They may not mean to, but they do - 12. Twelve

Thursday the guys' football plans were rained off, so the evening found them in their regular pub. It wasn’t busy, there was no match on, so the TV was broadcasting some obscure international game that barely registered. There were just the usual after-work drinkers plus a few old codgers that seemed to live there. They even managed to grab a table.

"Good match on Sunday, was it Keith?", Den's question seemed harmless enough yet felt loaded.

Den? At Sunday's match? Straight, prejudiced Den. Keith looked around, the others were curious but aware of some tension, and as luck would have it, Hughie wasn't around, he was going to be late this evening.

"Yeah, good match thanks though I've got a whopper of a bruise on me arse." There was a ripple of amusement, but also curiosity, Keith explained, "I was helping a mate of a mate, a charity match at the King William in Kenton."

"Fucking queers, it was. Fags for Football for God's sake. And I saw you kissing that bloke, you're one of them. Bad enough Hughie, least he's open. You, little shit, hiding it all this time."

Keith looked around, the others looked shocked, none supported Den, but no one spoke up for him. He stood up, "Yes, I am one of them and the bloke I was kissing was Thomas, my boyfriend. I think I'd better go." He saluted his former mates but ignored Den. The departure was not so much because he could not face them, but because he was fighting back tears. He could not remember the last time he'd cried. Certainly not for his Dad, probably his Gran's funeral. He managed to hold back the worst of the waterworks till he was sitting in the garden of a nearby boozer, The Wind and Widdershins, with two double whiskies. Neat.

He wouldn't normally touch the place. It was one of those chains where an existing building had been converted into a bland, faceless pub, and the beer was foul. But there was plenty of space and it gave him time to sort himself out. He knew that running out and avoiding an argument hardly sorted things out; he’d have to try and face the guys somehow. They’d been friends hadn’t they, all manner of personal matters had failed to stop their regular Thursday evenings. Was it such a big deal if he liked guys? Thomas reflected on his Dad’s attitude, but then there was Hughie, whom the guys liked, so what was the problem?

He’d no idea why the waterworks, he'd have to ask Thomas. With that thought, he got out his phone. Thomas' meeting had run on, so there was a couple of silly messages from him. Keith was just thinking about what he could say when he heard a noise. He looked up. It was the gang, with Hughie this time, looking furious, and minus Den. Hughie spoke first, "Thought we' d find you here. Mind if we chat. We've given that low life the bum's rush" and to emphasise this he spat into the grass. "You doing OK, mate?".

"Now I've seen you lot, I am", and Keith found it was true. The others sat down, and Keith tried to work out what to say.

"Is what Den said true?"

"Why didn't you tell us? "

Keith looked at them, what to say? "Cos I didn't know", and he noted a nod from Hughie and a look of understanding. What could he say to make them understand, "I spent me teens with me Dad beating it out of me. Regularly", this was something they could understand, he saw signs of recognition, not the gay bit but the method of discipline, the physical violence. "I pretended to everyone, including myself. And it worked for a bit."

"So, what changed?"

"I did, I suppose. And one day I was a clients’ and they invited me for a swim. Two gay guys. Naked."

"Aye, aye!"

Keith smiled, "Nothing like that, but it made me admit to myself that I liked blokes."

"So, when did you do the dirty?"

"Fuckin’ hell!"

"Come on, I was only asking. A guy gets curious."

Keith smiled, it felt good to be back. "Depends what you mean by 'doin’ the dirty'. Sharing with three mates, I could hardly take a guy back could I, and, well, I don’t think I’d dare. So, it was a few quick fumbles, the last one in an alley behind a pub in Leeds."

"Classy!" There was a knowing smile from Hughie and the usual argy-bargy.

"Well, where was your first time?" The answers came thick and fast, with much ribaldry, ‘back of me Dad’s motor’, ‘round the back at the disco’, and such.

"So, who’s this bloke of yours?"

"And where'd you meet him?"

"Thomas. He runs an arts charity, and I met him at the same pub in Leeds."

"Like I said, classy."

There were lots of questions, on some of which Keith went all coy. It would take time for the guys to recalibrate. The fact that he’d kept quiet about it, lied to them, would still take a bit of getting over, even though they seemed to understand why. But there was no doubt of their support, and what might be termed love though the word would have horrified them. At some point in the evening, Hughie got him one side.

"You OK?" Keith nodded. Hughie pulled a face, "Bit rough, but it's always tricky. Remind me to tell you sometime." Keith nodded again. "If you need to chat, just say." Keith thanked him and thought that he would.

It was late when he got back, but Thomas had said he'd be late too. Keith texted and got something back almost immediately. So, he phoned. It was very late when he finally got to bed, but he felt a lot better having been able to talk it through with someone. Thomas had said that he hadn't done anything. But he had, he'd listened. And Keith had never had someone who did that before.

-oOo-oOo-

For the next few weeks, Keith and Thomas fell into something of a routine. They would furiously text each other during the week, with the odd phone call, and Thomas would come and stay with Keith from Friday to Sunday evening. They existed in something of a vacuum, deliberately not doing things with friends. Inevitably, Thomas did meet Bart and Greg, but the two seemed to understand and kept themselves to themselves.

Keith’s relations with his mates got back onto a more even keel, though it took some time. Keith hiding stuff from them became no worse than times when the other guys had had family or girl problems and kept it a bit quiet. Gradually comments and questions about Thomas became integrated into the guys’ banter in the way that the others’ girlfriends were. There was no pressure to meet, the group was about the guys and other partners were rarely met. Perhaps also, there was an element of nerves or anxiety, on both sides, it was easier if Thomas was unseen in the background. Keith’s idea to chat to Hughie more was put on hold, as the guy disappeared on a tour of Europe by motorbike with mates. This was a typical Hughie stunt, he rarely worked for long and as soon as he could afford it, he took off.

Where there was pressure, was with Nate. Thomas was fielding questions from Nate and Caroline. Not so much pressure as a polite curiosity which as he had warned, was quite insistent.

One of Keith and Thomas’ regular tasks was to go shopping, something neither of them particularly relished. Doing it together seemed to make it more enjoyable, shopping, lunch, a walk or more. Keith had plenty of things he wanted to buy for the flat, so he and Thomas worked through the lists – from towelling robes to a new computer. It was an excuse to spend time together yet was also useful as Thomas had helpful comments about Keith’s choices. And when it came to buying a laptop, Thomas was able to check with colleagues and work contacts to get a recommendation.

-oOo-oOo-

One of the few advantages of the rented house had been that they had subscriptions to the premium sports channels so could watch big matches at home. More often than not this involved his Polish and Czech mates noisily watching one of the big European teams, with the odd premiership match. Sometimes, because of a clash or simply for a change, Keith took himself off to The Artful Dodger, a 1950s pub between the church and the recreation ground. Not a great place for beer, but it had a wall of TVs, huge screens, and a great atmosphere on match nights.

The surprise was that Thomas didn’t mind coming along as well. When the subject had first come up, he’d grinned and commented that just because he didn’t play football didn’t mean that he couldn’t enjoy watching the odd game. Which was a relief.

Keith knew that folk didn’t have to like the same things, but he’d grown up with footy being part of his life, the football results on Saturday afternoon, Match of the Day, even going to the odd match with his Dad and his Dad’s mates. It would be difficult to imagine not doing that with Thomas.

Only when they were in The Artful Dodger waiting for a match to start did Keith discover that footy could mean different things to different blokes. They were discussing United’s chances in the forthcoming match when someone asked Thomas which team he followed as he wasn’t local. He grinned and said that he’d spent so long abroad that he’d not got attached to one, and anyway he’d watched rather a lot of Australian rules. A comment of ‘You an Aussie then?’ had been greeted with a smile and the explanation that latterly in Kenya, getting UK matches on TV had been tricky.

Keith wasn’t convinced, and when they were having a quick goodbye kiss in a dark spot at the back of the car park he returned to the subject, “So, what’s this about Australian rules? You really keen on it?”

Thomas smiled, “Sorry, it just slipped out. There was a lot of Aussie football on TV, but I got into the habit of watching it because of the shorts.”

“Shorts?”

Thomas gave what could only be described as a suggestive chuckle, “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed, the guys wear them shorter and tighter than most other games.”

Keith had never thought of football in that way, watching guy. But they started trying to go to The Artful Dodger when there was an Aussie rules match on, and Keith had to admit that he could see Thomas’ point. It also made him realise that he needed to get a tele, he could watch stuff on his new laptop but that wasn’t the same. However, he was too tight to lash out on subscriptions, what he watched on TV would have to be the free stuff, so The Artful Dodger would be part of life for the moment.