BritDog

Spring – 2

Grahame stood in the kitchen waiting for the coffee to filter through, as it did he watched Tony who  was sitting in the conservatory staring blankly ahead of him. He had been unable to get little sense out of him since the previous afternoon when the actions of ……. What should I call her? Bitch? Cunt? Fuckwit? Sick? Sad? Damaged?.............. Bitch will do! had impacted on him so traumatically.

The coffee machine finished it’s chorus of hisses and splutters, it’s silence signalling that it had finally completed it’s task and that he could, at last, have a cup of the hot, strong, black stuff. He poured a cup for Tony as well, adding the sugar and cream he insisted were the only things that made it palatable.

He walked quietly into the conservatory, put Tony’s coffee on the table then took the space on the sofa next to him. Tony’s head nodded an acknowledgement of the coffee but that was all. Grahame relaxed into the comfortable wicker furniture, his eyes never leaving the tortured man next to him. Resting a hand on Tony’s thigh he thought again how he could snap him out of the depression he had descended into.

It didn’t show in his face or actions but Grahame was seething inside. He was normally the most relaxed, laid back person he knew, but the destructive actions of a woman he had never even met had impacted his world and in particular the one he loved so much, he was finding it hard to control the urge he felt to smack her in her pretty little face and reduce her to a mushy pulp. He understood that she was ill, that she had mental health issues, but somehow that knowledge didn’t help. He really, really wanted to hurt the bitch. He needed payback.

Donna’s posting of the damaging photographs on Facebook had shattered Tony’s world. Added to that, the names his father had called him before telling him he was no longer his son and that he wanted nothing more to do with him, had left him numb. He suddenly felt very, very alone and had retreated into a shell of self-loathing. Nothing Grahame had said or done could break through the cocoon he had wrapped around himself in an attempt to prevent further hurt reaching him. He had slept little and eaten nothing since the emotional Exocet missile had hit him the previous afternoon. Grahame had forced him to drink water and it was this simple insistence that he had to at least drink that had begun to allow a chink of light into his darkness. Perhaps he did still care.

The photo of the man he loved holding the sexy removals man in his arms had rocked his new world to it’s core. Yes, he was upset by the things his father had said to him but in a way, it was to be expected from a man he knew had long wanted to disown the son he had always been disappointed and ashamed of. Nothing he had ever done in life had been good enough, His accomplishments at school and university never as good as the sons and daughters of his father’s friends. The job he loved and was damn good at wasn’t what his demanding parent wanted for him. It didn’t have enough kudos, it wasn’t something he could brag about at the members only golf club he frequented. He would come to terms with the tirade he had endured, in many ways glad that the truth of what his father thought of him was finally revealed. He could at last stop trying to impress a man he had no love or respect for.

But that photo!

He couldn’t, no, didn’t know how to process it. He had been so happy, so excited at moving in with Grahame. For the first time in his adult life he had begun to feel safe. He had allowed himself to believe love could strike as quickly as he had wanted it to, that he could give himself over to the feelings he had fought so long and that he had found someone he could trust and rely on – someone to love. Was he wrong? What did the photo mean? Had he been rash in giving up his own flat? Was everyone he knew laughing at him? What the fuck had he done in life to deserve what was happening?

The numbness he felt was deep and cold. He welcomed it’s smothering of his hurt and distress. Better to feel nothing than suffer emotions he was afraid of.

Neither man had gone to bed the previous night, Grahame refusing to leave Tony alone, fearful of what he might do. In the end exhaustion had caught up with him and he had dozed off in an armchair. Tony had sat and watched him. Still loving the slumbering man, but afraid to give his love room to breathe. Could he trust him? Was he telling the truth that Rob had come on to him and he had pushed him away? Was he too young for him? Too inexperienced? Did he need more than he could give him? Why would he cheat on him so soon? Why would he cheat on him at all? Questions and doubts circled his mind, clogging his ability to think rationally. What should he do? The question that constantly ran through his head. What the fuck should I do?

Grahame had tried every thing he could think of to break through the shell Tony had erected around himself. He had explained again and again that the incriminating picture was not what it seemed. That he had decided not to mention the event to Tony because it was trivial, meaningless. A simple misunderstanding. Pointing out that some gay men were predatory and were always on the lookout for sex, were always cruising and hopeful of a quick fuck hadn’t helped either. There had been a moments hesitation from Tony when he asked him to firstly compare the pictures Donna had uploaded and then think about why she had done it. God, how he hated social media, the incident serving to remind him why he had nothing to do with any of it. If he wanted to speak to someone he phoned them. The only time he used text messages was to impart facts, like addresses. How often had he seen Facebook, or Twitter or any of the other damn sites play havoc with an innocent person’s life just because something they had posted could be misinterpreted?

He was beginning to think nothing could repair the damage Donna had wrought and was about to try bullying a response out of the near moribund man sitting next to him when the doorbell rang.

* * * *

The minute she found out about the photographs circulating on her friends and families Facebook pages, Sylvia knew who had put them out there and why. But how had she got hold of her phone? Emma had taken it away from her for this very reason. Sylvia had passed it to Greg along with Donna’s purse for safe keeping until she was allowed home.

Home!

I’ll bloody kill him!

It took a two minute phone call to her estranged spouse to establish that yes, Donna had appeared at the house on Saturday morning, and no, he hadn’t thought to contact Sylvia to make sure her release was kosha. Sylvia just knew it was because he would have been thinking with his dick. It was Saturday afternoon after all!

Not wanting to get into a major row with Greg, she rang off as quickly as she could. Immediately putting on her coat she collected her handbag and set off to Grahame’s to make sure her surrogate son was alright. The drive took less than fifteen minutes but was enough time for her to collect her thoughts and calm down after her conversation with Greg. My God, she thought, the man is bloody useless. Why did I put up with him for so long?

She pulled onto Grahame’s drive and parked next to his Aston Martin. She had guessed he had a bob or two, but was surprised at the amount of money parked in his front garden. It was her first time at the house and she had to admit to liking what she saw. It was obviously ‘well afforded’ as her mother used to say, an impression that was reinforced when she looked through the windows into the house as she mounted the two steps to the front porch. The bell was answered quickly by a dishevelled looking Grahame.

‘Sylvia.’ He was surprised to see her.

‘How is he? Is he coping? How are you?’ Grahame invited her in by stepping aside and gesturing with a sweep of his arm that she should enter.

‘He’s through there, in the conservatory.’ He lightly put his hand on Sylvia’s arm, temporarily stopping her from walking further into the house. ‘His Dad called him before he saw the pictures Sylvia.’ She saw tears forming in his eyes. ‘I’ve not been able to get a word out of him since. And he won’t eat.’

Sylvia’s eyebrows arched and her lips pursed. ‘Through here you say?’ and she purposefully walked to where Tony sat staring into the distance. She stood directly in front of him, putting her handbag on one of the chairs nearby.  ‘Hello Tony.’ Her voice was soft and gentle. It had no effect on the immobile young man. Putting her hand on his shoulder she gave him a brisk shake as she spoke again, this time in her, no nonsense Mum’s voice. ‘I said Hello Tony.’ He raised his eyes to her look at her face. She smiled and a thousand unspoken words passed between them. Tears began to run down her boy’s face. ‘Come here love. Let’s cry it out.’

And so they did. The small, smartly dressed lady did what Mum’s all over the world are designed to do. Tony felt his head being cradled in safe, perfume scented arms, his face resting on the soft breast of the woman he had come to love and trust. A woman so unlike his own uncaring mother. He felt reassuring hands stroking his hair and heard soft words filled with care and love breaking through the shield he had so carefully erected.

A wave of relief hit Grahame as he witnessed the simple love and trust on display before him. Instinct told him his man had a good chance of recovering his senses now. How would he ever thank the small, determined woman who despite all that had happened was still prepared to give the man she had informally adopted as much love and care as the daughter he had let down and deserted. Sylvia, he thought, you are a bloody marvel. Thank God he has you.

* * * *

Donna was feeling exceptionally happy, convinced that her actions would drive her beloved back into her arms. She put all thoughts of what Tony and that old man had done together out of her head. It was an aberration, a moments silliness in a lifetime of contentment. She expected him to come breezing through the doors any minute, thanking her for making him realise what a mistake he was making and begging her to take her back. She decided she would make him wait at least a couple of days before formally accepting his apology and taking him back. After all he had put her through it was only fair that he suffer a little bit.

Much to her surprise and chagrin, the first person through her door was Emma reading her the riot act, followed by the old cleaning lady Maureen who had stitches in her head and was wheeled in on a wheelchair not yet being strong enough to walk. Disdain filled Donna’s eyes when she saw the old lady. What did she care if the old silly woman had bumped her head. It wasn’t her fault. Refusing to even look at Maureen, Donna picked up a magazine and pretended to look at it. Emma snatched it out of her hand, throwing it across the room. Fury blazed in the Doctor’s eyes. She knew the selfish young woman lying on the bed was ill, unstable even, but she was damned if she was going to let her get away with not taking responsibility for her actions.

‘Donna, please look at Maureen.’ Her patient looked everywhere but at the figure in the wheelchair. Emma raised her voice, ‘Donna, I said look at Maureen. NOW!’ Donna flinched, surprised at the ferocity of her Doctor’s tone, and reluctantly looked at the cleaning lady.

The old woman smiled at Donna kindly. She leaned forward in her chair and laid her liver-spotted hand on top of the younger woman’s. She lightly took hold of it, turned it over, brought it to her lips and tenderly kissed the open palm. Sitting back in the wheelchair she kept hold of it. ‘Such a pretty girl to be carrying so much hate.’ She clasped the hand in both of hers before continuing. ‘I know you probably think I’m just a silly old woman who should mind her business, and maybe you’re right, but for what it’s worth pet, my advise is to let him go. Move on. If life has taught me anything in my seventy two years it’s that it is short. Too short to waste any of it on anger and revenge.’ She released the warm hand. ‘Get yourself better Donna. Concentrate on that.’

Something had shifted in Donna’s psyche at the realisation that Maureen, a fragile old lady she had caused harm too, wasn’t mad at her. What she saw and heard was the opposite of what, deep down, she knew she deserved. She watched as the old lady was wheeled out of her room leaving her alone with Emma, who put her hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘Well done Donna. Now get some rest and we’ll catch up tomorrow. That alright with you?’ Donna nodded, not quite understanding what had changed but knowing that something had.

‘When’s mum coming?’ Her voice was different. Emma thought she sounded calmer than she had. Donna raised her face to look at her doctor and Emma could clearly see the manic, frenzied look that had burned from her eyes had receded. There was still hurt and anger showing but it was now tempered with sadness and embarrassment.

‘I don’t think she is coming today. Would you like to call her? I’ll have a phone brought in. You can speak to her before I go if you like?’ Donna nodded.

In no time at all, Donna was watching Emma dial her mum’s number.

* * * *

Tony held tight to Sylvia, understanding for the first time in his twenty three years what it meant to be held and comforted by a Mum. Years and years of shame, loneliness, anger, fear and wanting to be loved poured out of him. Tears and snot covered the front of Sylvia’s now soaking wet blouse. Neither of them cared.

Sylvia had watched for years as the boy in her arms did all he could to try to impress his parents, to win a show of affection from them, all to no avail. He was unwanted and unloved by the two people who should by rights have been the rock on which he could build his life. They cared nothing for him except for the very rare occasion he gave them something they could brag about to their equally selfish circle of friends. As she lovingly rocked and nursed him, she remembered the time he had come first in the school sprint races at the yearly open day. He had been sixteen years old and he had rushed her to get him home so he could tell his mother and father his exciting news. Sylvia always took him to and from school with Donna, his parents being too busy. He had run into the house pleased as punch at his success. Sylvia and Donna had followed him in, looking forward to seeing him being praised for once. He flew into the kitchen where his parents were sampling a new wine. ‘Mum, Dad. I won. I came first. I was the fastest.’

His father ignored him, all his attention on the expensive beverage.

‘That’s nice dear.’ Said his mum. That’s nice dear! That was all the selfish bitch could manage. Sylvia had wanted to slap the pair of them and smash the bloody bottle of wine. To say Tony’s face fell would have been an understatement.

‘No. Mum, Dad, you don’t understand. I won.’ His voice became a whisper, tears formed in his eyes. ‘I won….’ His mother shushed him and with great ceremony sniffed, swirled and tasted the wine in her glass.

Sylvia had taken his arm and within minutes the three of them were back in her car heading for home. That evening, to celebrate Tony’s win, she and Greg had taken the two teenagers to Pizza Hut. As far as she knew, Tony’s parents didn’t even bother to find out where he was.

Tony was quieter now, exhausted from the release of a lifetime’s upset and hurt. His hold on Sylvia loosened and slowly, so slowly, the wracking sobs ceased to become the sad mewling of a little boy desperate for love.

Sylvia used her eyes and head to indicate that Grahame should come over to join the hug. He needed little encouragement to wrap his arms around the pair of them and to pour all the love he had into them. Tony moved his head from Sylvia’s sodden chest to the firm, protective solidity of his man. ‘I’m sorry Gray. I’m sorry.’ His arms went round Grahame’s waist pressing himself  tightly against the safety of his love. Over and over he said, ‘I love you Gray. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ Grahame hugged him back with all the love he had, kissing the top of his head and uttering words of comfort and reassurance.

He had no idea how long he held the grieving man, all he knew was that he wasn’t about to let him go until it was safe to do so. He was woken from the world the two had formed around themselves by Sylvia firmly shaking him by the shoulder. She smiled down at him, eyes full of motherly love and concern. ‘He’s asleep love.’ She held the woollen blanket out to him that was always draped over one of the chairs in the conservatory for nights when it was too warm to close the doors but too chilly not to need something to keep you warm. ‘Lay him back on the sofa and cover him with this, then I need you to find me something dry to wear.’

Later, with Sylvia wearing a t-shit several sizes too big for her, the two of them sat in the garden with the ubiquitous mug of tea, as Sylvia told Grahame about Tony’s parents and the way he had been brought up, or rather not. ‘The best that can be said for those two is that he never wanted anything materially. He was always fed and his clothes and trainers were the envy of every child in his class. He always had the latest games console, the most expensive bike. They even bought him a brand new car when he turned seventeen. But they never loved him, never held him in their arms just because they could like normal parents do. For the most part he was kept quiet and pushed to one side while they carried on like the wealthy, self-centred pair of ………….’ Grahame put his hand over hers.

‘Allow me Sylvia …….. arseholes!’ They both laughed for the first time that day. ‘Believe me, I can think of worse things to call them but there are ladies present.’ More laughter before Sylvia became serious again.

‘You really do love him don’t you Grahame?’

There was no hesitation. ‘Yes. I do.’ He paused, collecting his thoughts. ‘My parents haven’t exactly been ideal.’ He smiled resignedly, ‘Don’t get me wrong, I was loved, and to the best of their ability they tried to do the right thing by me, but I was an unwanted surprise that never fitted in their lifestyle. I still don’t. We speak on the phone maybe twice a year. We haven’t been in the same country, let alone the same room for over five years now. They live in Monaco. Their lives revolve around money and the right society – whatever that is! I suppose I’ll be a very rich man one day. I don’t need it, their money I mean, and even at this age I sometimes wish we were closer, but they were a hundred times more supportive and loving than the monsters you’ve just described.’ Turning in his seat he looked back at the conservatory where he could see Tony sleeping soundly. ‘The poor bugger. Child abuse takes so many forms doesn’t it? It’s not always sexual.’

‘No love it isn’t, but I think you two will get over it. Just love him, that’s all he wants from you.’

A wicked grin lit up Grahame’s face, ‘I can think of a couple of other things he’s pretty demanding of. But we won’t go there.’ He had to move quickly to avoid the playful slap aimed at his arm.

‘You know Grahame, you are never too old to go over mummy’s knee.’ More laughter filled the garden, broken by the ringing of Sylvia’s mobile.

* * * *

Donna felt her nerves attack her stomach when she heard her mother answer the phone. It wasn’t so much a few butterflies flitting around inside her as a belfry full of bats. The sensation almost made her sick, but to her credit, she held on, took a dep breath and spoke.

‘No mum it’s me, but she’s with me -------- Yes, I came back after I’d……… well, after I’d been to that man’s house -------- Is that his name? Grahame. --------- yes I know. That’s why I rang you, well,  actually it was Emma’s idea because she said you aren’t coming to see me today -------- yes, I understand why. How is he? Is he very angry with me? ------- Oh………… oh ------------------------ what? Yes, I’m still here. ---------- I don’t know what I expected mum. I just wanted to hurt him. --------- Mum! He humiliated me. He was going to marry me before he met that….. that……. ----------- Yes, alright, Grahame. ---------- Yes, okay, I’ll pass you over.’

‘Sylvia. How are things? ---------- Okay ------------ yes ---------yes --------Okay. Do you want to speak to her again? ---------- No that’s fine. I’ll tell her. -------- yes, yes, alright. We’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.’

Emma walked to the door, standing with her hand on the doorknob, she turned to face Donna. Her voice and manner were kindly, there was no trace of the anger or frustration Donna was expecting.

‘Your mum will be in to see you tomorrow. She asked me to tell you she is being Tony’s mum as well. She said you’d understand?’ Donna smiled weakly and nodded.

‘His mum and dad haven’t got any time for him. Mum sort of steps in when she needs to. He’s like a son to her.’

‘She also said she isn’t going to make the same mistakes she did with her brother. Again, she said you should understand that as well?’

Another smile, another nod of the head. ‘Yes……. Yes, I understand.’

Emma returned the smile. ‘She said she loves you and always will, and hopes you understand that after what you did she needs to be sure Tony is safe before she leaves him.’ Donna’s smile faltered.

‘Will he be alright Emma? I don’t want him doing anything stupid because of what I did.’

‘I think he will be fine, given time. And so will you Donna, so will you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Now rest. I’ll make sure the team look after you tonight and I’ll see you in the morning.’

Left alone, Donna lay down on her bed and was asleep in minutes, no longer dreaming of wedding dresses and bouquets.

* * * *

The morning broke with blue skies, warm breezes and the smell of Spring. The first bumble bees ventured forth and birds with early broods took advantage of the beautiful day to fatten their young with all the bugs and caterpillars they could find.

Tony was the first to wake taking a few minutes to get his bearings. The large sofa was warm and comfortable and once awake he was reluctant to give up the comforting softness of the woollen blanket. Looking over, he saw Grahame asleep in one of the armchairs, also covered by a wool blanket. His feet rested on a footstool and from the position of his head Tony guessed he was going to have a crick in his neck when he woke up.

He lay quietly for over half an hour, just watching the man opposite. He was secure in the knowledge that nothing had happened between Grahame and Rob the removals man, and that he had no cause at all to be worried or doubtful about his lover’s commitment to or love for him.

My God, he thought, but he really is gorgeous. Gorgeous and mine. His face lit up with the biggest, brightest smile. Rarely seem dimples appeared making him look younger and cuter than ever. Grahame chose that moment to open his eyes. The beautiful, happy sight before him filled him with the warmth of certain love.

They were going to be alright. Everything was going to be alright.