Issue 15 - April 2008

Angus by J E Mountney

Part 1   

He read the page slowly and carefully. This one looked good.

Lonesome of Leamington Spa. Young-at-heart man in mid-fifties, medium build, GSOH, likes walking, music and theatre visits. Wants to meet  similar for fun, friendship and maybe more. Replies with recent photo to PO Box 1928 .....  

He cut it out and stuck it into an exercise book he’d turned into an album. He wouldn’t reply, of course. He never did. For a few weeks he would pretend, imagine the man who had placed the advert, and keep him as a kind of imaginary friend, like those he’d dreamed up in childhood. Then, when he was fairly sure that Lonesome had by now been joined in Leamington by a similar keen walker, with tickets to Stratford booked and paid for, he’d buy the paper again and find someone else to dream about. 

He replaced the exercise book in a side pocket of his brief case where no-one would ever look. Of course, he thought fleetingly, it might be found when he died, but by then it wouldn’t matter. Meanwhile he had a position in the local community to live up to and plenty to do. Lonesome would keep him company.                

 ************

The exercise book was, he decided, an outdated way of keeping information, and even newspapers were rapidly becoming obsolete in the twenty-first century. Loneliness, however, was less subject to technological progress, and besides, his innate caution never lessened. He buried the book in a drawer at home, and sought information at work, without risking interrogation. 

For weeks Angus watched his secretary, asked carefully guarded questions, pondered. How hard could it be? Then this leaflet had dropped through the door:

LearnDirect. Government Sponsored. As Near Free As Makes No Difference. Local. At Your Own Pace. Individual Learning. 

Not that the cost mattered, but he liked the idea of ‘his own pace’ and the privacy, even anonymity.

Once when he was coming out of the centre, he met a younger colleague from his office. They smiled and tried to sidestep, but ended up shuffling in a mock dance. It seemed churlish not to speak. David was working on his spreadsheet skills, he said, in his own time, hoping for promotion. Angus praised him, then felt obliged to say something. 

“Brushing up my French,” he heard himself lying without even a blush, “for my next holiday.” And he was off into the car park and away, breathing hard, hoping it had sounded rational. He’d have to book something in France. Even a weekend break would do.

He went to the supermarket and noted all the details of the latest models, looking over his shoulder to make sure nobody was watching. He never touched a computer at work. Anyone at his level had minions for that kind of thing. 

                                                                                                                        ************

It arrived complete with a dishevelled young man who set it up for him and did all the negotiating with the telephone people. There was a manual,, but it appeared to be in a kind of pidgin. There was an online manual too, which wasn’t much better. 

He practised every night. Sometimes he twisted his urgent queries so that it sounded as if he was taking an interest in Miss Tapping’s work; sometimes he gritted his teeth and tried again and again until practice made perfect. He made sure his curtains were thick enough and dark enough to keep any hint of his activities hidden. He went outside twice to check.

At last he was ready to explore the dating possibilities of the Internet. Just the online version of the personal columns at first, then chat rooms. After all, he could be anonymous, couldn’t he? 

Angus dipped his toes, figuratively - or virtually as he was beginning to call it - in warm Internet waters. After a few false starts and dead ends he joined some groups, lurking around the fringes, rarely commenting, but reading with pleasure. He enjoyed observing conversations almost as much as the posted stories and pictures. Chat rooms were beyond his baby steps; he knew he’d need to develop his online skills before joining in.

He hugged this new secret life to himself, strangely thrilled as he talked to clients, knowing they could not imagine what was evolving in his brain. The senior partner in a respected firm of country solicitors, recipient of many local confidences, could never be seen as anything other than conventional. He remembered when the new vicar at All Saints had been outed. Angus had watched in dismay as congregations dwindled and the man was shunned by local society. Eventually Father John had been publicly cut; two of the parish council had crossed the road rather than meet and greet him. The following week, the bishop had re-assigned the young priest to a diocesan task not involving so much public contact. It seemed to Angus that the simultaneous move by Eric Jones, manager of one of the estate agencies, gave credibility to the rumours. He hoped they were happy in the shadow of the cathedral. He had no such options; if people stopped bringing their wills, trusts and contracts to him, no-one would  re-position him. A lifetime’s work could be wiped out. 

And yet... The new law on civil partnerships ought to make life easier for anyone other than priests. Realistically, he knew it would take a generation before the lead established by the lawmakers trickled down to country grass roots.

And yet...should he let his life go by in a wilderness? Was his work the only thing of value? It was his livelihood, too, he reminded himself bitterly. 

Something fierce in the depths of his consciousness stirred, insisting that he both should and could have his position in Farqhuar and Sons as the older son of the original Farqhuar, and enjoy life to some extent. Provided his brother never found out, of course. That would dissolve the partnership and all family bonds. Bruce had been one of those who had worked towards Father John’s disgrace.

                                                                                                                        ***********

Eventually, Angus felt ready to chat. He turned to the chat rooms, still as a lurker, until he was fairly sure he’d found somewhere he might be comfortable. He wasn’t ready for anything too extreme or exotic. He considered carefully before choosing a username, settling on ‘countrymouse’ in the hope that it would convey his lack of experience while showing him eager to remedy that lack. 

A few brief online relationships, conducted without pictures - or references to reality -  built confidence. Soon he was leading a double life, staid lawyer by day and flirtatious party-goer by night behind the well-drawn curtains. He took to taking a tot of whisky with him to help him relax. Later, his dreams would lead him into the deeper dreams of sleep; he would wake refreshed, ready to sort out the testatory dispositions of  Mrs. Featherstoneheugh or the contractual difficulties between the butcher and the baker.

It hadn’t occurred to him that others might lurk too, and that there were other newcomers to the online ‘scene’. Then ‘townmouse’ started to chat and Angus realised he’d been spotted, stalked, and trapped. He was a willing victim. They had many tastes in common and a similar sense of humour. He had no idea about his new friend’s ‘real’ persona and didn’t particularly care. Here was a kindred spirit and for the first time since his long-gone days at university Angus felt completely at ease. 

The online sex worried him at first. He wasn’t sure if this wasn’t a step beyond deviant. However, nobody was being hurt. He certainly wasn’t,and he thought ‘townmouse’ was enjoying himself, too. He said he was. Angus hoped he was, and he, Angus, was spiralling into an affair, dizzy with relief, lust and happiness. Sometimes he rose from the computer chair surprised to see the cream walls and brown curtains and feel the wooden floor beneath bare feet. He had been elsewhere, perhaps even elsewhen.

Meanwhile, ‘townmouse' was pushing for more information. His name, he said, was Damien. Angus almost typed his own name in reply then turned the conversation into a different channel. The name might or might not be Damien. There was no way of knowing or checking. Damien, or whoever he was, could be Douglas or Dennis or even Denise. Or something more foreign, though his English was colloquial and he seemed to live in London. 

Angus decided on Andrew. It would be easier and quicker to rescue himself if he started using his real name by mistake. He admitted to living in the north. It covered a large area.

Damien pushed further. Did Andrew ever come to London? Would he? 

Somehow or other Angus found himself committed to meeting his online lover in a Soho pub. He’d retained sufficient sense of self-preservation to hold out for a pub rather than a nightclub. Damien admitted to working in the Queen’s Arms, but Angus had no idea whether he was to meet the owner, a barman or the pot boy. He waffled about age and Damien said he didn’t care how old Andrew was or what he looked like. They were soul mates, weren’t they?  Assaulted by Damien’s desire as well as his own, Angus agreed.

So he found himself on the Manchester to Euston express, clutching a briefcase full of work and the address of a Fleet Street office he absolutely had to visit in person, thus justifying his trip. If things went well... He had a clean shirt and underwear at the bottom of the heavy leather case and a toothbrush in the side pocket. He also had a Streetmap printout with the location of the pub. 

It was a smart pub, a favoured venue for gays, judging by the men moving in and out of the doorway . Angus took a deep breath and walked through.

It was crowded. Most of the customers were probably on their way home from work. Later there would be a lull, then they, or their clones, would return in casual or ultra-fashionable clothes, unsuitable for the office.  A loud buzz of conversation was spiked with shouts as people greeted each other. Angus felt relief that the new non-smoking laws were being observed. The bar was low-ceilinged and the windows were firmly closed; smoke would have been intolerable. Tell-tale brown stains on the plaster showed how much nicotine had swirled around in the past. He was glad of the law, for Damien’s sake.  

But which of the men was Damien? He hadn’t thought to ask for a photograph or a description. Didn’t really know all that much about him except his tastes in reading, music, travel, food - all the things that made life worthwhile. Oh, and sex. Damien had provided detailed information on those tastes.

He wanted to ask at the bar but felt suddenly shy. His mouth was parched, with fear rather than genuine thirst; instead of asking for Damien he asked for a half of lager and took it to a small table, meant for two, near the bar. One of the chairs had already been appropriated by a group needing extra seating; Angus settled in the remaining one. He would watch, listen and perhaps learn. 

Almost immediately, one of the barmen called along to his colleague, “Hey, Daim, thought you were meeting someone. He stood you up?”

“Dunno. It’s early yet. Might be here later.”  

“Your online friend, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Dreamlover.” 

“What’s he look like? I can keep an eye out at this end.”

“No idea.” 

“What?”

“No idea - he’s an online friend, not someone I found in a club.” 

“But haven’t you exchanged pictures? I mean.....” Helpful Colleague was almost spluttering in his amazement.

“No. Not yet. Sort of slipped my mind. We were having too much fun and I didn’t care what he looked like.” 

The speaker, the one who was meeting ‘Dreamlover’, the one who answered to ‘Daim’, was spectacularly gorgeous. He was about twenty-five and quite trendy, as far as could be ascertained from his dark hair, tied back for work, and his clothes, almost invisible under a barman’s apron. Angus gulped. How on earth could he, middle-aged and staid, introduce himself to this piece of perfection? The simple answer was that he couldn’t, and didn’t. He left, had a meal at a small restaurant further down the street, then steeled himself to go back.  He chose a seat hidden behind a pillar,  then ordered a double brandy this time, making sure he waited till Damien was occupied at the other end of the bar. He sipped it, trying to imbibe Dutch courage. Failure. The young barmen were chatting again.

“Still no sign of Loverboy?” 

“No. I was so sure...”

Angus drank in Damien’s voice. It would have to quench his longings for some time to come. Eventually he heard the other man, fairer and less noticeable, rap on the bartop and ask loudly, 

“Anyone called Andrew here? Damien’s waiting for you!”

There was a ripple of amusement and Damien was blushing, but no-one even pretended to answer the call. Angus left, his heart heavy and his steps slow. It was almost closing time and he didn’t want to be around when Damien and his colleague emerged. Instead, he found an empty doorway and got out his mobile. He had memorised the number. 

“Hello?”

“Damien, it’s me. An... Andrew. I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, it’s OK. Thanks for ringing. I thought maybe something had happened to you. Did you get held up?”

“No. I’ve been in your pub. I saw you.”  

There was a palpable silence and for a moment Angus thought Damien had cut him off. Then, “You didn’t like what you saw?” Damien’s voice was soft, hurt, bewildered.

“Oh no! Please don’t think that. The opposite in fact. You’re..... you’re everything I’ve always.....” 

“Then why....?”

“It’s me. I’m too old for you. Too staid and stuffy. You’d feel obliged to talk to me, your friends would laugh and you’d be ashamed.  You wouldn’t want me.”  

Another silence, then, “Don’t you think I might be the best judge of that?”

Quite irrelevantly, Angus heard himself saying, “And my name’s Angus, not Andrew. I meant to tell you.” 

“How old are you, anyway? I’m twenty-eight..You aren’t exactly going to be accused of paedophilia.”

“I’m fifty. In the eyes of your trendy set I probably look a hundred.”  

“But I want an older man; someone I can feel secure with.  I’m so tired of the scene. And we were so perfect together.”

Angus hesitated and the voice started again. “Anyway, where are you staying? You were going to stay with me, even if, well... It’s late. Do you have a hotel?” 

“I hadn’t thought. I might just go to the station and get an overnight train.”

“Don’t. Please don’t. Please let’s at least meet. Where are you?” 

“Not far from the pub.”

“We close soon. Then I’ve got to wipe the bar and the pumps down and herd the stragglers out. Come back in forty minutes and meet me when I leave. Please.” Then the phone really did cut off. 

Angus walked around the streets for the next forty minutes, still not sure whether he’d go back. His desire increased with every step he took, but he was still aching with fear. Then he realised he couldn’t abandon Damien completely; it would be kinder to let the young man do the rejecting in person. He, Angus, had got himself into this situation and had no right to head for the railway station like a runaway teenager.  He got back to the pub doorway as a group of men left, throwing goodnights over their shoulders. The lights dimmed and Damien’s friend came out, his arm around a man Angus had seen earlier propping up the bar. So nobody was left to scoff. Angus could disappear without hurting Damien too much.

He stood beneath the streetlight, its glow enhancing his silver curls and allowing the gleam of his blue eyes to shine in their deep net of creases despite the darkness. He had no idea of his effect on Damien, who stood stunned in the doorway. Angus worried. 

Then Damien came towards him. “Andrew... I mean Angus?” he asked, almost shyly. Angus nodded, suddenly flustered. His suave lawyer skills deserted him; he had no idea what to do with his hands, or his words.

Damien simply gestured and moved off towards the underground station on the opposite corner. He checked that Angus had a ticket and they descended the escalators in silence. The advertisements lining the sloped tunnels seemed more real to Angus than his present situation. He considered visiting Kew Gardens or the London Dungeon, seeing the latest film, ordering office supplies or a Spanish holiday brochure. He bookmarked, mentally, an advert for cheap flights; he might soon need a retreat plan or some kind of restorative break. They reached the platform while he was weighing the merits of Australia or Hong Kong. 

The train roared in and they boarded, sitting beside each other but not too near. Angus followed the map above the door and counted down the stations. He knew roughly where Damien lived; they’d mentioned it as a possible meeting place. Arnos Grove station came out by a park entrance and they walked through, still not speaking.  Neither knew quite what to say; both were desperate to begin.

Outside a large semi-detached house, Damien fumbled with keys and unlocked the door. He led Angus straight upstairs to his flat, sighing with relief when he had him safely inside. Angus hadn’t really considered running again. He was in some fatalistic dream, heading for a crisis. 

Then Damien turned, grasping his arms and the situation firmly. Their first kiss, clumsy but intensely sweet, released Angus from his fears. He wrapped his arms around the beautiful young man he’d found by such strange means.

Their bodies spoke for them. Damien dragged Angus into the bedroom and neither was sure who had taken the lead in their both stripping each other to a state of aroused nakedness. They had discussed this so often through the shadowy medium of the Internet; they knew exactly how to ensure each other’s pleasure. 

Angus let his fingers trail gently over Damien’s skin, careful to keep his touch light, knowing the tingle of anticipation he was creating. He paid particular attention to nipples that hardened obediently in response. He moved his exploration downwards, stroking inner thighs that tensed, producing a gasp from their owner.  Damien grasped Angus’s cock and after a second’s hesitation that seemed to ask permission, bent his head and closed his lips around it.

Angus shuddered with pleasure as Damien sucked him. He raised one hand to caress the shoulder-length dark curls falling like a curtain around his groin. He fingered the delicate whorls of ears. He longed to whisper into them, but equally wanted not to move, not to disturb the incredible sensations flooding through him, gifted by Damien’s mouth. Instead he simply admired the smooth, broad back, slightly bronzed, as if occasionally exposed to sunshine and gazes other than his own. 

The pleasure was intense but couldn’t last. Angus had suppressed his desires for so long, never daring to find even transient comfort in his tiny country town under the eyes of his family. Now he was dizzy again, with relief and with passion. His caresses grew urgent and he was almost painfully aware of the other man’s matching reactions.

His body remembered how to behave from long-ago university days, and he turned till he could take Damien in his mouth, mirroring his movements. Their initial encounter was fast and furious; both came almost laughably soon. Then they settled to longer exploration and more leisurely sex, enjoying each other with growing confidence. Angus’s mind fastened on the recent ‘chats’ with the lover who not only lay in his arms but seemed to try to merge with him. This was his ‘townmouse’ who wanted lots of caresses surrounding the central fuck, who was like manna in the desert to a ‘countrymouse' starved of affection as well as sex. His own desire to stroke, to fondle, was met by a need for just those attentions. 

At some point Damien got up and walked off into the other room. Angus heard the clink of glasses. Soon they were sipping wine and talking, for the first time.

“Angus, you’re exactly what I was looking for.” Damien sounded adamant, and unwilling to risk any more indecision on his lover’s part.  

Angus smiled. Damien’s body had made the matter quite clear, but he was still surprised. “I can’t believe this. Maybe I’m on the express north, asleep and dreaming?” But he knew he wasn’t, knew that the warm thighs so close to his and the long fingers brushing his cock were perfectly real. “It seems so strange. I know you and yet I’ve never met you. If  I’d simply come to your pub one night you wouldn’t have looked at me twice!”

“Yes, I would. You’re handsome and you have an air of authority. I’d have looked once and then I’d have kept looking.” Damien went on to expand on how sick he was of the shallowness and pettiness of the crowd that frequented the pub and the clubs he went to. He never met anyone in whom he felt the slightest serious interest. He wanted stability. He wanted Angus 

“But I was there. You didn’t see me!”

“I did. I thought you were gorgeous, but remember I had no idea you were you! I didn’t know how old ‘Andrew’ was or what he looked like. The sexy older guy who came in for a brief drink didn’t try to attract my attention. I thought he - you - were just some city banker or lawyer on the way home, stopping off at a pub to unwind first.  And we aren’t supposed to chat up the customers.” 

“I was there later.”

“I didn’t see you!” Damien sounded bewildered and hurt. “I should have seen you. I’d have taken more notice of you. Handsome lawyers don’t come in there later on very often.” Angus had stayed out of sight deliberately. Gently he reassured his lover with a murmur and a kiss. Damien grinned and kissed him back. 

“Handsome?” Angus sounded doubtful. “I think maybe I used to be, once, but...”

Damien interrupted urgently. “You still are! Your hair and your eyes would stand out anywhere. And you’re very fit, for any age - do you work out? - and you have a figure a lot of younger men would envy.” He ran his hands over Angus’s lean flanks and down the long legs that were imprisoning him. “Anyway, as I was saying, you’re exactly what I wanted, and you touch me exactly as I want to be touched. And you make me feel safe - and desired.” 

“You’re desired, all right!” Angus suited actions to words and they made love again. This time Damien reached into a drawer beside the bed and shyly offered Angus condoms and lube. Angus’s fingers remembered just how to prepare a lover. His growing excitement soared as he penetrated Damien, who lay with his legs circling Angus’s waist, his eyes shining with emotion. They moved together as if they had been created for this joining of theirs.

They came within moments of each other, Angus deep within Damien, Damien’s cock grasped firmly in his hand, their thrusts synchronised. With practice, Angus thought, their orgasms would synchronise too. Then they were hugging, kissing, tasting, whispering. 

It was love-making, not just sex.

The first week whirled happily past. Angus managed to appear normal, feasting privately on the outcome of his trip. Online contact helped. Also, the weather was glorious and he couldn’t fail to be cheerful. 

In the second week, after a boring case (where the local church had rights to charge landowners for repairs to the tower) and the west winds brought rain, his mood sagged. Why would Damien want him? Surely he was just a novelty. Perhaps good manners had kept Damien from rejecting him, making him homeless for the night. The absurdity of this struck him as a watery sun broke through, but the damage was done.

Damien sensed his hesitation. He became more insistent that Angus should come down again, as soon as possible. Consulting his diary, Angus found an empty weekend. Bruce was also going to London. Maeve, Bruce’s wife, told Angus it was some sort of class reunion at LSE and she wasn’t invited. He could travel down with Bruce and pretend to be meeting a woman.  If it worked, future visits would be easier. He prepared carefully. Her name was Daisy. He preferred names that gave a chance of stammering correction. She lived in Croydon; Bruce wouldn’t expect to meet her. She had shared a table with him at the restaurant where he’d lunched last time. He thought he could cope with the simplicity of the story and practised it with Damien online. 

The train journey was interminable; they were late into Euston. They wished each other a pleasant weekend and parted. Angus headed straight for the pub. Damien was working the early shift and he couldn’t wait to see him. Although if there was the slightest hesitation ...

There wasn’t. Damien’s face broke into a smile as soon as he saw Angus and he introduced him to his colleague. 

“Jack, meet Angus. My boyfriend. The one I told you about.”

 Jack said, ‘Hi!’ with lazy amusement then asked, “You’re the online guy?”  

Angus nodded, blushing, unsure how Damien’s friends would deal with the way they’d met.  Jack seemed interested.

“How come he found you? Did you advertise, tall, grey and handsome?” 

“Blind luck,” Damien told him, saving Angus from having to answer. Then the lunchtime crowd saved any of them from having to make further conversation.

Damien had chosen the daytime shift, leaving the evening free for a club where he could show Angus off to his mates. Angus wasn’t sure he’d fit in. The modern music scene was foreign to him and he wasn’t anxious to dance, even with Damien. Nor did he like the sound of the easy sex and unconventional morals of the London club set. Damien overruled him. Angus was his, his badge of maturity, his future. 

They spent the late afternoon in St. James’s Park, feeding the water birds and enjoying the views. They bought hot dogs in stale buns, dripping with mustard, and cans of lager, laughing at themselves as they ate their improvised meal. They cleaned up in a public toilet, very correct, never looking at each other. Damien combed his hair loose and they walked out into the evening.

The club didn’t open till late so they went for a drink, sitting close in an old fashioned bar, talking about work, weather and when Damien thought they might get back to Arnos Grove. Then they queued at a small, forbidding door until Damien signed Angus in. 

Angus found he was expected to dance, and gave in gracefully. When they returned to their drinks, he glanced at the bar, trying to see the clock. Instead, he saw his brother. 

He thought he was hallucinating, but it was Bruce, his arm round the shoulders of a delicately pretty boy with dyed blond hair and a blue velvet shirt. Angus froze. When he’d explained to Damien, who couldn’t stop laughing, they went over. Bruce was startled, then anxious, then rueful.  

“Father would have died, seeing us here,” he said. “He was always asking when one of us would bring home a suitable girl. If it hadn’t been for Maeve, I think he might have guessed.”

“Does Maeve know?” 

“I think not. But it’s hard, living a lie. I married her as cover, but I should have told her the truth. Too late now.”

They talked briefly about how much easier life might be. They could cover for each other, talk to each other, sympathise with each other. Angus introduced Damien and thought Bruce would do the same for his companion. His face was dull red as he asked the boy his name. This wasn’t a date, and Phil was obviously itching to get away from the family style gathering.. Taking pity on Bruce, Damien dragged Angus back onto the dance floor.  

“Leave him alone,” he murmured. “He needs Phil. You’ve got me!”

Their mood had changed, and they left, avoiding the others, throwing a hurried greeting to some of Damien’s friends, who looked less alarming after Phil’s brash blondness. They took the tube back to the flat. If they were quiet on the way it was a quietness rooted in familiarity rather than nerves. 

Damien offered to open some wine but this time it was Angus who steered them firmly into the bedroom. He only had one night and he wasn’t going to waste it.

                                                                                                                        ***********

 
On the way home, Bruce said he’d enjoyed himself but nothing about seeing Phil again. He started talking about a work issue. The Queen’s Head was changing hands. Bruce had dealt with the sale and the application for the new license. However, the head barman, almost sixty, had decided it was a good time to retire. The owners were seeking a replacement.

Angus was never sure where he found  the nerve, but he heard himself saying with all the confidence in the world, “Tell them not to worry. I know a suitable boy...” 

It was easy  persuading Damien to attend an interview at The Queen’s Head, a pushover to persuade the owner to employ the young, personable barman, natural to put Damien up ‘while he looked for lodgings’, then heave a sigh of relief when the pub turned out to have live-in accommodation. Angus could tell people Damien lived elsewhere.

The problem was Maeve. 

Angus couldn’t imagine how she knew. Maybe she’d had his preferences pegged all along. He had never married and didn’t date. Maybe she was just good at putting two and two together, working out that a lawyer’s friendship with a much younger barman was more than casual. Maeve’s class consciousness would fuel her suspicions and Damien’s arrival so soon after his trips to London would confirm them.

Bruce came to him in the office, after everyone had left. 

“Maeve knows.”

“About you?” 

“No, thank God! You. Asked me what I was going to do about it.”

All sorts of questions tumbled around Angus’s mind. Had Bruce confirmed Maeve’s suspicions? What did she expect him to do? What was the fallout likely to be? All he came out with was, “What did you say?” 

“Said I’d have a word, didn’t I? So here I am. I’ve spoken to you. At least he’s moved out. She’ll think that’s my doing unless she works out the dates.”

“You could have denied it, said you didn’t believe it.” Angus knew Bruce would never have done that but he had to point out that the possibility existed. 

Bruce looked uneasy. Angus realised there was more and went on with foreboding, “So, you’ve had your ‘word’. What will you tell her?”

“Um... the thing is I sort of agreed with her. That it was disgraceful, I mean. Oh, I know. But I had to. You do see, don’t you?” 

“See that you’re a total hypocrite? Yes.”

“But it is a sort of disgrace.” 

“To be in love? Whereas you can cavort with rent boys to your heart’s content?”

“I don’t think he was exactly a rent boy. I didn’t pay him, just bought him dinner, a lot of drinks and a new mobile. Anyway, that was there. This is here. Things are different here.” 

Angus was tempted to punch his brother. Instead, he used his coldest, most professional voice, one he normally kept for the magistrate’s court, telling Bruce exactly what he thought of him, which wasn’t much.  He remembered Bruce’s vicious hounding of the priest, and threatened to tell Maeve everything if Bruce so much as dropped a hint in the community.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them. My relationship with Damien isn’t your affair, or Maeve’s. Go home. Tell her to mind her own business. See to it that she does.” 

Afterwards, he felt shaken and sick. Instead of going to Damien’s bar, he went home and thought, long and hard, with a stiff drink.

Damien came after work, letting himself in with his key.. He was sympathetic but unworried. “She’d be stupid to ‘out’ you. She knows the success of the firm depends on you; she knows which side her bread is buttered.” 

“But she can make life unpleasant, and she might ‘out’ you, out of spite.”

“Which would lead back to you. Stop fretting. But I know you won’t,” he added, kissing him gently. “So we have to think of how to get her on our side.”  

Angus’s worry spilled into his love-making. He was tense and clumsy; it took Damien some time to calm him and bring them both to a satisfactory climax. They lay just holding each other, silent. Damien eased himself out of Angus’s arms and dressed.

“I shouldn’t risk staying. We won’t add to your worries. But please, let’s go all out to defend ourselves. This is important. Isn’t it?” Angus nodded, then sensing a nod wasn’t quite sufficient he got up and took Damien in his arms again.   

“You’re the most important thing that’s ever happened to me,” he told him, and Damien grinned before leaving.

                                                                                                                        ************

The next day, Saturday, they went to the races. Friends and clients, seeing  them together  nodded greetings and expressed approval that he was introducing his young London friend to local attractions. Someone gave them a tip, a ‘sure thing’, and Angus bet on the horse, laughing, just for fun. It came in three lengths ahead and they had money to burn. 

They ended up looking at jewellery. Angus wanted to buy Damien a chain or pendant but Damien disagreed.

“Buy Maeve something,” he suggested. “She can’t refuse a gift from her brother-in-law, she’ll be pleased, and she might just warm to us a little.” So they chose a topaz necklace that would blend with Maeve’s tawny hair, and set off with their gift. 

Maeve was reluctantly pleased. She knew she was being manipulated; but it would be churlish to dismiss a gift selected so carefully. Damien told her how they’d considered her colouring and that Angus had wanted his family to share some of his pleasure in winning. He cajoled and flattered her. Although she wasn’t fooled, she was disarmed.

“I wish Bruce was as thoughtful,” she said wistfully. “Maybe straight men don’t have the same sensitivities.” Angus and Damien managed not to laugh, but accepted a cup of tea and some home-made shortbread. They left, feeling that the danger had been averted, at least for now.  

Angus was rueful about the amount they’d spent.

“In a good cause,” Damien said. “She isn’t as hostile now. And yes, it was bribery, but so long as she took the bribe...” 

“I hope she never finds out about Bruce.”

“Why should she? He keeps his affairs at a distance.” 

“Unlike me. I wanted my ‘affair’ as close as possible.”

“And here I am.” 

“But I wanted to buy you a chain. To show... ”

“I know. And you can buy one with your next lucky bet. Or just buy a cheaper one, anyway.”  

“I do seem to be on a winning streak.” Angus ran his fingers through Damien’s hair, releasing it from its pony tail and luxuriating in the long strands. “I gambled on finding someone through the Internet. I was so lonely. And I’ve won.”

Damien smiled. 

“Maybe,” he said, “we should consider how to celebrate your winnings?”

“That’s easy.” Angus was definite. “In bed. Now.” 

Their love-making was no less passionate but much more assured. They had had time over recent weeks to get to know each other’s bodies intimately and learn exactly where and how to touch. It was like making a detailed drawing, not just painting in broad brush strokes.

Damien loved to be teased with gentle movements. Angus traced his throat, his chest, his stomach and his thighs as if he was trying to commit their contours to memory. Damien shivered and pressed close to his lover, gasping as Angus sent waves of anticipation racing over his skin. Angus, in turn, liked the way Damien hugged him as if he would never let him go; he had spent too long in a sexual wilderness, and this adoration fed his soul as well as his body. They took turns penetrating each other. Both took equal pleasure in each aspect of fucking. 

Angus, slow and sated in the aftermath of orgasm, drew lazy circles around Damien’s neck with his forefinger. “I’ll buy you that chain soon,” he promised, “but it might match my hair rather than yours.” Damien just grinned and gave Angus to understand that absolutely anything Angus felt inclined to give him was welcome, especially some of the best sex he’d ever known.

************

 From then on, Maeve was pleasanter. She invited them to dinner, and wore her necklace, rubbing it occasionally and glaring at Bruce, who rarely bought her anything. The conversation turned to films and shows; Damien mentioned Avenue Q, which he’d seen in London. Almost at once, they arranged to book tickets and a hotel, and see the musical together. 

Later, Angus brooded.

“What on earth can go wrong?” Damien was puzzled. 

“Something’s bound to, with those two involved.”

“Then we take off and enjoy ourselves on our own. I think it’s good that Maeve’s being friendly. Your winnings won us some goodwill!” 

They went by train. That way they could all have a drink or two, and nobody would be too tired to enjoy the evening. Maeve was excited; she’d put on a new dress, chosen to tone with the necklace, which she still fingered thoughtfully. They booked into their hotel, took the tube to the centre, and ate at an Italian restaurant just off Leicester Square.  The theatre was nearby. As they took their seats, Damien whispered,  “See! Everything’s perfect.”

And it was. Maeve didn’t (or chose not to) notice the more risqué elements of the songs and banter. She blushed during the sex scene, which made Damien giggle. He said softly that he couldn’t see anything embarrassing about puppets in bed, but Angus was too uptight about the minor gay theme to share his amusement. However, when they left, they all agreed  the show had been great, the tunes catchy, and the cast gifted and hard-working. As they headed to a bar, Maeve was humming the melody of ‘It sucks to be me’ and Bruce was looking smug. For once, his marriage seemed harmonious.  

They had chosen the wrong bar. Angus saw the blond in the corner and tried desperately to attract Bruce’s attention, then to alert Damien. By then, Damien was helping Bruce to carry their drinks and wasn’t looking at his lover. Maeve settled happily, shrugging off her coat, sighing with pleasure at the unaccustomed treat. There seemed no tactful way of letting Bruce know that they should drink up quickly and move on.

Phil could hardly have missed them, Angus and Bruce so alike, both tall, grey and handsome, Damien incredibly sexy, and Maeve attractive in an old-fashioned style. He didn’t  make the connection that with Angus and Damien together, Bruce must be with Maeve. He strolled across, half a lager  in hand, and tapped Bruce on the shoulder. 

“Fancy meetin’ you ’ere, darlin’!” The faint Essex accent marked him as local, and let Maeve know Bruce must have met this extraordinarily camp young man in the capital. “Been to a show? What’re you doin’ later? Want to come round to mine?” He spoke to Bruce alone, the invitation clearly not for the group. Maeve put two and two together, looked at Bruce’s face and didn’t ask questions. She swung her hand, the flat of her palm connecting with his cheek. The slap rang above the noise of the pub and interested customers stopped to listen to whatever would follow. They were not disappointed.

Angus was trying to get Phil away, but the catalyst of the disaster was as fascinated by Maeve in a temper as everyone else and stood firm. Damien hid his head in his hands; Angus wasn’t sure whether he was expressing a desire to hide or attempting not to laugh. Maeve was in full flow, screeching like a fishwife, years of resentment pouring from her throat. 

“So that’s what you get up to when you come to London! I might have known! No wonder I can’t get any satisfaction from you! Save it all for this piece of trash, I bet!” She glared at Phil, who tried a placating grin, then thought better of it and started to back away. “How dare you? Even your brother didn’t behave like that! He never deceived a woman, never married for his own convenience, never pretended he could get it up and then...”  She became aware the entire pub was listening avidly, and addressed them all. “Proper pansy! No good in bed! Doubt if he’s much good to this one, either!” She gestured at Phil. “Has to pay for it, doesn’t he! And to think I fell for his excuses all these years!” She made no attempt to explain why she had put up with her errant husband, but picked up her bag and coat and stalked to the door, making, they had to admit, a magnificent exit.

Phil was busy making himself scarce, so Angus turned his attention to getting his brother out of the building, assuming rightly that Damien would follow. Somehow they got Bruce, incoherent with rage and embarrassment, back to the hotel. Maeve, already there, had locked the door to the marital chamber. An extra key didn’t help; she had wedged something under the handle. 

Angus looked pleadingly at Damien. This was his brother, whatever kind of hypocritical idiot he was. Damien smiled and went back down to reception. When he returned, another key card in his hand, Angus was with Bruce in their room, as he’d expected. The brothers weren’t speaking. Maeve’s outburst had made further conversation redundant. Then Bruce looked up.

“Why me?” he asked, his tone almost a whine. “What have I done to deserve this?” 

“What did Father John do?” Angus responded, and left it at that. Then he sighed, waving Damien to the empty bed. “Bruce appears to have settled in,” he said. “I’d better take the chair. Seems we’re the ones getting no satisfaction tonight!” Damien shook his head, holding up the card, his face alight with amusement and love.

“What’re you doin’ later, darlin’?” he mimicked. Angus started to smile. “Want to come round to mine?” And they were off down the corridor, almost helpless with laughter. 

They fell onto the double bed in the room Damien had managed to get, still stifling giggles as they wrestled with each other’s clothing. It was late, and they didn’t want to disturb their neighbours. The hotel had had enough to put up with over keys, rooms and halting explanations. It didn’t need complaints about noise.

They caressed each other with exaggerated care and pantomimed admonitions to be quiet. They quoted, in whispers, lines from the show, such as ‘The Internet is for porn’ which set them laughing again. Then they went on to lines from the second drama of the evening. 

“I can’t get any satisfaction,” said Damien, adding, “You’re too busy expressing your amusement.”

“What have I done to deserve this?” was the response; then Angus changed ‘this’ to ‘you’ and repeated his question, quite seriously, after which they made love, very slowly and quietly, with great concentration. It was a night to remember. 

************

Maeve returned to the north alone, on a different train, leaving early, before the men had breakfasted. The three travelled in an uneasy silence. Conversation at a trivial level, suitable for public transport, seemed impossible. Bruce looked faintly ashamed but didn’t express any feelings aloud.

Later in the week, after a conversation with his brother at the office, Angus called on Maeve. Her eyebrows almost reached her hairline as he asked to come in and speak to her

“Did Bruce send you?”

“No, but he knows I’m here. He didn’t want me to, but I feel I have to. I have to look out for Damien and myself. I’m not thinking about Bruce.” 

She led him into the lounge and gestured to a seat, without offering tea, coffee or any other refreshment. 

“OK, I’m listening. Out with it!” 

Angus had decided to ask her to settle for a quiet divorce and hefty alimony. Maeve was indignant.

“Why quiet?”  She had already admitted the gaping hole in her marriage in public. She apparently didn’t care that this was not London, and her neighbours and friends would whisper and point - at her, too, for remaining so ignorant for so long. Angus could see that her fury would push her to announce her woes to her own world. 

“Because a scandal would destroy the firm and leave Bruce too destitute to pay through the nose for the way he’s hurt you.” Angus saw he’d captured Maeve’s interest and went on, “ It would leave me destitute, too. How have Damien and I ever hurt you or deserved that?” 

“You knew,” she said. “You knew and you kept it from me.” Her eyes hardened and Angus hastened to explain. 

“We had our own issues, Maeve. Remember? When Damien came to live here. And I hadn’t known for long. I disapproved. Of course I did!” he added in response to the scepticism on her face. “You’re his wife and he should have honoured that or been honest with you. But he’s my brother, as well as my business partner. And as a closeted gay man,” he went on, using the word for the first time, admitting what he was with pride, “I understood his fear, shared it, in fact, and had no idea what to do. Given time, I would have tried to persuade him. We didn’t get that time.”

Maeve hesitated. “He treated me badly. He deserves to suffer.” 

“Of course he does. But he’ll suffer just as much if he has to pay you the kind of amounts the divorce courts will probably award. There won’t be any need to give details of why the marriage has broken down. Our firm is doing well, Maeve. If that continues, you can continue to profit from it. You, as his wife, helped build it up, with your dinner parties and general support. You ought to benefit. Don’t throw that away for a momentary revenge that will hurt everyone.”

He could see she was wavering and pressed on. “Did you push him into outing Father John?” He knew instantly from her expression that he was right. “That didn’t help anyone, either, and it probably prevented any honesty between you even if it had ever been possible.” 

“So I should let him get away with it?”

“You aren’t letting him get away with anything. I’m not asking you to stay with him. I’m not asking you to take less than a large chunk of his wealth. You should even keep this house. But if you insist on some kind of revenge, you’ll lose it because he’ll have to sell.”  

It was the deciding factor. Maeve looked around at her precious furniture, the ornaments and paintings she’d collected over the years, and their carefully designed setting. She nodded. Angus took it as agreement. There obviously wasn’t going to be discussion; she was already getting up and moving towards the door.

Later, in bed with Damien, he was able to see the funny side of the conversation.

“So you, her gay brother-in-law, managed to persuade her to keep her mouth shut with promises of bribery!” Damien’s eyes were twinkling as he spoke. “Quite ironic when you think about it!”

“It wasn’t bribery, just a statement of the facts of the situation. Bruce really ought to pay, but I don’t see why we should. And I don’t want to think about it any more.” Angus smiled. “I’d rather think about you, and perhaps translate some of those thoughts into actions.”  

And they did.

J.E.Mountney is the pen name of a British writer who enjoys fantasy, sci-fi, magic realism and romance, sometimes in that order.

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