They may not mean to, but they do - 3. Three

As luck would have it, on Monday morning Keith was at the building supplies because he’d discovered he’d managed to run out of stuff he needed for a job, either that or he’d not bought enough in the first place. Cursing himself for an idiot, he pulled up first thing and walked in to chat to Reg, the old guy that generally served him. It was never a quick process; Reg was something of an old woman and liked a good gossip. Still, happily stocked up he walked out of the hut into the yard and bumped into Jaz. She wasn’t all in black but was wearing dark colours with a short black skirt highlighting her dark blue tights and of course, those boots. Curly dark brown hair and pale make-up with heavy rimmed eyes made up the ensemble. Keith was aware he was staring, shit someone else thinking he was weird.

"Alright."

Keith nodded, smiled, and wandered over.

"Fancy a coffee, I bought one for Jack, but he’s had a better offer." She smiled, her red lips emphasising the gesture and making her face softer. "He’s always doing that; don’t know why I bother." She didn’t wait for Keith’s answer and simply handed him the cappuccino. Thankfully, reasonably strong and with no sugar.

"Thanks."

She grinned, "It’s OK, it won’t kill you. Costas in the sandwich bar knows how to make a mean coffee. Want one?", she offered Keith a fag, but he refused. She lit up.

"So, been to any good houses lately?"

Jaz was someone Keith had chatted to since first coming to Norton; she was friendly to all the guys, though some were unnerved by her directness and willingness to tell you to fuck off if you tried to get handsy or anything. But she and Keith had got on a bit better than that, perhaps because she was so unlike his ex, Maria, so not what Keith might have been interested in.

When he’d started working on Greg and Bart’s place, he had told her about it, perhaps because it was so different from his usual jobs. And that’s when he discovered her penchant for what she called property porn; she enjoyed looking at houses she and her boyfriend would never afford. So, Keith mentioned a flash house he’d been to recently, but then there was a pause.

"We don’t usually see you this time on a Monday?"

Keith shrugged, "Ran out, not sure what happened."

"That’s what we’re here for."

It was difficult to chat without the talk in the pub on Friday running through his head.

"You Ok?", she peered at him. "You look…. Bollocks, you’re not planning to ask me out, are you? Bit early for that sort of thing, and the answer’s no. Danny, me boyfriend, gets a bit twitchy if I go out with other guys?" She gave him a wicked grin, almost making fun of herself. Keith had always liked the fact that Jaz never held back; straight-talking he supposed, and their conversations usually arose because of her direct questions.

"No, I wasn’t, it’s just the guys in the pub were talking."

She rolled her eyes, "I had hassle from a couple of prize specimens last week, amazing how guys think they’re god’s gift to women. You’re not hitched, are you?" She peered at him.

"No. I. I.", for Christ’s sake Keith just do it, "I prefer guys."

She gave a huge, warm grin, "Good on you! Look, I have to go, but next time, I expect to hear all about it", and as she left, she stubbed the cigarette out and then blew him a kiss.

-oOo-oOo-

His next evening with Bart and Greg was inside; the pool was definitely rained off. They sat in a room designed to show off the old building, all stone, floor tiles, and surviving woodwork. But there was a modern element too with a huge window that was part of the new extension. Eventually, it would look out over the rear garden and Greg’s studio, but at the moment that was a wasteland of mud, churned up grass and stray rubble. Keith wasn’t sure the room was exactly comfortable, and it wasn’t his sort of living room, but it looked good. He steeled himself to put a question to them he had been dying to ask for ages. Only it didn’t quite work, he stumbled over his words in his nervousness, and it came out badly.

“You mean, how did we know we were gay, and when?”, Greg had managed to discern Keith’s meaning.

Bart grinned, “Big question. You first honey, I think this needs proper sustenance”, and Bart got up and disappeared to the kitchen.

So, Greg started, “You really want to know?”

Keith nodded.

“I grew up in a small town in the Midlands, Dad was then a vicar, so talk of homosexuality and being gay didn’t figure terribly highly in the order of things. Not that there was much prejudice, just lack of information, lack of role models and any conceivable recognition that I might be gay. I knew that I found boys attractive but didn’t do anything about it until Uni when I had a few, highly unsatisfactory liaisons.”

“What about friends?”

“I never found a group of like-minded gay people and struggled somewhat at first. But it was a long course, and through Uni I met an older guy who took me under his wing. We did have sex, were sort of fuck buddies if you like, but he also introduced me to his circle. For the first time I found myself in a group of like-minded gay men. The talk was about the things that actually interested me, and where I did not have to be careful about what I thought or who I fancied. I had my first serious relationship and as a result, came out to my parents.”

“How was that?”

“A bit traumatic. By then Dad was a junior bishop and a bit conflicted about homosexuality (as is the church). As a father, he supported me entirely and loved me, but as a churchman, he found it tricky. I am not sure we have ever quite squared that circle. I think that I was 25 before I was properly out and comfortable with myself.”

By this time, Bart had reappeared with a board full of a variety of cold meats and cheeses. So, as they talked, they picked at this and had another glass of wine. Keith had lots of questions, but it boiled down to ‘how do you know, how were you certain’.

They chatted for ages, three people on different sides of a divide, and each approached it differently. For Greg, there had been a difference between knowing and accepting, being able to act on his impulses. For Bart, however, he had always known. Whereas at Greg’s regional comprehensive, he had known no other gay boys, at Bart’s big-city school in Canada he had found like-minded friends with whom to experiment and push boundaries. Confident in his sexuality early, Bart had felt free to try things out, and Uni had felt like total freedom to explore, but he never found a particular niche, a group of like-minded guys, it had been all about sex.

A year-long scholarship at Oxford had been a shock, society was so different. He got involved in politics and through that met like-minded gay men. Politics led to working on a magazine, which led to journalism. These people became his social circle, his support network.

“Then one day, I met a cute young architect, and life changed!”, here the two guys grinned at each other.

The evening gave Keith a lot to think about. He was no nearer being able to tell anyone yet; when he thought about it, his feelings were still in turmoil. But it was when he told people, not if – he was clear on that. After all, he’d told Jaz without being prompted and that was a start.

-oOo-oOo-

Thursday evenings were usually devoted to football. It wasn’t formal, they’d all just gather at the recreation ground and mark out a pitch. Sometimes there were lots of guys, and once in a blue moon Den would book a pitch and they’d rig up some sort of tournament. But often it would just be Keith, Den, Little Joe, Jan, Hughie and a few others. It had started when Keith was first working at Tashbrook, after the dreams of his own business had collapsed. He’d enjoyed being able to join a group; they’d all been working for Tashbrook then and Thursdays became a regular thing. None of the guys was a close mate, but the little group was the nearest Keith had to close friends.

Despite the casual arrangements, they took the game seriously; weather and light permitting, they would have a hard 90 minutes or so. Keith had no illusions, his skills were only moderate, but being on the pitch, part of a team with all its rudery was fun. Then afterwards they’d be in the Bird in Hand till closing time. This was a big post-war pub, plenty of room in the car park, always a table to be had, food for those that wanted it and decent beer.

Tonight, it was just five of them, Hughie had had to dash off, but they’d been joined by their mate Steve. Fatherhood had put paid to most of his football and pub time, it was now once-a-month if he was lucky. They didn’t talk personal stuff much. Keith knew that Jan was worried about his girlfriend back home in Poland; she was ill, and the guy was anxious that he might have to go back and see her. Little Joe usually had girl trouble of some sort, and then there was gossip about other mates, who had been seen with a new bird, and such. Tonight, Keith was briefly twitted about Jaz, it would take time to live that down, but conversation was mainly about the match on Saturday, United’s current form, proper topics.

Keith still couldn’t imagine telling them that he’d been seeing a guy, not that he had any news like that. They knew all about Maria and thought he’d had a lucky escape but then they didn’t know the whole story. With an effort, Keith brought his mind back to the present and inserted himself into a lively discussion about United’s chances in the cup this year.