised it at the same moment as Bear looked up from the lights. His eyes went
wide with apprehension and he froze on the pavement.
“Name,” the deputy demanded. He’d lifted
a hand and would have poked Bear in the chest, except David stepped sharply between
them and kept on walking so the deputy ended up being barged several feet
backwards.
“What?” David said grimly. The deputy
pointed at Bear around him.
“I’ve seen a description at the station
that sounds like him, a car jacker-”
“Bollocks, he doesn’t drive.”
“What’s your name?” the deputy demanded,
louder.
“He doesn’t talk either,” Miguel tried
to put in.
“He will when I get through with him,”
The deputy began, pulling out handcuffs. Bear’s eyes went wider still. What
happened next was too fast to see, but the handcuffs were abruptly in David’s
hand and the deputy was rubbing his wrist and looking outraged.
“I’m arresting you-”
“No, you’re not.” David said flatly. “I’d
like to see you move Bear an inch if he doesn’t want to go, and that’s if you
can get past me. Where’s George?”
“I’m-”
“I’ll talk to the organ grinder and not
the bloody monkey.” David sounded as furious as he looked, and he took the
radio from the man’s belt, clicking it on despite the man’s yelp of protest.
“George, who’s this prat on the high street
wearing your uniform? George.”
There was a buzz of static and then a
man’s voice, sounding shocked.
“David, get off the freaking radio
channel! Where are you?”
“On the high street dealing with some
idiot in a deputy suit. He thinks he’s going to arrest me.”
“Stand there, do not move.” The man ordered, sounding less authoritative than
worried. “Dennis can you hear me?”
“Yes sir.” The deputy said unwillingly.
“Don’t touch him, don’t touch anyone.”
The voice from the radio ordered. “Just wait right there.”
“Waiting.” David handed the radio back
and folded his arms. Tall and radiating irritation, he took up quite a lot of
the sidewalk and people were giving them a wide berth as they passed. The
deputy certainly didn’t try. Bear was still frozen to the spot, eyes large and
looking terrified. Miguel put a hand on his back, rubbing gently. The thought
of Bear car jacking anything was so ridiculous as to be funny. There weren’t
many cars around he could comfortably get in the drivers’ seat of for a start.
George appeared to be the Sheriff, who
appeared a moment later moving at speed down the sidewalk towards them. David
didn’t move, arms folded, eyes still thoughtfully focused on the deputy who was
looking more and more uncomfortable.
“What are you doing?” the Sheriff
demanded of David as he reached them.
“Who is this twat?” David asked him, not
answering and still looking at the deputy.
“Very young and new to the area, so calm
down.” The Sheriff put a hand on David’s arm.
“Impeding me in the course of my
duties-” the deputy began. “That man there looks like the car jacker we had the
description on-”
“If you lay a hand on him,” David
warned, “you’re going to have me in the cells tonight.”
From his expression, the thought of that
was clearly not one that the Sheriff found appealing.
“Bear’s lived over on the Falls Chance
ranch since September, he doesn’t drive.” He said to his deputy. “I can vouch for him, I’ve had dinner with him
more than once there, and he doesn’t have a licence or anything else, I did a
background check on him myself trying to find information for him. And there’s nothing in the description of the car jacker
about him being six foot five and built like a barn. That’s kind of distinctive.”
“That one took my cuffs off me and used
my radio!” The deputy protested. The Sheriff looked harassed but he held out a
hand to David.
“Give me the cuffs. David, don’t make me
take them.”
There was more please to it than a threat.
“Why are you pandering to this?” The
deputy said, sounding somewhere between furious and bewildered. The Sheriff
gave him an exasperated look.
“Because a week from now when you want
people to make road blocks at an hour’s notice at the back of freaking beyond,
or to stake out a ranch where there’s rustling going on, or search for a kid
that’s gone missing, or help with a fire, you’re going to need him. Trust me on
this. If you knew how many times he’s helped us out you’d be more careful about
flashing your badge at ranchers you urgently need the good will of when you
work a patch like this. I’ll handle it, go get on with your day.”
“Yes Sir.” The deputy said sourly,
turned on his heel and stalked away. David handed the cuffs to the Sheriff who
gave him an exasperated look.
“And you can be more patient with wet
behind the ears kids I’m still trying to house train. Bear, sorry about that. Are
you ok?”
Bear, who had relaxed as soon as the
Sheriff arrived, gave him his usual, easy going smile. The Sheriff returned it,
nodding at him.
“Good. Merry Christmas to you.” He
clapped David’s shoulder as he walked away, a gesture between friends that was
half a goodbye and half a frustrated cuff. “You’re not helping,” he added over
his shoulder. Miguel glanced back to see who he was talking to and found Philip
standing behind him with Roger, relaxed as if he’d been there a while. Philip
gave the Sheriff a pleasant smile.
“David appeared to have it perfectly
well in hand. Merry Christmas George.”
George disappeared after his deputy.
David dug his hands into his pockets, turning to Philip – and looked past him,
swearing quietly but with an extensiveness Miguel hadn’t heard him use before. Miguel
turned too and saw Gerry on the doorstep of the music shop up the street, and
his face was white and frozen in a way that was horrible to look at. David
started down the street towards him, and within a few strides he broke into a
straight sprint as Gerry took off up the street away from them. He outdistanced
Gerry and captured his collar a few shops further down the street, in much the
same efficient, purposeful way he roped a bolting steer. To Miguel’s shock,
Gerry lashed out at him. David didn’t seem surprised. He just yanked, wrapping
his long arms around Gerry and holding him too tightly to be able to struggle.
His face was still grim but not in the least angry. He was completely ignoring
stares from passers-by, and Miguel could see him saying something quiet but
intent to Gerry. Philip waited a moment more until he appeared sure that David
had Gerry, then gave Miguel a calm smile.
“I think we’ll eat in the barbecue
place. Why don’t you get a table, gentlemen? We’ll join you in a minute.”
He walked down the street towards David
and Gerry.
*
Miguel was never that sure how old David
was. The shock of white hair didn’t go with his fitness at all; Miguel had
often worked alongside him and it wasn’t David who tired first, the man could
walk or ride hard all day and still be active at the end of it. He didn’t do a
whole lot of sitting still at the best of times; to sit with them in the
evening he needed something to do with his hands and he’d sprinted up the
street to Gerry without difficulty and outpaced him.
Gerry was rigidly quiet in the
restaurant when he, David and Philip arrived together. He wouldn’t answer
Miguel’s discreet inquiry if he was all right, and Philip ordered for him when he
wouldn’t reply to the waiter who took their order, which seemed to Miguel
appallingly rude. He wouldn’t look at any of them, barely ate, and sat in the
corner of the booth, fenced in between the wall and Philip. Roger was equally
quiet, went to the bathroom and was gone for nearly fifteen minutes until
Philip went to get him and discovered that he’d slipped out onto the street to
look at the bookshop next door. Bear never said anything anyway but his sense
of humour and his sense of timing was lousy, since he spent the meal
entertaining himself by failing to recognise a restaurant knife and fork while
Trent reassured, showed him how and did his best to encourage him. None of
which had much effect. Philip ignored this, which Miguel did not blame him for.
Strangling Bear in a public place was probably a bad idea, particularly with
Gerry this upset. Instead Philip chatted amicably with David, and Miguel tried
to eat, tried to join in the conversation and most of all tried to ignore the
very uncomfortable atmosphere. They all three of them appeared to have lost
their minds. It was worse when they got into the truck, and Miguel braced
himself for a miserable two hour ride home in more stilted silence, longing to
get home where he could get away from the lot of them. Except David, who had
got into the driver’s seat as he usually did, glanced at Philip, and just out
of town and into the woods he turned off the road, bumping the truck along a
track that rapidly petered out altogether.
Roger, who had pulled a book out of his
pocket and buried himself in it, looked up with alarm, and Gerry who had been
sitting with his arms folded in sullen silence jerked upright, looking
horrified.
“No! Philip please, I’m sorry, I’ll
stop! I swear I’ll stop!”
“Book away,” Roger added, stuffing it
hurriedly under a car seat. “I’m sorry I went out of the restaurant-”
Miguel glanced at Bear who no longer
looked incomprehending but did look thoroughly apprehensive, and Trent, who
didn’t look surprised. Philip didn’t let
anything much drag on in Miguel’s experience, in fact he tended to respond
calmly and very firmly to the first hint of trouble, but this seemed a little
drastic. David turned off the truck engine and turned around to find Miguel.
“Mig, how about some air?”
How
about us not watching Gerry, Rog and Bear getting spanked?
Yeah,
that’s a plan.
Keen to escape the other three who
deserved all they got this afternoon, and escape a sight that was not going to
be pleasant viewing, Miguel got out with alacrity which led to the clamouring
of sincerity and apology in the car rising even higher. David dug his hands in his
pockets and walked up between the trees over a bank of snow. Miguel followed
him, rather unkindly hoping Philip left the lot of them unable to sit until
Christmas.
In the car Trent, used to them, took out
a book and started to read as Philip turned around in his seat to look at two
openly distraught brats and one that looked highly consternated. Urgent
attempts to explain and apologise died away as he waited. When it was quiet in
the car he said calmly,
“Out please. Coats.”
Trent ignored them, apparently lost in
his book as Roger, Gerry and Bear unwillingly got out of the car, shouldering
into jackets. Philip pulled his own on and shut the car door, coming round the
hood to join the small crowd of now very subdued looking brats. Where he put an
arm around Gerry, drew him over and hugged him, looking over his head to Roger
and Bear.
“Yes, you’re quite right. That really was
a lousy morning, wasn’t it?”
It smelled cleanly of pine here as
Miguel followed David between the trees. The snow crunched under their boots
and showered lightly from the laden branches overhead, and the air was crisp
and bitingly cold to breathe. David walked unhurriedly until they came to
several felled logs where the forestry commission had been taking down dead
wood, and sat down astride one, looking up at Miguel.
“We’ve probably got ten minutes or so
while he peels that lot off the ceiling. Want to read your letters?”
“They can wait.” Miguel sat beside him.
They were far enough away that they were unlikely to hear any sounds from the
car, but he still wished they could keep walking. And walking. And walking.
I
am not one of them. I shouldn’t be here.
David surveyed him.
“Want to tell me what’s in them that’s
making you this miserable? What’s gone wrong at home?”
You
weren’t supposed to notice.
Miguel picked at frosty bark under his
gloved hand, trying to find a nice way to say none of your business, since it
was sincerely meant. He couldn’t think of anything. His throat seemed to have
closed up. David looked up at the grey sky between the trees.
“My mother was in the same profession as
Gerry’s, but in a different time and place.”
What?
Miguel looked up at him, startled.
“There was one sergeant and three police
constables in our town.” David went on conversationally, elbows on his knees so
he leaned towards Miguel, long and angular. “The constable whose beat was on
our street knew everyone by name including hers and mine, and he grew up in the
town so like George, he knew how things worked. I got a clipped ear if he found
me doing something stupid, but he used to slip me money for food or rent if he
knew things were short. I helped him out a few times when a kid could climb places
or watch things he couldn’t. But he never harassed my mother. I never had to
watch her dragged out and put in handcuffs, or see her driven off with no idea
where she was being taken. I never had a good reason to be afraid of police.”
Gerry
has.
Oh God. Miguel looked down at the snow
at the boots as he realised what David meant, shocked and upset.
“I wouldn’t tell you this if I didn’t
know it was safe to.” David said quietly. “But I think you do feel like you’re
one of us. More than you’re happy with sometimes.”
Ouch. Miguel swallowed, shocked.
“I agree with you.” David went on. “I
know you are. You don’t let yourself as much as you want to, but you are. And I
don’t want you to think Gerry’s any more nuts than the rest of us, or start
worrying about what the hell you’ve got yourself into.”
“Of course I don’t think he’s nuts.” Miguel
said shortly, with sympathy. And winced as he realised.
“Ok, there were a few hours this morning
when that occurred to me. And Roger. And Bear.”
David gave him a wry grin that held a
lot of comprehension. “Don’t they drive you mad sometimes? We all have to deal
with the stuff we brought with us. Just some days it gets further away from us
than others.”
Yes. On impulse, somewhat ashamed of
himself, Miguel pulled the two unopened letters out of his pocket. “This is my
stuff, right here. This one’s from my aunt- so will be Catholic guilt on crack
– and this is from my sister, who’ll go for emotional blackmail as her
speciality. My mom has already done the blame and shame in her letter last week.
They do this every year when I don’t go home for Christmas. I haven’t gone the
last two years.”
“Not enough cash to travel?” David asked
bluntly. Miguel shook his head.
“No. It’s not that. I’ve told them the
dissertation isn’t going well, got work to do, the usual excuses… I love my
family. I do. But it’s huge. I have four sisters, two brothers, eleven nieces
and nephews so far and another on the way, there’s aunts, uncles, cousins, the
apartment will be heaving the entire time. And there’ll be the endless
questions. When are you going to bring a nice Catholic girl home to meet us?
When are you going to give up on this study silliness and settle down? Where do
you go to meet people? Here, meet the daughter of someone we invited along to blind
date with. Here’s another friend of a friend’s daughter, sit together through
dinner and we’ll expect to hear about the engagement over dessert.”
David’s vivid eyes were comprehending
and sympathetic. Being able to say this to another gay man, particularly this
one who never gave a damn what anyone thought and did not suffer fools gladly
if at all, was so releasing that Miguel found himself running his fingers
through his hair, throat aching, eyes near to stinging.
“I can’t do the endless acting straight. Being careful all the time about
what I say, lying about where I am and what I’m doing, fending off all the well
intentioned crap - I hate it.”
And living in a household where you
never had to think twice or be cautious at all, and it was normal and
everywhere…. And where there was calm – usually - and other guys the same way,
and safety of a kind he still didn’t fully understand but made him feel stable
and wanted- that made him hate the thought of it even more. Once you knew there
was a normal life where you didn’t have to carry that stress and guilt and
sense of alienation all the time, it was so much harder to face going back.
“I want to be here. I want to spend Christmas here.” Miguel admitted. “Which
makes me feel evil. A good son would suck it up, wouldn’t he? Go home and
accept they’re people who love me, who are good people, who mean well, and
deserve more than I give them. It isn’t their fault.”
There was nothing David could say to
that; what could anyone say? But he put a rough arm around Miguel’s neck,
pulled him over into an equally rough and very warm hug, and that was the best
answer Miguel had ever seen anyone come up with.
*
The ride home ended up being a quiet
one. Whatever had happened back at the car while Miguel and David were away,
everyone seemed very calm about it and no one showed the hallmarks Miguel was
now very familiar with, of ‘recently spanked’. Gerry was mostly wrapped around
Philip who switched to the back seat to sit with him, but everyone else seemed
much more normal. When they reached the ranch David commandeered Miguel to help
with the yard chores and to check on the snow bound cattle and they left the
others unpacking the car while Miguel loaded the tractor with a new bale of hay
and drove it down to the pasture. He was cold and it was already starting to
move towards twilight an hour later when he put the tractor away and David sent
him inside.
The fire was crackling in the family
room. The kitchen was deserted as Miguel pulled his coat and hat off, but through
the door he could see Philip reading in the family room. Bear was standing in
one corner by the hearth, Roger was in another, and Gerry was sitting on the
floor at Philip’s feet. Apparently they hadn’t got off scot free.
“Miguel?” Philip looked up from his
book.
“Yes, it’s me.” Miguel took his boots
off and came to the door of the kitchen, blowing on his hands. “David’s just
coming in. Everything’s freezing solid out there.”
“Get yourself warm.”
Yes, urging to do that was not
necessary. Grateful for the blast of warmth coming across the kitchen from the
stove, Miguel hung up his coat and went into the bathroom to get under a hot
shower. He spent a while under the water, soaking and defrosting his numbed
feet. When he felt heated through he padded naked into the laundry room and
found clothes in amongst the piles of clean laundry, dressed and scrubbed the
last of the water off his hair. What he wanted to do right now was head
upstairs, bury himself in editing his dissertation and not think or feel again
preferably until New Year. Although the chances of Philip agreeing were slim;
he had clear ideas about times and about being a part of the family as he put
it. He was the same with Roger.
He walked into the kitchen, intending to
put the kettle on, and found David leaning against the counter and Philip
sitting in his usual seat at the head of the table. A steaming mug of tea was
in David’s hands, another was on the table, and Philip held out a hand to
Miguel. His usual, gentle, come here
gesture. For a man with a paddle, that should have been alarming, but Philip
never was alarming.
Miguel went to him, and froze, startled
as Philip took it and drew him gently but firmly down into his lap. He’d seen
Philip do it with Gerry and Roger plenty of times – Bear tended to perch on the
arm of his chair since crush injury would probably be involved otherwise – and
with David too, but that was how they were. It was the natural way they touched
and the natural way they were with each other. It was lovely to see, but he was
boarding here to study, that was what Philip helped him with. It was different to the way it was with the
others. But Philip still wasn’t letting him up.
“I hear you’ve had a rough few days,”
Philip said mildly, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Which explains what
you’ve been looking so unhappy about.”
Shocked, Miguel looked at David who gave
him a straight look right back over his mug.
“Of course I bloody told him. Think we’d
let you be miserable about this on your own?”
“Factually if ungracefully put.” Philip
agreed. “Miguel, have you read those letters?”
They’re
my letters! This is none of your business. I just came here to study –
It was what he should have said. Instead
Miguel found something in his stomach starting to grow and take him over, and
his hands starting to shake. Philip’s arm lifted to wrap around his shoulders,
turning him around until Miguel found his face against Philip’s shoulder and
after that he couldn’t keep himself from folding his arms around his neck and
clinging, shaking in earnest. He hadn’t held onto another man like this since
he was about ten years old.
“Of course we noticed.” Philip said in
his ear, rubbing his back. “You might be the easiest one in the house to have
around, but that does not mean we
forget about you. You can tell us about this kind of thing Miguel.”
“There isn’t anything you can do.”
“We can listen.” David told him.
Miguel pulled himself together slightly,
making himself let go of Philip although he couldn’t make himself get up. “That
doesn’t achieve much, does it?” he said as lightly as he could. “Not really.
It’s about being man enough to live with it.”
“You’d be surprised.” Philip drew the mug
of tea across the table to him. “Have you read those letters?”
Miguel shook his head. Philip rubbed his
back again, watching him drink.
“Would you like to? You can bring them into
the study and read them there, I’ll wait with you.”
“I can-”
“If you’re going to read something
distressing then yes, I am going to be there.” Philip said definitely. “Would
you like to read them?”
The kindness in it was overwhelming.
Swallowing emotion, Miguel gave it a moment’s fair thought and shook his head.
“No. I know what’ll be in them.”
“All right. Then bring them to me and
I’ll put them in my desk until you do want them.”
Philip told him. “I’d prefer them not to
weigh on your mind, or fill your room all night.”
It was deeply comforting to just hand
the whole problem over. Miguel went to his coat, found the letters and handed
them to Philip, who got up, taking Miguel’s hand. Gerry was curled up under a
blanket on the couch by the fire, where from the look of it he was supposed to
be resting. He looked pale but he gave Miguel a faint smile. In the study,
Philip took a key from his pocket and unlocked the top drawer where he kept the
confidential work information he received from whichever corporate was
currently seeking his advice. He put the letters on top and locked the drawer.
Private from the rest of the family, and somewhere he couldn’t read on some
awful impulse at 2am.
They had a short, peaceful early evening
listening to Philip read the rest of A Christmas Carol Ostensibly he read this to
Gerry, who was much more his usual self but quiet and distinctly clingy to
Philip, but all of them were listening. And then as he occasionally did, Philip
organised a swift and light meal that tonight happened to be ham and scrambled
eggs on toast, quickly made and quickly eaten, after which, despite it being
only seven pm, he sent Bear, Gerry, Roger, and to Miguel’s surprise Miguel too,
up to bed. The once or twice he’d done this before since Miguel came, he had
merely asked if Miguel minded reading in his room that evening, but tonight it
was a friendly but definitely firm and explicit instruction exactly the same he
gave as the others. He never engaged with arguments, and no one, not even Gerry,
put up much of a fight. Trent helped David out with the washing up and
peacefully took a book up to his own room; Miguel heard him walk past on the
landing. Philip tapped at the half open door just as Miguel was getting into
bed, and came to sit on the edge of the bed beside him.
“Do you think you’ll sleep better
tonight?”
He knew. Miguel had no idea how; he
hadn’t made a sound the past few nights he’d lay awake thinking about his
mother’s letter. Tonight already felt a lot better. The letters being under
lock and key helped immeasurably. They were available to him any time he
wanted, but having to go through Philip meant it would be a planned decision,
and it made it possible to let worrying about their contents go.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Good. You’re welcome to read if you
want to, but I want the light out by nine. You look as if you could do with the
rest.” Philip got up, straightening the covers over him. “I’m very glad you
trusted us with sharing this matter Miguel. You don’t have to suffer any of
these things alone. Sleep well.”
He stooped to cup a hand around Miguel’s
head, and Miguel lifted his face to kiss Philip’s cheek. Something a few months
ago he never would have considered, this so simple gesture of affection to
another man.
He heard Philip visit Roger’s room and
then the sound of him going downstairs. It had seemed natural enough the first
time he saw Philip have them all upstairs early, that occasionally he and David
required a night off. It was natural that a couple who freely shared so much of
their time, their home and themselves with others needed occasionally to have a
few hours of peace to recharge. Several months on and knowing them better, Miguel
saw it in more depth; that there were occasions, particularly when the brats
living in the household had an especially demanding kind of day, where Philip
cleared the time and the space for his own brat to have his undivided
attention. Gerry sometimes, wryly and affectionately, referred to David and
Philip as ‘the grown ups’; and Miguel understood it. There was a peculiar kind
of security to knowing they were downstairs together.
Miguel fell asleep reading, long before
nine pm. He woke briefly a few hours later to discover someone had turned his
light out, marked his place in his book and put it to one side, and turned over
to fall instantly asleep again. It was still dark outside when a hand grasped
his shoulder and Philip’s voice said quietly, “Miguel? I have had an emergency
phone call and I need to make a short business trip, coming back this evening.
A plane is on its way to the landing strip and will be there in about half an
hour. I wondered if you might like to
accompany us?”
Philip made these trips a few times a
year; they tended to be short, and David usually accompanied him, the thought
of which had always baffled Miguel who couldn’t imagine David in a city. As an
opportunity to take a short trip usually to a major city and to enjoy the
travelling, the offer to go with them was usually welcomed by Roger, Bear or
Gerry. Miguel was both touched and startled that Philip should ask him.
“Yes please,” he started to say, and
paused as Philip sat down beside him.
“The trip is to New York. So if you’d
like, you will be able to drop in on your family, although I’m afraid it will
only be for an hour or two?”
An hour or two. Without warning, so no
time to assemble meals, huge family gatherings, guests, potential
girlfriends…….. just to see them and to be there. It was perfect. Miguel found
himself on his feet and grabbing for his clothes with so much relief that he
was near tears.
“Yes.
Yes please.”
*
He was never sure afterwards if that
trip had been purely fortuitous, or quite how much Philip and David had nudged
circumstances to fall a certain way. There could be no possibility that they
would go to this much trouble without Philip’s work requiring it, but the
kindness behind inviting him to go with them and make that home visit was
something Miguel never forgot.
The four hour flight was clearly
difficult for David who disliked being confined anywhere without something
definite to do, like drive. However a private plane allowed him to pace and
move around, and it was rather nice to have the time alone with him and Philip.
Philip spent a while discussing the current section of his thesis with him,
with a surprising depth of knowledge of the subject, and still more
surprisingly it was something David seemed aware of too. It made Miguel wonder
which of them read to whom, and what they shared in their time together; these weren’t
subjects he would have expected David to be interested in.
They landed at JFK shortly before half
past seven am New York time, where Miguel left Philip and David to take a cab
into Manhattan, and took his own cab to make the half hour trip out to Brooklyn
and the familiar streets of Cobble Hill. His mother opened the door just after
8am, took one look at him and burst into tears.
At 11am, full of a very large family
breakfast, two hours of high speed, heated Italian while the family arrived,
swapped hugs and news, and a visit that for once had been an undivided
pleasure, Miguel got out of the cab at the address of the white pillared
building on Wall Street and introduced himself at the front desk as Philip had
instructed. His mother, overwhelmingly grateful to the ‘professor’ who had
needed to make a quick trip to the city and offered him a ride, had pressed on
him a large box of homemade cookies and a panforte which smelled spicy, fantastic
and very much to Miguel of Christmas at home. Philip appeared a few minutes
later, walking with two young men around Miguel’s own age. One was an extremely
good looking, tall and wide shouldered black man who was wearing an immaculate
suit and writing notes rapidly as Philip spoke which saved Miguel the embarrassment
of being caught staring. The other was an equally smartly dressed but smaller
white guy with chestnut coloured hair and a friendly grin as he saw Miguel
waiting.
“This is your friend, Philip?”
“Yes, this is Miguel.” Philip greeted
Miguel with a smile. “Miguel, this is Luath McDaniel and this is James
Hamilton, associates of mine. Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure to see you. Do enjoy
your Christmas.”
“I’m planning to take a few days off and
sleep.” James said dryly. “Since the baby doesn’t. Sarah and I haven’t had a
whole night since February.”
“Screaming?” Miguel said with sympathy,
having lived most of his childhood in a household with numerous sibling and
cousin infants. James laughed.
“No. That’s one blessing, he’s not a
screamer. But babbling to himself, singing, wriggling around, throwing toys,
escaping out from under the covers – that
he can keep up for hours. I spend the day reasoning with the board, and
half the night leaning on the side of the crib reasoning with a ten month old.”
“Is there much difference?” Luath asked in
his deep voice. James laughed.
“Probably less than you’d think. Merry
Christmas Philip. Nice to meet you Miguel.”
“I’ll have the report sent out to you as
soon as the market closes tonight,” Luath said to Philip, shaking his hand.
There was something in it, some tiny warmth in the way they did it that told
Miguel this man was a friend, and that he too was gay; some flash of radar that
no one else would have seen. It was also there in the quick smile Luath sent in
Miguel’s direction. Philip held the door open for Miguel, following him out
onto the frosty street. “How did your visit go?”
“Very well.” The city was so familiar.
From the smell of waffles and coffee to the sheer number of people which was a
little overwhelming after the ranch. And yet there was no regret to be leaving
it now. No sadness. Philip glanced at his watch.
“We’ll go this way and meet David. He enjoys
looking around the seaport whenever we’re here. It was an area my father always
liked walking around.”
“Your father?” Miguel asked, intrigued.
“Yes. He took me around the ports and
ships here a number of times when I was a child. He was a financier, he
invested in a number of ships and ship yards and always liked to have as much
hands on knowledge as he could glean.” Philip pulled his gloves on and walked
with Miguel down the street. “He and David would have liked each other very
much, I’m sorry they had no opportunity to meet. I often think how many
interests they had in common.”
*
It was thirty years ago today. The first
time he had sat in this room on Christmas Eve, listening to the carol service
among friends. Miguel took another look at the newest brat of their family
sitting on the hearthrug by Flynn’s feet, and gave Taz a quick, apologetic
smile.
“Be right back.”
He slipped into the kitchen as though
going to the bathroom. The kitchen was crowded and busy, and no one took much
notice of him putting boots on, grabbing a jacket and going out onto the porch,
closing the kitchen door quietly behind him.
The evening they came back from New
York, David had played a record most of the evening; something Charlie and Wade
had picked up following a concert they heard in Canada on vacation and bought
for him. A young bearlike man by the name of Stan Rogers, whose first album
came out last year and was doing rather well, and whose shanty like sounds were
very much like the songs David knew and sang himself. This one was fast and
rhythmic, a group of men singing acapella with the words rattling out like
gunfire.
I
was told we’d cruise the seas for American gold,
We’d
fire no guns, shed no tears…
Now
I’m a broken man on a Halifax pier
The
last of Barrett’s privateers
They’d listened while Miguel, Bear,
Gerry and Roger had wrapped every string of Christmas lights the ranch
possessed around every inch of the porch – and several more strings of lights
that Miguel had acquired in New York with Bear in mind – until Wade and Charlie
who were helping them, swore they’d be getting phone calls from NASA.
Miguel leaned on the twinkling rail,
breathing the freezing cold air with snow crunching softly under his boots.
There was an occasional low from one of the cattle in the home pasture just
beyond the gate, in easy reach through the hard weather, and the horses in the
corral were stood close together for warmth.
“Mig?”
The kitchen door closed softly. Gerry
pulled a jacket on, coming to join him at the rail.
“It’s freezing out here.”
“It’s pretty.”
Gerry looked with him at the pasture,
smiling faintly. “Yes, it is. We get a whole lot of rain in Seattle, not so
much of this. I do miss it.”
Bear came out to join them, again
causing a swell of light and voices and the distant sound of music to swell
behind them as the door opened, and then it faded and stopped as the door
closed. Bear crunched across the frosted snow to join them, leaning with them
on the rail.
Thirty years ago today there had been
four of them out here with these lights, where now there were three. And a new
brat in the family that neither Philip, nor David, nor Roger had ever met. Miguel
leaned on the rail, determinedly not wiping at his eyes and keeping his voice
steady.
“Is Luath planning to hold any kind of
ceremony?”
“I don’t know.” Gerry said honestly. “He
and Darce aren’t sure yet, they need time to think about it. They were just so
relieved they found him and we know for sure. I’m sorry you couldn’t be here
for Thanksgiving; that was mostly when we had the chance to talk about it together.”
“Europe doesn’t stop mid semester for a
holiday around then.”
“I know.” Gerry put an arm around him,
leaning his head against Miguel’s shoulder. “But if you will go working in far
flung exotic places….”
“You did not say that the last time you
stayed in Rome with us.”
“Darling, I am not complaining, believe me. Someone in the family seriously needs
to move to Orlando, so I have an excuse to drag Ash on vacation there too.”
Bear chuckled. Miguel looked across at
him with affection. He hadn’t changed much. A little taller than he’d been that
first year here, broader and a whole lot
more talkative, but still exactly Bear with his soft, shining eyes and his
angelic face and his deep laugh and his wicked sense of humour that still at
times made him go too far. And Gerry, who had grown into the glimmers of that
confidence Miguel had seen in him on the lawn at Jackson High thirty years ago,
confident and no longer waif like. No longer given to freak outs at Christmas,
although according to the rest of the brats freaking out was still something
Gerry excelled at.
“How is your mom?” Bear asked him.
Miguel smiled.
“Excited. We’re heading to Brooklyn the
day before New Year’s Eve.”
He and Tazio together. It had been
Roger, Darcy and Luath who had been lurking on the street fifteen years ago
when Miguel took a very deep breath and led Tazio up to his mother’s apartment
for the first time to introduce them. It had been one of the most frightening
things he had ever done in his life. Now she sent recipes and cards to Taz on a
regular basis and the two of them were welcomed together in among the mayhem of
the family.
“My
father and David would have liked each other very much. I often think how many
interests they had in common,” Philip had
said, and it had never quite left Miguel’s memory.
The carol service was drawing to a close
when they went back inside. Miguel snagged another sausage roll from the table
as he passed, heading back to his seat beside Taz. It meant stepping over
Jasper and the others; it was getting crowded around the fire although no one
minded, and he paused by the newest family brat, stooping to offer a hand.
“Hello. Dale isn’t it?”
“Yes.” The brat grasped his hand,
looking up with those curiously steady grey eyes. So young. And coping
amazingly well when this had to be a bit of a baptism of fire for him. The poor
kid wasn’t even American.
“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”
Miguel found himself saying gently. “It’s ok. The crazy is going to be very
much worth it, I promise. We’re very pleased you’re here. I’m Miguel.”
Merry Christmas and all best wishes for
a wonderful 2017
Ranger and Rolf
Copyright 2016
2 comments:
This is wonderful. So great to learn more about the extended family and see Dale's first Christmas through Miguel's eyes. Thank you and Merry Christmas
This was lovely! I really enjoyed how you wove together Christmas past and present. And the little glimpse of cheerful, talkative baby Riley was an extra little treat! Thank you so much for this Christmas gift!
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