Chapter 24
HAVING A PARTY
MICHAEL
Fooling around in the great outdoors sounded a lot sexier than it turned out to be.
No, that wasn't true. It was sexy as Hell, while we were doing it, but Mick got grass stains on his trousers that might never come out and bruises all over his knees from kneeling in the undergrowth.
My back was scratched and sore from being shoved against a tree and my jacket was torn.
Not that I minded. I’d set every one of my suits on fire if it meant more of what happened in the woods.
It had been the most erotic experience of my entire life, and it wasn’t short of competition.
Not just the act itself, which had been filthy, shocking, and wonderful, but the emotions I could feel flowing between us.
Far from your run-of-the-mill quickie for the sake of getting off, it had been desperate, sincere, and real. There was a vulnerability in Mick being submissive, like it was something he was giving me. I’d never seen that side of him, and it mattered to me that he’d shown it to me.
The rest of Friday and Saturday was spent exploring the beautiful countryside and each other’s bodies. Only, not simultaneously–once was enough for that particular risk.
On Sunday evening, after we’d had dinner, we opened a bottle of wine and lit the fire.
“I’ve never sat in front of a real fireplace that burns wood before.” Mick was staring into the flames and the glow lit up his hair and eyes in the most spectacular way, making them both look golden.
“No?”
“Nope. We’ve got an electric heater. Some of my relatives still have coal burners. I made a campfire in the Boy Scouts a few times.”
“You really were a Boy Scout?” I asked.
“Yeah, for a couple of years. Well, a Catholic Boy Scout.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Nothing, really. Same rules, same activities. Just linked to our Church, not the Church of England. It would’ve been okay, except Tommy wasn’t Catholic so we had to be in separate troops. I might have stayed longer if he’d been there.”
“You’ve been friends for that long?”
“Longer. We were born a couple of weeks apart. Our mums are best friends.” He stopped abruptly. We hadn’t mentioned his parents since the day he arrived at my flat.
“So can you catch a rabbit with your bare hands, skin it, and cook it for me on a fire?”
He laughed. “No, I bloody can’t. Like I said, I only went for a few years. Most boys stayed until Confirmation, but I was long gone by then.”
“Confirmation? That happens around twelve, doesn’t it?”
“Not for Catholics. We tend to be a bit older, around fourteen. Are you Church of England, then?”
“My parents were, but Aunt Agatha didn’t really bother with it all.
When they died and I moved to Weymouth, I stopped going to Church except for special occasions.
I never had a confirmation. I haven’t been in a Church for years.
I think the last time was when one of the girls from work got married.
Must have been… ‘61? ‘62? I can’t remember exactly. A few years ago that’s for sure. ”
Mick didn’t say anything for a few minutes.
Staring into his glass of wine like it had the answers, he opened his mouth to speak a few times, but the words never came.
We were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, leaning against the armrests, with our legs tangled up in the middle.
I squeezed one of his legs between mine, trying to offer a bit of support for whatever he was trying to say.
“I miss going to church,” he breathed.
I was not expecting that. He always spoke so casually, even mockingly about church.
“I never thought I would, but I do.” Swirling the wine in his glass, he carried on.
“If you’d have told me a month ago that I’d never again have to get up at seven o’ clock on a Sunday and sit in a too cold or too hot Church for an hour and half, more often than not with a hangover, I’d have been over the moon. ”
He took a sip of the wine, giving himself a moment to consider his words, I thought.
“Now it’s been taken away from me, I miss it.
It was comforting. Knowing God was listening to me.
I know I can pray any time I like, and I do.
But there was something special that I think I took for granted about being among all these other people talking to Him, too.
Sorry, I’m talking rubbish, ignore me. It’s probably the wine’s fault. ”
“Don’t do that, love.” I reached across and took his hand. “You’re not talking rubbish. You can tell me about it. I’m listening.”
“I don’t know if I have much more to say. That’s it really. I miss going to church. The ritual, the comfort, feeling close to God.”
“You can still go.”
He shook his head. “No, I can’t. My ma will have turned the whole Parish against me by now.”
“She wouldn’t have told them, surely?”
He let out a humourless laugh. “No! Jesus wept! Can you imagine! No, she’d sooner die, I’m sure. But she would have concocted some awful story to make them shun me, without reflecting badly on her. God knows what. I don’t want to think about it, to be honest.”
“You could go to another church. I’m sure we can find one near the flat. I’ll go with you, if you like?”
He looked up at me, his eyes shining in the firelight, and maybe from a few unshed tears, but he was smiling.
“You’d do that for me?”
Didn’t he realise? I’d do anything for him. All he had to do was ask.
“Of course I would. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me. I’m sorry I didn’t find somewhere sooner. I didn’t realise you, um, believed in it all.”
He laughed again, but it was softer this time.
“I know, it’s funny, isn’t it? I’m a sinner in the eyes of the Church.
But you see, it never made any sense to me.
There are a lot of contradictions in the teachings of the Church.
God loves all His creatures, and we are all God’s creatures.
God doesn’t make mistakes, and we are all perfect in His eyes.
Now if that’s true, then He made me queer, didn’t He?
And as far as I see it, I ain’t doing anyone any harm.
Plenty of people who say I’m some sort of abomination are sinning just as much, and in worse ways, if you ask me.
“I believe in God, because I feel Him when I’m in church.
It might sound bonkers, but I do. I can’t explain it.
And I believe in the Bible, too. Not literally, because I’m not a fool, but a lot of it makes sense if you think about when it was written.
And when it all boils down to it, the rules in the New Testament are mostly just variations of ‘Don’t be a prick. ’”
I laughed at that. I loved his way of looking at the world.
“I even believe in the Church. It does a lot of good around the world for people in need. The sad fact of the matter is, it’s the Church that doesn’t believe in me.”
I didn’t know what to say. There weren’t any words that I could say.
Actions were needed instead. Leaning forward, I took his glass from him and put it on the side table next to mine.
Then I pulled him into me, so his back was flush with my chest, and wrapped my arms around his firm body.
Holding him tight, I kissed his soft curls.
I wanted him to feel cared for, to be in my embrace, without it leading to sex.
He needed to feel safe and loved, and I would do everything in my power to ensure he always was.
Late on Monday morning, we had to say goodbye to our little slice of Heaven and head back to the city. I had one last little surprise set up for him before we left.
“The bags are in the car, sweetheart, are you ready to go?” Mick asked.
“Not quite, will you do something with me before we go?”
“Of course,” he said without hesitating.
I drew back a heavy curtain and opened the kitchen door to the small back garden.
“Two days I’ve been here, and I never noticed a bloody back garden.” Mick chuckled as he walked towards the back door.
“Me either, not until late last night. Come and look.”
We stepped into a minuscule walled garden that looked like it belonged in an old children’s book. Flag stones similar to the ones in the kitchen, only more worn and weathered, paved the ground. The wall was made from more of the honey-coloured Cotswold stone, though it was covered in thick ivy.
“It’s magical out here. Like The Secret Garden.” His eyes were wide as he span around the tiny garden.
“That’s what it reminded me of as well. So I thought, on our last day, we could spend some time out here.” I stepped aside to reveal an ornate iron table painted white, with two matching chairs either side. On it, I had laid the dainty china tea set we’d been too nervous to use.
“Will you join me for tea, my love?”
The smile on his face shone brighter than the summer sunshine, and I wanted to bask in it. Sitting in the stunning surroundings of the cottage and the garden, drinking tea and smiling like loons at one another, I realised that he was all I wanted from now on. Just Mick.
In true British style, the glorious sun made way for vicious rain, and we had to pull over and put the top up on the Jag as quickly as we could. Inevitably, the miserable weather brought down our mood, and we were quiet for most of the drive home.
I drove us to Sebastian’s house, intending on dropping off the car and hailing a taxi to take us home. My home, I should have said. Although I didn’t think of it like that anymore, despite the short time we’d been sharing it.
When the door opened, I was met with the sound of music and laughter. Sebastian was in a very swanky silver-grey suit, which I thought was a bit ostentatious for a Monday night, even if he did have guests.
“Michael, darling, you’re here. Fabulous, now we can get the party started.”
“Party? What party? No, never mind. Don’t tell me, it doesn’t matter. I’m not here for a party, Seb. I’m just dropping off the Jag. Thanks by the way. It ran like a dream, and the cottage was superb.”