Worse Things Happen at Sea - 1. Chapter 1 A Fish Out of Water

The big manor houses on Hampstead Lane were impressive. Built on large lots of lush green grass with tree-lined driveways, wide enough for three cars. They were the type of properties owned by wealthy businessmen, bankers and gentry but a sailor?

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“No, it’s the truth.”

“Your dad’s a sailor?”

“Not anymore, but he used to be.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You can ask him when you see him.”

“What type of boat does he sail in?”

My boyfriend stopped his car in front of a pair of ornate wrought iron gates and waited for them to open.

“An aircraft carrier!”

I laughed. “He’s in the navy, you mean. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t think it was important.”

As Tristian drove up to the house, I fell silent, probably for the first time that day. The gardens were impressive, the house even more so. Grander and more opulent than I expected. He glanced at me to gauge my reaction.

“So this is where you live when you're not at St Andy's?”

“This is it,” he said. “My humble abode. Or rather, my parent’s.”

“Humble, you say?”

He nodded with a slightly apologetic smile. “Okay, it’s probably bigger than most houses.”

I wasn’t even sure if it was a house. It looked more like a museum to me.

“He’s the captain, isn’t he?”

“Used to be; he’s been promoted since.”

“An admiral?”

“Actually, he’s the First Sea Lord. He’s in charge of the Royal Navy basically, one of the chiefs of staff.”

“Wow, I would never have guessed. You're a bit of a dark horse, aren’t you? So, your old man is the boss of the whole fucking navy.”

“No, I think that’s the Queen, but my father kind of runs it for her if you like.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“I’m not sure, maybe.”

“That’s precisely the reason why I didn’t tell you, dear boy.”

I was lost for words. Tristian had told me his parents were quite wealthy and hinted that they were well-connected, but this went way beyond anything I could have imagined.

I started to feel nervous again. My palms were sweaty, and my mouth was dry. This was unchartered territory for me and a long way from my comfort zone. Fearing another attack, I focused on my breathing and tried to clear my head, like the doctor told me. Then I repeated my mantra.

“Are you alright?” My boyfriend’s concern brought a flicker of a smile from my cracked lips.

“Yes, a little surprised, that’s all. I like that car?” I was pointing at the burgundy convertible parked in front of us. It was one of a dozen or so expensive vehicles parked randomly outside the front of the house.

“That’s his pride and joy,” said Tristian. “It’s a 1965 Bentley Continental.” He parked his mini as close as he dared to the back bumper of his father’s pristine car and climbed out, leaving me alone in the passenger seat.

“A Bentley fucking Continental. Maybe I should’ve joined the navy.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” I stepped from my boyfriend’s car and marvelled at the majestic surroundings. The beautifully landscaped gardens framed a stunning white-walled, two-storied, Edwardian mansion. “How much do they pay First Sea Lords nowadays?”

“Not enough to cover all this, I’m afraid. This is the family estate.”

I shielded my eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun and grabbed my overnight bag from the boot. “I knew it, aristocracy.”

“Do you hate me now?” he said.

“No, of course not. I just never had you down as royalty.”

He laughed. “We’re not royalty, you dick. My father’s a Sir, but we’re not related to the royal family.”

“You're definitely a queen though.” I chuckled, but it wasn’t true. That title probably fit me better, although that day, for Tristian’s sake, I would be keeping my camp side hidden. Earlier I removed anything that could be misconstrued as gay, or at least the bits that could be seen. My usual, rather flamboyant attire had been replaced by a dapper double-breasted suit from Moss Bros and a rather staid blue tie, which was beginning to choke me.

“You look sexy,” said Tristian.

“I don’t feel very sexy. I feel like a bloody waiter. This place is enormous. How many people live here?”

“Just my parents, two brothers and a cook at the moment. Oh and Fritz.”

I chuckled, but I found it rather distasteful that a house so large should house so few when there were people I knew sleeping on the streets.

“How did your family get this rich in the first place?”

“Robbing the disadvantaged working class, like you,” he said. “It’s much easier than working for a living.”

“No shit!”

He flashed me a dazzling smile and removed his sunglasses, then a quick peck on the lips reminded me why I was there.

“Don’t be nervous. It’s going to be fine. Just remember what I told you.”

I nodded and stared into his dark brown eyes.

They were the first things I noticed about Tristian. He had the most beautiful eyes. Warm and inviting with long thick eyelashes, the envy of every girl in university. I followed those eyes around campus for months before he finally noticed me. With all the available girls; it seemed unlikely a good-looking guy like him would be left on the shelf. I was never any good with gaydar, but on this occasion, I struck lucky.

I was day-dreaming, staring at a rather ornate statue depicting a half-naked wench with objectionably large bosoms. It was unquestionably well-made but intentionally tacky.

“Are you coming inside or are you going to stay out here all day?” He was walking towards the house and I had to run to catch up.

We stopped at the bottom of a small set of steps leading up to the front door, where a single uniformed police officer stood guard. His dark blue tunic bulged at his hip, indicating a poorly concealed firearm. Not one of the usual Bobbie’s, and thankfully not one of the copper’s I had dealings with. Tristian smiled at me and waited until the officer received instructions through an ear-piece. He couldn’t have been much older than us and looked too young to be guarding such a prominent figure. Baby-faced with rosy cheeks; he was uncomfortable with my stare, but I resisted the urge to wink at him as he told us we could go through.

My boyfriend must have read my mind. “Behave yourself,” he whispered as we climbed the stairs.

“I can’t help it,” I teased. “I have a thing for men in uniform.”

“Really? You never told me.”

“And you never told me your dad runs the fucking navy.” My whisper was loud enough to grab the attention of the young policeman, who turned to look at us as the front door opened. This time I had to wink.

We were greeted by a rather sombre, skinny old man, dressed in an ill-fitting suit. He looked most unlike an admiral and ignored my attempt to shake his hand.

“This is Fritz,” quipped my boyfriend and my mistake became apparent. The balding man welcomed Tristian home and took his coat. “Fritz, this is James, a friend of mine from university. He’ll be staying for the weekend.”

“Yes, I was told you’d be bringing a guest.” The old man gave Tristian a warm smile, but he looked irritated when he turned to me and held out his bony arm.

“Your coat,” said Tristian.

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

“Will he be staying in one of the guest rooms?”

“Yes, Fritz, of course.”

“I’ll take his bag.” As he stooped to pick it up, I beat him to it.

“NO!” I snapped, perhaps a little too loudly. It surprised Fritz and my boyfriend, and they both stared curiously at me until I backed down with an apologetic smile. “There’s no need. I can take it up myself. There’s something I need to get from it first.”

“I’m sure he can manage his own bag, Fritz,” said Tristian, taking my side and shooing the old man away with a pacifying smile.

“Very well,” said Fritz, and he left us to climb the magnificent spiral staircase that faced the entrance. It made an impressive centrepiece to an unnecessarily large hallway if a tad ostentatious.

I wasn’t sure what to make of Fritz. He seemed a little odd, and I noticed he would only talk to me through Tristian.

“Take no notice of him; he’s a little set in his ways, but he means no harm.”

“Well, I have a confession to make,” I said giggling. “I thought Fritz was your dog.”

Tristian burst into laughter, which echoed in the vast marble-floored hallway. “Whatever made you think that?”

“Oh, come on. You have to admit; Fritz sounds like the family pet.”

“That’s funny. I gotta tell Father that one. He’s going to like you.”

I was sure he wouldn’t, but I kept those thoughts to myself as I followed Tristian towards a set of oak-panelled doors.

“I didn’t realise you had a butler.”

“He’s not really a butler. More like part of the family. Been here for as long as I can remember, I think he came with the house. Like a piece of antique furniture handed down by your grandmother that you're too frightened to get rid of. You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. We usually shop at Ikea.”

He smiled, but we rarely talked about my family.

“There’s no need to be nervous. As far as everyone’s concerned, we’re just friends. They’ll like you.”

I think Tristian genuinely believed it, but I already had my doubts.

On the other side of the double doors was a large, brightly lit dining room with several round tables laid with fine china and sparkling cutlery. The scent of fresh flowers competed with the warm aroma of home-cooked food emanating from the kitchen. I counted the place settings.

‘Thirty-six. He told me there would be no more than twenty'.

It looked a little too formal for my liking and over the top for a birthday celebration. I remembered my brother and I took my old man to the pub for his fortieth.

A young waiter in a short-sleeved white shirt and apron walked briskly across our path without turning his head, then disappeared through a set of swing doors.

“You didn’t tell me your family were this rich.”

“I thought you would think badly of me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You don’t like rich people, remember. All they do is profit from the working classes.”

“Yeah, I know what I said but….”

“Hoarding their wealth in offshore accounts and bleeding the country dry.”

“It was a figure of speech.”

“If you had your way, they’d all be shot.”

I cringed as we stopped shy of another door. “Did I really say that?”

“More than once.”

“That was probably a little harsh,” I said. “Especially the last bit. I mean; I wouldn’t want to shoot you. You're far too sexy. It would be a waste.”

“Grovelling apology accepted,” he said waving his hand. “You may kiss the royal ring.”

“Tristian!” I covered my mouth in exaggerated shock. “Shouldn’t we go someplace a little more private for that.”

He narrowed his eyes at me before wetting his lips with a swipe of his tongue. It sent a tingle of excitement through a body still recovering from our earlier exertions. If we had been anywhere else, I wouldn’t have been able to resist, but I had to be on my best behaviour.

My boyfriend was a tease. “Later, if you're a good boy I’ll show you my secret passage.”

“Been there done that,” I chuckled and reached around him to grab a handful of his spongy buttocks. It was a reasonably innocuous gesture, but I was already breaking the rules, and we were caught red-handed. Surprised by the creepy butler who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

He coughed. “Ahem, your friend can stay in the west room.”

“Thank you, Fritz!” My boyfriend pushed my hand away sharply and cleared his throat. He looked slightly embarrassed, but I found it quite amusing.

Fritz was still lurking and making me nervous. “Your parents are in the drawing-room.”

“Yes, I know that,” said Tristian. He stared at the old man and reached for the door handle. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“That’s the storage cupboard, Sir.” Tristian looked confused as he opened the door to stacks of chairs and tables. I giggled, but Fritz remained remarkably stoic if a little smug. “The drawing-room is this way.”

We followed the butler to the next set of doors. “How long has it been since you were last here?” I asked.

“It’s a complicated layout. Very easy to get confused.”

“I understand. I often get lost, walking around my parent's two-bedroom semi.”

“Don’t mock me.”

Fritz was waiting for us. “Shall I tell them you're here?”

“No, I’ll surprise them.”

“I doubt it,” said Fritz, and he turned his back on us and walked away.

Tristian looked puzzled. “What did he mean by that?”

“Beats me. I wanna know how he managed to sneak up on us.”

I got the feeling Fritz knew more than my boyfriend wanted to believe.

“How do I look?”

I chuckled as Tristian studied himself in the mirror. “You look great.”

“I know; just checking.”

I shook my head, but it was true, and he knew it. My boyfriend was conceited, but was, according to many, one of the best looking boys in college. Tall, dark, and handsome, with a dazzling smile and a deep, sultry voice. There was a certain swagger about him that came with money, but enough decency in him to make him a good guy.

“Are you ready?”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” I took a deep breath and repeated my mantra as he opened the door to the sound of upper-class chatter.

*     *     *

I stood back and watched as Tristian was greeted by a rather odd collection of family and friends. They had gathered in the drawing-room, a snug, clutter-filled offshoot of the main building with worn red leather sofas and an imposing fireplace that crackled and spat flames into a massive brick chimney.

I was approached by a tall, middle-aged woman with dark wavy hair and extra high cheekbones. A female and heavily worn version of Tristian.

“Hello, dear. You must be…?”

“Jimmy."

“Of course you are. Tristian’s told me all about you. I’m his mother, but you should call me Marcia. Make yourself at home, won’t you? Do you drink or are one of those clean-living souls like my son?”

Tristian never touched alcohol, and it sounded like his mother didn’t approve. She cradled a large glass of something red, which she somehow managed not to spill as she stumbled towards me. I reached out automatically to steady her.

“Are you okay?”

“Bloody high heels,” she said. “You’d have thought I would be used to them after all those years in modelling.” I assumed she meant the fashion type rather than the geeky hobby I had as a boy, but there was precious little evidence remaining to support her claim. She looked weathered, though and anorexic. Her leathery skin damaged possibly by too much make-up and excessive exposure to the sun.

She held onto my shoulder, breathing a heady mixture of alcohol and tobacco into my face and then kicked off her shoes. It knocked a good four inches off her height and brought her down to my level.

“Take your hands off him, Mother,” said Tristian. He frowned before pretending to kiss her on the cheek. “You're too old for him.”

I smiled tentatively, but the joke wasn’t funny, and it only encouraged her.

She winked at me and looked me up and down through bleary eyes. “Nonsense, I’m not too old, he’s too young.” She gulped down what was left of her drink while Tristian mouthed an apology behind her back. Then he turned on his mother.

“You're nor supposed to be drinking. How many have you had?”

“It’s a special occasion, dear. You father’s only going to be fifty the once, you know.”

“No, mother,” said Tristian. “He’s got another three-hundred and sixty-four days of it.”

“Don’t be obnoxious. You know what I mean. I’m allowed to have fun, occasionally.” She put a long skinny arm around her son’s shoulders, although I got the feeling she was doing it more for balance than to show affection. “I hardly ever have any fun these days.”

‘You and me both’.

“Your friend here, whatshisname looks like he could do with a drink.” She pointed to me with her empty glass, and I nodded eagerly. “Have some fun, whatever your name is. Don’t be boring, like my son.”

“It’s James,” said Tristian. “And he has plenty of fun.”

‘Just not today’.

I put on a false smile for the benefit of my boyfriend and pretended to be enjoying the torture, while his mother sidled off in search of more to drink. It didn’t look as if she was going to make it to dinner, and Tristian must have been thinking the same.

“She’s not always like this,” he said apologetically. “Drinking is a problem. Perhaps I should’ve warned you. She keeps promising to stop, but at times like this, she finds it difficult.”

Tristian rarely looked uncomfortable, but this was a topic which was obviously close to his heart, and I could sense his frustration and disappointment. His reluctance to touch alcohol suddenly made a lot more sense.

At college, his teetotal lifestyle made him the brunt of endless jokes, a satire which I often encouraged and found amusing, but now I felt quite sorry for him. I tapped him lightly on the forearm to interrupt his thoughts and smiled sweetly at him to let him know I cared.

I was familiar with alcohol abuse, but on a different level and my sympathy didn’t extend to his mother. I found it difficult to feel sorry for someone born of such wealth, no matter what her ailments. The alcoholics I knew slept rough under the arches behind Waterloo Station and fed themselves on cheap sherry and methylated spirit.

“I should introduce you to my father,” said Tristian. “I wonder where he is?”

“He’s in his study talking to the Prime Minister,” said the butler. He was standing behind me, clutching a tray of champagne glasses. I nearly knocked it from his hands after he startled me for the second time in a matter of minutes.

‘How does he do that’?

“Did you hear that, Tristian? Maggie Thatcher’s in the study with your old man.”

My boyfriend rolled his eyes at me. “They’re talking on the phone. She’s been here a few times, though. On business.”

“Oh, yeah. Business,” I said, tapping my nose. “Sounds so much better than war.”

Tristian stared blankly at my sarcasm while I turned my attention to Fritz. He was still lurking behind me, talking to a couple of ladies and offering glasses of champagne to everyone except me. I decided to help myself, swiping it from under his nose and knocking it back in one, before placing the empty glass back on the tray. Fritz looked down his nose at me and moved it out of reach before I could grab another.

My boyfriend didn’t approve of me drinking and followed my antics with a concerned expression.

“I would prefer it if you didn’t have too much to drink,” he said.

“Don’t be silly, you can’t have too much to drink.”

He reached out to touch my arm. “James, please. It’s bad enough with my mother.”

I smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to embarrass you. But I need something to calm my nerves. This is a bit uncomfortable for me. I feel like a fish out of water.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. No one’s going to judge you.”

“They already are. Your butler’s been judging me from the moment I walked in. And he’s been trying to listen to our conversation.”

Tristian thought I was paranoid. “Don’t worry, he’s harmless, and he can’t hear much anyway, he’s nearly deaf.”

“Not quite dead enough if you ask me.”

“Nearly deaf, as in hard of hearing.” Tristian raised his voice to make his point, but I was already laughing. “Oh, stop teasing me.”

“If you told them, we wouldn’t have to worry about Fritz catching me groping your arse.”

“Not this again.”

“I don’t know why you just don’t tell them and be done with it.”

“My father’s the First Sea Lord. He’s in command of the Royal Navy. He meets with the Queen and the Prime Minister. It wouldn’t go down well.”

“How do you know.”

“It’s not the done thing. We’re not quite that liberal yet.”

“Don’t give me all that, I know what goes on in those private boarding schools.”

“Do you mind I went to a private boarding school.”

“Exactly! And look how you turned out.”

“I’ll tell them when he retires, and it’s no longer an embarrassment.”

‘An embarrassment’?

“Well, it’s up to you. It’s your choice if you want to stay in the closet. All I’m saying is it’s better on the outside.”

“Have you seen my closet?”

“No, but I bet it’s the size of a football pitch.”

“At least.” He had a sparkle in his eye as he gently brushed his hand against mine. “Trust me, please. I know what I’m doing.”

He spoke with conviction and self-assuredness. Unlike me, my boyfriend exuded confidence, the result of a privileged upbringing and expensive education, but he was also slightly embarrassed by the riches that made it all possible. I was still learning. Fascinated but wary of a society, which in the past, had only mistreated me.

I agreed to drop the subject and play along with his straight game, even though I was beginning to doubt if anyone believed his story. Judging by the looks I was getting, it seemed like a lost cause. I tried to return as many as I could with a courteous smile but found myself glaring back at some of the haughtier glances.

‘Fuck you too, pal’.

My boyfriend was steadily making his way through the assembled guests, taking me with him and introducing me as his friend from University. That bit, at least was true.

There were a few obvious military types. Tall, with broad shoulders, short haircuts, and gleaming smiles. Officer’s who had little time for the likes of me. I had seen a few in my time. They were abusive, but never a threat like the middle-aged suits. I still shivered at the thought of their pot-bellies, pale white skin, and lecherous smiles.

I was sweating again and looking frantically for the exit. It was a bad idea to go there.

‘Why did I let him talk me into this’?

I checked my breathing and repeated my mantra until Tristian noticed I was no longer by his side.

He brought me over another glass of champagne, an unexpected and thoughtful gesture, but a stupid thing to do.

I drank it down in one and panicked. “Where’s my bag?”

“Don’t worry,” said Tristian. “It’s by the door where you left it. No one’s going to steal it.”

I wasn’t convinced. I had been robbed so many times in the past, it was difficult for me to trust anyone.

“I forgot. You people steal legally, don’t you?”

Tristian wasn’t going to be drawn into an argument over the ruling classes, even though I was outnumbered a hundred to one, but his stern look brought me into line.

Then a loud voice turned his head.

“Is that Tristian?”

It reverberated around the room, drowning out lesser conversations as the big man strode towards us.

“James, this is my father.”