They may not mean to, but they do - 22. Twenty-Two

Thomas’ ‘working from home’ turned out to be relatively notional, though he got a good two or three hours done by getting up early with Keith. At one point Keith spied the post van pulling away and went to fetch the post. When he returned, Thomas looked up.

“What is it?”, Thomas looked curiously at Keith who was standing with a package, a large jiffy bag, holding it gingerly.

“It’s from Maureen Whitacre”, Keith said it hesitatingly, as if he wasn’t sure who she was. Thomas looked expectantly. Keith put the package down, still unopened, “A couple of weeks back, I got a message through the website. It was from someone asking me if I was the Keith Clarke who had lived in Moortown in Sheffield, and whose grandmother had been Maggie Downing. I wondered whether it was a scam but didn’t see any harm in at least saying that was who I was.

Turns out that Maureen, the woman emailing, was the daughter of one of Gran’s friends, Mrs Tunstill. Maureen had been clearing out her Mum’s flat and had found stuff that the old lady had got from Gran when she died. It’s photos mainly, and a few other bits and pieces.”

“Why didn’t your Grandmother pass the stuff to your Father?” Thomas had an idea about the answer.

Keith grimaced, “Gran had kept a lot of stuff. Photos and the like. Dad would have chucked them straight in the bin. Didn’t believe in keeping stuff like that. Perhaps Gran knew that; I expect she did. It was her who came to school and did things like that with me. When she could.

“There was a lot of hiding stuff from Dad, things that he didn’t reckon was proper. I guess Gran did more hiding than I realised. God knows how she got hold of the school photos. The letters all came to Dad, who generally ignored them. No photos, no poncey things like that.”

Keith shook his head. “He wasn’t all bad, you just had to be like him. So, sport was OK, he even came to see me when I made the football team. And I needed a trade. So, being an electrician was all right. If Gran had lived longer, maybe she’d have encouraged me to go to night school or college or summat. She thought you should better yourself.” He laughed, “Dad thought higher education was for nonces, and Gran thought Uni was for toffs, not for proper working folk”.

“So, you know what’s in the package?”, Thomas was still curious and impatient, trying to get around Keith’s reluctance to open it.

Keith looked a bit abashed, “Yeah, sort of. Maureen sent me a few pics to confirm things, school photos and the like.” He shook himself, “Tell you what let's make a coffee and then open it.”

So, sitting at the table over coffee, Keith finally opened the envelope. There was a short, hand-written note from Maureen apologising for taking so long sending the stuff and hoping that he was well. And two smaller envelopes, both rather battered and re-used as the addressee was crossed out and someone had written ‘Keith - photos’ on one and ‘Keith – articles’ on the other. Keith laughed when he saw them, it was his Gran’s handwriting and she had been a big one for re-using things.

“As I kid, I liked things brand new and shiny, but Gran was always re-using stuff and I never understood that.”

The ‘Keith – photos’ envelope contained just that. A few hazy snaps of Keith and sundry other children which he peered at, hesitatingly identifying some. Most were taken in back gardens, groups of boys (and a few girls) in t-shirts, shorts and jeans, stood grinning embarrassed, eager to be off and leave whichever parent it was playing with their camera. Others were more formal school photos, group ones and a couple of portraits of a rather grim-faced Keith.

“I hated having me photo taken, and Dad was never bothered. He had a couple of me but not many. Gran must have got these direct from the school”, he shook his head in wonder.

“What’s in the other envelope?”

“Fuck knows. No-one ever wrote about me.”

There were a series of yellowed newspaper clippings. Keith quickly leafed through them then put them down, as if burned. “Shit. She knew. He fucking well must have told her. But she never said.”

Thomas gently took the cuttings, the biggest was about a guy being prosecuted for vaguely described indecent acts on public property, there was another about the break-up of a possible paedophile ring, and some smaller ones about other men being prosecuted. None of the articles was very forthcoming about details.

Keith picked them up again and indicated various ones,“These are about Donald, the guy I told you about.”

“At the Mill?”

“Yeah. I doubt it was a paedophile ring, but it made a good story. The others, I don’t know. This one’s the elder brother of a mate of mine, and these, well the names ring a bell.”

Each one had a date written on it in biro, “The dates all come after Donald’s case.”

“Yeah, Dad must have told her about it, and she followed other cases. Worried about me.”

“Didn’t you know she knew?”

Keith frowned, “Dad never said anything, and he never told anyone. I was never caught with Donald, but someone must have seen us going to the Mill so when he got arrested, Dad knew. And any road, if he even suspected, then giving me a good beating wouldn’t hurt.”

“But the beatings continued.”

“Yeah. I don’t think I was very convincing. He’d keep on at me that he knew I was a poof, and that I’d better mend my ways.” Then he grinned, “Didn’t work in the end though did it?”

“Did your Gran never say anything?”

“Not a whisper. Never mentioned the beatings or being grounded. Simply carried on. Don’t know whether it was out of sympathy for me, whether she understood, or simply to spite my Father.”

“Would she have done that?”

He smiled again, “Yeah, a great one for devilment were Gran. And she and Dad didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. Evidently, Mum kept the peace between them.”

They were silent for a bit, and Keith leafed over the faded articles and the other photos.

“You’re going to keep them”, it was a statement rather than a question.

Keith nodded, “Reckon I’ll get an album and pop them all in. Safe-like, but somewhere I won’t look regular.”

That seemed to be it, Keith carefully put the photos and the articles away. But Thomas had an idea. “Does the mill and that still exist?”

Keith pulled a face, “Buggered if I know, there’s been a lot of changes round there. Urban regeneration and the like.”

“I’d like to see it?”

“Whatever for?”

“It’s part of your past. Before you put it all back in a box, I’d like a proper look?”

Keith smiled a bit, looking rueful, “You reckon revisiting my past’d be good for me?”

Thomas smiled, “No idea, but I’d like to see it.”

Keith nodded. “OK. You’re on, but we have to do it to you as well. Re-visit your childhood.”

Thomas smiled, “That’s far less exciting.”

Keith had a couple of clients to see for possible projects of his own, and the two arranged to meet for lunch. But Thomas had another project in mind too, and finally, Keith found himself ushered into a picture framer’s shop. It was nearby, and Keith had driven past plenty of times, so he had no excuse. It took longer than expected, Keith found it difficult to imagine what the final results of framing the watercolour from Thomas would be. Whilst there, he started looking at photograph albums, he explained to the girl what he wanted to store, and they came away with a pair which would take photos and the news clippings. Thomas was pleased, it seemed to be a step forward.

After the framers, they treated themselves to a pie and a pint at the pub across the road. Like a lot of places Keith had been into, it was modern and didn’t look that special but there was a wide food menu and Thomas commented that they seemed to be making an effort with their Real Ales.

Keith brought up something that had been worrying him. Stanislas, Stan. The guy had mentioned going for a drink, and last time Keith had been in the shop buying lunch Stan had mentioned it again, in a light joking manner. But Keith had to decide.

“You mean that you want to go out with him?”

Keith went bright red, tongue-tied, and embarrassed, his response came out sharper than intended, “No, it's not like that”. Thomas clearly wanted to say, ‘then what is it like’, but he sat and waited. “I’m not going for a drink with a guy behind your back and”, he paused, this was a hell of a lot harder than he’d thought, “I think Stan might fancy me.”

Thomas smiled, “But do you fancy Stanislas?”

Keith shook his head, “Of course not. Well, he’s OK, but he’s a bit young and”, another pause, “I prefer you.” By now Keith was bright red and convinced that everyone was listening, though of course the people in the pub (mainly having the pensioners special) ignored them.

“Look, I trust you. And you’ve been straight with me, which I appreciate, so simply go out for a drink with the guy. Don’t make a big thing of it, and don’t go in saying you have a boyfriend, and this is only a drink, but you can easily bring up my name. After all, you could mention the weekend or something.”

Keith nodded, “But what if he wants to, you know…”

“Then say no”, Thomas smiled, “You know how to say no don’t you?”

Keith shook his head, “Sort of, I’ve never been very good at it, sort of why I ended up with the girlfriend”.

Thomas laughed, “I bet she’d be pleased to hear that!”

Keith looked a bit sheepish, “I’ll have to try.”

“Get used to it. Gay guys can be quite pushy sometimes, well a lot of the time. You’ll get a few offers through the football club I’d imagine.”

“But they know I have a boyfriend!”

“For a lot of guys, that doesn’t matter. Some are in open relationships, some have an arrangement which means they can do stuff away from home, and others simply cheat, what the guy at home doesn’t know won’t hurt him!”

Keith’s eyes widened at this recitation and as they drove home, he questioned Thomas further. Thomas admitted that his experience was limited, but he had heard stories from friends, colleagues and even had some experiences. Guys he’d hooked up with on trips back to the UK only to find that they were in a settled relationship, wanting a night of fun, and there was even the guy that wanted Thomas to make a return visit for a threesome with his regular boyfriend.

“And did you?” Keith was fascinated by the tale.

Thomas shook his head, “A work thing came up and I couldn’t. Mind it was really an excuse, I chickened out. In reality, I’m not much more experienced than you. A right pair aren’t we.”