Chapter 9 He’s A Rebel
HE’S A REBEL
MICHAEL
I stomped out of the record shop empty-handed and into the sunny street outside.
Mick kept pace beside me. The not quite fresh air helped me calm my nerves.
I hated how the mention of Alistair made me feel like this.
It hadn’t been too bad lately; I’d been able to hear his name without seeing red.
But something about hearing his name come out of Mick’s mouth filled me with rage.
All sorts of emotions warred with each other inside me: anger, hurt, regret and… jealousy.
Hearing Mick talk about him immediately made me anxious, like Alistair had somehow got his hooks into this lovely lad. And now we were on our way to sit and have a drink so I could… tell him about my ex?
Why on Earth had I said I’d explain it to him.
I didn’t want to talk about Alistair. Ever.
I didn’t want to drag up the sad, sorry story to Mick.
He’d think I was pathetic, and I couldn’t bear that.
I cared what he thought about me, and I didn’t want his pity.
Well, there was nothing I could do about it now; I’d made my bed and I’d have to lie in it.
I led us out of Soho, and we walked for about twenty minutes until we arrived at The Hope. I had no clue why I’d brought us here. Part of me wanted to take longer to walk here so I could put off telling him everything–and try to work out how I’d tell him.
I also didn’t want to be surrounded by London’s bright young things while I aired my dirty washing. That was why we found ourselves in a dark, dingy pub in Smithfields.
Mick went and found us a table while I got the drinks. I found him at the back of the pub in a quiet corner and plonked two pints of bitter down.
“I thought you didn’t drink beer.”
“I do in here.”
He looked at me, waiting for me to explain.
“Let’s just say that if I asked for a G they just wanted the gossip.
“I don’t mind.”
“But–” he started but cut himself off.
“Yes?”
“If this story goes the way I think it’s going.” He gave me a pointed look. “About your friend… Is it safe to talk about it in here?”
“Oh, fair point, but it’s safe to talk here. There are plenty of conversations happening in here that should not be overheard. It wouldn’t be wise to advertise our lifestyle with a girly drink, but nobody will pay any mind to our conversation. Don’t worry.”
“Okay.” He took a long slug of his pint. “So. Alistair?”
“Alistair.” I picked up my own pint and drank. It was alright. I didn’t hate beer. I’d been messing around in Le Duce.
“As you correctly surmised, we were friends. Good friends. We were friends for a very long time. We shared a flat for a decade.”
I heard Mick’s breath of shock, but I carried on.
“When I think back on it, I’m not sure why.
Well I know why we became friends. He was funny, clever, interesting, and so very nice to me.
But I’m not sure why we stayed friends for such a long time.
Before he left, I’m not sure we even liked each other anymore.
I think after so many years doing things a certain way, carrying on that way sometimes feels easier than changing the status quo.
So we stayed living together far longer than we should have.
“When things started changing, started getting harder, I just imagined we’d get through it.
I knew he liked to seek out the company of others from time to time–usually when things were difficult between us.
But afterwards he always came back to me, and things were good again, better than before, sometimes.
“After one of our frequent rows, he went and found himself a boy toy, and I thought it would just be like the other times. How wrong I was. It was different this time. He became cruel.”
I stopped speaking for a moment, trying to detach myself from what had happened and just tell the story. What the hell had possessed me to tell Mick about Alistair? Why was I doing it? I could have stopped. I could have glossed over it. But it was Mick, and I wanted to confide in him.
I lifted my head up, and he smiled at me, his eyes full of kindness. There was sadness but not pity. He didn’t speak, even though I’d said nothing for a minute or so. He looked like he had all the time in the world, and he wanted to hear my story.
I didn’t know why he was being so considerate, but something about it encouraged me to keep talking.
“It was like he was a different person. No, I think that would have been easier to deal with. He was still him, but he hated me. It was like the past however many years meant nothing. He couldn’t bear the sight of me.
“But he didn’t say that, not in so many words.
He would point out how old I looked. Or complain about what I was wearing.
He would talk about his other boyfriends all the time, which was something we never did.
Not that I had boyfriends. I was deeply in love with him, and I thought he felt the same.
“I should have told him to leave. Or I should have left. I had friends that would have put me up for a while. They’d all noticed his behaviour, although it had taken a while. He carried on the pretence of loving me a little longer for our friends than he did with me.
“After a few months, he didn’t even bother with that anymore, but he still came out with us, and I have no idea why.
I suppose when you’re a queer mod in your thirties, the world isn’t overflowing with social opportunities.
He stuck around my friends for the same reason he stayed around me; he didn’t have any better options.
“I think the worst part of it was that it wasn’t all the time.
It was most of the time, but not all of it.
Every now and again, he’d be kind. He’d help me with something, or smile at me, or even say something nice.
That was the cruelest part of the whole thing because it gave me hope.
It was the reason I stayed for as long as I did. ”
“What made you leave? In the end?” Mick spoke in hushed tones, but I still jolted.
“What’s the final thing that a man can do to show you he doesn’t give a shit about you anymore?”
Mick’s brow knitted as he considered, then his eyes widened. “He hit you.” He wasn’t asking; he could see the answer written on my face. But I nodded for clarity.
“Knocked some sense into me, you could say.” I laughed, but there was no humour in it. “I shouldn’t joke, but that is what happened. He smacked me right across the face, and I saw the light. I didn’t need to stay and take it anymore.
“He’s shorter than me, you know? And he isn’t stronger than me. And when he did that, I realised I’d given him power over me. But in a way, it was the best thing that could have happened.”
Mick winced.
“I’m sorry. Of course it was awful, and I am lucky that I was bigger than him, and I know most women in my situation wouldn’t be able to do what I did.”
“What did you do? You didn’t hit him back?”
“No. I didn’t need to. I stood up for myself. Literally. He’d made me feel small for months, and it had had an effect on how I acted, how I spoke, how I held myself. I think that’s how he felt able to hit me.
“I remember it like it was yesterday. I straightened my back and stood as tall as I could. I have a few inches on him in bare feet, and I was wearing my winklepickers. I stood up straight, and I looked down at him. He looked small and pathetic. He thought I was going to hit him and cowered. I looked down my nose at him and said, ‘You silly little man.’ That was it. Those were the last words I said to him. I packed my bag and left ten minutes later.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing. It wasn’t like in the films where the man apologises and begs forgiveness, or worse where he threatens and shouts. He just said nothing. He did nothing. And I realised he didn’t care about me, and I’d stopped caring about him.
“I ended up on poor Damian’s doorstep, who was quite put out for all of ten seconds until he saw my bruised cheek. He pulled me into his arms and his flat.”
“Did you just leave all your stuff there?”
“Are you joking? You’ve seen all the junk in my bedroom, do you think I can accumulate that crap in two years?”
He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “If anyone could, love, it would be you.”
“Cheeky sod.” I smacked his hand.
“No, I ran into my friend Jimmy the next day and told him what happened. The friend in question happens to play in a local amateur rugby team and is built like a brick shithouse. He went and had a quiet word with Alistair, then lo and behold, my things arrived neatly packed in boxes on Damian’s doorstep a few hours later, and he wasn’t seen around after that. ”
He looked aghast “What did he do to him?”
“I have no idea, but whatever it was must have put the fear of God in him. I saw him in the street a few weeks later. He crossed over to the other side of the road and walked in the opposite direction.” I laughed, remembering the look of abject terror on his face.
Mick let out a long slow breath. “Fucking Hell, Michael. You’re a little bit scary, you know? Remind me never to get on your bad side, alright?” He smiled.
“Don’t worry, an angel like you couldn’t hurt anyone.” I pinched his cheek and squeezed like a maiden aunt seeing a child for the first time in a year.
“Get off!” He slapped my hand away but chuckled. “You silly sod.”
I didn’t know what to say next, and it looked as though Mick didn’t either. For want of anything better to do, I pulled out two cigarettes, lit them both at the same time, and handed one to Mick. He looked surprised but took it anyway.