They may not mean to, but they do - 7. Seven

They’d not intended to meet again that weekend. But…

Both had stuff to do, in Keith’s case, it was things like washing his smalls and doing some maintenance on the van. In ordinary circumstances, there would no doubt have been a game of footy or something to pick up in the afternoon. But instead, he arranged to meet Thomas. They’d each drive for a bit, and meet at another of Thomas’ CAMRA pubs. That was something else new. Keith generally relied on word of mouth, mates saying that a pub was great, or the beer tasted foul. Thomas had a copy of a guide that this CAMRA produced complete with details of decent pubs. What more could you want?

So, Sunday morning, he watched his smalls go round and got good and filthy tinkering with the van. Well, more than tinkering; Keith was steeling himself to the fact that he would have to spend serious money on it. But he was in a good mood, nonetheless.

His house-mate Jack picked up on his good mood and twitted him about it, trying to get Keith to admit that there was a girl involved. It was all harmless, the sort of thing they all did. Except Keith felt guilty for keeping quiet, for hiding that it wasn’t a girl but a bloke. But he’d only met Thomas twice, and they came from different places. That much was obvious, they had so little in common. Except, Keith couldn’t help smiling when he thought of Thomas.

Once he was clean and tidy, he texted Bart and Greg and arranged to go round there on Monday evening. That was somewhere, at least, he could be himself or rather be more his new self.

The pub was remarkably ordinary, just a local on a country road that had now become something of a destination; the area around was open farmland, attractive enough but nothing special. However, in the pub the barman was friendly, and the beer was good. The food was basic, but more than acceptable, simple stuff well done. There was a sort of beer garden, and they sat outside and watched the antics of the various dogs that the punters had brought with them.

"You ever fancy a dog?"

Thomas looked at a middle-sized mutt, with a cocked ear, that seemed to have real personality, "When I see one like that I sometimes wonder. But Nate and Caroline are cat-people, and even if I get my own place, I doubt I’d ever have time to look after a dog properly, as I work such irregular hours."

That comment led them into a ‘what exactly do you do?’ sort of discussion, with each finding the other’s job somewhat bemusing. For Keith, the idea that Thomas, who claimed to have no talent for drawing or painting at all, worked for a charity bringing just those things to disadvantaged children seemed strange, but for Thomas, it was a social enterprise whose benefits were more than artistic, and his skill was in bringing people together and getting funding through. Whereas Thomas’ person-oriented nature and love of interacting with people found Keith’s passion for neatness, order, and correctness a puzzle. But each came to understand a bit more and to appreciate the other’s sheer passion.

But they wanted to do more than talk, and they slipped off for a walk to find somewhere private. They were less successful this time and finally had to content themselves with a long, intimate embrace in the relative privacy of a copse by a couple of empty fields. It lacked the uninhibited nature of the previous day but helped cement their mutual desire to get together again. For different reasons, neither had had a regular partner recently and simply having someone to see again made up for a lot.

Their walk back to their cars took them through the local village. It was little more than a cluster of houses around a crossroads, functional rather than picturesque, still a working village. There wasn't even a church, but Keith spied a café and though it was late, they were still serving so the two finished with tea and, most importantly, cake.

The café was little more than the front two rooms of a cottage, turned over to the private enterprise. There was a young girl serving, and from the drifts of conversation they heard when she went into the kitchen, it was her Mam doing the cooking. She was young, probably still at school, blond and wearing short skirt, thick make-up and heavy boots that were more about style than practicality.

Cakes were largely home-made, or looked it, substantial, irregular and quite plain. The tea was good and strong, the pottery mis-matched, the customers largely middle-aged tourists and a few walkers. There was a foreign couple, French or Spanish Keith thought, who befuddled the waitress by asking for coffee and didn't seem to understand that at this time of day, only cake and scones were served, nothing savoury.

Once their order came and the waitress left them alone, Thomas looked up. "Do you play football?"

Keith looked at Thomas curiously, "Footy, yeah. Me and the lads usually have a kick-around of a Thursday evening after work. Why? You fancy joining us? It’s fun, and there’s the pub afterwards."

Thomas laughed, "Me. No! I have two left feet when it comes to things like that. A mate of mine from Uni has a friend who lives round here who plays for a charity football team. A gay team. They have a match on Sunday, just a knockabout to raise money for the local hospital, and they’ve lost a key man and are casting round for someone who might play for them. I sort of got included on an email chain about it."

"Someone who's gay, like?"

"Well, that’s the idea, is that a problem?"

Keith looked down at his hands, "Thing is, no-one knows. Well hardly anyone."

"You’re not out to your friends?"

"Nah, it's all been a bit recent", he looked down at his hands again, "I managed to tell someone, but she’s not really a friend. I’ve told no-one that matters. Are you? Out that is."

"Out", Thomas gave a short, ironic laugh, "I don’t think I was ever really in. Certainly, I was outrageous at school, and I don’t think Dad ever had any illusions, even though he didn’t cope with it very well." There was a pause. "You’ve really not told people?"

"Well, Bart and Greg know but, besides you, they’re the only gay men I really know. Well, one of the guys, Hughie, is gay but it's not something we’ve ever talked about. And I managed to tell Jaz, she works at the building supplies place in town, and I often have a chat with her. The guys think she’s a lesbian because of the way she dresses, and somehow, I told her". Keith gave Thomas a rather rueful smile, "and I’ve been panicking ever since."

Thomas rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything as Keith continued, "I spent too long pretending to me self, having a girl-friend and making all the right moves to convince Dad that I was straight."

"Then what changed?"

Keith considered, "I think it was seeing Bart and Greg bollock naked and joining them."

Thomas smirked, "Like that, eh?"

Keith shook his head, "Nah, it were straight up, so to speak. The new place of theirs that I'm working on has a pool, and they don’t bother with costumes. I saw them by accident, and they invited me. Nothing happened, they are good friends, that’s all. But it made me realise. Eventually. That it was blokes I found interesting, rather than birds. Actually, doing it with a bloke took some time. And", Keith paused again, looking a bit embarrassed, "I’ve never actually been to bed with a bloke."

"You’ve done things, though."

"Yeah, but never in bed. Never spent the night."

"So, we need to fix that. Soon. How about a hotel?"

"Where?"

Thomas shrugged, "Doesn’t matter, just a hotel. We turn up, spend the night and", he wiggled his eyebrows, "have fun!"

Keith smiled carefully, "OK, you’re on."

"Now, about that football?"

"If people see me?"

"It’s a charity match, you’re doing a mate a favour."

Keith looked dubious but nodded.

"Look, I don’t want to pressure you into doing something you’re not comfortable with. I’ve never been one for hiding it, but I don’t want to make you make a move till you are ready."

"Nah, it's stupid. I’ve already started feeling guilty at not being straight with the guys."