Bearing Gifts - 1. Alan's story

The kiss reminded him of chemistry lessons in school, when if the right two elements were put together, they’d explode. Alan leaned forward to peer at the TV screen, drinking in the men's beauty, their ardour and sexiness, and the rightness of it all. Even his faded, ancient sweats momentarily swelled in the crotch. Then a lifetime's worth of regrets, hidden secrets, and loneliness welled up; tears oozed out, one by one, until slow rivulets flowed down the lines in his face.

A groping hand found the hanky in his pocket. He mopped up and blew his nose fiercely.

He turned the TV off, tossing the remote onto the other half of the sofa. "Why start watching the film, you stupid sod? You know that sort of thing always sets you off." He sniffed hard. "And it's worse this time of year."

A small, silver, pre-decorated tree, balanced on a pile of books, was his only concession to Christmas. The rest of the living room remained its usual beige and brown self. Rather like him, the furnishings looked dusty and unloved. The tree was usually accompanied by two cards from his siblings, but since his long-delayed coming out the previous year, all communication had ceased.

Why had he bothered? Alan chewed at the pad of one forefinger. It had felt so right, so liberating when he finally gave in to growing internal pressure and made his public declaration. Affirming. He recalled a burst of fierce joy after sending out emails to his relations. Yet the following morning, his life continued in its same dreary course. Breakfast, out to the park, pick up the paper on his way back, lunch, snooze, fail to do the puzzles, tea, and mindless TV. So much pointless drivel. What had he expected to happen? A fairy godfather, arriving in a cloud of rainbow sequins, to take him off to queer heaven? Whatever that was.

His gaze lingered on the space by the tree. Alan grimaced. "You're better off without those two bigots," he muttered to himself. Something inside him declined to agree and the waterworks started up again. He brushed the drops away with brusque flicks of one hand.

Sitting upright, Alan turned on the radio. His timing was impeccable. Into a pregnant hush came a boy's voice singing the opening verse of 'Once in Royal David's City'. The last few tears drying on his cheeks, everything faded into the background as memories flooded in.

The chemistry analogy reminded him of one particular day in school, when a new boy joined their science class. Teenage Alan, as ever, hid behind his fringe at the back, hoping to avoid all notice. Lithe, golden-haired, and with a ready smile, the newcomer was an instant hit with the girls. Even now, Alan recalled the excited squeals and gasps, the wildfire gossip.

That was when he really knew himself. Oh, the desperate struggle to hide his stiffy under the desk, praying he'd have no reason to stand up. "God, he was stunning." A sigh escaped. "And a complete shit."

Of course, he did nothing about the crush. The other boy was so far out of his league it was laughable. A 1970s, northern mining town wasn't a place for fairy tale endings. After a few weeks of surreptitious calf love, one particularly soppy look was intercepted. The memory of that still gave him the shivers. And what followed. Golden boy had no qualms about getting his fists bloody and bruised.

Alan recalled clearly the snarl, furious and feral, on the other boy's face as he attacked. Baying from the pack of acolytes golden boy had mustered in those few short weeks. Himself, stunned and sobbing, gore dripping from a swollen nose, half-watching through sodden eyes as two teachers restored order.

How pathetic was it those memories retained the power to make his guts roil? And yet, he couldn't put a name to his attacker. That face, frozen in time. Anonymous.

More tears threatened.

The doorbell rang.

"Bloody hell!" The hanky was pressed into service again. His eyes stung. Part of him wanted to ignore the intrusion. Another buzz - longer this time. "It's fucking Christmas Eve," Alan grumbled under his breath. Part of him wanted to yell the same words at the door. He stood up, legs a little shaky. "Haven't they got anything better to do?"

He shambled through to the front door. Opening up revealed his new Polish neighbour, a pretty woman in her thirties, wearing a multi-coloured Christmas jumper. Her friendly smile did nothing to improve his temper.

"Yes?" The single syllable oozed discouragement. Alan didn't care. It felt cold outside and he knew he was a less-than-prepossessing sight.

"Happy Christmas, Mr Rudge!" The smile faltered as she saw him properly. "Err... please would you join us for our Christmas meal this evening? There is always a place set for an unexpected visitor – it is our custom."

His jaw dropped. "Ehm... that's very kind of you... Hanna." Was that her name? He gulped. "Unfortunately I have other plans."

"OK – that's a pity." She looked at him more closely.

Alan shuffled under her intelligent gaze. What possible social engagement might he be attending, red-eyed and morose? Plus, even she must have noticed his lack of visitors, his clockwork, unvarying routine. The only plan was for him and a bottle of supermarket own-label red wine to get maudlin together.

"Should I bring a selection of dishes over?" She obviously didn't believe his excuse. "Just a taste of a Polish Christmas. There'll be plenty to share." For his fictional friends.

The late afternoon's chill slid in round the door. "I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble." Alan prepared to retreat ungraciously.

"No trouble." She beamed. "It's prepared. There's mushroom soup, pierogi... err... stuffed dumplings, cabbage rolls, and to finish, gingerbread with stewed plums. How does that sound?"

A loud rumble from his treacherous stomach reminded Alan he hadn't bothered with lunch. Despite himself, his mouth watered. "That all sounds great, but--"

"It's really no trouble, Mr Rudge. Celebrate Christmas Eve our way. The Polish way. Tomorrow you may feast on your turkey and Christmas pudding."

He stared at her bleakly. "Feast? With whom? My last remaining family disowned me when I stopped hiding myself."

"Hiding?"

"I came out to them in the new year."

The woman frowned. "I don't know this 'came out'."

"I told them I'm gay. It's only taken me most of a lifetime."

The look of surprise opposite made him wonder whether the offer of food would be withdrawn. Even he knew Poland's reputation as a country which largely reviled the LGBTQ community.

The woman shook her head. "That is so sad. And cruel. You should not lose your family because of who you are." One hand fished in a skirt pocket and produced a phone. “Excuse me for a moment.” A few taps later, she put it away again. "I work in local government – social care. Maybe I have an idea. I'll be back soon." Another smile and a wave. "Bye."

Alan wandered into the kitchen, not quite believing what had occurred. Maybe it was just pity. Charity for those who couldn't do any better.

In fast-fading light, he stood at the window watching a large, black crow parading across his scruffy lawn. The bird would scare as easily as a wood pigeon if Alan were to move suddenly. Bravado, in other words - something he never learnt to carry off during his time in army logistics. He grimaced. Hardly the stuff of legends getting food, ammo, equipment from point A to point B, for all it was vital. Enjoyable though, in a weird way. The sense of being part of a team but mostly operating in his own bubble, suited him.

And then there was Gerry.

Another thick blanket of regrets threatened to smother Alan.

Cocky, irrepressible Gerry walked the narrow line between acceptable cheek and insubordination. Somehow he managed it, but equally, those in command ensured he never advanced beyond private. Even more astonishing, at times he barely bothered to conceal the fact he was queer.

Alan, then in his late twenties and a corporal, was terrified of being found out. Not that he ever did anything. Instead, he buried that part of him even deeper than before. Ambitions to become sergeant were his solace. Until Gerry got in the way.

Somehow, that impish, hazel-eyed man figured him out. One night, on manoeuvres in western Germany, they bivouacked for the night by their vehicles. Alan recalled vividly the parting camouflage netting. His bewilderment. The growing bliss. Shame, then dread. Gerry's hurt. Their barely suppressed anger.

Alan gasped. Jesus - what a fucking idiot he was back then. So what if they'd both been court-martialled and dishonourably discharged? They would've had each other. Instead, he clamped back down, denying what was right in front of his nose. Gerry persisted, using every plea and argument he knew, until Alan threatened to report him to the military police. Idiot and complete shit.

A burst of broadcast music, bright and angelic, carried through from the living room radio before he could revisit the aftermath. His time in hospital following the almost inevitable breakdown; Gerry going AWOL and seemingly vanishing into thin air. Alan shook his head with vigour. Why did the past still overshadow him to such an extent? Somehow, he had to find the strength to get a grip on the present. How? He'd never reached out before.

Sinking back down on the sofa, Alan ignored the growing darkness and tried to pay attention this time.

He'd dozed off by the time the doorbell rang again. Answering it, Alan blinked owlishly at his neighbour. The porch light almost dazzled him with its cheerful glow.

She held out a bag containing several brightly-coloured plastic food containers. "Wesołych Świąt, Mr Rudge! Your food, and I have something else, I hope, to make your Christmas merry."

He took hold of the bag, letting several bleary seconds elapse before peering inside. A hearty sniff or two only detected hints of the promised savoury delights. Briefly he imagined the rich, sweet redness of the plums, at one time a favourite of his. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Eat it while it’s hot.” A phone appeared in her hand. "First, please have a look at this."

He squinted at the minute text on the screen. It appeared to be an email addressed to his neighbour. With relief, he noted Hanna was indeed her name. Puzzled, his eyes skittered over the page until the sight of his own name brought them to an abrupt halt. He stared.

Alan, you are invited to a party at the Birmingham LGBT centre tomorrow - free food, games, and a present for everyone. Why not take a chance to meet your new brothers and sisters in a safe, welcoming environment? We will collect you…

The rest of the message blurred – more tears. Yet his heart sang. Why shouldn't he take a chance? A queer, rainbow-coloured chance to defeat his demons. Who needed fairies and sequins? They’d never really been his thing. Alan snuffled hard before handing the phone back.

Hanna smiled. “You are lucky. I just managed to catch the organiser before they left for the day.” She glanced at the screen. “In case you missed it, they'll collect you from here at eleven. OK?”

His throat swelled. "Thank you, Hanna - for everything. What have I done to deserve such kindness?"

“Nothing." She regarded him. "Dare to be yourself, Alan. Show other people the real you. Kindness like this costs nothing, yet I know it changes lives.” Another beaming smile lit up the porch. “Enjoy!”

Dazed, he stood there, watching her go. Warmth and hope spread throughout his body. Under his breath, he made a promise. “I shall. I shall.”