Not just another Summer - 4. A new friend & more brotherly love

After my first meeting Matt on the Friday, the following Monday morning, I set my alarm and managed to get myself up to the Nature Reserve in time for eight am. I had at least showered and had a quick coffee, but that was it. Matt was just arriving, on his elderly moped.

I nodded to the bike, “That must almost be a classic.”

“Thanks. It was my Dad’s. It still goes OK. The guy in the garage says if I do it up, it’d be worth something.”

I smiled, “But that would be a significant investment.”

“Yeah. And I’m sort of skint at the moment”, he gave a shamefaced grin.

“College?”

“And helping Mum.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m skint too. One of the reasons for coming back here was that I lost my job.”

“Shit. What… Sorry, nosey question.”

“It was a Uni job. They are finding things tough, however, and the department was cut so instead of offering me a permanent post, I was let go.”

“You’re living at your Dad’s, then.”

“In my Dad’s house. He left it to us. Sort of.”

Matt’s eyes widened.

“It’ll all be in the Mercury tomorrow anyway. It’s complicated. Vince, my brother, and I get to live in the house rent free, but we can’t let it out, and we can’t sell it. If we don’t want it, the place is sold, and the money goes to charity.”

“You mean live there or nothing. That sucks.” He coloured, “Sorry.”

“You’re right, though. It does suck.” I smiled in agreement.

By now we were sitting on one of the benches at the far end of the boardwalk, and Matt was fiddling with his bag.

“My Dad was Mac Philpott.”

“The developer.”

“Yes. He didn’t believe in something for nothing. Neither I nor my brother work for the firm, so he didn’t leave us much.”

“Oh yeah. He left all those shares to the workers, right?” He grinned, “Wicked.” Then he went red, “Sorry.”

“It’s OK. He and I had our argument ten years ago. I walked away and never expected anything.” I grinned, “Now, have you got those packages out simply to tantalise me, or is this breakfast?”

There were banana sandwiches and jam sandwiches. The jam was homemade too, and pretty good. He and his Mum liked going to pick-your-own fruit places. Breakfast over, I gave him copies of both my books.

“You’ve signed them. Thanks.”

And he started reading immediately. He came to one poem that he must have liked because he started reading it aloud, before coming to a halt.

“Sorry, it must sound rubbish to you.”

“Not at all. I hate doing readings and detest the way my voice sounds.”

“Really?”

“Yes. My elder brother, Vince, has a deep sexy voice, even though he’s my brother, and Dad’s was characterful and gravelly. Whereas mine…”

“Sounds fine to me. Do you ever read your poems?”

“When asked, yes.” I tried not to sound horrified by the idea. “It does come with the territory; sales of the books aren’t such that I have folk beating a path to my door.” I aimed for wry rather than bitter and twisted.

“It’s just. Well. Mum works in the Castle gift shop and they have books by local writers and artists. The manager’s real keen on the local angle. I wondered…”

“If your Mum can put a word in, then I would be delighted. I’ve even got a couple of new poems, not yet published.”

“Wow. You’re writing stuff, then. Oh, it’s probably rude to ask that.”

“Ask away, I’ll soon tell you to bugger off.” I gave a dry laugh, trying not to seem too off-putting. “But yes, I am writing. After all, that’s why I’m here.”

“Here. Oh. I see.”

I’ll say this for Matt, he was keen, eager but not pressing. It became a regular date. Four days in a row, he brought breakfast and after that first day, I brought coffee. We talked birds and the landscape, plus a bit about the poems of mine that he was reading. I let slip a few more details of my life and found out that he worked at a local bakery to help make ends meet. But our meetings never hung on too long, he would go to his birding whilst I would sit, scribble, watch and listen. Not the most exciting date, and it wasn’t really a date at all. Was it?

On Thursday we’d finished breakfast, but I sensed something else, he was a bit tongue tied. “Tomorrow, I don’t have to work so usually I come in the afternoon.”

“When I’ll be working.”

“Oh. Well, I could come early, like.”

“Don’t be daft, have your lie-in and I’ll see you Monday.”

“It’s just, I get paid Fridays, so I wondered whether you fancied going for a drink?”

It was a charming proposal, earnest, frank and down to earth. But was it a date, or what? We arranged to meet at a pub in town where he assured me there was usually plenty of space outside.

I wondered what I was letting myself in for.

Was it a date or just as mates? He certainly didn’t strike an obvious sexual spark with me, and most of my friends would have been surprised that I hadn’t simply turned him down flat. The local air must be having a mellowing effect.

---

Dawn lowered herself gingerly into her seat, “Fuck. Holidays are supposed to be relaxing.”

Vince grinned, “Well, if you will go buggering off for over a month. What on earth have you been doing?”

The two had known each other since they were first articled. Working in separate solicitors’ practices with different specialisms, they somehow clicked perhaps aided by the fact both young lawyers had slightly radical streaks. Both had settled somewhat now, yet each retained a political outlook that echoed something of their youth.

They remained in frequent contact; their weekly lunch had been a regular for many years. Sometimes more in spirit than in reality, it was a time when they shared not only what was going on in their lives but also enjoyed a good moan to a sympathetic ear about the politics and politicians of the moment, both local and national.

Whereas Vince retained saturnine good looks with, now, a hint of his Father, Dawn had developed into an ample woman, motherly in form and personality. Childless, though not by choice, she put much of her energy into her clients and mothering her staff.

“Believe or not, Arnold had me water-skiing”, she laughed, “Husbands! And to serve him right, he’s feeling worse.”

“Well, that’s what you get for buggering off on holiday.”

Dawn’s husband Arnold had been advised to take plenty of exercise for medical reasons, the result was that the two took highly active holidays and spent many their weekends walking.

No doubt Dawn would be telling Vince all about the holiday, but for the moment she turned her attention to Vince and gave him a penetrating look. “And are you doing anything with Freddie this year?”

Getting Vince to go off on a ‘proper’ holiday was a constant bugbear of Dawn’s.

“We’re going to Spain, as usual.”

“How about somewhere different?”

“It works for us. Freddie likes it.” Then Vince looked sly, “But there’s something even better.”

“What?”

“We moved.”

Dawn blinked, “Whatever happened to ‘I’m not doing the old man’s bidding’ or ‘over my dead body’. Bit sudden, wasn’t it?” She cocked an amused eye.

Vince sighed, “Gray’s situation changed, suddenly, and he agreed. Freddie and I could easily continue living at ‘Homewood’ but Gray doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“His job at UEA?”

“Fell through. Supposedly restructuring, but…” Vince shrugged.

“You think there’s something else.”

Vince wrinkled his nose, “As far as I can tell, it was a bit sudden. A bit too keen to get rid of him.”

“Face didn’t fit?”

“Mouth more like.”

Dawn laughed, “He’s never seemed like someone to easily fit in.”

“And now, Gray doesn’t seem too keen to get back to university teaching and keeps on about space to write. Besides…”

“Besides? Come on, I know you.”

“I thought that for six months or so, it would be a good chance to get to know Gray properly.”

“Without your Dad looming. And Gray?”

“I think is willing to give it a go. We need to try and get to having some sort of relationship. And on top of that, I asked Freddie about the move, and he was keen.”

“So, what’s happening to ‘Homewood’?”

“Being spruced up, as we speak, and then we’ll rent it out.”

Dawn looked concerned, “Didn’t Freddie want to stay there? After all he must have all sorts of memories attached to the house. It’s the only home he’s ever known.”

“He’s got his memory box”, Vince gave a dry laugh, “well, memory suitcase. And we’ve brought all our personal things, memorabilia and what not. He’s not bothered about the rest. We’re not bothered.”

She shook her head, resigned, “Freddie’s too like his Father, keeps everything in a box.”

“He’s happy and he’ll have lots more space, and he will be living a lot closer to his mate Arvid.”

“Teenage boys.”

“And I’ve promised him a new bike.”

“Vince, you know what I think about bribery.”

“Reward”, he grinned. “Freddie helped a lot in the move.”

“So, let me get this right, the two of you rattling around in that big house.”

“As I said, Freddie has space, his own chill-out room. And I might have a study.”

“Might?” Dawn gave him a knowing look.

“Even without all his things, Dad’s still there.”

“Then fill it with more stuff”, she gave an exasperated sigh.

“Yes madam.” He sketched an ironic salute.

“And Gray? Seriously?”

“He’s moved back, is now in the annexe.”

Dawn let her disbelief show, “And Gray is…”

“Settling in.”

“Really. Gray? The man who managed to visit you at ‘Homewood’, how many times?”

“That’s not fair, Dawn. We saw each other at Dad’s.”

“Well, Gray’s not shown any interest in family, so far, has he?”

“Dawn. He’s just lost his regular job at UEA. I think there’s been boyfriend trouble, though we haven’t really discussed that, yet.”

“Surely…”

“We’ve never done sharing of our romantic histories so that’s a work in progress. He is looking a bit lost. His views on Dad aren’t that different to mine, he just shows it differently.”

Dawn gave a disbelieving laugh, “Don’t tell me, you’re feeling sorry for him. After all that’s…”

“Dawn. We had a chat last night. Dad did a number on him too.”

“What do you mean, Mac was proud of Gray.”

“When Gray finished Uni, Dad just cut him off. You know how Dad helped me a bit at first.”

“Of course.”

“Well, Gray got none of that. Unless he got a proper job.”

“Jesus. Really. But the books. Mac was as pleased as punch when they came out. His son the published poet, and the award.”

“Didn’t tell Gray that though. As far as Dad was concerned, Gray needed to do like me, get a proper job. Preferably with Philpott’s.”

Dawn gave a snort of derision, “So, you and he are giving it a go?”

“I thought I’d make the effort, try to get to know my brother for the first time.”

“And how is that going?”

“Fucking annoying. Thank God he’s in the annexe.”

Vince took advantage of the arrival of their food to move the topic away from family and soon the two were in a heated discussion about the latest local council budget cuts and possible interference by government ministers.

---

Things had been a bit up and down with Vince all week. He’d been furious about the newspaper article, saying that I’d assured him it was going to be about my poetry.

“No, Vince. I said that I had been told that it was about my poetry.”

He was enough of a lawyer to accept that I wasn’t just splitting hairs.

“Surely, you could have stuck to the topic. It doesn’t take much.”

“When did you last do an interview, eh? The journalist opened with a question about what it was like growing up the son of Mac Philpott, the noted local benefactor.”

“But, surely…”

“Yeah, precisely”, I glared at him. “I was a good boy. Shut up and stayed on message. The lot. Behaved myself, the new Graham Philpott.”

“Then what happened?”

“After three questions about my writing. Three, I ask you? She clearly had zero interest in the poems, and she promptly asked what Dad thought of my writing.”

Vince gave a resigned sigh, “So, you told her?”

“Calmly and reasonably. After all, that is what he said to me, on more than one occasion.”

“But he was proud of your achievements.”

“Only, he never let on to me. Ever.”

“Sorry. I understand. It would have been nice to have a warning but”, he held up a hand to stop me, “I can see you were being ambushed. Thanks.”

I looked at him slightly amazed. He gave a slight smile.

“Given the circumstances, I think it could have been a hell of a lot worse. And, you know what?”

“What?”

“A couple of people have commented, and I’ve been able to say, yeah, Dad was like that with me too, you know.”

“Liberating?”

“A bit. But weird too. I keep looking round the corner.”

“Worried what he’ll hit you with next.”

“Yeah.”

On Friday, I appeared at breakfast in the main house, thinking I’d catch up with Vince.

“I’ve not seen you at breakfast this week, you been having a lie in?”

Vince was already dressed in his shirt and suit trousers, all neatly pressed, and now reading the paper whilst drinking coffee and eating toast.

“No, I’ve been getting up early. Having breakfast with that bloke, Matt. The one I met at the reserve on Friday.”

“Breakfast, as in…”

I tried not to bridle, and responded with exaggerated calm, “As in sitting on the boardwalk at the reserve, drinking coffee out of a flask, eating jam sandwiches and banana sandwiches made with his homemade bread. Homemade jam too.” I gave a wry smile.

Vince blinked, “I was going to say that that doesn’t sound like you, but I have to candidly admit I know nothing of your romantic history.”

I rolled my eyes, “There isn’t much of that, and I don’t think this is romance. He’s a mate, a bit quirky perhaps and he has rather been on the hard end of life.”

“Point taken. Do you think he’s”, Vince frowned, “interested?”

“Not sure. Which is unusual for me, I can tell you. He’s eager, likes my poetry and we talk. I doubt he’s very experienced so, who knows? And you know what, I’m not going to worry.”

“How have you been getting to the reserve?”

“Using my old bike, how else?”

“Well, there’s Dad’s car.”

“Oh, come on Vince. I am not swanning around in Dad’s elderly Daimler. Besides, it must drink petrol.”

Vince shrugged, “There and back wouldn’t be that bad. Besides, you might welcome it, if it was pissing down with rain. It’s there if you need it, taxed and insured till the MOT runs out. The keys are in the kitchen drawer.”

“Thanks. I think.”

---

Bas

Yes, I am writing. Lots.

Coningham is shit in many ways but plonk me down in the landscape round here and the bleakness sets me off. Not sure what I’ll do with the new poems. Would Vince help with publication costs? I doubt it.

I’ve hooked up with a twitcher [see picture]. Not that sort of hook up. Made a fool of myself on the bike, and he was worried. Now we meet for breakfast, his treat, homemade bread. He’s sweet, yet quite direct. Haven’t frightened him off. Yet. He’s not obviously my type, I don’t even know if he’s queer. Yet, yet, yet…

I know. Why can’t I have a sensible love life. And no. I’ve not heard from Norbert, and I neither expect to nor desire to. He’s still firmly ensconced at UEA, so I won’t be returning there in a hurry. Don’t want to risk another public shouting match like the last one. Given my penchant for turning ex-lovers into friends, why the hell did Nasty Norbert turn out different?

Amazingly, Vince and I haven’t fought, nor has he frozen me out. So, there’s hope for us yet.

G