Marc Jesmond - 20. Chapter 20 'The Long and Winding Road'

The university refectory was crowded. As he queued Dominic could see Selby sitting across from a girl with a pizza face, thick glasses and wearing a T-shirt with something on about Jesus: but she was getting up to leave. Without acknowledging the girl as she passed, Dominic took her place, opposite his ex,

‘Hi, who’s your new girlfriend? She’s a looker!’

‘Don’t take the piss, Dom. That’s Carmel. She’s been really kind to me’

Dominic unwrapped his lunch but just pushed it around the plate,

‘I got a message from Glen, did I tell you?’

‘No’

‘Do you want to know what it’s about?’

‘If I said I didn’t would it make any difference?’

‘Glen’s moved on. He won’t tell me where he is, says he’s got to go underground. He got mixed up with these guys’

Selby, scarcely interested got back to his milk shake. Dom prattled on,

‘I knew he was wild, but Christ, I never thought he was into anything, like, heavy’

Selby stared out of the window.

‘Sel, he was a good laugh, he didn’t deserve what happened’

‘Dom, he was your laugh. The day he moved in he made it clear that I wasn’t welcome’

Dominic hesitated, picking his teeth.

‘I’m sorry about what happened. Honest. Can’t we just forget about it? I mean, nobody’s monogamous, are they? No matter what they say. I don’t mind if you see other guys’

‘So that’s what this is about. I am monogamous. At least I plan to be; and even if that changed, and I had sex with someone else, it wouldn’t be to humiliate and hurt the guy I was with’

Dominic got up, colouring,

‘You’re such a girl! I was going to suggest moving back in, but you can fuck right off’

Selby said nothing, his silence confirming for Dominic that his gallant offer was not even being considered. And Selby used Dominic’s parting words to draw a line under one chapter of his life, and start a fresh one.

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Marc had much for which to thank Alan, not least his ability to focus on the priority. And for Alan that was ensuring that the riverside duplex was restored to its rightful owner. He was unimpressed by Marc’s fixation with this small book, believed to contain the names of men who were part of a strange society. Why should the book, which Marc hadn’t been able to find when he first searched, appear now? And what good would it do him?

But Marc wouldn’t be dissuaded, and Alan was forced to let him go.

Arriving at Deadlock and the old ice cream parlour Marc decided not to park in the back lane, with its horrible associations, but on the pedestrian area in front of the shop. He’d hardly closed the car door when Alma Robson rounded the corner and approached him,

‘Marco, I want your help’

His response was sullen silence,

‘Will you just come upstairs and have a cup of tea. I have something to tell you, and it can’t wait’

Marc, irritated, yet intrigued followed the old woman, as she tramped wearily up the steps to her flat. Once inside, he declined tea and remained standing: she sat down on a tired, threadbare sofa,

‘Gerald Campfire is my nephew’

If the sentence was designed to silence Marc, it worked.

‘His mother Margaret was my sister. You probably didn’t think I had any family?’

Marc, venturing no opinion, took a seat.

‘She was dad’s favourite. We were a big family, but Maggie was his pet’

Here she paused; her rambling lost on expressionless Marc,

‘Anyway, she got into trouble. We had to keep it from our father, he’d have gone wild. And now.... there’s a weight I’ve carried all these years...

Marc may have had his suspicions, but the truth was worse,

‘I helped her get rid of the baby’

Nothing was said, until the silence could almost be felt.

‘You couldn’t mess around with that sort of thing then, and get away with it. I was had up, and did time; two years’

The old woman’s eyes were red rimmed,

‘When I was released dad put me out of the house. I couldn’t get work; no man would have married me, nobody support me. That’s when your mother gave me a job here’

Marc was winded by each fresh revelation.

‘By God, I had to work. I was like an unpaid slave, but at least it was security. And as long as I kept my mouth shut, I was safe’

‘Kept your mouth shut?’

Almost as soon as he uttered the words, he regretted it,

‘Yes, your mother knew who the father was. But nobody was to speak of it. She made me swear that I’d take it to the grave. And I will, but I didn’t keep quiet for her, I did it for Maggie, to save her shame’

Marc buried his head in his hands. In the last few minutes Alma Robson had said more to him than in all the years they’d known one another. But her words brought him shame and mortification. Could his parents be part of such an ugly cover up? The image of his mother, and now father were irretrievably tarnished. And what did all this make him, the offspring of such people?

The old woman continued bitter remembrance,

‘Some time after, Maggie married Joe Campfire. He wasn’t a nice man. He told her to keep away from me, never to see me. She didn’t stand a chance with him, he was a bully’

Alma Robson stopped. It was like she’d drawn the pins on a dozen hand grenades, lobbing them at her adversary and awaiting their effect,

‘I never saw her boy Gerald, knew nothing but what his mother wrote, and that wasn’t much, Christmas cards and things. But I knew he’d worked hard, something to do with the law. I’m pleased Maggie lived to see that’

She paused, gazing abstractedly,

‘Mind, she wasn’t happy the way he turned out, you know...

‘You mean gay?’

‘And she didn’t like that man he was with. I didn’t know him at all, but I’d seen him on television and in the papers. Imagine how I felt when he turned up here! Why? What was he here for? Nobody tells me anything’

Marc’s interest increased,

‘Gerald would know you lived here. He’d see that in the will, the one that said you and I had to share this place. Maybe that had something to do with it’

Alma nodded vaguely,

‘Oh yes, of course’

‘And now you’re going to tell me all about that, as well?’

‘What?’

‘The will’

The old woman began to shake,

‘Marco, you’ve got to believe me, I had nothing to do with that. I want all this sorted out. I haven’t got long left, and when you’re my age the years go by like minutes. All I want is that dog. I give you my word if you could just get me Daisy back I’ll sign any papers you like’

There was an uncharacteristic but welcome air of humanity in her plea, but Marc needed to know more,

‘So just how did that crazy will get put together, what do you know about it?’

‘Your mother wasn’t daft, Marco. She was sharp till the end. I have no idea how it came about, I honestly don’t. I can only think it was Gerald’s doing. He must have drafted it for her’

The couple sat again for a while, trying to digest in indigestible. Alma left Marc with the foulest titbit of all,

‘Maybe Gerald’s mother told him, you know; about the baby she’d lost, and who the father was’

Marc couldn’t yet overcome the feelings of loathing he had for the old woman. That may change with time. He got up to go,

‘I’ll see what I can do about the dog’

Alma Robson looked up with imploring eyes,

‘Would you?’

‘I’ve said I would. And if you mean what you say, you’ll go to the police’

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Gerald Campfire came off the phone; the removals company confirmed their truck was on its way and, however remote Brandon Hall might be Sat Nav. would find it. Ordinarily, Gerald’s meticulous planning would have seen him clear of this place. But today there was a languor sticking to every thought and action he possessed.

Early as it was, he took the gin bottle and poured himself a large measure. In times past he’d have ensured a sparkling glass, icy tonic water, and freshly squeezed lime. None of that now seemed to matter. Had he been doing it all just for Robin, he wondered?

Walking to the window the clerk picked out the figure of Lord Brandon heading his way; a not unexpected visitor for the quitting tenant, but an irritant nonetheless.

His Lordship left his dogs at the door, and entered without knocking.

‘Hello, just come to see you off’

The men conversed with icy politeness, their brief encounter a master class in insincerity.

‘I’ll be sorry to see you go Campfire, good tenants are hard to find’

‘Thank you, I’ve enjoyed my time enormously here’

‘Ah yes, I was aware that Robin was fond of the place, but I’m sure you’ll be relieved to get back to the cut and thrust of the city’

‘Well, the city does have its attractions. But I shall miss the sound of the pheasants screaming in the woods, and the peacock scratching about on the roof at 3 a.m.’

Brandon laughed falsely, extending his hand,

‘All the best for the future; I have keys of course, so when you’re done just lock up and post yours back through the box’

Pausing at the door the Peer turned,

‘I presume the, there’ll be no more...

The clerk stared blankly,

‘No, it ended with Robin. There’ll be no more of that’

‘Uhm, of course; for the best, I expect’

And the Lord returned to his Lady.

The clerk’s work was virtually complete; everything sealed and packed. One picture alone remained, showing him and Robin at their civil ceremony. The clerk laid it face down on the piano, unable to look, and staring vacantly around the cold room. Then his attention was drawn to the sound of a vehicle, but too light to be the removals truck. Campfire went to the window,

The police!

The clerk strode out confidently to meet the car. There’d be a good chance he’d know the officers. But when the young detectives got out he didn’t recognise them,

‘Gerald Joseph Campfire?’

That wasn’t a good start.

‘Yes’

‘I’m arresting you for being fraudulently involved in the evasion of Value Added Tax contrary to the Value Added Tax Act.....

The clerk blanked the voice as his sharp wits scrolled through myriad reasons why this might be happening. Tax was nothing; there could be a million explanations for it.

‘You have to come with us now, sir’

Regrouping, the older man still saw no challenge from the youngsters,

‘Really, is that necessary? I’m in the middle of packing out, the house is completely open’

The detectives looked at one another, there was no relenting,

‘Sorry sir’

‘This is ridiculous. I’m a lawyer; just what do you think I’m going to do? When I’ve cleared up I assure you I will be down to the station, in about an hour’

‘I must insist’

Gerald Campfire’s mind blitzed, and he kept his eyes on both men, constantly monitoring their reactions,

‘This isn’t just about tax, is it? You’d summons me for that. What is it?’

‘Yes, there are further things we need to talk to you about’

The wily clerk looked at the younger and more vulnerable of the men,

‘You’ve got her, haven’t you; Alma Robson?’

The policeman made no reply, but his eyes and facial expression said ‘yes, we have, and it’s all over for you’

‘Very well: but give me ten minutes while I phone the removals people and close up the property. You can do that at least?’

The officers grunted assent and returned to their car.

Gerald re-entered the house. The foreboding he’d felt all day was now a knot in his stomach. Taking the framed photo he replaced it on the piano, and studied if for a moment. Gulping down the remainder of his gin, he looked into the cold, arrogant eyes of his faithless partner and lover. What could now be salvaged from this mess? ‘What’s the bloody point?’ he murmured.

Then, taking his mobile phone, and in his perfect, stilted English he sent a text message.

MJ is innocent; it is not he, but I, who let your son die.

The clerk’s movements were robotic as he secured windows and locked doors. In times past, he’d be rehearsing the forthcoming interview with the idiot police where he’d run rings around them. But strangely no such thoughts were now occurring to him. Exiting through the utility and garage area, Gerald caught sight of Robin’s leathers and crash helmet, overlooked in the packing.

The garage doors stood wide open, with the barrister’s expensive chrome toy, the Harley Davidson, positioned ready for loading onto the truck. The clerk sat astride the mighty machine. They’d gone through the motor bike phase several years earlier, but Gerald had never taken to it. He fired up the Harley, its huge engine setting the garage and everything in it vibrating.

The police, too, shook as they tried to get a grip on what was happening. But by the time they realised it, their suspect had already made his departure. The officers, slewing their car around in the drive, gave chase.

‘Take it easy, speed bumps, and we’re going the wrong way’

The Dower House’s late resident was accelerating rapidly along the country estate’s circular one-way route.

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The cool Autumnal air, damp and fir-scented bloats Gerald’s lungs. Tears stream down either side of his freezing face as the bike gathers speed. The Harley’s massive engine delivers its intoxicating mix of power and noise, sending shivers through the clerk’s puny body.

Cold blue sky above, mist below.

More speed.

More tears, now real. An endless line of fir trees, planted with monotonous military precision.

Bend.

More speed for cornering, pheasants scurrying to the right and left.

Straight road. Yet more speed, tears now blinding,

Bend.

Removals Truck.

A violence of shock and noise, incongruous and eerie.

A temporary splutter of wildlife, reacting to the folly of man.

Silence.

A tangle of hot metal and glass, as the green-brown earth reddens.

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The tide was turning.

Jim Appleby was only yards away from the place he’d come to exact revenge. But, as he gazed into the river he was rendered inert. He studied the swirling water, fascinated, as the brackish Tyne, distillation of bitter rain and a million pine trees re-enacted its daily meeting with the ocean. Jim nosed the air, and knew it was time to return. Coming ashore had been a dreadful mistake; time enough only to search for, find and bury his son.

As the watery cauldron foamed and swirled below it mirrored the seaman’s emotions. Leon’s father had no comprehension of his son’s sexuality, but he’d have loved him whatever. What he did know was that the world is a cruel and unfair place, where strength is security, unity is strength, and conformity is unity. Gay men don’t fit, and life will always be tough for them.

He checked once more the text message. But it was clear enough. It had taken him only minutes to loathe Campfire, but there was no reason now to believe he was lying.

With a father’s love he’d have given his life to save his son’s. But it was too late; nothing could bring Leon back; there was nothing here now. Jim Appleby realised that for him the way back would have to be the way ahead.

The tide had turned.

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EPILOGUE

Love has that maddening effect of blurring some things about our lives and making others crystal clear. Marc began to wonder why he now felt so much more in control over his life. The reason was right beside him. He raised his head from the pillow and half turned,

‘Have you, just.....?

‘Yeah, sorry, I couldn’t hold it any longer’

‘That’s cool’

He smiled to himself,

‘Don’t move’

Alan chuckled,

‘Where am I going to go?’

‘You know what I mean. Don’t move. It’s just perfect where you are’

The men lay together, drinking in the sounds; an inconsequential burble of life outside, unable to disturb their life: a clock chiming its quarters, powerless to steal the time they’d have for each other.

As the minutes passed Alan filled again and loved Marc some more. Then they lay back, separated but more united than ever, relishing the aching pleasure of their time together. Marc was euphoric,

‘When did you first know, was it at the hospital?’

‘You mean the day I pushed that big, horrible thing up you?’

‘No, that was just now!’

They giggled like kids; then Alan turned serious,

‘Don’t be so dirty!’

‘Oh God, that’s it. You had me at dare-ty’

‘There you go again, taking the piss out of my accent’

‘I adore your Scots accent, but I love your Scotch beef more’

Marc leaned over and kissed him,

‘Move in with me, Alan’

‘What can I say except yes? But you realise that we’ll go through twice as much coffee’

Marc smiled,

‘No problem. I’m a millionaire’

Alan grinned,

‘Yeah, me too: so, we should be OK together’

Marc squeezed shut his eyes in pleasure. If only he knew.

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