CHAPTER FIVE
Nick
Sally was excited about staying over with her grandparents, knowing full well that they would allow her to do anything her little heart desired. I woke to her jumping up and down on my bed shouting, “Get up, Daddy, get up now.” I pretended I was still asleep; after all, I too was excited about the day and needed my rest.
We got up at 7 a.m. though she woke me almost an hour before that.
She was dressed in the large dungarees I really disliked and though they didn’t suit her, she loved them. I was looking forward to the day I could get rid of them, and at the rate she was growing I wouldn’t need to wait too long.
She rushed down her cereal far too quickly and I had to make her slow down. You don’t just “make” a small, excited child do what you want; you must slowly take them through it. Imogen was still in bed and how she ever slept through the noise Sally made I’ll never know.
Her overnight rucksack was already packed and her grandparents arrived on cue at 10.30 a.m. to collect her. They, too, were excited about the day and Edith, Maggie’s mother, even kissed me when I opened the door.
“Oh, Nick, it is good of you to let her stay with us,” she said. “She won’t come to any harm with Tom and me looking out for her.”
“I know.” I smiled.
I asked if they would have her back around midday on Sunday as we were going to Maggie’s grave. They agreed and sped off to the West End. Their intention was to spare no expense on her until Sunday morning.
Imogen then got up and we spent at least forty-five minutes looking for the bath for her contact lenses which she’d put somewhere “safe” the previous evening. I had already suggested that she get accustomed to leaving them only in one place and she always agreed and then did the opposite. We found it in her bag.
I showered, shaved, washed my hair and thought I looked particularly good, all things considered. I was finishing off as Imogen’s friends arrived to pick her up. They were a couple of very attractive and stylish Spanish au pairs who also lived in the area and who did not speak very good English, nor a word of German. I never knew how they made themselves understand each other and presumed they had very long, dull, polite, slow conversations.
At last I was by myself. It was nearly 1 p.m. and Eamon would soon be over. I wandered from mirror to mirror checking hair, face, shape, etc. I was like a schoolgirl on a first date.
Eamon stood there on the doorstop with a beaming smile, though looking rather tired, and handed me a bunch of mixed flowers, something a man had never before given me.
“Well, do I have to stand here all day?” he asked.
I apologised and told him to come in. He closed the front door then pinned me to the wall and kissed me.
“God, I’ve missed you since yesterday,” was all he said.
I was back on cloud nine.
I don’t know why I didn’t mention it then but I noticed the bruise on the side of his chin, which was so obvious, and the fact that he looked tired, as if he had been watching television all night. I later asked him and he told me he’d hit his face on the door of the bathroom cabinet at Chrissie’s. I knew full well that the cupboard had a slide door as I’d helped her put it up. But I wasn’t thinking too well and it swept over me.
Within ten minutes we were romping on the bed like there was no tomorrow. It was just what I needed. The feel of another person’s hands holding me and caressing my skin. This time we did reach a climax and it was terrific.
Afterwards we lay on the bed naked, warmed only from our bodies. It occurred to me then that the neighbours might have been able to see into the room if they were watching closely. I didn’t really care though; I was in a different world altogether.
It was Eamon who suggested that we eat at home that evening as he wanted to cook me a meal. I had not been shopping yet and needed to go to the supermarket. I’d already intended to go there anyway and I was pleased that Eamon had again borrowed Peter’s car. At that time I still had not passed my driving test though I was confident that I would. Even though I was in seventh heaven, I was still in contact with reality and provisions had to be got for my daughter.
Doing the supermarket grab on Saturday mornings normally meant spending a great deal of time putting things back on the shelves which Sally dropped into the trolley, but with another man, an adult, it was a different thing. Anyone who might, if they have nothing better to do, carry out a survey of Saturday shopping will notice that the customers who get there in the mornings are completely different from those who visit later in the day. There was a distinct lack of small kids running up and down the aisles and I made a mental note to start shopping later in the day. The afternoon crowd was much younger. I wondered what, if anything, our fellow shoppers thought about us. Did it occur to them that we might be lovers or just two guys sharing a flat? I noticed for the first time ever that there were many other male couples and female couples and I hoped that they were also possible relationships.
Eamon noticed I was looking at these people and said, “Oh, yes. They are,” or “No, they definitely are not; queens would never wear something like that,” or “uhm ... not sure about them. Oh, wait a minute, there’s a can of Mister Dog in the trolley. Yes they are.” His comments were amusing and cheered up what was usually a rather boring chore.
We bought a couple of fillet steaks on offer and some mushrooms, cream and onions for a sauce. I led him around the usual route and gathered my regular provisions. We splashed out on a couple of rather expensive bottles of wine and I learnt that Eamon had a passion for chocolate. I bought him a slab of Cadbury’s, which he demolished in the car on the way back.
It was early evening when we returned to the flat after buying some new trousers which he needed for work, and he set about preparing the meal immediately. I offered to help but was instantly dismissed from the kitchen the same way I usually sent Sally packing, with a little pat on the bum.
I really needed to and should have used the time to prepare some reports for work, as I knew there would be no time on Sunday, but I was incapable of thinking as Eamon was singing in Spanish from the kitchen. He found his way around the units very easily, which made me comfortable. I liked it. I imagined the three of us all sharing a home together. Sally certainly enjoyed having him around and I just didn’t want him to leave. The problem was still the world outside. The parents, Chrissie and Peter, the authorities and the media in general. All the people we could happily live without but who had it in their power to destroy us all if they wanted to. I could see the headlines in the Sunday papers of the gay orgies of eight or ten in a bed, with my daughter in her room, listening and crying. And how the Church might view the domestic arrangement – like any of it had anything to do with them.
At that time, I knew nothing of Bulmer or what had taken place the evening before. It’s in Eamon’s character to brush things aside temporarily and just enjoy life and live for the moment. I’m quite envious of that. If there’s something that I have to do and I know I won’t enjoy it, say next week, then I’ll spend every waking hour thinking about it or dwelling on it.
There was still going to be a problem when Imogen came home and found him there in the morning. What the hell I was going to say to explain his presence, I was unsure of. I had already decided to test the water with her and planned on telling her first to see the reaction. I wanted Eamon to be there as well so that he could explain in German if things were difficult. If she took it well, it would make things easier for me. Could she be trusted though? It wouldn’t matter if she told her friends as she would have a devil of a job just getting them to understand.
The meal was marvellous and the attention to detail made it something rather special. Eamon laid the table properly with a table-cloth that had rarely seen the light of day, napkins and candles. He used the best crockery, which I would never have put on the table with Sally around, for good reason, of course.
When it was over, I put the washing up in the sink to soak and we
listened to some music. He lay across the sofa with his head cushioned in my lap. I stroked his hair, something I had never done with Maggie.
Eamon asked if I had any holiday plans.
I hadn’t given it a thought. For the past couple of years my time had been taken up with Maggie and bringing Sally up. The last time I had been on holiday was five years prior to that when Maggie and I took a package tour to Crete. It hadn’t been a success as I’d had a raging toothache for the whole two weeks and Maggie had been gnawed to pieces by mosquitoes.
“How about a week away on the coast?” he suggested. “We could rent a cottage and bring Sally and Imogen. We’d all love it.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” I said, “but I don’t know how things will turn out with Imogen and your sister will put things together.”
“Yes, but the important thing is how we feel, it doesn’t matter about them.”
He was right, of course, but I had got into the habit of being very careful about how I was being judged as a father. I still wanted no threat to that relationship.
“Well, let’s see how we get on with Imogen,” I said. “I know that Sally would be ecstatic about the idea but please don’t mention it to her until it’s settled.”
“Okay. I do understand that this is different for you and your fear of losing Sally.”
Eamon suggested we go to bed and then tackle it in the morning. It was only 9.30 p.m. and I agreed but wanted to phone Sally first and make sure all was okay. Perhaps she would be in bed already.
Of course she wasn’t.
“Daddy, look what I’ve got,” she said, obviously trying to show me through the receiver. I later learnt that it was not only a tracksuit she had but almost a whole new wardrobe. Her grandparents had bought her two tee shirts, some underwear, a very brightly coloured bobble-hat (even though it was summer), a pair of training shoes and a rather hideous looking cuddly toy, which she adored.
I got the impression it would be quite some time before she went to bed but she was happy and that was all that mattered. I blew her a big kiss and told her I loved her. She did the same and said goodnight.
Eamon was in the shower. I undressed and joined him. We washed each other then got into bed. He asked if he could listen to the BBC World Service in the dark. It took me ages to find it on the radio and we lay listening with our arms wrapped around each other. I remember the piece well – it was about the massacre of a whole village in Sierra Leone by uneducated rebels and military dictators. The message was that these types of incident were becoming an everyday occurrence in that part of Africa but now the news wasn’t even making the top stories. People being decapitated with machetes or maimed and babies being burnt alive. I feel sick now just thinking about it but it certainly put my “perceived” problems into perspective.
My thoughts were somewhere else.
The idea of a week away sounded perfect and there would be no problem with getting the time off work. I was more concerned with confronting Imogen, though at the time I had no idea that my fears were unfounded.
Sleeping together was as good as just being together awake. It is uncomfortable to lie locked in someone’s arms all night and I had to turn around. It was comforting and reassuring when Eamon lay with his arm wrapped around my chest and his head resting on my shoulders. I was happy though it took me ages to fall asleep as he snores rather loudly.
I woke up at 8.30 a.m., which was late for me, and Eamon was not there. I presumed he had gone to the bathroom but there was a smell of fresh coffee and I heard sounds from the kitchen.
Sounds of two people talking.
Shit.
He was up and talking to Imogen but I could not make out what they were saying.
My heart started beating fast; she now must have realised where he had slept. I got up quickly and slipped on my jogging pants and a tee shirt. I’d made up my mind to tell her but, Christ, not at that minute. I had not even considered the words to use.
I took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen.
“Ah ha. The prince has woken up and I didn’t even have to kiss him,” Eamon said as my face turned bright red. He came over to me and cradled my face in his hands and kissed me.
“Good morning, my little beauty,” he said.
My jaw fell open and he closed it.
“You better sit down and have a cup of coffee.” He laughed. “You’re in for a bit of a shock.”
Indeed I was.
Imogen was a lesbian.