Soul Music: Love Sustained - 13. Planting Seeds

Wes Simons signed off from playing his latest Fortnite Battle Royale game, having first exchanged virtual victory salutes with his team mates. He took off his headphones with reluctance: the team was on a roll. He shrugged. They'd survive perfectly well without him. His regular mid-week day off usually meant him playing online until well into the evening. However that day, he was due to meet up with the two guys Helen introduced him to a couple of weeks ago. After a short round of texts, they decided on a drink or two at a bar in the centre of town.

Wes stretched, easing muscles stiff from hours hunched over his games console. Youths twenty years his junior seemed to have no difficulty in playing through the night without a break. He surveyed his indoor sweatpants and faded tee before giving himself a sniff. A shower as well as a change of clothes were needed before he went out. He wondered what he'd find to talk about with the other men. His gaming wasn't one of the likely topics. Not that he was ashamed of it exactly, but he'd learnt not to talk about it at work. The younger guys there thought he was trying too hard; other people wondered why someone nearing forty was still involved with online games. Maybe they considered he should've found something more productive to do with his time.

The gaming was a useful antidote to dealing with people: their complaints, whinges, petty rivalries, and all the rest of it. Sometimes he thought his new sales team was as bad as some of their worst customers. He had plans to improve the team's morale and their working, but meanwhile, gaming helped him let off steam. He moved into the bedroom to choose his outfit. Should he dress to display his tats? It was a warm, sunny evening, so he decided on a muscle tee and a tight pair of jeans. It would allow him to show off the Celtic scroll work on his upper arms, if not much in the way of actual muscles. When he had the tats done, the ink artist tried to use some really bright colours. He refused, knowing they'd be too visible through the standard-issue shirts he wore for work.

Having laid his choice out on the bed, Wes headed off to have his shower.

Geoff entered the bar, feeling ill at ease. It was one of those places he passed most days, never expecting to venture over the threshold. The clientele apparently came from the nearby Arts Centre and Gallery, together with the start-ups clustered around. At a first glance, the post-work crowd all seemed to know each other and included several decidedly hip-looking men. People sat or stood in groups, drinking wine. Only the occasional person seemed to prefer coffee. Geoff straightened his shoulders: he had as much right as anyone else to be there. His clothes though conspired against his attempt at self-confidence. He never bothered much about his boring, orthodox work attire. It served a purpose; now he felt rumpled and ill-presented. To his eyes, the other men looked as fresh as if they'd only just got dressed.

Conscious he was standing at the entrance like a lemon, Geoff scanned the room, looking for Wes. It would be another five minutes or so before Tony arrived. As he looked, he also undid his tie and shoved it into his workbag. It was only on his second sweep of the room that he noticed the other man sitting on a sofa off to one side. His yellow sleeveless tee and tattoos made him appear rather different from their first encounter in Helen's flat. As he was already sipping what looked like a glass of cider, Geoff took the opportunity to use up another couple of minutes by ordering a drink at the bar.

“Ehm … Half a pint of the guest ale, thanks.”

The bartender eyed up the pumps. “'Witch's brew', d'you mean?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Geoff looked away in time to see Tony coming in. He let out a deep breath in relief. Tackling Wes on his own – even for a short time – wasn't something he wanted to do. He raised a hand to attract Tony's attention.

His boyfriend made a bee-line for the bar. “Hi, big man. Seen Wes yet?”

Geoff nodded towards the sofa.

Tony's eyebrows gradually went up as he studied the other man. “Looks a little different, doesn't he?

“Yeah.”

“Suits him though. Perhaps it's more club wear? But that's just my opinion.”

Geoff turned round to collect his drink.

Tony put a hand out. “I'll get these. … Glass of house red wine, thanks.”

Drinks paid for, they headed over to the sofa. Geoff was glad he had company.

The other man broke off from studying his phone and gave them a smile. “Hi. Nice place, this.”

Tony took one of the separate arm chairs and settled down. “Yeah. A friend at work recommended it. Geoff and I are pub goers mostly, but I thought we'd try something else for a change.”

After dithering for a moment or two longer, Geoff sat in the other free-standing chair. He let Tony continue with the opening pleasantries while he sorted himself out. He had several sips of his drink while half-listening to their conversation. Would they get a definitive answer to their question of whether Wes was gay? For himself, the jury was still out; Tony was almost certain the answer was 'yes'. Geoff's eyes kept wandering to the yellow and green tattoos. They were a lot more artistic than some of the ones he saw on his travels, but he wasn't sure what to think of them in general.

He hid a small smile with the rim of his glass. Some of his hesitation might be down to envy: he'd never have the nerve to do something permanent like that to his body. Mostly, his prejudices came from his mother's attitudes. He managed to shake off most of the others while he was away at university, but not that one. Geoff sighed quietly. Apart from a sporadic correspondence about rental terms for the house, he and his mother hadn't communicated since the day of her accident.

Forgetting where he was, Geoff's mind wandered further. How much did he really miss her? For too long, their relationship consisted of short visits done out of duty on his part, and phone calls where they never seemed to actually talk to each other. Was he more scared of …

“Geoff?”

Tony's voice hauled him back into the present. Geoff flushed. “Sorry?”

“Wes asked if we knew of any volunteering opportunities.”

The other man put his half-empty glass down. “I find myself spending most of my free time in the flat. It'd do me good to get out occasionally.”

Geoff blinked. “Ehm …” He felt his work instincts kick in. “The council website will have some pointers.” He recited the address while Wes typed it into his phone. “Was there something in particular you'd be interested in?”

The other man looked up. “Well, yeah.” He said it in a tone which implied it should be obvious.

Geoff grew a little redder while he waited for Wes to continue.

“Like … something to help the LGBT community.”

“Ah …” Geoff mentally assigned his questioner as being gay – though it wasn't entirely conclusive.

He scoured his memory to come up with something plausible. It wasn't exactly the first time he'd represented the council out-of-hours.

Tony broke the silence. “There's not much of an overt gay or lesbian presence here. It's mostly live, and let live. If you're prepared to travel for twenty minutes each way, our local metropolis would be a better starting point.”

That gave Geoff more grist. “There's always the Pride website. The organising committee always lists the causes they're going to support. The charities are ones which support our community, even if the name doesn't suggest it.”

His boyfriend helped him out again. “Like homeless charities, or those working with runaways.”

“Hmm.” Wes appeared interested. “I'll look into that.” He emptied his cider glass. “Gaming isn't a recipe for a healthy life, I fear. Do either of you indulge?”

Geoff found himself floundering even more than usual. When he was a teen, the only computer in their house belonged to his father. The pair of them shared it amicably, but his mother made it plain games weren't an acceptable use of the precious machine. He had his own once he was away at college, of course. By then, any lingering curiosity had faded away, and there were better things to spend his money on.

As usual, Tony replied before he'd even started to string an idea together. “At one point when I was younger, I was addicted to Plants versus Zombies …”

“Great game!” Wes' face lit up.

“Now though …” Tony shrugged. “We share musical interests, and we both spend time outdoors, though in different ways. Computers are for work mostly. Neither of us is interested in social media.”

Wes tried to conceal his disappointment. He thought they had their first point of connection, only for it to pass. Apart from the fact they were all gay men, the other two failed to grow on him. They had nothing in common. He let the couple continue bickering and joshing each other about their outdoor hobbies. Tony was attractive and personable, with a ready supply of talk. Geoff was a different matter. Wes lent half an ear to their continuing exchange: he didn't want to be caught out. He wasn't into hairy men at all. Geoff would benefit from a good session at a high-class barbers: his beard struck Wes as being in urgent need of grooming. The main thing though was the other man's lack of social finesse. Both at their initial meeting and now, Geoff appeared incapable of acting at ease. He stuttered, and he'd already flushed bright red once. Or was it twice?

The pair might be useful acquaintances on occasion, but he wouldn't go out of his way to spend more time with them. Their meet-up would look good on his social media wall though. Tony and Geoff didn't need to know about it, and it would make a change from the odd, desultory comment he made on his gaming scores. Before he got too lost in how he'd phrase the update, Wes focussed on his two companions once more. They were discussing growing vegetables.

His eyebrows went up. “It must be good to have a garden large enough for veg. Remind me which part of town you're in?”

Stuart Fletcher lay sprawled on his battered sofa, flicking idly through his social media notifications while taking gulps from a bottle of beer. It had been a shit day: the sales guys hardly sold anything of substance, and some of the customers were more than usually obnoxious. Several times, he was summoned onto the shop-floor to make explanations, judgements, or improvements to deals. Deals which the effing customers still declined, usually citing the internet as their source. He scowled. Part of his evening was spent devising a pep talk for the following morning, to be given before the place opened. Phones didn't walk out of the shop on their own. People had to be persuaded to buy them and the sales team wasn't being sufficiently productive.

Their poor efforts reflected on him: having only recently been promoted to manager, that wasn't good news. Something else bad was the fact that he would be going to bed alone; again. The unoccupied half of his king-sized bed regularly mocked him. Maybe he was fussy, but the last few times he looked online, all the available men were ancient, gross, or weird. A change of app might be called for. His finger kept scrolling through the screens of stuff – posts, re-posts, photos, memes – even while he was scarcely taking any notice. A shower looked to be next for him, when a block of text momentarily caught his eye. It took a couple of seconds to stop the scrolling, by which time the post was buried several pages deep. He backtracked, scanning each likely entry until he located the right one.

Stuart shook his head. He needed to take more care: embedded in the midst of everything else was an unexpected nugget. A re-post several times over, it had only the opening paragraph showing. It was the names mentioned that registered: Tony and Geoff. His Tony? He swore under his breath. How many gay couples were there locally where one of the men was called Tony? So was the Hulk, Geoff? He clicked through to the original post. He didn't know the poster – a guy named Wes – but a quick scan of his entries showed him to be a newcomer. Stuart returned to the main post. There wasn't much of it: a brief account of a social chat in a bar between him and the other two men. Neither of them was described much, but he knew deep down it had to be his Tony.

His plan of returning to Tony's house each Sunday morning until he followed him and his boyfriend to their new address had been an unmitigated failure. He lost them in traffic the first time; then he overslept the following Sunday to such an extent that it wasn't worth setting out. The weekend just gone, he hooked up at the club on Saturday night and agreed to stay with the guy at his house fifteen miles away. Pathetic excuses, all of them. Here was the chance to redeem himself. Stuart re-read one section with care: the guy described where the other men lived, while also venting his disbelief that they could afford a house that size. No address, but the guy gave sufficient clues to enable him to narrow down his search to a small area of the town.

What next? Stuart sat up, then looked at the time. Whatever he decided to do would have to wait: it was time for his shower. If he was going to give the sales staff a bollocking in the morning, he needed to be on top of his game. Reluctantly he closed the app and headed off to the bathroom.

At the end of the same week, Geoff and Tony stood and surveyed their garden in the light of a calm, sunny evening. Geoff chewed at the tip of one of his fingers. They were waiting for their first visit from Ted, Tony's choir friend and keen allotment gardener.

Tony leant down to inhale the scent from one of the old-fashioned roses. Geoff surveyed the plant from various different angles. Roses had been one of his father's passions.

His own skill with them was much less accomplished. “I'm sure Ted'll say I didn't prune them back enough at the start of the season.” He turned his gaze onto the next bed and chewed his lip. “I can't bring myself to chop them back that far.”

Tony gave him a side-on hug. “There's no need to worry, love. Ted's here to give advice about growing veg.”

“Yes, but he'll look around the garden first …” He returned to biting his lip.

“And if he gives you any advice, I'm sure we'll find it useful. You two are the gardeners; I'm just a spectator.”

“For the moment.” Geoff smiled and tried to get a handle on his nerves.

This was the him from before he met Tony: a walking bundle of anxiety. Gardening was something private; something only invited friends and family got to experience. It was his haven away from …

He took a deep breath and attempted positive thoughts. “You're right. Sorry, I'm a bag of nerves. … I think Ted will make a better friend than Wes.”

His boyfriend strolled along to a patch of foxgloves still humming with foraging bees. “Yeah. It was a pity we didn't connect with him more. Never mind; I'll keep in touch with him on a casual basis. It might be useful to have a gay acquaintance who isn't a complete tosser.”

Geoff snorted. “Thanks! Am I included in that description?”

Tony turned to give him a WTF look. “No! I'm offended you even needed to ask.”

They both giggled. Geoff rolled his eyes. The humour took his mind off the state of the garden for a moment or two.

The back door stood open; as they calmed down, they heard the buzz of the doorbell at the front. Geoff gave a wry smile: no chimes or other more musical sounds were allowed by his mother. Maybe he'd celebrate Christmas by purchasing the most outrageous cacophony money could buy.

Or not. He allowed Tony to lead the way. Ted was his friend so it made sense for Tony to greet him first. Geoff looked up.

“There he is!”

He frowned slightly at Ted's overloud greeting, before remembering to plaster a smile on his face. “Hello, Ted.”

“How's your voice now, lad?”

“OK … It has been for a week or so.” Somehow Geoff wasn't in the mood for more of the other man's raillery.

Tony must have sensed the undercurrent. He busied himself hanging up Ted's jacket and taking on the conversation. “You never know, Ted. Maybe I'll persuade Geoff to join us for real.”

“You'd be a good addition: there's a singing voice hidden deep down.” The older man smiled in his direction. “We need more men on the right side of seventy. … OK, let's have a look at this garden then.”

Geoff spun round to show their guest the way. Ted came to a halt in the doorway and looked down the length of the plot.

He nodded. “It's good to see a garden that hasn't been fiddled with.”

Geoff blinked. “Sorry?”

“It's a compliment, lad. I get tired of seeing other folks' expanses of decking, and fancy this-and-thats. All at the expense of colour and texture from the plants and flowers. Never mind the wildlife they support, of course.”

Geoff's spirits rose; the tension in his shoulders melted away. He and the older man were of one mind as far as garden ecology went. “Yeah … I like this garden. Always have done. We've got roughly ten regular bird species, and a couple of squirrels …”

“Greedy buggers. And they dig up your bulbs.”

Laughing, the three men ventured out onto the lawn. Ted took his time, swinging his head from side to side, taking in the view. He tested the soil before inspecting a couple of the plants.

He stood up. “Right. What kind of things d'you want in this vegetable patch of yours?”