Willpower - 1. The Story

“Sau …” The man sitting in the institutional armchair drooled slightly, his jaw slack. He tried to speak again. “Sau …”

“What's he trying to say?” A sharp, demanding female voice. “He's sore? How much are we paying this place to look after him properly? … William? Call a nurse. It's not good enough.”

Will Carmichael's nostrils flared. Visits to his father were always difficult – doubly so with his mother in tow. She spent so much time making a fuss and very little actually interacting with her husband. A sour thought occurred to him – maybe all the noise disguised the fact that she'd abandoned him to this place. As soon as the diagnosis had been confirmed, she invoked the power of attorney, and had him put away. Yes, looking after someone with dementia – Alzheimer's disease, in his case – was hard, demanding, upsetting work. Plenty of people did it, wanted to do it, with love and determination. Not his mother, though. She could afford to pay for twenty-four hour home care if she wanted. She obviously didn't. And, it was his money that was paying for it, for fuck's sake.

“Mother, if you want to make a complaint, you know the way to the matron's office. And the manager's as well. I want to talk to Dad. How often do I get to visit? I want to spend all the time I have with Dad.”

His mother stared at him, outraged. “William! Right, well, I suppose I'll have to do it for myself then.” She snatched up her ever-present phone, pulled her handbag off the arm of the chair she'd been sitting in, and stalked out of the room, her high heels clacking on the institutional flooring.

Will sighed. Good – peace and quiet for a few minutes. Hopefully, longer, if his mother stopped for a vaping session as well. She would try to create problems for the staff, but generally, they were efficient, if soulless. It was unlikely his father was suffering any real discomfort. He'd seen that before, and his father got agitated when anything was bothering him. The few times he'd been in the nursing home, Will had noticed that little time was spent stimulating the residents, treating them as individuals with value beyond the mere financial. His father needed that, and exercise, and social interaction. His Alzheimer's wasn't that far advanced – yet, there he was, slumped in his armchair. Was he asleep, or just comatose? Will bent down and tenderly stroked his father's cheek.

The older man surfaced briefly. “Sau …”

**********

One afternoon in the office, his private fax machine burst into life. Max turned away from his desk and grabbed hold of the paper as it emerged out of the machine. He had to restrain himself from ripping it out too soon. Was it …? The hurried phone call had suggested it would be. Yes …

Max's heart skipped a beat as he scanned the dot matrix approximation of his lover's handwriting. How long was it since he'd last been with him? He forced himself to think back. Six months? Yes, six months at least – far too long.

Dearest M

Four-day conference in London next month. Can you join me? Please say Yes – I miss you so.

RD, JA, and RM died recently from fucking AIDS. MP soon, I fear.

Stay safe, dearest love. Until you're next beside me, holding me close.

S xxxxxx

Max read the list of initials with tears pricking his eyes. They weren't his friends particularly, but they were human beings, afflicted by an appalling plague which was as yet incurable. He was safe – sex was with his left hand unless he was with his lover. Was he safe? God, he hoped so. Max couldn't bear the thought of losing him. They always used condoms. The only time he encountered other gay men was when he met up with him – then it was dangerous in other ways. As the boss of an up and coming technology company, he couldn't afford any stains on his reputation. Investors took a dim view of anything beyond the perceived norm. Max sighed and wiped away the evidence of his fear and grief. He lit a cigarette to calm himself down.

It would be easy enough to manufacture meetings in London to match with the dates given. There were always investors, civil servants, or bankers he needed to talk with. Max dragged his diary closer, and marked the dates as being unavailable. No details yet, but his secretary needed to know as she had access to the diary as well. He spent a moment gazing at the personal computer sitting on his desk. The newly-installed Windows 3.1 made it easier to use the calendar. The end of the paper diary, perhaps? Developments were coming thick and fast. What would the talk about opening up the World Wide Web lead to? Sometimes, he found it a little difficult to keep up.

He wrote out a reply.

Darling S

Of course, I shall be there, my love. How could I not be? You complete me.

Usual time, usual place. Counting the days.

M xxxxx

His mind was full of his lover. His gorgeous, handsome, sexy Saul.

**********

“Sau …” The older man stirred, and his eyes opened. He regarded Will with little interest, his almost vacant stare passing on to other things. His hands were feebly tugging at the sleeves of his loose sweater as if he was trying to shoot the cuffs of a non-existent shirt.

Will frowned – he'd noticed that before. It wasn't doing any harm so he decided to ignore it for the moment. Did the nursing home routinely drug its dementia patients? Or was it more, that his father's life had no purpose? When he first visited his father, he had been much more aware, still taking some notice of what was happening. He knew that the progressive behavioural changes could be challenging, and, of course, people with more advanced symptoms than his father were likely to wander at all times of the day or night. Hmm … Was there any point in talking to his mother about it? Well, he was going to regardless. His father looked pale, thin, and generally frail. He was only in his mid-sixties.

A care assistant came in with a lunch-tray. Will took it off her and attached it to his father's chair. He would make sure his father ate as much as he could be persuaded to.

As she was heading out, Will asked a question. “Do you know why my father doesn't eat his lunch with the other residents?”

The woman shrugged. “No, sorry. Ask the nursing staff. I only deliver the meals.”

“Yes, I think I shall. Thanks.”

Will pulled a chair up right next to his father. “Dad? It's Will. You feeling hungry? … Dad?”

His father stirred, and tried to focus on Will's face. “No sau …”

Will couldn't decide whether it was a question or a statement. What was the second word? The one his father kept repeating. If it wasn't 'sore', what was it?

“Dad, I'm Will, your son.” At last, there was some connection. “There's some food here for you. Looks good.”

“Will?”

“Yes, that's me, Dad.”

His father looked puzzled. “You changed?” His hands were busy again.

Will smiled. “I've grown up, Dad.” He wondered what age he was frozen at in his father's memory. “How about some shepherd's pie?”

Will spent some twenty minutes coaxing his father to eat. Some of the time, he used the cutlery, otherwise, he watched as the older man clumsily employed the knife and fork.

By the finish, his father had eaten a reasonable amount. Did the care assistants help him to eat? By the look of him, Will guessed the answer was 'no'. He was clearly tired out by the effort, his head drooping. Will took away the tray and got his father settled. He leant over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“I'll be back tomorrow, Dad.”

**********

Max walked into the hotel lobby, feeling a curious mixture of lust, anxiety, and nervous tension. He and Saul would have to be in the public eye for at least part of the evening before they both separately retired to bed, or, apparently did so. Two long-time friends, taking the opportunity to meet and catch up. Chances were they wouldn't be seen by anyone who mattered, but they had to be careful. London, for all its size, could still be a hotbed of gossip. Fortunately, their professional circles were almost entirely separate.

Saul was an academic, a professor and well-known in his field. Just like him, in a way. They were both on their way to greater things, and people took notice of men like that, for good and bad reasons. Saul wasn't 'out' in his work situation – he preferred to keep his private life private – and he felt that the prevalent AIDS hysteria was only going to reinforce anti-gay attitudes. The hotel Max usually stayed at wasn't one of the places recommended by the conference organisers, so he hoped Saul could stay there without meeting any of his fellow delegates.

Looking around, Max couldn't see Saul, so he strolled up to the reception desk to collect his key. The hotel was an old, welcoming place where the rooms didn't have walls made of thin plasterboard. Just as well … Max smirked to himself for a second. Once he got Saul up to his room, there'd be no holds barred. His cock had been making its presence felt all day, and now it had settled into a semi which was barely being contained by his new boxer briefs. His suitcase contained a suitable quantity of condoms, and lube …

“Mr Carmichael? How may I help?” The smartly dressed receptionist interrupted Max's line of thought. He took a moment to recover.

“Err … Sorry, I was thinking of other things.” Max smiled at her apologetically. “I'd like my key, thanks. Has a Mr Saul Edwards checked in yet? We're meeting for dinner.”

The receptionist turned and prodded her computer terminal into life. Max watched for a moment with interest. Computers were being used in all sorts of situations nowadays. The hotel's owners kept abreast of some things at least – though the monitor looked clunky compared with his own. Then he turned away to have another look around the lobby. … Suddenly, his heart leapt. There! Coming out of the bar. Oh, my sweet love! … Max took a concealed deep breath and tried to school his features into something much less than the elation he was feeling.

Could he control his voice? “Err … it's OK, thanks. I've just seen my friend.” He gulped with excitement at the end of the sentence. Damn – he hoped the receptionist hadn't noticed.

She looked up and smiled at him. “Good. I hope you enjoy your stay with us, Mr Carmichael.” Yes, he would. So very much.

Max's hand took charge of his room key without him really being aware of it. The rest of his being was focussed on his lover, who was standing just outside the bar, watching him. The hotel lobby seemed to blur and fade, and he could only see what was apparently illuminated by some powerful spotlight, trained on Saul. As Max started to walk towards him, it seemed that his legs weren't under his control, quite. His heart was pounding, and he could feel a flush starting from the base of his neck. His lover's smile was like a beacon, drawing him in.

Get a grip! Get … a … fucking … grip! Yes, he wanted to jump Saul and kiss him into the middle of next week, but he had to control himself. He must not risk it. They couldn't risk it. … Breathe. Deep, calming breaths. Max's heartbeat slowed a little, and the fog in his head cleared gradually as he approached. Saul looked as though he was fighting the same battle, his colour raised and his eyes gleaming. Max sympathised. Only a few more hours, my dearest. A very few, then I'll be yours …

“Hello, Max. Great to see you again.” Saul's velvet smooth baritone.

Max plastered on a conventional smile of welcome, blinkered his vision, and looked right at his dearest love. “It's been a long time, hasn't it, Saul?” They shook hands heartily when they both wanted to fall into each other's arms. Max felt himself tearing up. No … control. Come on. Control. “I'm looking forward to our catch-up this evening. I've only just picked up my key, so I'll see you in a few minutes. OK?”

Saul suddenly looked a little unsure of himself. Max's anxiety spiked. His eyes tried to ask questions. Saul realised, and his smile came back, full force.

“I've booked a table at The Ark. I hope you don't mind, but two friends of mine, Jeremy and Vicky Howard will be joining us. I bumped into them earlier on, and we go way back. They'll love to meet you.”

What?! … Then Max realised. Of course, they were cover. Did they know Saul was gay? It was only quite recently that Saul had opened up in his private life. And it meant he and Saul would have to behave themselves. Which was good, if masochistic. It saved it all for later. His cock twitched, and threatened to get fully hard. Control …

“Of course. It'll be a pleasure to meet any friends of yours.” His eyes met Saul's – they both understood. “What time's the booking? Seven thirty?” Saul nodded.

Max gathered up his luggage, and headed towards the lifts. A cold shower and a change of clothes were in order.

**********

“Hello, Dad. It's Will again.” Will stood in the doorway of his father's room. The older man was in his chair, dozing. How many hours a day did he spend like that? Why wasn't he in the day room? At least, there'd be other people around. “Dad?”

His father came back to life slowly. He looked in Will's direction with a faint, puzzled smile. Well, that was some improvement on a few days ago, and he looked a little less frail. Nothing was going to halt the progress of the wretched disease, but meanwhile, his father still had a life to live. Fortunately, his mother was otherwise occupied – at the local spa and beauty salon with some of her friends.

Not for the first time, Will wondered how his father had managed to capture a wilful creature like his mother – she was fifteen years younger than he was, as well. It was hardly a love match. By the time he was old enough to notice, neither of them were showing any affection towards each other, let alone love. It was an existence of distant civility, and two separate lives.

Will shook his head. People. His own lover found it difficult to understand why Will was so self-contained. Expressing his feelings was something he'd had to learn from scratch. With his parents as such shining examples, who wouldn't? He found it helped him cope with visiting his father, if he demonstrated his affection and sympathy. Will sighed, then shook off his brief blue mood. He drew up a chair next to his father's.

The older man was still looking slightly unsure about Will's presence. “I'm Will – your son?” That registered.

Then they had the usual exchange about Will having changed – it was the same every day – but Will accepted it as part of who his father was now. He smiled at his companion. His interaction was having some limited effect: the eyes looking back at him were less vacant, there was a definite sense of personality in them. His father's hands were back at their usual occupation.

“Dad? I've brought you something special.” Will produced an old-fashioned photo album out of a carrier bag.

He'd found it in his father's study, hidden away in one of the bookcases. Even now, his mother never went in there. The older man saw the textured, bright red cover and leant forward, stretching out an unsteady hand to touch it. Will watched him. His father continued to touch and then stroke the cover, as a brief, tremulous smile brightened his face. Result! His gut feeling that this was important was right.

“Sau …” That word again. Will wondered if something in the album might give him a clue. Maybe that's why his father said it while he was touching the cover? He realised he might be attaching too much importance to anything his father said or did.

Will took back the album, and started turning the bulky pages. It covered quite a long timespan – his father was obviously no photographer – but Will was looking for pictures of his father in his prime. Before he met Will's mother. There … He came across a batch of pictures from the early '90s, by the look of the people in them. The men's loose-fitting suits and floppy hair were giveaways. Will turned back until he reached the beginning of the sequence. One photo which caught his eye had been taken in a restaurant – quite an upmarket one, by the look of it. His father, two other men, and a woman were raising glasses. They all looked as though they were happy and having a good time.

He gave the album back to his companion, and pointed at the photo. “Do you know their names, Dad?” As soon as the question had left his lips, Will mentally kicked himself. Stupid! Of all the stupid questions to ask someone with Alzheimer's. His father was still looking at the photo, but Will saw that he was becoming agitated.

“Don't know … Don't know … Names? … Why don't I know? …”

Agitation was turning to anger. Will intervened. “Dad? Don't worry. It was silly of me to ask you.” He retrieved the album, and spent a minute or two stroking the back of his father's hands to soothe and reassure him. The older man settled a little.

He looked at Will. “Silly?”

“Yes. Silly – that's me.”

His father smiled at him, and there was even a ghost of a giggle. Will was sorry for upsetting him, but even that was preferable to the torpor and apathy which seemed to characterise so much of his life at present.

Will took the photo out of its clear pocket, and turned it over in the faint hope of there being some information.

“Sau …” His father was pointing feebly at the album.

Yes – he was in luck. Somebody – the woman in the photo, perhaps? – had written on it in biro. Max, a memento of a very pleasant evening. Best wishes VH. Then, whoever it was had listed all the names as an aide memoire. Will fixed on the very first one. There! Saul Edwards … So that was what his father was trying say – a name. The hard l sound at the end was too difficult for him now.

He sat back in his seat. For his father to remember that name, Saul Edwards must have been very important … or, special. How? Why? Will spent a few moments chewing this over. Then his mind opened up to new possibilities.

**********

It's just coming up to six o'clock, and you're listening to Today on BBC Radio Four …

God, did it have to be so bloody loud? Max jerked awake, then turned his head, and blearily tried to focus on the glowing red numerals of the radio alarm clock. How long had he been asleep? Not long enough.

And the headlines this morning …

His heart rate settled again after the sudden alarm call. Max smiled contentedly – the lack of sleep didn't matter. For a moment or two, he luxuriated in being where he was, and who was with him. In the curtained, morning light, he could see Saul's outline, only partially concealed by the sheet. God, he was satisfied in so many ways. And happy. Any shortage of sleep would soon be cured by naps while Saul was at the conference. His one and only meeting was first thing. The radio was still blaring, so Max raised himself up on his elbow, trying to work out how to turn the wretched thing off. As he was peering at the controls, an arm wrapped itself round his waist, and a bristly chin leant up against his neck.

“Morning, handsome.” A soft, sexy chuckle resonated right in Max's ear. “Is it too early to resume where we left off?” A kiss, and the hand round his middle moved down to between his legs.

Max laughed quietly, with a rueful edge, and forgot about the radio. He rolled over to face his lover. Saul looked as tired as he did, most likely, but there was also a hunger, a craving in his face. Max knew about that unfulfilled desire only too well. But it didn't alter things …

The Prime Minster will address the House of Commons.

Max shook his head. “After the hammering you gave my arse? You must be joking, love.” Their eyes locked, and Saul wordlessly repeated the question. Max sighed. “Seriously. I'm going to be walking oddly enough as it is.”

Saul's expression immediately turned to one of concern. “You OK? Do you want me to take a look? I'm sorry – I've spent so long dreaming of this, I rather lost control last night, didn't I?” He cuddled Max in apology, then opened his mouth to continue.

Max interrupted by kissing him on the nose. “I'm fine. Just a little sore back there. Lack of use. You were fucking amazing.” Giggles at the pun. Another kiss. “You know you actually roared the second time you came?” A look of surprise, followed by snorts. More giggles, and another kiss. “I wouldn't have wished it any other way, dearest.” Deep kiss. Finally … “But it does mean tonight will have to be sucking or frotting.”

Saul was back to looking concerned. “So you are really sore?”

“It doesn't matter, love. It genuinely doesn't. I'll be back on form tomorrow. For today, frotting is good.”

Saul lifted an eyebrow and smiled sexily at his lover. “Not sure I can remember frotting. Care to remind me?”

Max rolled his eyes, and grinned at him. “Tonight, I'll be more than happy to demonstrate. Now … I've a meeting to prepare for.” He disentangled himself, and got out of bed.

His lover sat up and watched him. “Spoilsport. And I suppose I'd better get ready for my bloody conference. Fancy a quick trip to Heaven before our frotting session this evening?”

Max's eyes widened. “Aren't we a bit old to be out clubbing?”

“Course not.”

**********

For fuck's sake! How many people named Saul Edwards were there in the world? Will was bent over his laptop, feverishly trying to locate the one Saul Edwards he so desperately wanted to find. He was using social media, all the professional networking sites he could get access to, anything which might give him a clue. Then, he had a flash of inspiration. What were the names of the other two people at that restaurant? Will went back and checked. He re-started his search, using the couple's names, hoping they were still together. He was in luck. After a couple of hours' digging, he came across a likely pair, about the right age, and their current photos looked plausible. He started to look at their friends, and lo … a Saul Edwards appeared. Sensing victory, he picked up more speed, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Yes! Finally …” Will shouted loud enough that his boyfriend could hear him at the other end of the flat. A slim, dark-haired man came out of the bathroom to investigate, towel wrapped round his waist. Will was sitting on the sofa in the open-plan living area, his laptop in front of him, and a huge, triumphant grin on his face.

Will looked up. “Sorry, Rafe. I didn't mean it to be so loud.”

“OK …” His boyfriend peered in his direction – he hadn't picked up his glasses before leaving the bathroom. “Well? Have we won the lottery? Or, have you managed to bribe someone into giving you your doctorate early?” He sniggered at the last question.

Will stuck his tongue out, and threatened to throw a cushion in Rafe's direction. “Neither. Just because I'm slightly behind the curve in writing it, doesn't mean my dissertation won't illuminate, inform, and instruct my elders and betters.” Will was studying for a higher degree in a branch of computer science Rafe couldn't start to understand.

His boyfriend was still standing in the doorway, dripping gently. “Yeah, right.” He sniggered again. “And?”

Will rolled his eyes. “Go and get yourself dried off, love. Then I'll tell you all. A hint – it's about my dad.”

“OK …” Rafe sounded none the wiser for his clue before he headed off back to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, they were curled up together on the sofa. Will had his laptop balanced between them, and Rafe was trying to guess why they were looking at a staff bio from an American university. Even having his glasses on didn't help.

“I give up. Why are we so interested in the academic profile of one Professor Saul Edwards? Is this really what made you yell?”

Will laughed. “Sorry, love. But if you'd spent as much time as I have, chasing down the right Saul Edwards, you'd be celebrating as well. All I had to go on was his name and a rough idea of his age. Together with the fact that he was, is, most likely gay. At least, that was my assumption. Oh, and this photo.” He showed Rafe the restaurant photo from his father's album. He'd already told his boyfriend about his visits to the nursing home.

Rafe looked closely at the photo. “I can see who you get your hair colour from. My beautiful carrot-top that you are.”

Will pouted, then grinned.

Rafe sat back. He was trying to join up some of the dots. After a minute or two, he turned to face his partner. “So … he and your dad were what … friends? … More than friends?”

Will raised an eyebrow. Rafe took another good look at the photo. There was something in the way the two men were looking at each other as the photo was being taken. Even after so much time, it was unmistakable.

“Will, d'you think your dad's gay?”

“I don't know for sure, but I think it's pretty bloody likely.”

“Wow …” Rafe took a moment to process that thought. “But …”

Will anticipated his question, and brought up a couple of social media sites where the same Saul Edwards was listed as being gay, and currently unattached.

Rafe took that in. “So … what? Your dad and him were in a relationship?”

Will shrugged. “It looks that way, though Dad's never given me a clue about being gay. I'm as shocked as you are, love.”

Rafe was puzzled. “But you told him you're gay, didn't you? I thought you came out to both your parents?”

“I did, but not separately. Dad didn't take much notice, as usual, and with my mother being present, he'd have felt he couldn't say anything, even if he wanted to.”

Rafe felt his way through his next thought. “Ehm … your mum? … So, she knows? Or not?”

“Not sure.” Will frowned. “Though I can't help feeling there's got to be some connection between my dad's hidden life and her coming onto the scene shortly after this photo was taken.” He showed his boyfriend the sequence of photos in the album – his mother started appearing in pictures taken only a few months later. “I'm going to try contacting this Saul Edwards. Who knows, he may have some answers.”

Rafe cuddled his partner. “Be careful, won't you? You never know the kind of stuff that might come to the surface.”

Will kissed him back. “Don't worry, love. I reckon I owe this to Dad, somehow. And, if he was Dad's lover at one time, don't you think he'd want to know about him now?”

**********

An overweight man, with a balding pate, sat in the hotel bar. He was nursing a tonic water, while keeping a watch on the comings and goings through the hotel lobby. A newspaper lay folded up on the seat beside him, and his mac was neatly draped over the back. He was still waiting for one individual in particular to appear – Saul Edwards, Professor Saul Edwards. Although the podgy man was a comparatively junior academic, he'd managed to wangle a place at the same conference as Edwards. He wanted to have words with the learned professor – that university chair he was currently occupying had been gained on the back of his own work.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

At the sound of the doorman's greeting, the man's head turned, his eyes firmly fixed on the hotel's entrance.

“Evening, George.” Sounds of merriment. “How are you?”

“I'm very well, Mr Carmichael. Had a good evening?”

“Wonderful, thanks.” Two voices this time, in unison. More laughter.

Two men burst into the lobby, happy, excited, full of their joy in being alive. Saul Edwards and someone else. Damn. The man was disappointed. He didn't want to approach Edwards if he had company. He continued to watch them closely as they loitered by the lifts. The two men had that indefinable aura of a couple in love. Touches, looks, smiles, a sense that they were two parts of a whole. No recent relationship, either, the man thought. Disgusting. A lift arrived, and the couple hurried towards it. As the doors were closing, the man saw them kissing. Eugh!

Not for the first time that evening, he welcomed the good, honest warmth of his own righteous indignation. He wasn't contemplating violence of any sort, he just wanted to get back what he was owed. The man unfolded his newspaper and stared once more at the glaring headline denouncing AIDS and the perverts who'd brought the plague into being. That reminded him, he must remember not to touch Edwards if he could help it.

What was the other pervert's name? Carmichael, was it? The man thought hard for a moment. Carmichael's face was one he'd seen before, but he couldn't remember where or when. In the morning, he'd take that further.

**********

“Professor Edwards, thanks for agreeing to this.” Will was sat at the breakfast bar in his flat, his laptop open in front of him. On the laptop's screen was an image of a lightly-bronzed, distinguished looking man about his father's age.

“It's fine. Call me Saul, please. So … you're Max Carmichael's son? I can see him in you, certainly.”

The voice sounded polite. Cool. The image moved slightly, as the older man looked more closely at what he was seeing on his screen.

“How is he? We lost contact rather some time ago.”

For all his apparent coolness, Will saw the man on his screen purse his lips and frown slightly, as if the subject of his father wasn't a happy one.

“Ah … well … Yes, that's why I'm keen to talk to you.”

“You didn't say much in your emails.” The expression looking back at Will was now guarded, still polite, but … “Does your father know you're talking to me?”

“No …” Before Will could elaborate, he was interrupted.

“OK. Well, I think I have nothing further to say to you, young man.”

Will panicked. “Don't log off. Please. Don't.” He held his breath, expecting the connection to die. Then, when the man's image remained on his screen, he plunged in. “I haven't asked my father because I can't. He has Alzheimer's.”

Will clearly heard the sharp intake of breath. He looked closely. Was that a hint of tears he could see in the other man's eyes? “Saul? I'm really sorry I blurted it out like that. You didn't leave me much choice.”

Silence. Saul's image appeared to be looking inwards, not at the screen. To what? Memories? Regrets? Anger, loss …?

Will decided to break the silence. “My dad doesn't talk very much now, but one word which hardly leaves his lips, is your name. He says it over and over. Saul. Only, he can't say the final l any more, so we didn't know at first that it was a name.”

The eyes looking back at his were full with tears now, almost to overflowing. Will felt himself tearing up as well. He couldn't help one solitary sob escaping. Almost immediately, Rafe appeared behind him, and held Will tightly round the waist.

“You OK?” Will nodded – he was unable to speak quite yet. Rafe gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Who's this?”

Will started. He hadn't forgotten Saul Edwards, it was more he'd faded into the background for a moment. “Sorry, Saul. This is my boyfriend, Rafe.”

“Hi.” Rafe bent down so he came into the webcam's view.

The older man's image looked at them both, together, and his face brightened a little as he wiped away the remaining evidence of his tears.

“OK … I guess this changes things somewhat.”

Will waited as the man's face reflected some kind of internal debate going on.

“I got to be someplace else soon. So how about we reconvene tomorrow, at about this time? We can have a good, long talk.”

Will glanced up at Rafe who shrugged. Will agreed the arrangements, then closed the connection.

**********

Max yawned. Another late night. And he was anxious. “I'm afraid we weren't very discreet yesterday evening.”

“What? At the club?” Saul looked sideways at his lover.

Max sighed. “No. When we came back here.”

They were still in bed the following morning, having a not very wonderful cup of tea. How very suburban, Max thought.

He was still worried, though. They'd left the club long before midnight. In fact, before things had really got going. By hotel standards, it was pretty late by the time they'd arrived back. They were really relaxed and happy, and hadn't thought about not showing it. Not that they'd gone overboard in anyway. He hoped the hotel staff were reliable, but anyone else …

Saul put his cup down to the side, and moved so he could put an arm round Max. He gave him a reassuring squeeze.

“Why, love? Apart from the staff, there wasn't anybody else around, was there?”

Max grimaced. “I think there was. In the bar – I thought I saw someone as we went past.”

“Probably some poor, lonely fucker with nothing better to do.”

“But …”

“Oh, dearest Max, you worry too much.” Saul started to distract his lover as only he knew how.

Max resisted for a short time, though only half-heartedly. He wanted to give voice to all his concerns. “Leave off for a minute, will you?” He kissed Saul in compensation. “Yes, I worry. I've put my heart and soul into the company, and I have fifty employees who depend on … well, not me, precisely, but certainly the company I run.”

Saul continued to stroke and caress his man's skin, running his fingers through Max's reddish chest hair, while he thought of a reply. They both ran risks, but he recognised Max had the most to lose. In his view, life was there to be lived – if they ran into trouble, they'd just have to find a way out of it.

“Max, my love, these days are my lifeblood. They, you, make me so happy.” Tender kisses. “While I wouldn't want anything untoward to happen, it would tear me apart to give them up.” A gasp of denial from Max. “I know, I know, I'm being dramatic again.” Self-deprecating roll of the blue eyes he knew Max loved. “But, until such time as we can both be open, we must take what we can.”

“And, what? To hell with the consequences?” A frown from Saul. “Oh, I'm sorry, my sweet, that came out wrong. … What I mean is …”

Saul interrupted with a full-on kiss. Then he drew away again. “You analyse too much – that's your problem. What we're doing isn't illegal, or outré. Our relationship has as much value as a straight one. Unfortunately, there are still a heck of a lot of people out there who don't agree. Well, fuck them!” Saul was getting heated.

Max decided to let it go for now. Instead, he sniggered, and smilingly shook his head. “Who's the sexy gay rights campaigner? At this time of the morning as well …”

“Sexy, am I?” Giggles from both.

“You know you are.” Max rolled on top of his lover. “Now show me.”

**********

Ten days or so after his initial conversation with Saul Edwards, Will was back in the nursing home, visiting his father. The time he spent on these trips was the main reason why he was getting behind with his academic work. He didn't begrudge the time – not at all. If necessary, he'd ask for an extension to allow him to finish. His mother had accompanied him on this visit, but as part of an armed truce between them, they had tacitly agreed to see his father separately.

Will sat in the main reception area, waiting his turn. One of the passing nursing staff recognised him.

“Excuse me. It's Will Carmichael, isn't it?” Will looked up, and nodded a little apprehensively. “You'll be pleased to know your dad's been spending time in the communal areas the past few days. He's looking better for it, if you ask me.”

“Thanks. I'm glad to hear that. I'll be seeing him myself in a few minutes.” Will smiled at her as she continued on her way through.

He doubted whether the manager would be so keen to talk to him. After his last series of visits, Will had complained, questioned, and insisted via email and phone. There had been little progress until Will had threatened to publicise his complaints on the various social media sites he belonged to. That, together with his stated intent of calling in the government regulator if necessary, had finally produced results. Funnily enough, his mother had supported his grievances. Why? He really didn't know. Shame? Unlikely. Fear of a scandal? That was more like it.

As he sat back in the mass-produced foam seat, Will considered his sessions with Saul Edwards. They were definitely sessions, much more than mere conversations. And they were an education for him, gay man that he was. Twenty five years ago seemed an age away, yet so many things resonated with him. HIV was still around, as was prejudice. As Saul described his relationship with Max, Will found his feelings towards his father changing. At first, he almost … despised his father for hiding his sexuality? Then, as Saul filled in the background, Will found himself becoming more sympathetic, though he still felt his father had somehow betrayed other gay men, the gay community, by his actions. Why he felt so strongly, he wasn't sure. Really, who was he to judge, when his father wasn't able to defend himself, give explanations, reasons? Then wasn't now – an important thought he had to keep in mind.

Of course, the situation wasn't that simple. His father's relationship with Saul didn't exist in a vacuum. Saul's descriptions of him, developing and running his own company, gave a picture of a man, inquisitive, dynamic, so full of life. Will contrasted that with his memories of his father as he grew up. He stared bleakly at the display of artificial plants opposite him. Away at boarding school for much of his education, he hadn't spent that much time with either of his parents. When he was home, the housekeeper looked after him mostly. But, he did notice that his father didn't go to work like other boys' parents. In fact, he didn't seem to do anything much. Will had learnt at some point that they had money from him selling his company. But the money didn't make his father happy. It wasn't used to start another company. Any attempt Will made to engage with his father was politely rebuffed. He was a difficult man to love, clearly unhappy, but Will did try.

Looking back, Will recalled the day he got his A level results. He was overjoyed – he had the right grades to get into his chosen university. On being told, his father just smiled, pleasantly enough, murmured a stock phrase or two, and turned back to his desk, pretending to do something. Now, Will recognised the symptoms of not depression exactly, but more a longterm loss of interest in life and his surroundings. His research into Alzheimer's gave this loss of mental stimulus as one of the main causal factors in the disease. Will sighed. He had a bad feeling about his future sessions with Saul – that period in the early '90s was pivotal.

Will was still lost in his thoughts when a shadow loomed over him. It was his mother. She was looking at him with an odd expression on the face. “I never thought I'd say this, but thank you, William. Your father is looking a little better for being out of his room.”

As an olive branch, it left something to be desired. Will had too much going round his head to be able to deal with his mother, so he settled for a smile and a simple “Good” as he got to his feet.

“So, it was the guy in the bar? The one who caused the trouble.” Will was back talking to the image of Saul Edwards. He was amazed at the details the older man could still recall.

“We'll never know for sure. But a few weeks later, Max told me that rumours were starting to circulate about his sexuality. One of his acquaintances in the City had mentioned it during the course of a conversation the week before.”

Will saw the sadness etched on the other man's face.

“Max let the comment pass …”

Will couldn't believe it. “What? He should've denied it, categorically.”

“And, so … deny our love? Deny who he really was? For once, your father didn't know what to say. Put on the spot like that? He was damned either way, in his mind, so he let it pass. I kept my counsel, and offered what support I could.”

Will tried to imagine the emotional conflict his father must have suffered in the seconds immediately after that comment. The awful, terrible dilemma. And afterwards. His two loves: Saul, and his work. The company he'd built from scratch, and his employees. What had he hoped would happen if he kept quiet? Who knew. God, he himself was so lucky – he'd been able to live his life openly, as he wished. He knew there were still plenty of people who didn't have such an easy life. Will quietly tried to absorb the situation, looking away from the screen as he did so. When he looked up again, Saul's image ran his fingers through his hair. Will could see he was visibly upset.

But he still wanted to know more about how it all started. “So, how could that man have known about my dad? From what you've said, he was so careful.”

There was a heartfelt sigh, then Saul appeared to gather himself. “Ah … Yeah … That was kinda my fault. The guy was coming after me – he had some crappy accusation of plagiarism which he wanted to screw me for. I guess he saw us that evening, put two and two together, and decided he could do us both over.” On screen, Saul shrugged sadly. “As I said, neither of us knew for sure. Heck … What did it matter? The damage was done.”

Will listened intently, keeping his eyes fixed on Saul's image.

The older man appeared to be having trouble keeping his composure. “This next part was very distressing for me at the time, and even now, thinking about it again for the first time in years, it gives me pain. You'll forgive me, if I keep it to the bare bones?”

Will nodded.

“I tried to keep in touch with Max, your father, after he phoned me. I'd gotten the sense that he'd already come to a decision, though he didn't share it with me. I wanted to offer support … just to be with him in spirit." A moment's silence. "It was so much more difficult then to communicate privately. The few phone calls I risked, weren't returned. Nor were my faxes. I didn't dare write him. Even at home. I knew he had live-in staff. I suppose his refusal to respond, on its own, should have warned me which way he'd decided to go.”

Will watched as Saul's image wiped away tears. It was all he could do, not to join him. He thought he could see where Saul's story was going, and it depressed him utterly.

“Anyways, I felt helpless, sidelined, and I could only read what everyone else did in the business pages, or the gossip columns. Your father became much more visible, both in his business life, and socially. He took care to be seen in the company of women. They seemed to change quite regularly until your mother came along. By then, I had despaired of ever seeing or hearing from your father again.”

“Why didn't you fight for him? You loved him, didn't you? How could you just leave him?” Will's voice rose - he was angry, hurt, bewildered.

Saul's image looked paler under the tan. A deep frown was visible. “I rather think he left me, young man.” The burst of anger was quickly extinguished. “Will, I apologise. These memories are like an old wound which has suddenly reopened. What was I supposed to do? I could hardly turn up at his house, and claim him as my own. As far as I could see, he'd made his decision, and it was to save his company, not our relationship. Whether it was his decision alone, I don't know. I guess there was pressure from investors …”

A shrug, then the sound of coughing, as Saul's image disappeared off to the side. It reappeared a minute later. “Will, I'm gonna take a break. I'll be back in ten?”

“OK.” Then, Will just sat, staring at his laptop unseeingly.

God, he wished Rafe was there, now, in the flat. He desperately needed one of his hugs, and a consoling kiss or two. Most of all, though, he needed someone else to talk to, someone who would listen as Will unloaded everything that was currently swirling around in his head. Rafe's warning was coming back to haunt him, wasn't it? Yes, he hadn't realised properly what he was getting himself into.

Will tried again to get inside his father's head. He thought he understood Max's need to secure the company above all else … but the way he'd apparently dumped Saul without a word, was heartless. Why hadn't his father said 'sorry' to his lover, or even, just a simple 'goodbye'? Was the pressure on him really so great that he couldn't find a way to do that? He himself would've done it – of course, he would. Then Will hesitated. All the ways he was thinking of were current, or relied on having good, discreet friends.

Were Saul and his father so deeply hidden that they had no mutual friends? Will tried to contrast that thought with how he and Rafe lived now. They had many friends, both straight and gay. Some were friends with both of them, others weren't. What he'd expect from any group of mates. He knew, if it came to it, he and Rafe had a network to turn to, people who would give them support and advice. Of that, he was certain. The isolation suffered by Saul and his father made Will sad, and angry that it had to be so. Although, he still wasn't clear on how much society at large was to blame, and how much of it was self-imposed. People, met occasionally, in bars and clubs weren't friends in any meaningful way.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Will actually looked at his screen. Still no sign of Saul? He checked the time – Saul had been away for considerably longer than ten minutes. Was he OK? Or, had he decided he couldn't speak to Will any longer? If that was the case, Saul should at least come back and bloody apologise, instead of leaving him hanging. It was difficult for both of them, for fuck's sake.

His growing annoyance tempted Will to close the video connection. He decided to give it another minute or two – he didn't have to be anywhere. … So, his parents. Will frowned. Had there been any love, or even affection, between the two of them? The thought that their relationship might've been a sham from the start was one that depressed him. Who had made the first move? Was it any better to think that it'd been his mother? … Was he, Will, merely the result of the need to keep up appearances? Now there was a thought he didn't want to explore further. Though Will suspected, having now given it form, it would be back to torment him. … OK, that was enough brooding for one session …

“Hey, Will.” The sound of Saul's voice broke into his thoughts. “Sorry, I took so long – I had some thinking to do.”

Will peered at the screen. The face he saw was still pale under its tan, but more composed than earlier. “Me, too.”

Saul's eyes were looking back at him quizzically. “OK … I reckon you've a bunch of questions right now?”

Will nodded – some of them made him feel very uncomfortable.

“Later, I'll try to answer any I can, but for now, I'll continue from where we left off. And, Will …" Will looked up again. "Don't forget that what you're hearing is my side of the story. Yeah? That's all it is – my side. However hard I try to be balanced, I know I can't be. It still hurts too much, there are so many things I don't know. I wish so much that Max could fill in the gaps, give his side, but he can't.”

A moment of charged silence.

“So, anyways, while your father was off doing his best to be straight, I was on my own. My then university was on my case about that bastard's plagiarism allegations, and the whole situation with Max was driving me crazy. I wasn't sleeping, and the stress was getting to me so much that I was drinking way more than I should've done. After a while, a friend, a gay friend, called me on it. At his invitation, I spent a weekend with him at his cottage in Wales.”

Will saw a brief, sad smile, then it was replaced by another expression, full of loss that was only slightly diminished by time.

“It was while I was staying there, I came to my decision. All my friend did, was listen – he let me talk myself to standstill. By the time I'd reached the end, tears and all, I saw my way forward. It was a decision which grieved me to my core – it still does – but I felt I had no alternative.”

“So, your friend didn't try to influence you in any way?” Will couldn't help wondering whether both men had been subjected to pressure.

“Nope. He was a great listener – sympathetic, and entirely non-judgemental. Even when I told him what I had in mind, he didn't pass comment. No, the choice was mine, and mine alone.”

Another moment of silence. Then Will heard a heavy sigh.

“Of course, I cleared myself of the plagiarism allegations, but that sort of thing sticks around, particularly in people's memories. So, I decided to hand in my resignation, and went looking for another post, anywhere but in the UK. I didn't think I could stand to watch at a distance as your father made a wreck of his life. A clean break was what I was after – that was the only way for me to regain control of my own life. So, I joined the faculty of a university over here in the States. I left England as soon as I could, severing all the ties that connected me there. I've never been back.”

Another heavy sigh.

“Have I had any sexual relationships since Max? Of course, but none of them have lasted more than a year or two. Your father casts a long shadow, and I don't think I've ever really escaped it. In my heart of hearts, I guess I'm a one man kinda guy.”

Saul's image looked bleakly out at Will. “You've never tried to contact him again?”

“No – there didn't seem any point. I noticed when he sold the company, then he apparently disappeared from view. I was trying to make my own life work. If I'd known how unhappy he was, then yes, I'd at least thought about it. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.”

Will realised he was feeling completely washed out, and Rafe was due back. He thought they'd reached a natural stopping point. “Saul? Thank you so much for your time, and your honesty. I'm sorry if telling me has caused you pain. We'd better stop there for now. I've got a huge amount to process, and think about.” The other man looked equally exhausted. “I'll contact you in a couple of days?”

“Yeah, OK. And don't forget my offer.”

Will was puzzled for a moment. “Offer? Oh … answering my questions. No, I won't. Bye, Saul.” He closed his laptop.

Will hesitated in the entrance to the day-room. He could see his father over by the French windows, seated in one of the ubiquitous armchairs. One of the many things he disliked about the nursing home was the way its inhabitants were treated like so many units, not individuals. His father had always preferred sitting on a hard, upright chair – here, he had no choice. Doubtless, it was far cheaper to buy in bulk, and presumably, they were designed for their elderly occupants. Even so – the home's fees were extortionate, and Will thought that should buy some individuality.

He stood and watched as one of the care assistants approached his father. A middle-aged woman, she was one of the better ones, and she'd been around since his father first arrived. Staff turnover was depressingly high. Will shook his head – even he'd noticed that. Still, it looked as though his father recognised her. His usual hesitant smile appeared as she re-introduced herself, and he seemed to be talking to her. The woman sat down beside him and started trying to interest him in a book, turning the pages for him. Will was pleased to see his father attempting to pay attention – whatever he was being shown was jogging some memory or another.

Not wanting to disturb the pair, Will decided to investigate the garden to one side of the home. He hoped to take his father for a short walk in a while. The late spring sunshine had warmth to it, and even the home's management must have planted some bulbs. He needed a short time to think before yet another conversation with Saul. He wanted to propose something to his father's former lover, but he wasn't sure how it was going to be received.

On his way out to the garden, Will saw a couple of elderly residents shambling along the corridor opposite. The man closest to him had a vacant, bewildered expression. His whole demeanour was almost lacking in any sense of self, or a connection with the world around him. Just as Will was wondering whether he should call someone, a nurse bustled up, and shepherded them back in the direction of their rooms. His father would end up like that – such a waste, such a fucking waste. Will wiped away a tear or two with the back of his hand. It made it all the more important that his father's life, as it was now, should give him some small pleasures for as long as possible.

“Pretty rose!” A shaky hand pointed at a tulip in triumph at having found the right word.

Max was very slowly making his way through the small garden. He was supported by a wheeled walking frame. Will kept close by, in case of any kind of mishap. No, it wasn't a rose. Should he try to correct his father? He decided not. The other week, his father had called a fork, a spoon. In trying to give him the right word, his father had become agitated, and then angry with himself for not being able to remember. Such self-awareness wouldn't last – Will didn't know whether that was good or bad, given the circumstances.

“A lovely red, isn't it?” The older man nodded, but didn't say anything in reply.

They continued on their way round, admiring the daffodils, and some statuesque giant alliums, until they reached a patch of early bluebells.

“Sau!” Again, his father took a hand off his stroller, and pointed at the bluebells.

OK … what had Saul got to do with a few flowers? He really hoped his father's habit of repeating Saul's name wasn't some uncontrolled verbal tic. At least with people to occupy him now, the repetitive thing with his hands wasn't quite so frequent. Then, an image of Saul floated into Will's mind, together with his startlingly blue eyes. Bluebells, indeed.

“Yes, Dad. Saul.” Was that the first time he'd acknowledged Saul in front of his father? Will frowned briefly in concentration. Yes, it probably was.

The older man looked a little taken aback his comment had provoked an answer. “Sau I?”

Was his father testing him? Will raised an eyebrow, before he replied. “Yes, Dad. Saul's eyes.”

That produced a slight smile, and the faintest of nods. Suddenly, a wave of the same sadness as before, washed over Will. It was now mostly beyond his father's ability to ask questions more complex than a simple 'What?' Nor, could he give voice to his feelings about Saul. How had he felt when, if, he'd heard that Saul had left the country? So many things Will desperately wanted to know, now locked up in his father's head.

The older man looked tired – he needed a good nap. They hadn't been out long, but it was a good start.

“Bloody 'ell, this traffic gets worse, year on year, without fail. Do the politicians do anything about it? Course not. They say they are, but they're a pack of liars, all of them. …”

Saul Edwards wished the cab driver would shut the fuck up. He was tired, and he was boiling hot. An early summer heatwave had caught him out, and, of course, he was wearing the wrong clothes for it. If it kept up, he'd have to go shopping for some extras.

“We're not far away now, you'll be pleased to hear. Shouldn't be more than fifteen minutes or so. You visiting someone?”

Saul murmured something in reply, and returned to his privacy of his own mind. Not for the first time, he was having second thoughts. He'd made his decision, but he still wasn't sure it was the right one. For him, or for anyone else involved. God, he'd spent long enough vacillating. He'd done as much research as he could, but had it helped? Saul sighed deeply, took his glasses off, and rubbed his tired eyes. Maybe he should have waited until the next day? No, he'd waited far too long already.

A jaw-cracking yawn caught the attention of his driver. “Jet-lag's awful, innit? Have a snooze, mate, this traffic's hardly moving.”

Yes, he would.

Will paced up and down in the nursing home's entrance – his visitor was late. A quick look at a traffic app soothed his anxieties a little – there was a hold-up on the main road. Will smiled to himself – he still couldn't quite believe it was happening. Just as he was about to take a seat in the reception area, a cab drew up outside. Will did a swift about turn, and hurried to the main doorway. Unfurling himself from the rear door of the cab was a tall, lean individual who, once he'd been given his luggage, stood on the driveway, looking around.

Will called out, to attract his attention. “Saul? Saul Edwards?”

The man's face broke into a tired, uncertain smile. “Hey, Will.”

Will hurried over to greet him. “It's great to meet you in person, Saul. How was your journey?”

The other man yawned again. “Tiring, but I guess that's to be expected. How is he?”

They both knew the 'he' Saul was referring to. “Dad's having one of his better days. He's in his room – rather that than having the whole day room listening in.”

The two men walked together down the corridor, not speaking, both lost in their own thoughts. They arrived at the right room, and hesitated, each man looking at the other. After a moment, Will knocked on the door as usual, then went in on his own.

“Hi, Dad. It's Will. I've got a visitor for you. He's come a long way to see you.”

His father looked up in time to see another man enter the room. The man came up close, and looked at him, with a smile. Blue … blue? Connections, unused in a long time, restarted falteringly behind a furrowed brow.

Then the man spoke to him. “Hello, Max. I'm Saul. It's so good to see you again.”

A few weeks later, Saul was sitting with Max on one of the wooden benches in the nursing home's small garden. The warm summer sunshine was making them both sleepy. Saul tried to stay awake by making himself sit upright on the seat. He left Max to doze in peace. They'd just completed their usual saunter through the garden, looking at the flowers. Doing so seemed to give Max some small pleasure. For Saul, it was his favourite time of the day with Max – out, in the open at last, with nothing to hide. God, he loved this man with all his heart, even after so many years of separation. He'd spent so much of his life trying to deny it, to bury it. A wave of affection and love washed over Saul as he leaned over and kissed his lover on the cheek.

Saul was now on sabbatical leave from his university – it was long overdue. Now he had the luxury of twelve, possibly eighteen months, before he had to return to his job, or make another life change. He had work to do, of course, but it meant he and Will between them, could spend as much time as possible with Max. Max's wife had been positively overjoyed at the prospect of being sidelined. Saul shook his head. One momentary error of judgement had resulted in so much pain and loss.

He looked sideways at Max. Asleep, his profile was almost as before – aquiline nose, deep-set eyes, but the flame-red hair had faded to off-white. Saul wanted to think that his lover was finally happy – maybe that was more wish fulfilment on his part. Certainly, Max was less agitated, and more engaged when he was around. Saul sighed. He had such a deep well of sadness and regret inside him, one which would never be drained completely. Spending time with Max now, easing his final years, was the only way those feelings would slowly be dispersed.

Saul felt tears coming. Their time together was inevitably going to be too short. He knew the Alzheimer's would cause Max to drift slowly away until he became almost unreachable. Still, all the more reason to enjoy the moment, while they could. He wiped his eyes, and tried to smile.

“Sau'?” Max had woken up, confused, as he usually did.

Saul turned, and reached out gently to stroke Max's cheek.

“Yes, my love? I'm here.”