Marc Jesmond - 18. Chapter 18 'The Club'

There’s something to be said for knowing what you want: Selby did, and he always had. Right back to the time he was ten and his mother found him dressed in her clothes.

‘You need to choose, do you want to be a girl or a boy?’

Yes, those were her words; not very enlightened perhaps, but they hadn’t fazed her son. If he was forced to make a choice, he’d be a girl, and that’s what he told her.

So often in life, we believe we don’t have a choice. In almost all cases we do. But it’s often unthinkable, so we don’t think about it.

But Selby did. He was now being pressured out of his own apartment by his treacherous boyfriend and Glen. The boy’s response was swift and effective; he went to the housing association and negotiated another property, ceding his let to Dominic. The new place would be a downgrade, but at least it was his, and it allowed him to regain what was most precious, his own worth.

But as Selby packed out, ready to leave, the boyfriend began to feel guilt. Dominic, like so many people who cheat, wanted his humiliated ex to forgive the rottenness of his behaviour, and airbrush out the guilt. Wouldn’t it be great if all three of them could go out for another night together?

Selby wasn’t enthusiastic, but Dominic persisted,

‘How about we go to that new place, next to the meat market?’

‘You mean the Princess and the Peanis?’

But any considerations were stalled by a voice from the bathroom,

‘No fuckin’ way. We’re not going to that twinky shithole. I want to go down the quayside’

Glen sauntered out, macho. But Dominic was guarded,

‘Come on, Glen. This is Newcastle, we’ll be eaten alive down there’

‘Yeah, if you open your mouth! Let me do the ordering and we’ll be OK. I know my way around. I want to check out that new place Gash, they reckon all the footballers go there’

Selby also had heard of Newcastle’s latest metrosexual venue,

‘He’s right. It was opened last week by that Brazilian player, Sanchez, I think’

Glen’s eyes misted,

‘Fuck me, I’d love to go two halves with him. What a rockin’ body! Fuckin’ abs to die for’

Selby glanced from Glen to Dominic with one of those ‘I can see you’ve made the right choice’ looks! In his own mind, he determined to be packed and away when the boys returned. His own accommodation wasn’t yet ready, but he knew someone who’d put him up for the night, and, however uncomfortable that might be, it was better than witnessing what Glen and Dominic would do, right under his nose, when they got back.

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As he set the table and prepared coffee for his guest, Marc couldn’t help recalling that the last time he’d done this was for Leon. That now seemed a lifetime ago; it wasn’t, it was just days; days battered by a whirlwind of drama and death. Marc had reached a point of mental exhaustion. But he felt he could neither trust anyone, nor get through this on his own. He desperately wanted to believe that tonight’s caller, if nothing else would be a fresh pair of ears; deep down he yearned for him to be so much more.

Alan Douglas was on time. The men met like old friends, comfortably rather than excitedly, and settled for hugging. Marc took his visitor’s blue pea coat, having noted how good his dark curly hair looked as it caught on the upturned collar. Marc bemoaned the loss of his own hair, but loathed the endless, cropped, alien-like heads that populate the streets of England.

Alan wandered in the direction of the kitchen,

‘Smells good’

Marc smiled, self deprecatingly,

‘I can make coffee, that’s about it!’

He grabbed the tray, then gestured his guest towards the first floor, and the lounge with its river view. The choice wasn’t lost on Alan, who, with Scots civility and graciousness complimented his host,

‘This is magic; whit a place! If I’d something like this, you’d never get me out’

A bitter-sweet pain shot through Marc as he put down the tray. Taking a chance, he sat down beside, rather than across from his visitor. Alan seemed a different man outside of work, less formal, more relaxed, and above all, kindly.

‘So, you’ve had a rough time. Well I’m in no hurry. If you’ve got plenty coffee, I’m here as long as you need me’

The time was right, the place was right, the mood was right. Marc tried to take up the threads of his ripped life, and hold them together long enough to recognise who and what he was. Alan listened without interruption, until Marc’s account of Parnaby’s death; the confidant held up his hand,

‘Trust me, I know about these things. You can give me those details later. It’ll work better that way’

Marc, relieved yet perplexed, continued his narrative, but he soon ran out of steam. As he treated the harrowing subject of the conspiracy against him - the will, the arrangement with Alma Robson, the loss of his apartment - he felt bogged down in a morass of conjecture and irrational fear; ‘this guy must think I’m a whack job’

Alan Douglas was unflappable. He got up and walked to the window. Then he turned, smiling confidently,

‘OK. This is what we do. The first thing is to secure this house. It’s your home and it’s where you’re staying. I can check the sale details with the Land Registry and discover who purchased it at auction. If Parnaby, Campfire and Hetherington were behind it, they’ll have left some clue’

Marc loved the confidence, but didn’t share it,

‘You’ve no idea what these guys are like. They’re crooked lawyers, expert at making the law work for them’

‘Aye, and we’re ordinary guys. So just imagine how good it feels to fuck them over!’

Marc allowed the full force of this imagery to settle in. Then he smiled to himself; maybe being an ordinary guy wasn’t so bad.

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Haddaway and Crappe had closed for the day. Their elegant building, with its dove grey facade, and faux-shutters, looking like a mini French chateau transported to the dank streets of an industrial city, fell silent - but not deserted. For on the fourth floor Gerald Campfire busied himself settling in to the small suite of rooms the solicitors kept for visitors who couldn’t find other accommodation.

The clerk had always hated the Dower House; and now, he loathed its associations and memories. The sooner he could find a place in town and get back into city life the better! But he’d not made a good start.

He handed a cup of tea to a not altogether welcome first guest,

‘It wasn’t such a good idea coming here’

‘Well, what else was I supposed to do?’

There was silence as tea was drunk, she went on,

‘I was at your mother’s grave yesterday. It doesn’t get many visits’

Nothing was said,

‘And it’s not easy for me to get into town, I have to take two buses an....

‘You haven’t come here to talk about that’

More silence.

‘I’m sorry about your partner. I know you’ll say I never liked him, but..

‘I didn’t like him, a lot of the time. But it was a bloody shitty way to die’

Alma took another sip,

‘I’m really upset about my dog Daisy. Can you imagine how all this makes me feel? But it wasn’t his fault, what happened. He’d have done the same to anybody in that yard’

Miss Robson’s eyes blazed with earnestness as she paid tribute to her dog’s democratic leanings.

Campfire’s eyes looked far away,

‘I had to identify the body. It was horrendous. Christ! Poor Robin’

Alma leaned over, towards him,

‘But I don’t understand; what was he doing there? And why was Carlo there, as well? He’s hardly ever in that shop, and at that time of night’

Campfire’s expression didn’t change, eyes abstracted; Alma continued giving quiet voice to her random thoughts,

‘I know you men, you sometimes do funny things, he wasn’t messing about with, I mean...were they..

‘I know exactly what you mean, and no, he wasn’t having a fling with Marco. I very much doubt it, anyway’

‘So, what will they do with Daisy, I’m at my wits end?’

Campfire, irritated by the dog-fixation, was spite,

‘The dog will be destroyed, final’

The old woman, eyes moistening, prepared to retaliate,

‘You always thought Marco was a softy didn’t you? At school, they used to call him nancy boy, and sissy. But Marco’s nobody’s fool is he? He’s his mother’s son, alright. He’s going to be too much for you to handle’

Campfire stood up, and grabbed the woman’s empty teacup trying desperately to conceal his rage,

‘And you wonder why we don’t see more of each other?

Alma was close to tears,

‘I did everything you asked. I couldn’t have done more. And I wasn’t happy, you knew that. Nobody ever got the better of Mona Gabrielle. You thought she was nuts, didn’t you? And you think Marco is. You told me he was unstable. But just look where things are now?

But Gerald wasn’t looking. He was fetching his aunt’s coat in preparation for her early departure.

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Marc’s evening was going well. He loved that Alan never checked his watch or looked restless. They’d taken a break to eat a slice of pizza, but now it was time to resume business. Marc spread out the bundle of papers relating to his biopsy, scarcely any of it meaning much to him. It was time for Alan to explain. He sifted the documentation into two piles, one dealing with the biopsy, the other with the medical trial.

Alan explained the paperwork, and how, through Ernest Milner’s intervention a request letter had been sent to Marc, inviting him to test. It didn’t make any sense. There was no way Milner could have known who Marc was. But the medical centre had not challenged this request from such an important oncologist and consultant. Why should they?

The biopsy results dealt with data; Gleeson scores, PSA measures, and cell differentiation, way beyond the layman. But Marc had no time for that and was anxious to press on, his major concern being the conspiracy against him,

‘I don’t know this guy Milner, but I guess I was scheduled to see him. Christ knows what he’d have recommended, but..

Alan cut in,

‘I can tell you that. You were randomised for a prostatectomy’

‘What’s that?’

‘The surgical removal of your prostate’

‘Ouch!’

‘Yeah, it’s not nice. The prostate’s definitely one of those organs that doesn’t like being moved’

‘So, why do it?’

Alan shifted uneasily in his seat, the first time he’d looked uncomfortable. He ached as he looked into Marc’s vulnerable eyes, but unable to speak,

‘I mean, why would he do that to me? How could he get away with fixing somebody up with surgery they didn’t need?’

Marc picked up the papers, brandishing them idly around,

‘There’s a paper trail, stuff to check back through later. He could never have got away with a stunt like this on a healthy patient. But I know who’s behind this, and who put him up to it...

‘Marc’

‘It’s that bastard Campfire. I knew I recognised Milner’s name. He’s another of those freaks in that society’

‘MARK!’

Alan moved closer and put his hand on his febrile friend’s knee,

‘Marc, listen. This is shitty. I’m so sorry, man. Honest to God.’

Marc stared.

‘The biopsy is genuine; so far as we know anyway’

‘So, what are you saying?’

‘I’m saying you do have prostate cancer’

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The Gay Village was predictable and boring at times, but at least it was secure. Located out of the city centre, and served by its own cafés, bars, and amenities it assured gay men and boys that they need travel no further if they chose to. And the dedicated taxi service was a safe ride home.

Dominic couldn’t conceal his nerves. Just thinking about getting to grips with the party capital’s straight scene was making him physically ill. What would happen if they were hit on by girls? Newcastle women are no strangers to taking the initiative. But Glen was beginning to lose patience,

‘Dom, for fuck’s sake, just chill! Christ, half the men on the planet are going out tonight dreaming of a fuck, and you’re shitting yourself in case some slapper puts the moves on you. Just say no, you’re saving yourself for the right girl’

Then he laughed hysterically, before drawing lustily on a bottle of vodka that appeared to be welded to his right arm.

The tragic irony was that both men did look fabulous, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Even as they queued outside Gash, girls in the line were getting ready to devour Dominic, and they knew which bit they’d choose first. Glen chatted to all and sundry, faking bonhomie and slugging at the liquor; by the time he got to the cash desk he was shit faced.

Dominic was fascinated by Gash; it exceeded by a factor of ten the best the gay scene had to offer. Rising to a magnificent glass ceiling, the club was huge and airy, with an atrium, fountains and palms. He’d never seen anything quite like it.

A legless Glen settled in quickly and was soon busy people watching, the only safe option. The escort scanned the room with hungry, dark eyes. Then Dominic gasped, an elbow sinking into him,

‘Fuck, FUCK! See who’s over there? Fuck me, it’s Sanchez. Christ, I’m in love’

Dominic was horrified,

‘Glen, these premiership soccer stars must get sick of hassle, he just wants to be left alone’

‘Left alone, my arse! See all that totty hangin’ off him. They love attention’

‘Yeah, from women’

Glen mimicked cruelly,

‘Yeah, from women! Hello! I can see who’s there!’

Dominic whined, pitifully,

‘Please don’t ask me to go over there’

‘Nobody’s gonna ask you. Leave this to me’

Glen picked up his drink and sauntered over to the bar, as casually as one can who’s consumed a bottle of vodka.

Years later Dominic would still recall the night’s images; the look of surprise on the footballer’s face as Glen staggered up, the laughter of the girls, then consternation, as the escort fumbled under Sanchez T-shirt, trying to lift it.

It all happened so quickly.

Appearing from nowhere three men moved in and bundled Glen off. Despite the club’s ambient noise Dominic was still able to hear his partner screaming abuse of the foulest hue. But to the boy’s horror the men frogmarched Glen not to the entrance, but to the men’s washroom.

Two local lads caught site of Dominic staring and approached him,

‘You with him?’

Dominic panicked.

‘No, well, em, I know him, but I’m waiting for someone else’

The other smirked,

‘Is he nice?’

Dominic was now sweating. One of the thugs gripped his neck tightly,

‘You need to get your fuckin’ gay little arsehole out of here, or you’ll get a taste of what that cunt’s gettin’

Trembling, Dominic looked neither to the right nor left, but fixed his eyes on the exit and walked unsteadily towards it, heart thumping, throat dry.

Why was this happening? Hadn’t he said they shouldn’t come here? Was he a coward to leave his friend and lover? Yes, undoubtedly. Did the escort deserve it? Dominic hesitated. Ever since he met Glen he’d yearned to imitate his idol, right down to the simplest, and most vulgar act.

But right now, no amount of money could make him swap places with Glen Roberts.

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