Never Too Late To Believe - 19. Choices

In his workshop, Rob Bairstow finished sanding down the latest commission. A large, simple oak tablet, the real test of his skills would come with the lettering he'd been asked to carve into it. He let out a deep breath. It had been a while. With a grimace, he pulled an off-cut closer. That would have to do for a dummy run.

He glanced up at the wall clock, plain, functional, and analogue, installed after he'd missed a couple of client appointments through leaving his phone in the house. However much he preached to Eric Whitehouse, there were still times he needed to concentrate. What was it about the lure of a flashing notification light? He was as much a sucker for social media as someone half his age.

His newest friend would be waiting for him at Leominster station soon enough, assuming that blasted line behaved itself for a change. First, he ought to decide what they were going to have for lunch. Choices would be limited by what was in the fridge, and Eric's possible dislikes, which he suspected to be legion. A menu debate with himself would be closely followed by time spent considering Tyler Jackson.

It was time to puncture that youth's all-encompassing ignorance of queer history, whether or not he decided to identify as LGBTQ in the future. He was hardly alone in his lack of knowledge. Even those of his peers who knew and accepted themselves lived in the present, without bothering much about the past. From his conversations with Tyler, queer difference repelled the youth on the surface, while simultaneously appearing to draw him in. He wouldn't let go of things, returning again and again to a topic while Rob tried to move on. Was there a yearning quality about Tyler's interest? Rob gave himself a shake. 'Yearning' was not a word Tyler would employ. He imagined the youth's scorn. His persistent questions and comments – mostly derogatory in tone – indicated a level of engagement impossible to ignore. Rob wondered when a crack in the youth's armour might appear.

That was a joy to come. First, Eric.

Eric felt almost relaxed as he got off the train at Leominster. A journey which had started as a daunting adventure now held an air of familiarity, something like getting a lift from Andy. The old man smiled to himself. One more indication of how his life continued to change.

Visiting Rob at home was anything but mundane. Flutters in his stomach started up. How would he come across as a guest? Awkward? Tongue-tied perhaps. Maybe Rob would expect nothing else. Eric recalled their stop-start chat in the cafe. He sighed. Those worries faded into the background when compared with the awful prospect of inviting Rob to the cottage.

Eric sat on an unloved wooden bench situated on the station forecourt. His walking stick lurked close by. He eyed it with resignation. A momentary urge to leave it behind at the cottage had been defeated by common sense. Standing around waiting for public transport was no joke at his age.

Sunshine broke through fitfully. Eric peered down to examine the last of his recently-purchased summer shirts. He'd left it to one side because the large, light green and blue checks on white struck him as almost garish. Fingering strong, unused cotton, he wondered whether the shirt's previous owner had come to the same conclusion. The green trousers bought at the same time had survived the wash and his clumsy ironing. He attempted to smooth out a bunch of creases at the top of his thighs, tugging at the material to straighten it.

“Hi, Eric! You've made it in good time.”

Eric jolted at the greeting. He looked up to see Rob striding towards him. His belted jeans, canvas lace-ups, and a black tee with the word 'Queen' printed in orange above blobs – as it seemed to him – of bright colour made the other man appear younger than his faded ash-blond beard suggested.

“Hello, Rob.” He returned the other man's smile. “Yes, the luck went my way for a change.” He stood up, one hand reaching automatically for the wretched stick. “I'm ready.”

“Great.” Rob hesitated for a moment or two, standing close enough to Eric to touch him before moving away. “The car's only round the corner.”

Sitting in the passenger seat, Eric wondered whether Rob had thought to hug him. Just as well he changed his mind. Hugs were reserved for his two lads.

Later, Eric sat on an old, comfortable sofa. He inspected it. The arms weren't upholstered; instead polished wood showed off elegant design and carving. He wondered if Rob had made the sofa himself. In the kitchen, Rob was preparing their lunch of Mediterranean vegetable quiche with a green leaf salad and fresh, crusty bread. Eric took a sip of Twisted Spire, a local ale he enjoyed, and continued to look around.

As with all Tudor or Jacobean townhouses in the local area, the front door opened directly into the main living area. The age-blackened ceiling timbers appeared original. They matched what could be seen of the ones on the house front. To make the most of limited daylight from the one, admittedly-large, diamond-leaded front window, the walls were painted a pale, golden yellow.

Not that much of the paint was visible. Groups of framed photos and a couple of bright, abstract paintings took up a lot of the available space.

“How's the beer?” Rob's voice carried through from kitchen at the back of the house. Dwellings that old were rarely more than two rooms deep and the kitchen was a sliver, rather like his own.

“It's fine.” Eric had no time for pretentious fools who sought to describe one taste by comparing it to other, completely unrelated ones. “Tangy and refreshing.”

“Yeah – I find that.” Chopping noises followed. “Food'll be ready in five minutes or so. We'll chat properly then.”

Eric nodded, not caring the gesture would be unseen. Placing his drink on a side table, he stood up, inspired to explore by the photos. They were obviously important to Rob if he gave them such prominent, public spots. On the wall next to the large, flat-screen TV, a group of photos showed people happy and at ease, smiling and laughing together. Regret welled up. It always did. He sighed quietly.

The pictures captured men of all shapes, sizes, and colours having fun. Eric stared. The age range also spanned several decades, grey hair next to glossy black and many other hues. With Adam and Andy as his day-to-day reference, plus spending time online, he'd forgotten gay men might be anyone. Like him, in fact, except such evident enjoyment of life escaped him. He shrugged. The men were pictured against the backdrop of a bar or maybe a nightclub. His knowledge of either came from the soaps he half-watched.

His gaze returned to one image in particular. Someone else had taken the photo of Rob snuggled up to a man Eric reckoned was at least twenty years his younger. Emotions inherited from his mother bubbled up in his gut. 'Cradle snatcher' had been one of her favourite sneers. He swallowed hard against the sour taste. Even he recognised closeness beyond being just mates. The object of Rob's affections was slim, athletic, and unmistakeably from the Indian sub-continent. A memory of his own father swearing loudly at immigrants on the telly, repeatedly jabbing a finger, ambushed Eric. It took several seconds before the vision sidled away again.

How had it never occurred to him that Rob might be in a relationship? Eric sat down heavily onto the sofa. The other man hadn't mentioned anyone special. Should Rob have done so? Eric frowned.

Modern relationships and how they worked were still largely alien to him. Any information he possessed came from watching telly and using his laptop. His own parents were a masterclass in how not to live a joint life. Staring into space, he let the continuing kitchen noises wash over him. Oddly, he'd assumed Rob would be single, though infinitely better at negotiating people and social situations than he was.

He took a breath. If he looked to Rob for friendship and an additional guide to living a queer life, why should it matter? It didn't, of course. Eric nodded agreement with his thoughts. Andy's affection and care was enough. He stared into the middle distance, mind wandering.

“Here we are.” Rob's voice dispersed the mental fog which surrounded Eric. The younger man strode across the room towards a small table by the window.

Noting plates of food, Eric perked up. They looked good. Warm, eggy aromas with hints of tomato and pepper smelled even better.

He grabbed his drink and relocated to the table by the window. “This looks delicious, Rob.”

His host smiled. “Thanks, but you're actually complimenting Mr Sainsbury. I've been too busy the last couple of days to cook.”

“I'm not complaining.” Eric's worry about the visit to his own place slackened somewhat. If Rob made no bones about buying in lunch, why shouldn't he do the same? His mood altered for the better.

After an initial silence during which they both set to, Eric risked steering the conversation. “I like your photos. There're so many of them.”

Rob smiled a little wistfully. “My queer family and friends are quite spread out. I like to have these reminders of them around me.”

Eric swallowed. He opened his mouth to ask a question but nothing came out. After a moment, he closed it again.

“Which ones caught your attention?” Rob looked up from his food and surveyed the room.

A slight flush stole over Eric's face. “Err… the ones by the TV. Hope you don't mind me looking.”

The smile opposite him broadened. “Course not. Anyone invited here is welcome to look around.”

A warmth filled Eric. It suggested only people Rob trusted got this far.

“They're all taken in Birmingham – at Pride weekends mostly.” Rob waved a hand in the general direction of the photos. “I love meeting up with mates. Online, we keep talking about having a boozy long weekend together in Brighton.” He took a draught of his beer, darker than the one Eric drank. “Must get round to it soon. In fact–” Rob reached behind him, retrieving a dog-eared pad of paper from a slender table next to the front door. “Thanks for the indirect reminder.” With a pencil stub produced from somewhere, Rob scribbled a note to himself.

They ate, Eric savouring the sharp, herby taste of the salad dressing. Again, he prepared to speak, only to give up. He had little notion of how to ask what he wanted to know, and whether indeed, he had any right to poke his nose into Rob's affairs.

As if reading his mind, Rob looked up. “Any particular photo catch your eye? I'd be happy to give you some background.”

“Ah…” He coloured, desperate to seize the opportunity. “There's one of you and–” His voice trailed off. “Ehm… and a… friend?”

“Friend?” Rob squinted at the pictures, unwilling, it seemed, to get up. “Oh – you mean Zaf?” Another smile developed, this time brimming with affection and fondness. “He's a sweetie. Fabulous as fuck when given half a chance. A little given over to whining maybe, but he has the courage of a lion.”

Eric listened.

Rob's tone darkened. “If I ever think life as a white, cis, gay guy is difficult, I remind myself of Zaf and so many others like him.”

“Err…” His mind grappled unsuccessfully with Rob's statement. Eric guessed his expression must be blank.

“Come on, Eric.” Friendly impatience now dominated. “There isn't much ethnic diversity round here, I know.” Rob leant forward. “Think! Zaf comes from a practising Muslim family. His folks aren't bad people, but they struggle to accept their boy is a gay man. Cricket notwithstanding. His whole community finds it difficult. It's a lonely path to take.”

Eric recalled the earlier 'courage of a lion' remark. “How does he manage?”

Rob grimaced. “Some individuals build their own queer circle and live openly. Others hide, dissemble, and try to deny themselves for the sake of their biological family. Either way, there can be a lot of stress on mental and emotional health.”

“So Zaf's in the first category?” He struggled to keep up.

“Kind of. It's often more nuanced. As far as I know, Zaf maintains some links with his relations. We go back a fair way and we're pretty close.” He shrugged. “Neither of us delves into the other's background.”

Was that a warning to him? Not that Eric wanted to talk about his family either. The two men returned to clearing their plates. Eric felt little the wiser for all he got to ask his question.

Rob emptied his glass. “Another?”

Eric shook his head.

The younger man sat back. “So what's been happening in your world, Eric?”

He was unprepared for the spotlight. Stupid really. After a moment's hesitation, he grabbed hold of that morning's excitement which followed on one earlier in the week. “I've received two invitations through the post recently. Proper, printed, RSVP invitations.” Pride glowed in him.

Rob's almost comical expression of surprise amused and hurt Eric at the same time. It was swiftly overlaid by eager, friendly interest. “Wow! I didn't realise you were such a man about town, Eric.”

“Hardly.” A wry twist of the lips followed. “They're the first and quite possibly the last, of my entire life.”

Andy's wedding invite only arrived that morning. He'd met the postman on the doorstep, just as he was about to leave. The subsequent delay while he'd opened it had nearly caused him to miss the damned bus.

Rob raised both eyebrows. “So… are you going to graciously enlighten me?”

Heat rose to his cheeks again. “Well, the first came from some new neighbours who now live opposite me. They were moving in as I left for the station. I'm sure that's the only reason they included me.”

“Hmm.” The tone suggested scepticism.

“The one which arrived this morning was for my two lads' wedding. They're getting married in October at Croome Park. Andy won't know what to do with himself once it's over.”

“Croome? Wow. Sounds as though it's going to be quite an event.”

Eric sat up. “I forgot. Andy sent an email to say he and Adam are featured in this month's… err… Herefordshire Life. I haven't had chance to look yet.”

“Not a publication I bother with usually. Maybe I'll give it a read this time. So Andy's organising everything?”

“Yeah, with help from Adam's mother, I think. It's a regular topic of conversation when he visits, not that I have anything to add.”

“Janice and I got hitched at the closest registry office. She was probably as glad as me we didn't spend a tonne of money on a lost cause. I have to say, weddings aren't a great feature amongst my circle of friends.”

Rob's expression became distant, his lips tightly closed.

Eric hesitated, then another important question, one he'd tried to asked Andy, burst out. “The neighbour's do is first. I haven't a clue what I'm supposed to wear, or whether I'm meant to take them a present or something.”

“OK.” Rob's smile returned. “First off, no presents required. You just need to make approving noises within earshot of your hosts. Right, next. Did the invite mention anything about a dress code?”

“Such as?”

“A statement like 'black tie' or 'formal wear' or some such.”

“No.” Eric knew he could recite each and every word on that invitation, back and front.

“I'm no expert in this sort of thing. A house-warming's pretty informal, so I'd guess smart casual.”

Eric sighed.

“Not your usual look then?” Amusement tempered by sympathy flittered across Rob's face.

“This is me smart.” He indicated the checked shirt.

“It suits you. Maybe you'll need something a little dressier to pass.” Rob stirred his phone into life. “It's two now. You have to be anywhere else today?”

A day with more than one event? Eric blinked. “No.”

“I suggest we make a trip to Hereford and see what we can find. The main shopping area's still reasonable-ish.” Rob paused. “If you're OK with that. I don't want to make any assumptions.”

Eric stared at him. The new, magic bank card was safe in his jacket pocket. Recklessness, or his pale, timid version of it, rolled over him. “Why not?”

“Great!” Rob stood up. “Let's get going.”

As they strolled away from the multi-storey car park in the centre of Hereford, Rob fretted uselessly. Had he remembered to lock the car or not? One of the joys of advancing years. He grunted. If someone was that desperate for his battered Volvo estate, that fact of it being locked was unlikely to get in the way.

Eric touched his arm. “That was the car park we used for Pride earlier this year.”

Rob turned his head. “You went to Pride here?”

“Yeah – my first.”

“Pity we didn't meet. It's not that big an affair.”

Eric smiled suddenly. “As we left to go home, I thought I spotted you out of the car window.”

“Really?” His mouth hung open.

“That's what finally pushed me to contact you, only you beat me to it.”

Rob stopped walking, putting a hand out to still his companion. “It's so weird this is the first time we're having this conversation. You would've thought it'd be one of the first topics.”

Eric shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“No – I guess not.”

They resumed walking, heading towards the wide main streets.

Eric looked around him with interest. “Where're we heading?”

“Not sure.” Rob let out a considering breath. “Where d'you normally go?”

A period of silence followed – it felt tense.

“I do the rounds of the side-street charity shops.” Eric's voice sounded tight.

“Ah. That's fine. Or we could do a mix.” Rob's thoughts spun rapidly. “Perhaps find a suitable, formal jacket there, then look in the sales for a shirt and a pair of trousers. We may find something.” He grimaced. “The sales are pretty much over, but you never know.”

The older man's face was a frown of internal decision making.

“What colours are you after? The blue in that shirt really brings out your eyes.”

That was met by an astonished bark. “I'm no clotheshorse.”

“Me neither. I still buy stuff that makes me feel good. And blue's a common fabric colour.”

“OK. Whatever we buy will have to serve for the wedding reception as well. I'm not made of money.”

“Deal. Jacket first; everything else follows.”

Eric stood in the menswear department of Marks and Spencer, not a single bag in hand. Their trawl of his usual charity shops had brought up nothing. He sighed in frustration. Wasn't it just bloody typical? The one time he shopped with definite things in mind, he came away with nothing.

He watched Rob rifling through racks of clothes. The fact they all carried large signs proclaiming the possible levels of reductions didn't make Eric any happier. He'd be living off bread and water for the next month if he bought all his clothes here.

“Ah!” Rob's gasp of triumph made Eric straighten. The younger man strode towards him, brandishing a jacket. “Here you are! The perfect specimen.”

Mid-blue, the formal jacket's material also bore a subtle, wide check in a much paler hue.

“What d'you think?”

Reluctantly, Eric sized it up. Despite himself, his stomach tightened with excitement. “It's too big.”

“Don't think so. It's labelled as Small, and the arm length looks about right.” Rob pushed the garment forward. “There's only one way to find out.”

Eric took it off him with bad grace. It was embarrassing having someone else fussing over his clothes. He checked the price and blanched.

“Oh, and try these at the same time.” A pair of darker blue trousers made their way into his hand. Rob smirked. “I think they might be too long in the leg, but that's easily fixed.”

“What with? Safety pins?”

Eric scowled as the other man burst out laughing,

“Course not. Look, if you can't find anyone else, I'll do them for you.”

He trudged into the changing cubicle and collapsed onto the seating ledge. Just as well he brought the stick. After a couple of minutes respite, tired fingers fought with fastenings – new and old.

A mirror didn't lie, or so legend had it. Five minutes later, a newly clothed Eric stared back, perplexed. The blueness of his current garb changed how he looked. No longer some dyed-in-the-wool country bumpkin, he found himself transformed into a respectable townie. The shirt was wrong though. He'd have to spend money on a plain white one. His lip curled. It was more like a scarecrow getting a new suit of clothes. Limbs seemed to stick out at awkward angles. And yes, the trousers were a little long, material pooling over his feet. The jacket was finer than anything he'd possessed ever. Eric fingered the material in wonder, marvelling at its smooth, luxurious texture.

After a few moments more, he shrugged off the jacket and carefully peeled himself out of the trousers. Had his eyes looked bluer? Determinedly, the old man made himself study the price tags. He sat down on the uncomfortable ledge in his shirt and underwear to think.

Rob's voice floated in from the shop floor. “How're you doing, Eric? Do you need a hand?”

Eric looked up, still deep in thought.

“May I see?” Rob's voice grew in volume. Just outside the cubicle.

“I've taken them off again.”

“Spoilsport.” There was a knock on the surround. “Can I come in?”

“Don't think there's room for both of us.”

“Rubbish – I'll lurk in the doorway. There's no-one else in the vicinity.”

Eric sighed. He struggled back into the new clothes. This time around, the strangeness had faded, leaving only enjoyment, however fleeting it might be.

Rob pulled back the curtain. “Wow!” He stared. “I really mean that. You look fantastic.”

Eric glowered.

“Seriously.” From somewhere, Eric's tormentor produced the desired white shirt. “And with this, you'll knock them dead.”

His eyes rolled. Taking the shirt, he firmly closed the curtain, only opening it again when his costume was complete.

Rob beamed. “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?”

“I'm more concerned about where the money's coming from.”

“Ah.” Rob edged in. “Look, I can't make that call for you. All I can say is that this lot represents a great investment.” He pointed at the jacket. “That's seventy percent off, and the trousers are forty. If you bought them full price, you'd pay a hundred and twenty quid or thereabouts.”

Eric stared at his image. He was smart. Presentable, except for his hair, as always. To buy it all would nearly clean him out. But pension day wasn't far off and he couldn't avoid the fact he needed suitable clothes. Whatever hell social engagements represented, they'd be worse, much worse, if he spent the entire time wrongly dressed.

“OK.” He regarded Rob with suspicion. “You getting commission or something?”

A snigger followed. “No.”

Eric took one long, final look before taking the plunge. “Give me a few minutes to get sorted, then I'll part with all my worldly goods.”

“Great decision.” Rob backed out of the cubicle. “You won't regret it.”

On the way back in the car, Eric appeared to be dozing. Rob smiled to himself. It was hardly surprising – the other man had experienced a taxing afternoon. Snuffles and soft grunts preceded Eric's sudden awakening.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry. I forgot to ask you something important.”

“Hmm?” Rob waited.

Eric addressed his hands which now lay folded in his lap. “My house-warming invitation allows me to bring along someone else.” A pause. “Would you join me? Assuming you're not busy, or tired, or–”

“I'd love to.” It would be interesting to meet two other gay guys, if nothing else.

His passenger didn't reply. Rob glanced sideways. The shy smile on Eric's face gave him all the answer he needed. “Great. Give me the details later.”