They may not mean to, but they do - 27. Twenty-Seven

Tuesday, Keith was going to be on his own for his second session with Fags for Football, Thomas was working and would almost certainly not get away in time. Keith was a little disappointed, but having broken the ice with the team, he was still looking forward to it. He didn’t have time to dash home and was running so late that he was still in his work gear when he arrived. However, Keith decided he did not dare to get changed by the car and scuttled into the club-house to do so.

As he came out Danny asked him where Thomas was, and Keith said he had to work at which Danny grinned and said, ‘Beginning of the end!’. There was much talk of Saturday’s match, where the team had made a respectable showing, but as Gerard said, they hadn’t set the world alight. Yet. We were going to remedy that!

In the gaps, there was the odd comment to Keith asking him where he was on Saturday. His mention of the hotel drew a mixed reaction, there was an undertone of ‘get her’ which made Keith bridle, but most guys were impressed and interested. Still, Keith felt the need to explain that it had been a gift from Alison as she had been let down by friends.

Neil, a guy whose grey hair made him look far older than his early 40s, however, was keen to quiz Keith on the hotel, the food and such. It turned out that he and his partner were keen visitors to hotels and good restaurants, what he referred to as fine dining.

The training itself was tiring, Gerard worked them hard and gradually Keith’s mind drifted away from the hotel, and stopped worrying about Thomas, and concentrated on the stamina and technique. By the end of the evening, he was feeling knackered and wondered if he ought to get fitter. Did Thomas say that he used to run?

Keith almost slipped away without going to the pub, but Neil grabbed him. Keith had mentioned their idea of trying other good restaurants and hotels in the area, and Neil was keen to share his thoughts. Keith had no idea that there were people who were so into food in such a big way. But they shared email addresses, and Neil said he would be in touch.

In the pub, Keith’s face lit up because there at the bar was Thomas. He too had a big grin on his face, though his pose was marred by him having a half-eaten pie in his hand. They greeted each other and kissed, which meant that Keith got a taste of pie too.

“Sorry about that, the promised food at the meeting didn’t arrive, so we were all starving by the time we finished and then I remembered that this place had been serving pies till late, last week. Well, that was my excuse.” Both grinned, and Keith realised that not only was he pleased to see Thomas, but he had so much to tell him.

-oOo-oOo-

Keith decided to get the Stanislas problem over and done with. As Thomas had explained, the problem was mainly in Keith’s head. Which meant that when he broke for lunch at midday he drove over to the deli, bought rather a strange sandwich, and headed outside to eat it. Stan appeared shortly afterwards to chat, something that had happened a couple of times recently; he seemed to currently have a good relationship with the owner, who he had assured Keith was an uncle in the sense of being a family friend, though Keith remembered an occasion when Stan was balled out for talking rather than working.

It turned out that the two had rather different ideas for going out for a drink. Keith had in his wallet a list of local CAMRA pubs, culled from Thomas’ guide, which Keith thought sounded well worth trying out. But for Stan, the idea was a gay pub or night club in Leeds, starting late and going later. Keith explained that it would have to be a weekend, as he often started work early, and this weekend his boyfriend was moving. Moving in with him, Stan asked, and Keith laughed and said his flat was tiny; no, Thomas was moving nearby. Stan nodded but seemed to take Thomas’ existence with equanimity. Keith could check with Thomas about a future date, Stan smiled, Thomas comes too, and I bring my friend Jan. For one alarming minute, Keith thought Stan might be referring to his own former house mate, but the idea of his mate Jan (also Polish) with his devoted fiancée at home going round with a gay Polish mate was so unlikely as to be laughable.

There they left it. Keith would get a date out of Thomas, but he wondered whether the event would come to pass.

Thursday, Keith found himself stood next to Hughie in the pub after their kick-about at the recreation ground. Hughie had been somewhat scarce of late, having been off on his bike, though whether because he was away working or simply going off with mates was difficult to tell. About some details of his life, Hughie was never very forthcoming.

“You and your man still tight?”

Keith nodded, it wasn’t like Hughie to be inquisitive, “Yes, a workmate of his was let down and we ended up with a weekend at Harpur Castle Hotel.”

Hughie grinned, “Not quite my style, but sounds expensive. Any good?”

Keith looked rueful, “I don’t earn the money to go regularly, but as a treat? Yes. Genuinely old place, decent food, and plenty of walks.” He grinned at Hughie, “Wicked massage too?”

Hughie laughed, “Good, you hold on to him. He’s all right.”

Keith nodded, after a pause, “Do you go to any bars, in Leeds?”

“You mean gay bars?”

Keith nodded, “Yeah, Thomas and I met at one, but another guy wants to go for a drink, and I think we might end up somewhere in Leeds.”

Hughie looked at him sideways, “Racking ‘em up, are we?”

Keith went a bit pink, “No! Leastways, I hope not. Stan seemed keen, but it would be four of us.”

“So, a foursome then! Nice.” Keith went redder at the thought of a foursome with Thomas, Stan and the, as yet, unknown Jan. Was that really on the cards? “To answer your question, not really. We sometimes go for a drink in town, but I suspect the place we use might be a bit shabby and down at heel for you. They know us and there’s no entertainment, no DJ, none of that stuff. Good old-fashioned boozer. More often we get on the bikes and go somewhere. So, I don’t think I could suggest somewhere for your night out.”

“Thanks, it was just a thought. Looks as if we’ll be going to Stan’s favourite then.”

“If you’re interested in good pubs though, not gay ones, then I can help.”

Keith was interested, he thought of his CAMRA list in his wallet, “You mean decent beer?”

Hughie nodded, “Decent beer, proper food, friendly landlords that sort of thing. I’ve got mates who are big on real ale and that, so I can get you recommendations.”

“That’d be great.”

“How come you’re into real ale, I thought you drank lager?”

“I do here, but Thomas likes it and is a member of CAMRA, so I’ve been trying some.”

“Oh, aye, where?” So, they finished the evening chatting about real ale pubs, and some of the others joined in. Perhaps they should try somewhere other than their regular on Thursdays. And Keith went home with a promise from Hughie to email a list of pubs.

Friday started early, so when Thomas phoned, Keith was having his coffee break, and worrying whether he could get things finished in time as the job had turned rather nasty. Thomas had fixed things up with Greg and Bart, but he wouldn’t be arriving till Saturday morning. He needed a van, so was collecting it on Friday and would pack it, that evening and come first thing. Keith was surprised at the van, surely Thomas didn’t have that much stuff.

Thomas had laughed, “If you talk to Nate then I have spent the last ten years abandoning things at their place saying I’ll collect it when I get my own place. Nate says the loft is full of my stuff, God knows what it is. I’m renting one of Greg and Bart’s studios along with a space that was earmarked as a meeting room. That will do for storage and a small office for me. For the time being. I think that the next few weeks are going to be taken up with sorting out the detritus from my past. Care to help?”

Keith laughed good-humouredly, then brought up something that had been worrying him, “Where are you going to sleep? Is there a bed in the studio?”

“No bed, no furniture. Greg and Bart had put work on hold before they bought furniture and fittings. So, I’ll have to get some basics.”

“So, you’ll be staying with me.”

“Or I could use a sleeping bag, I’ve done it before.”

“Like I said, you’ll be staying with me. I’d like that.”

“So will I. And I need to get a bed ordered, Bart’s given me dates when I can have deliveries made and he’ll be in.”

“Wow, so you’ll be moving in at the weekend.”

They had to finish the call soon after, and Keith took a swig of the coffee. It was disgusting, he’d made it in a hurry. But his client had been a bit off-hand all week and seemed most worried about the finishing date, so Keith hadn’t wanted to push things by asking for hot water or anything.

He was working on a new extension, there’d been water damage and Keith was making good and had underestimated how things had been affected. His own stupid fault. Still, if he cracked on, he would finish this evening, late. What he needed was an assistant. Somewhere in the van, he had a leaflet for the government apprentice scheme, but he’d never done anything about it. Not enough time. He needed to ask Thomas, at least he dealt with young people.

Keith was sitting in the sun, at the end of the extension, suddenly there was a shadow and Mrs appeared. She was probably in her 40s but looked older and fierce.

“What time did you start today?”, Mrs looked a bit grim.

Better be nice, “7 am, I hope I didn’t disturb you, but I thought if I cracked on, then I should finish today.”

“Are there any more problems?”

“No, I’ve sorted all that out, what I need to do today is all the stuff I thought I was doing yesterday”, he tried for a light, but serious manner. It didn’t seem to work.

“Hmm, so what time will you be finishing tonight?”

“I reckon that I should have it done by 8 pm”, that caused some sort of ripple, annoyance, or pleasure? Keith wasn’t sure.

“I see. Will you be billing us for the extra hours?”

“Of course not, I quoted a fixed price so that it was the job will be.”

“I see”, there wasn’t a thawing but certainly a relaxation. “I’ll speak to my husband.” She turned to go, then noticed his coffee.

“Would you like some fresh coffee? I can easily make you some.” Keith nodded, surprised.

“Good, come to the kitchen” and made for Keith to follow her. Luckily, he was wearing an overall, so he was able to strip out of that and appear in the kitchen in t-shirt and work shorts that were at least clean, and thankfully his socks were half decent too, having left his boots by the door. The effort seemed to please her.

The kitchen was a picture. Though the out-buildings where Keith was working were old, the house itself was a 1950s neo-Georgian re-build, fine in its way, but the kitchen was completely modern, sleek, and shiny, with plenty of polished granite. The coffee was made by a gleaming Italian machine, but it was served firmly in a workman’s mug. They made a sort of small talk, and Keith eyed the kitchen, it was a row of photographs that caught his eye, but he did not feel he could simply wander over and look at them.

His mug looked out of place in the kitchen and suggested that he was to take the coffee outside. He thanked her and started to move, but just before he left, she asked him whether he liked sushi. In reality, his experience of sushi was minimal, but curious and polite he said yes. It turned out that they’d had sushi for a gathering the previous evening, and there was far too much left, and the family were sick of it. Would he like some for lunch? Keith agreed, part curious and part anxious about what he’d let himself in for.

So, come lunchtime, Keith stripped off his overall again and made his way over to the kitchen, expecting to be given a plate of sushi, but instead, he was invited in and there laid out was a vast array of sushi, with the injunction to try them as things had got somewhat confused and she no longer knew what was what. A bit dubious, Keith explored, and Mrs disappeared into an adjacent room. This gave Keith a chance to wander over and look at the photographs, a sequence of images of what looked like a Michael Atkinson work, it wasn’t the same as the Mounted Figure but was certainly similar in style. Mrs returned, to find him peering intently at one of the photos.

“My son, Jonty, took those, he’s studying photography at university.”

Keith was a bit embarrassed at being found snooping, “They are very good, but I was interested in the work he was photographing.”

“It’s a Michael Atkinson, I think.” She laughed, “I’d never heard of him, but Jonty was rather taken. There was a display in the University gallery, I gather Atkinson had some sort of connection with the University.” She looked more closely at one of the pictures, “Do you like Atkinson’s work?”

“I’m not sure, I’ve not seen much. But I was asked to look at one of his sculptures. It’s a moving one, and they wanted it working again so that it can be exhibited. It’s owned by a school and my boyfriend works for a charity in the same building, so as I’m an electrician I was asked.”

Keith felt he was in danger of babbling, but he wasn’t sure how much detail to give, certainly, he didn’t want to be seen as an expert, but didn’t want to sound an idiot either.

“Are you restoring it?”

“We’ve had a look, but the trustees need to agree things. I have a mate, another electrician, whose hobby is small moving models, and he thinks it’s all doable. But sculptures are different to models, if the original motor is part of the sculpture and you can’t change it, then it might not be restorable as the motor would be too old and too dangerous to use. Sorry, I get a bit carried away.”

He went to put his plate in the sink and make a graceful exit before he started to give a detailed lecture. But Mrs was staring at him, shit had he said something wrong.

“Of course, you’re the electrician that Isobel, Isobel Bonner, was talking to?”

“The lady who is a friend of Michael Atkinson’s mother?”

“That is correct. What a small world.”

Keith felt he needed to explain a bit further, “I think that Mrs Bonner lives in my boyfriend’s brother’s parish. Thomas, my boyfriend, has a brother who’s a vicar and we met Mrs Bonner after a church service in the parish.”

“Of course, I’ve met Revd Martins a couple of times. How strange.” She paused, “Will you be working on the figure soon?”

He shrugged, saying he depended on the trustees. She nodded, “It's just that I think Jonty might be interested in photographing the piece, sort of documenting the work. Would that be possible do you think?”

“I’d have to ask Alison (she’s the head of the school that own’s it) but she’s a friend of Thomas’ so I imagine it would be OK.”

Keith returned to work, his head buzzing. Somehow, Michael Atkinson and his work seemed to be taking over his life! The job ran on a bit, but nearly as predicted he finished soon after 8 pm. Mrs had been a bit more unbending since their chat, there had been tea and biscuits later on. As he left, she was preparing something delicious-smelling in the kitchen and he confirmed he would chat to Alison.

No time like the present, so once home, his pizza in the oven and a beer opened, he phoned Thomas for a quick chat, tell him about today and generally enjoy being at home. Then he phoned Alison, who answered immediately and was perfectly happy for Jonty to document the restoration, provided he gave a set of pictures to the school. And by the way, the trustees were going to sign things off next week.

So, feeling a bit nervous, Keith phoned Mrs again, a man answered, and Keith asked to speak to Mrs and quickly her brisk voice appeared on the phone. There was an audible thaw when he conveyed the news. She would talk to her son and confirm that he would donate a set of photographs, and Keith would confirm once arrangements had been made for the restoration to start.

Keith had intended to do some more work on his jigsaw so that he could finish and start the new one with the naked men that Thomas had bought him (something in him didn’t allow him to simply abandon the current jigsaw and put it away, he had to finish it first). But instead, he found himself looking Michael Atkinson up on the internet and reading more about the guy.