Never Too Late To Change - 15. Conversations

On Boxing Day, Andy sat at the kitchen table, only half awake, drinking his coffee and picking at the plate of scrambled eggs on toast that Adam had just given him.

God, he was still stuffed from the previous day's feasting despite the walk they'd had after Christmas lunch. The weather had been bad all day – rain and strong winds – however they'd all felt the need to leave Adam's father to sleep in the living room. Or rather, sleep off some of the booze he'd drunk. It wasn't the first time his parents had met Adam's father, but it was certainly the first time they'd seen him that much the worse for wear, and giving vent to his opinions with such an alcohol-fuelled freedom.

Christmas Day was one of his favourite times of the year. Andy was upset and annoyed that Adam's father had managed well and truly to take the shine off it. Nothing to do with Adam. Just his homophobic tosser of a parent. At lunch, the older man's already loud, domineering voice had seemed to increase in volume as time passed, soon drowning out almost any other conversation at the table. Passing comment on any item of current affairs he wanted, his views were delivered with force. His own parents hadn't quite known what to make of him at the start – whether to ignore his behaviour, or pass it off as a kind of joke.

They'd pointedly spent most of the time trying to talk to Adam's mother, and she appeared very glad to have an excuse to ignore her husband. But the avoidance strategy had come to a halt as her husband's language and opinions had become ever more outrageous and socially unacceptable. His mum's face had been a picture at the end – complete disbelief mixed in with horror. His dad had only managed to stay in his seat because he'd just enough self-control left. His body language had been pretty clear, though. From the other end of the table, Adam had tried to intervene a couple of times, but his father hadn't taken any notice.

Adam came and sat down opposite his fiancé. His breakfast was a large mug of black coffee and one solitary boiled egg. Adam stared morosely at the egg for a moment or two, before slicing the top off and dipping his spoon in. Andy leaned over the table and caressed his other, unoccupied hand. He decided to reprise and continue a conversation they'd been having before they went to bed.

“Oh, love. You know how sorry I am about yesterday. I'd told Mum not to mention our wedding plans at lunch, but it just slipped out. She's so excited and happy for us – she's really looking forward to the whole thing, and your mum's itching to get going on the reception plans. Once we've decided on a date and a venue, of course.”

Adam sighed. “In no way were your parents to blame. I said as much to them on their way out. My father had already crossed the line well before that. Your mum was probably trying to change the subject. Mother approves of our plans, but you know I was going to have to choose a time and place to tell him. … For fuck's sake! Why can't the stupid bastard keep off the booze?” Adam put his spoon down, and ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. “It was just unfortunate timing. If your mum had mentioned it on any other occasion, he'd have passed it off no problem. Though he'd have given me a bloody inquisition later. It's the sodding drink that does it, but I've never seen him that bad. …”

Andy abandoned his neglected breakfast to move and sit down right next to his fiancé. He gave Adam a sympathetic, loving, side-on hug.

“The day started out pretty well, I thought. My parents really like you, you know. They think you're good for me and they hope you're gonna keep me in line. And they're right, of course…” A smile, another squeeze and a quick kiss. “The more I get to know your mum, the more I like and respect her. Your dad … well … he seemed to be OK when we were opening the presents …”

Adam scowled. “If you ignore the fact that he started drinking as soon as he set foot in the place. He doesn't make it obvious – he knows not to retreat into a corner clutching a full bottle of whatever. Instead, he drinks in the open with determination and application. Perfectly acceptable quantities, but two, three times as many glassfuls as everyone else. Mother has pretty much given up trying to restrain his drinking, I think. Of course, being in the kitchen most of the time, I didn't notice until it was too late. Stupid fucker … ”

Andy gave him a quick kiss, then pointed at the boiled egg. “Eat up. You look as though you could do with it.”

Adam smiled wryly – he looked as though he'd had a bad night, unsuprisingly. Andy leaned over and dragged his plate and mug to Adam's side of the table. Before he could apply himself to the scrambled eggs, he needed to ask Adam a question. He'd tried to ask it the previous evening, but Adam had still been seething at his father's behaviour. Time to try again.

“Love, is your dad gonna cause trouble?”

Adam looked sideways at him. “Trouble?”

“With us getting married?”

Adam's lips thinned. “Of course, you said last night you'd heard that particular gem. The whole sodding table heard it, probably. What was it? 'My bloody shirtlifter of a son getting hitched to that faggot' … Oh, love. I'm sorry as well. My father, pissed and totally lacking any restraint. I could've punched the mouthy bastard. Shows how thin the civilised, patrician veneer is sometimes, doesn't it? Talk to him sober and you'd think he aquiesced to our marriage, albeit reluctantly.” He grimaced unhappily.

There was a short silence as they both tried to eat some breakfast. Adam put his spoon down after only having a mouthful, and continued.

“You're so lucky in your parents. I know your dad took some persuading when you came out, but look at him now … And he was honest. He hadn't liked what he'd heard, and he said so. It gave you a chance to change his mind, openly and honestly. Unlike mine. I thought your dad was gonna really lay into my father when he got going about our marriage. Just as well he didn't, there's no arguing with him when he's in that state.”

Andy thought about the strained, embarrassed end to the Christmas lunch. In typical English fashion, nothing was said directly to Adam's father. The group walk had followed on almost immediately, with the participants making lighter, happier talk, but with everyone silently acknowledging what had just happened. Once they'd got back, both sets of parents had left as soon as they decently could have done. Adam's mother had somehow managed to get her husband into their car without him causing any more upset. Andy supposed she must've had plenty of practice.

There was another short silence.

Adam knew that he hadn't given Andy an answer to his question. He sighed, took a deep swig of his coffee, and tried to lighten up his mood. After a moment, he turned in his seat so he could look at Andy properly and smiled at him with deep affection. Then Adam reached out, and caressed Andy's cheek.

“I love you more than I can say, dear one. And I can't imagine my life into the future without you at my side. We will get married, when and where we choose, regardless of whether my sot of a father approves or not.”

Adam drew his fiancé closer and kissed him on the lips, deeply, tenderly. The heat of the kiss kept increasing until Adam broke it off and drew back enough to continue talking. “I would like both my parents to be with us, but if it turns out that only Mother is there, I'll be fine. Maybe I'll have to decide closer to the time what to do. Pity we can't just not invite him …”

He sighed with frustration. Looking out of the window, the sunshine was bright and cheerful, unlike the previous day. Adam wondered briefly about the weather's ability to mirror or predict their moods. He was determined to have a good, enjoyable Boxing Day. A cycle ride in the sun seemed like a good way to get it started.

“Let's get rid of some our Christmas Day blues, shall we?”

Andy raised an eyebrow. He rather fancied spending the morning lounging on the sofa, reading one of his Christmas books. “Getting rid of them by? …”

Adam grinned back at him. “An hour or so's brisk cycling. We've plenty of time and it'd be a shame not to be out in the sunshine. You can read your books when we get back – I'll do lunch.”

“Yeah … OK. Why not? Don't forget that we're visiting Eric this afternoon. We've got to get everything sorted – the food and so on …”

Adam rolled his eyes in reply. “That's assuming he is still expecting us. Anyway, it won't take long – it's all cold stuff. Everything else we need to talk to him about, it's all on my laptop.”

Andy felt the need to defend Eric, despite having been a little annoyed him the previous day. “He's not used to people promising him good things and actually fulfilling his expectations. I wonder if it's a defence mechanism or something? … Anyway, cycling gear. We'd better get changed before we lose the sun.”

Eric finished drinking his breakfast mug of tea and glanced up at the clock. He was feeling unsettled, almost nervous, but there were several hours to go before he might expect the two lads. Of course, Andy knew how he lived – he'd been there often enough. But not Adam. Eric grimaced. The place was already as clean as he could make it – Adam would just have to take him as he found him.

The old man shuffled slowly to the kitchen with his plate and mug, and noticed the early sunshine coming in through the kitchen window. A walk would be good – he needed the fresh air and the exercise. The ground floor windows let in so much light now Andy had cleaned them. He'd spent the best part of an afternoon doing it. When Andy had shown him the cleaning rags, he'd seen that they were black from years of accumulated grime. Eric sighed. He couldn't expect Andy to keep on doing jobs like that – he'd better find a window-cleaner from somewhere to come and do it for him.

He gathered up his coat, scarf, gloves, cap, and walking stick. Luckily, his coat would conceal the fact that he was wearing some of his most shapeless clothes. The best things he had in his wardrobe were currently laid out on his bed. He wouldn't get changed until much later on – knowing him, he'd get something on them, like milk, otherwise. As he opened the door to go out, he tried to quell any thoughts about how Adam would see him. Those clothes were much better than the stuff he'd worn when he'd gone to the city and had lunch with him. Anyway, did it really matter that much? He was a gay man, just like them – that should be good enough, shouldn't it?

Carefully, he picked his way down the garden path – the rain from the day before had left the old, uneven paving stones damp and slippery. He was so looking forward to having a new path, and the rest of the work which Andy had said was planned. There would be some disruption no doubt, but he was keen for it to start. Suddenly he had a thought which nearly made him stop in his tracks. Would he have to pay? God, he hoped not. Why hadn't he asked Andy about it beforehand? He tried to gather his thoughts. Since it was a student project, he'd assumed that the college would pay, but now he wasn't so sure. He'd better ask Andy when he saw him later on.

When he reached the bottom of the path, he turned right and headed in the direction of the town centre. His closest neighbour lived about fifty yards along, in a cottage not dissimilar to his – if he ignored the fact that it had been 'improved' to the tune of several thousand pounds. The woman who lived there was a widow about his age, he thought – it was difficult to tell – whose principal occupation was minding other people's business. Eric hoped fervently that she wasn't out walking her Pekinese at the same time as he was passing – he wanted exercise, not gossip.

Just as he thought he'd escaped, her front door opened and she appeared, dog in tow. Unlike his cottage, she had an unrestricted view of the road from her doorway. She spotted him and waved cheerfully in his direction.

“Coo-ee! … Mr Whitehouse!”

Eric cursed under his breath, and stopped walking, reluctantly. He could hardly do otherwise, more's the pity. Bloody woman! He watched as she hurried down her perfectly maintained path, through her perfectly manicured planting. Eric couldn't help wondering at the unfairness of it all. He had worked hard all his life, and in retirement, he could just about afford to live. She had never done a stroke of paid work in her life, and it wasn't even that they'd had kids or anything. She was certainly doing OK for herself, as far as he could tell. He had to force himself to be civil every time he encountered her.

Eric waited until she arrived at her gate before speaking. “Morning, Mrs Turner.”

“Happy Boxing Day, Mr Whitehouse! Are you out for a walk? Isn't it nice to see the sun again after the rain yesterday? Did you have a good Christmas Day?”

Eric opened his mouth to answer at least one of her questions, but she just continued on, without stopping for breath.

“I had such a wonderful time with some dear friends. You know, I even got a little bit tipsy. Still, if you can't do that on Christmas Day, when can you?”

She was interrupted by the Pekinese lunging towards Eric and snuffling at his ankles. Then it started yapping. Eric backed away, warily keeping an eye on the animal. His neighbour dragged the dog back by its leash.

“Behave, Bella. Bad dog! Sorry, Mr Whitehouse, she really should know better.”

Eric grunted something in reply and prepared to move on. However, the woman put out a hand to detain him.

“I hope you don't mind, but I've just got to ask you something … Who's that gorgeous young man who keeps on visiting you? You're the lucky one, aren't you? I wouldn't mind having a visit or two from him myself.” She giggled girlishly.

Eric blinked at her, trying desperately to think of a suitable answer. Whatever he came out with was likely to be common knowledge within a day or so.

“Err … he volunteers with a local charity, A Helping Hand. He helps me with things.” He was going to be damned if he was going to tell her anything else. He could see his neighbour mentally filing that away for future use.

She smiled at him. “I thought I recognised him. This is such a tight-knit community – it would be more surprising perhaps, if I didn't recognise him. Maybe I've seen him shopping in the town? I must've done, I suppose …”

Eric's deliberately blank look made it plain that no more information was going to be forthcoming, but she couldn't resist giving it one last try. “I could ask around, of course, but I'd prefer to hear it from the horse's mouth … So much easier.”

Her encouraging smile, and the open-ended sentences had absolutely no effect on Eric. He merely returned her smile with a much more restrained one of his own, nodded his head to her, and set off on his walk again. His neighbour was left standing by the gate until the yaps from the Pekinese prodded her into motion. She sighed in frustration, and headed off out of town in the direction of a path down to the riverbank.