Cal - 13. Chapter 13

Hello, again.  Here's the next chapter, and as always, please let me know what you think  .

Fucking shitty bolloxing wank-bastard FUCK!

Like all good plans, this one had gone to shit. Not that there even was a proper plan, but we were supposed to be in London last weekend, visiting my Mum, like that would go well anyway, and instead I went to work. We had a last minute wedding booking at the hotel, like seriously, who the fuck gets married "at the last minute"? So it was gonna be really hard for me to take the time off work. Frank and Becky were both being super cool about it but I knew I was leaving them in the shit. And then Davey had this mega deal going off at work which was all supposed to be sorted and he wasn't even managing it himself but something got fucked up and he was working like a million fucking hours a day. So it's official, The Universe fucking hates me! OK, so I know that isn't strictly true. When I was in prison I got sent to this counsellor type woman, which was obviously going to be a whole pile or crap. Because that's just what was missing, some psycho-middle-class-doo-gooder fucking nodding at me like a demented Churchill dog. Unless you're in UK you might not get that reference I suppose but fucking Google it. Actually she was pretty awesome, she was called like Alice, or Alise, or Alison, I don't fucking know now. But anyway, I told her that once and she told me I was wrong. And then went on to lecture for like a fucking hour about how wrong I was. So no, The Universe doesn't fucking hate me, but it doesn't care either. Maybe she didn't like actually lecture me on how wrong I was, I guess. She was probably OK really.

Does it seem like I'm in a bad mood? Other people have mentioned it. The wedding at the hotel all went off OK from my point of view, but Davey was still mostly always at work and not at home. At least Scarlett was pleased to have me around, if only to get her food and scratch her head.

Two weeks later, things are kind of back to normal. And I have Davey back at home where he should be. It's really fucking weird when he's not around as much, it kinda sends me a bit crazy I think. So we decided to try again, going to London that is. And yes, I have actually had a proper conversation with Davey about it.

We're staying in this fucking awesome house, right in Mayfair. I thought we'd just get a hotel or something normal, but Davey said he's sort something out and fucking hell he really did. It’s weird though, he's definitely been here before, I can just tell, the way he walks around and just knows where everything should be. And there's stuff here too, like real stuff, not hotel stuff. Does he fucking own this place? But so what, the place is fucking massive. I mean, there are two kitchens. Who fucking needs two kitchens? Oh, and a lift. A fucking lift. In a house. Mental.

We came down last night, Friday, had pizza at this cool little Italian place. And it was like really proper Italian. Sweet. So the plan is that today, we go see my Mum. ... There should be some kind of sound effect for that, like, a drum roll, or massive thunder noises, diminished seventh chords (yeah that's right, I played guitar for like a term at school), or something. She lives in the same house I grew up in, just down the road from Holland Park tube. Yeah, I guess it's pretty fucking nice really. I hadn't ever actually told Davey where I grew up other than London, so I think he was a bit surprised too. People seem to assume that when I say I grew up in London it was some shitty block of flats. So despite the circumstances of how Davey met me, I don't actually come form some scummy council estate. If you don't know it, and why would you, it's all big white houses, often overlooking little bits of parkland and gardens. Seriously expensive these days. We got the tube to Kensington (High Street - obviously) so that we could walk up through Holland Park. It's pretty fucking weird being back here. I feel like there should be so many really good memories of growing up, but it all seems to be a bit blank for me. I mean, it's a really nice area, and I feel as if I really *should* have had a great time, but I can't ever actually remember those details.

Inevitably enough, we're stood across the road from the house. It looks pretty much exactly how I remember it, the hedge growing just behind the front wall, the stone steps up to the front door. Looking up to the third floor, my bedroom. Jesus this is weird. I stood there for several minutes. It's kinda quiet around here, peaceful. I like it. Eventually Davey asked the obvious question, are we going to go in? Oh fuck. Hadn't really planned that well after all. Just like all of those other times, although never here like this before, every urge and instinct I had seemed to be telling me to run. Away. But of course, Davey was there, stood behind me, holding me tight. Telling me that he's right here.
I crossed the road and opened the gate. It still stuck a little when it was almost fully open. I walked up the steps and could sense Davey behind me. Ringing the doorbell, I figured it was too late now. I didn't have the faintest idea what I was going to say to her, or why, or even why I was here really. I mean, what was I expecting? But the door was opening now.

"Yes?"

Fuck. I wasn't expecting that! A man was standing in the doorway, early 50s I'm guessing, very much of the type you'd expect, probably a professor of something somewhere, or government paper pusher of some sort, or specialist at the British Museum. And I had about a thousand thoughts at the same time. Who the fuck is this? Have I got the wrong house? Does she even live here any more? Maybe she's dead? Maybe she's on holiday? There was what felt to me at least like a really long and totally awkward pause.

"Errr... sorry, I was looking for Mrs Richardson."

"Of course."

What a strange reply? But he went back inside, leaving the door mostly open so I could clearly hear the conversation inside.

"Joanne, darling, it's someone for you." I heard him half shout.

"Well who is it?"

Unmistakable, that was her voice. Fuck. My Mum is inside the house. I mean, what was I expecting, but still, she's here. I have to do it now.

"No idea, some boy, well, man I suppose."

"Why didn't you ask who it is?"

I could hear him now returning to the door. Opening it wider but standing in the space he just created. I could see past him a little. It didn't look as though much had changed inside. I was also trying to figure out if he really did remind me of Dad, or if I was just imagining it.

"I'm sorry, I should have asked, what name is it?"

I was half amused and half terrified. Who fucking talks like that for real? But more pressing was the small problem of what I was going to say. I didn't imagine it would be like this. Should it feel awkward and difficult and hard work meeting your own Mum? But I had to say something.

"Well... errrr... Yeah, the thing is, I'm..."

I was going to say it, seriously. But then I didn't have to. Because she was there. Standing behind the man that I was currently failing to answer, was my Mum. Joanne Richardson. By now I'm looking right at her, not paying attention to the man who was getting in the way.

"Hey."

It was all I could manage somehow. I was feeling surprised at how little I was feeling. I had thought maybe I'd hate her, or love her, or miss her, or something. But it wasn't there.

She pushed past the man and just stared at me for a few seconds.

"Is it really you? Look at you..."

I guess she was trying to make sense of this as much as I was. I mean, I was actually looking pretty fucking good, but of course, not at all how she probably remembered me. My hair used to be longer, and there weren't any piercings or tattoos or scars. I couldn't read what was going on for her. Still, she didn't seem to be drunk, which was a start.

"Hi Mum."

So there we stood, I guess only for a few seconds, but it felt much longer. Neither of us said anything, maybe I'm more like her than I think! She stepped towards me and started to hug me. But that was way fucking too much, I smiled, but pushed her gently, firmly away. I don't know if she understood or not, but she stepped back slightly and I felt better.

"Jonathan, this is Carlton. Carlton, this is Jonathan. And… ?”

Fucking Jonathan. Are people really called that? It suited him I guess, weirdly. But she was now looking at Davey and wondering who fuck this guy is I'm with.

"Davey, this is Davey."

I didn't offer her any further explanation, but then she didn't either about "Jonathan" - I have to say it like that in my head, with like "air quotes". We went in, and there was this slightly awkward process of Jonathan trying to show me the way, but me already knowing. I used to fucking live here you idiot, I know where the fucking lounge is. I grabbed Davey's hand, partly for reassurance, and partly for, well, OK, so just for reassurance.

So there we all are, sitting ever so fucking politely like the fucking Queen is about to come round for a chat or something. Jonathan goes off to make tea, of course. I think he's the kind of guy that can only ever make tea as if it's going to be the answer to everything. Your father is dead, I’ll make some tea. I'm leaving you, I’ll make some tea. The world is ending, I’ll make some tea. There was a few seconds of weird awkward silence where nothing appeared to happen. Except in my head that is. I realised that I didn't actually have anything I wanted to say to her, or hear from her.

We talked, well, sort of. It was really hard work. Despite the biological connection, it didn't feel like we had much in common. Davey went to find "Jonathan" and 'help with the tea'. Something that I've never seen or heard him do before! But I guess he was just trying to give me and my Mum some space. As soon as he was out of the door Mum started to ask me:

"So Davey. Is he...? I mean...? Are you...?"

It was kind of funny so watch her struggle so much. To be totally honest, it took me a second or two to realise what it was she was trying to ask me. Have you ever had that moment, where you forget that you're gay and forget that it's something you have to clarify or explain to people. It annoys me, generally. Straight people don't have to go around explaining themselves all the fucking time.

"Yes Mum, I'm gay, Davey is my boyfriend, I love him and I'm the happiest I have ever been."

Wow, I didn't quite mean to say that last bit, but I guess it is true.

"Oh, right. He seems nice."

"And Jonathan?"

"No, he's not gay, at least I hope not."

I couldn't help but smile a little, maybe I get my sense of humour from her.

"He lives here. With me. We're going to get married next year."

"Oh, OK."

"So what are you doing here Carlton? It's such a surprise. I never really thought I'd see you again, and, well, it's just lovely to have you back, but..."

"I don't want anything Mum, just to see you, that's all. And I'm not 'back’, whatever that means."

"OK, well, it's just good to see that you're still OK."

"What?"

I mean, it didn't feel like she missed the point but actually went off in the opposite fucking direction. I was trying so hard to not be angry with her, but I couldn't keep it in.

"I went to fucking prison! You probably didn't notice because you were too fucking drunk every day, but my life was not 'OK' and it got a whole lot worse. I needed you, you were supposed to be the person taking care of me. But instead I was the one checking that you hadn't passed out and choked on your own vomit every fucking night. Do you even know when I left home? Or did you just begin to notice that no-one was shopping and cleaning up any more?"

I guess I was pretty much yelling by the end, but I was so fucking angry with her. With ridiculously poor timing "Jonathan" appears at the door with a tray of tea.

"Everything alright?"

Stupid fuck. Did it look alright? I was trying to decide on exactly what order I yelled insults at him but my Mum got in there first.

"Yes Jonathan, it's all fine. We just have a few things we need to talk about."

"Jonathan" dutifully disappeared again. I was pacing far too much, struggling with the mix of anger and frustration and trying not to care too much, or cry. We were just kind of looking at each other, not knowing how to make it feel better. Davey was in the doorway, I dunno for how long.

"OK" I said, "look, I obviously need to be calmer to talk to you, so I'm gonna show Davey around for a few minutes."

Davey followed me out of the room. To be honest, the house hadn't really changed that much - other than it looked more like one of those pretentious places that numerous 'style' magazines had exploded all over than it used to. I wasn't actually showing Davey around, but without really thinking found myself stood on the top floor outside of what used to be my bedroom. I don't know what I was expecting when I opened the door. I mean, she obviously wasn't going to be keeping a shrine or anything. The room was bright, airy, really nicely decorated, nice stuff, stylish even. The only problem was that there wasn't the tiniest piece of evidence that I had ever been here. Nothing. It was sad, and depressing, and not ever so surprising but also shocking.
We went back down stairs. Suddenly the only place I wanted to be was home, and this definitely wasn't it. I wanted to be sat on the sofa with Davey cuddling me tight, and Scarlett licking my face. I don't know what's got in to her lately but she's started doing that. Mum was still in the lounge, with "Jonahan".

"Look, Mum, it's good to see you, but I'm gonna go."

It was already a lie. It's wasn't good. Or particularly bad. Well OK, so it was maybe a bit bad.

"Already? But you've only just got here..."

"Yeah Mum, I know. But now I think maybe it was a bad idea. No, actually not a bad idea, just..."

"I feel like we hardly know each other any more Carlton."

"Yeah, I know. Fucked up isn't it.

“Carlton, please? Can’t we just…”

“No Mum, sorry. I really thought I could, but I can’t.”

And so we left. I mean, not literally right then, there were more awkward moments, too much silence, and some vague notions of goodbye, see you again soon, loveley blah blah bollocks. Davey called us a cab, which was more like a chauffeur, and we went back to the house in Mayfair. Davey was real quiet, and I guess I was too. Lots to think about. Usually I feel as though Davey just *totally* gets me, you know, like he knows what I'm thinking and feeling and why and what to do about it. So it was kind of a shock, well, OK, maybe too dramatic, a surprise, when he really didn't seem to get me at all.

"Do you ever think of moving back here?"

"What? Where?"

"Here, back to London."

"No!" I seriously have no idea where he pulled this from.

"OK, it was just a question. But you know, we could, if you ever wanted to."

"What are you talking about? We don't live here. We have a home..."

"Yeah, I know that. I'm just saying, we could move, if you wanted to."

"Seriously Davey, you think we could just up and move, fuck off and live here in London? Jeez you live in a crazy world."

"Well we could. We could live here. Here." He was gesturing around us and I knew what he meant.

"Like... here? Actually here?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Because! I just want go home Davey, our real home."

"Now? You want us to go now? I can do that."

"I'm sure you can, but I'm tired and... actually, hungry as fuck."

"Come on then, there's this great little place who sell the most amazing..."

"No."

"No what?"

"No, we're not going there. I'm choosing, come on."

"OK, but do we like need to change?" Bless him, Davey can be so sweet and so stupid, I love him for it.

"No, fuckhead, we don't, we'll be fine like we are, come on."

I was grateful for the unspoken but apparent agreement that we weren’t going to be talking about what had just happened earlier with my Mum. So off we went, me leading the way. Green Park for the tube, Jubilee line to Southwark, and then just a few minutes walk. We're on this little back street, mostly residential, and not fancy London residential, just normal places. There's a tiny little theatre in the middle of all these houses, under an old railway arch or something I think. And it has an even tinier restaurant, which is just fucking awesome. I've not been here for fucking years, and it was reassuringly just the fucking same as ever. We had a great meal, probably too many bottles of wine, which to be honest, when there's just the two of us is probably any number bigger than one. Later, we walked along the river for a bit. Lots of memories. Some of them good. Just walking, talking, holding hands. As much as I knew I didn't want to live in London, it felt good to be able to accept that I wanted to be with Davey, like totally, forever. This realisation seems to keep happening, coming in waves, and every time, it just gets bigger, and stronger, and more certain.

We were walking sort of back towards the house in Mayfair, but not really very directly, ending up in Soho. It's late, but it's Soho, so most places are still open, and we get coffee in this awesome little place. It's like a slightly cramped coffee bar place upstairs, and there's this little bar downstairs, really fucking cool. And then, out of nowhere, but obviously not really, I was feeling really tired. I wanted to go on for hours, just hanging with my man, but I knew I would probably just fall asleep. Big day maybe, I dunno. Davey called a cab, because we've already walked like 20 miles around London. So maybe not quite that many.

Back at the house, we just went to bed. And I gotta tell you, there's just no better feeling than you're gorgeous amazing boyfriend pulling you back against him, holding me tight, cuddling me, protecting me, caring for me. It's exactly what I needed. And I guess that was when it happened. My own personal realisation that this really is, like properly, actually, exactly what I want. Davey is what I want, who I want, and probably who I need. Like, totally forever. And it's not even scary.