They may not mean to, but they do - 20. Twenty

They had no plans for Sunday, and both relished the idea of sleeping in yet somehow with the perversity of things both awoke rather earlier than planned. Still, a leisurely breakfast was in order, and they talked about what they might do with the day. Keith had things that needed doing but going shopping or mending the van seemed a waste of the time he might spend with Thomas. Thomas, looking a bit shifty, dug into his bag and produced a leaflet. There was a striking abstract painting across the front with the words ‘Art in Modern Africa’ and in smaller letters, ‘a selling exhibition in aid of Art in Modern Africa’s scholarship fund’, and then at the bottom were dates and the venue, Leeds Art Gallery. It was this weekend.

Keith turned it over, but there was nothing on the back, so he stared at the front again. He rather liked the image. “You want to go?”

Thomas looked a bit bashful, “If you don’t mind. I had been hoping to go in the week, but things came up. If you don’t like the idea, it’s no big thing but there are supposed to be some major artists in the show, and I wondered if there were any I knew.”

“What about that artist”, Keith gestured to his still unframed picture.

Thomas smiled, “I doubt it, he was still unknown enough to be giving pictures away to friends when I left.”

Keith nodded, “There’ll be others you knew? You think I’d find something else for here?”

Thomas laughed, “A print possibly, the exhibition is intended to raise money so that big stuff is being auctioned at the end.”

Keith nodded, “OK”, he stood up, “Better get washed and dressed then!”

It wasn’t that simple, of course, and the shower was inevitably longer than planned but an hour later they were driving into Leeds. They were using Thomas’ car, partly because he drove into the city more for meetings, and partly because Keith had the idea that going to an art exhibition in his work van looked naff. Thomas laughed good-humouredly at this, but happily drove the two of them.

It was years since Keith had been to the art gallery, whilst he quite liked looking at pictures it wasn’t something he ever thought of doing. Without Thomas’ prompting, he wouldn’t have picked up the leaflet even. As they walked up the steps, Keith looked around, “It looks a bit different to how I remember. We were just kids, more interested in an excuse to bunk off school. Never a thought what the building was like or anything.”

Thomas smiled, the idea of living in Leeds and not going to the art gallery seemed strange to him, “I can see we are going to have to do a bit of education, both ways. We need to make lists of things to do together, stuff you do, and I don’t and vice versa.”

Keith nodded in agreement, but his mind was more on his surroundings. To the left, the entrance hall opened up into a café, covered all over with the most lurid coloured tiles. “Wow. I don’t remember that at all.”

Thomas smiled, “Striking I suppose. All part of the original Victorian décor, which was later covered up, and is now exposed again.”

“Do you like it?”

“Not as an art gallery, but it makes a good café!”, he smiled.

“Oh, it's just that…”, Keith tailed off.

“It’s OK, we can like different things. I expect that you’ll like different pictures too. There’s no right or wrong remember.”

Keith relaxed a bit and continued exploring. He remembered the layout roughly and aimed for the large room at the end where the Victorian pictures were displayed. This too had changed, somehow. “We always came here, and I still remember some of these.”

“Do you like them?”, Thomas looked around somewhat dubiously.

Keith looked sideways at him, trying to assess what he thought, “I’m sort of used to them. I liked them when I was a kid, they tell stories. But now”, he shook his head, “perhaps they are a bit too real, like photos.”

Thomas nodded, “Well, we agree on that one. Let’s go upstairs.”

“Upstairs?”

“Yes, that’s where the exhibition probably is.”

“I don’t think I’ve been up there.”

By the time they reached the upper floor, Keith’s attention was grabbed by a display of portraits on one of the walls, but Thomas laughed and said that they could look at that later.

The exhibition was in one large bright room, filled with a variety of objects. Thomas immediately started walking around, looking at the paintings and the installations but Keith stopped at the door to read the explanation boards, about Art in Modern Africa. This was a charity based in Nigeria which aimed to foster collaboration between art schools on the continent and to enable young artists to study both in Africa and in Europe. There was a lot about the scholarship fund for which the exhibition was raising money. The main works in the exhibition were going to be sold via auction, but as Thomas had surmised, there were prints for sale.

The suggested prices for the works were all far out of Keith’s range, Thomas had explained in the car that some of the artists attracted serious collectors. So, Keith simply wandered around, deciding which ones he liked. The ones that appealed most were the landscapes, many of which were almost abstract, there were also quite a few heavily influenced by what Keith presumed to be traditional art and culture, but he had no idea. He wondered about buying a catalogue, but his eye was caught by another picture. By the time he got to the sales desk, he had seen a few pictures he liked. The catalogue, however, was seriously expensive.

Keith walked over to Thomas, who was staring at an assemblage of objects which had simply puzzled Keith. Seeing Keith, Thomas gestured to the work, “I met him, he came to the charity’s offices as part of some promotional work. He’s seriously well known.”

“Did he explain what the work is about, it looks incomplete to me.”

Thomas grinned, “I can’t say conceptual art is much my thing either. Have you finished?”

“I think so, I was going to get a catalogue, but they are bloody expensive.”

“All in a good cause”, but his eyes twinkled.

“I’ve seen some prints.”

“Want me to come and see them too?”

“Would you?”

They wandered back over to the desk and looked at the prints. Keith chose one without any prompting from Thomas, not confident in his own taste, he only wanted reassurance. They agreed to meet in a short while, and as Thomas went back to the exhibition, Keith wandered around the rest of the gallery.

The buildings themselves were fascinating, and he found himself reading the information board about the original gallery. He thought of the elaborately tiled room downstairs and wondered if that had been how the whole building was. When Thomas found him, quite a while later, Keith was absorbed in the wall of portraits, mostly small and of varying ages and styles. He was going through, checking who each one was.

“So, which one’s your favourite?”

“Oh”, Keith looked a bit embarrassed, “No idea who half these folk are!”

“But it doesn’t matter, they want you to remember their picture.”

Keith pointed out the picture that had struck him most, a young woman painted in an almost abstract way. He was starting to realise that he enjoyed pictures that were not like photographs, but he didn’t say anything, still feeling a bit nervous about art in front of Thomas.

Thomas grinned and pointed to a highly realistic one of a supremely pompous looking Edwardian gentleman, “I think that one, it's not the picture but the way the artist has caught the person”, he looked a Keith with a gleam in his eye, “Did I tell you that I have terrible taste. Alison despairs because I like the tackiest of things sometimes.” The two smiled and Thomas put his arm around Keith’s waist, a gesture which Keith found reassuring but unnerving, being so public. “Let’s go find something to eat, I’m starving.”

Thomas’ had consulted his CAMRA Guide, and whilst he led them behind the Town Hall, they got so involved in talking about differences in beer, that when they reached the pub Thomas had not had time to say where they were going.

Whilst the outside didn’t look that much, The Victoria Hotel was another over-the-top fantasy interior. Thomas smiled at Keith’s reaction. They were, however, unlucky with the food as serving had stopped for the lunch menu, so they had to restrict themselves to Scotch eggs and a stray sausage roll which, along with a pint each, was welcome sustenance. The two got different beers and were able to compare and contrast; Keith was starting to enjoy the variety of beers available. As a drinker, he had stuck to lager or Guinness but was finding that some of the darker beers were far more interesting.

They chatted about the exhibition a bit further, with Thomas mentioning what he had found out about the various artworks that had caught his attention. He added that he hoped Keith didn’t mind traipsing around the art gallery with him, and whilst Keith assured Thomas that he had enjoyed it, Thomas seemed to feel that some sort of return favour should be found.

Keith laughed at the idea and said that he’d like to go to more galleries with Thomas and that he’d enjoyed the African exhibition. He then, half-jokingly, returned to the idea of a list of the things that they liked doing, sharing them, taking it in turns. Only, when Thomas seemed to think it a good idea, Keith went a bit red and admitted that apart from football and a bit of walking, his interests did not amount to much, unless you counted hanging around with your mates. Thomas then mentioned the jigsaws, which made Keith even more embarrassed, but Thomas went on to admit that his life was mainly work, more work and hanging about with work colleagues. Perhaps they should put together a joint list.

The mention of football recalled Thomas to the Fags for Football match, had Keith been in touch with Gerard yet, had he been to any of the gay team’s training. Keith admitted that he hadn’t phoned Gerard,

“It’s not because I don’t want to, it’s just…”, he petered out, “I sort of lack confidence”, this last almost muttered.

“In your ability to play football, because it’s a gay team, or because it means being a bit more open?”

“I suppose a bit of each. I’ve never played for a proper club, just kick about matches.”

“But you did well at the charity match, didn’t you?”

“Beginner’s luck! And, well I’ve never been involved in a gay group at all.”

“Does the bad reaction from that mate of yours still bother you?”

Keith admitted it did, and whilst there were few if any, other people that mattered, he was still nervous, especially at doing something with other gay men.

“When do they practice?”

“There’s a regular kick-about on Tuesday evenings, and more training on Saturdays which is when the matches are.”

“So why don’t you go along to a Tuesday?”

“If I got involved, then I wouldn’t see you on Saturdays.”

Thomas smiled, “That’s real cute, but no excuse. I’ll simply come along to the training, if you can trail around art galleries with me, then I can watch you play football. Tell you what, each time I come to training, we’ll spend the Sunday doing something arty, or walking.”

Keith laughed, a bit relieved, “Or both.”

“Look, why don’t you go along this Tuesday, and I’ll come along too. I can chat to the guys, and I’m sure there will be beer afterwards. I can’t stay, I have to be in Newcastle for a meeting at some stupid time, so it doesn’t make sense to be at your place, alas.”

Keith looked at Thomas, “You don’t mind?”

“I like to think that we’re a team”, he looked at Keith, “or developing into one. Is that OK?”

Feeling daring Keith felt for Thomas’ hand under the table, he nodded, “Yes, more than OK.”

As they walked back to the car, Keith talked about his problematic relationship with his girlfriend, and Thomas admitted that none of his relationships had been very stable either. Keith stopped in the street and smiled at Thomas,

“So, we’ve both been crap at relationships?”

“Or bad pickers!”

Feeling horribly daring, Keith gave Thomas a quick peck on the cheek (not that anyone noticed), “Not this time.”

Thomas agreed, “Not this time.”

-oOo-oOo-

Maria had come to the match on Saturday and had seeming enjoyed it, flirting with the lads particularly Den, and it made them seem like a proper couple. So, Friday, Keith agreed to her suggestion of going off to a new club with her mate Amanda and Amanda’s bloke, a rather stuffy accountant who never spoke. Keith found him difficult to talk to. But Maria and Amanda insisted he was dreamy. Keith realised that he and Maria had rather different ideas about what constituted a good night out. Most Fridays or Saturdays, Keith would have been happy to meet up with mates in the pub, catch a band if one was playing and have a good yarn, but Maria wanted more. Her night out involved music and dancing, not standing around ‘watching you and your mates discussing the match’.

The club was busy and noisy, but despite himself, Keith enjoyed it, particularly the music; he even risked the dance floor even though he knew they’d rib him for his dancing afterwards. That’s what he liked about Maria, she was full of ideas and plans; without her, Keith’s Friday would have been a drink with the lads, a takeaway and then a film on TV at home or his latest jigsaw. Maria was a breath of fresh air. But she liked things doing her way; if only Keith didn’t feel that his life wasn’t his own.

After the club, they’d gone back to her flat and it had seemed a good night. Even the sex. Next morning, though, it was different. Maria was lively and generous, full of ideas, when things went to plan, and last night they hadn’t, evidently. Usually, Keith went along with it, anything for an easy life.

Last night, Amanda and Maria had gone into a huddle, talking fashion, make-up, guys and whatever, leaving Keith with the accountant. He’d seen the girls flirting with blokes, Maria always did that but last night it seemed to go a bit too far. So, when Maria started having a go at him because last night hadn’t worked out, somehow, he bit back.

Maria liked a good barney, someone to argue with, and life with her was a constant up and down of argy-bargy. Trouble was, it reminded Keith too much of his Dad. So, he usually curled up into a ball (no longer with his body but in his head, he became 16 and curled up). Only this time he fought back and, of course Maria liked it in a way. They ended up doing that classic thing of making up with more sex. So, his weekend was a success. Wasn’t it?

Keith had got to know Maria through Amanda. One of Amanda’s previous blokes had been a guy at work, and drinks after work had led to tagging along with the group which included Maria and others. It seemed safe enough and gave Keith access to a different set of friends, completely unrelated to the building trade. People started to treat Keith and Maria as a couple, and it just seemed to happen. He wanted a girl-friend didn’t he, Maria was sexy, willing and lively company. More than once in their arguments, she’d called him an old-fogey or a grandad because he preferred peace and quiet to a bit of liveliness. But it wasn’t just that, it was what?

What more did a guy want?

The problem was that he couldn’t truthfully answer that question, so he went along for the ride and enjoyed it.

At first.