Chapter 22
The following Sunday Jerry and Carol went for brunch after church. It was a lovely little place down an alleyway just off Trafalgar Square. It had a cool vibe and didn’t play cheesy Christmas music, which was why Jerry had picked it. Christmas music was just too much for him at the moment.
‘Interesting sermon from the vicar,’ said Carol as she sat down and surveyed the menu, glasses instantly steaming up from the contrast in air temperature between outside and inside.
‘Didn’t hear a word of it,’ mused Jerry.
‘Mind elsewhere?’ asked Carol.
‘You could say that.’
‘Still obsessed with the man in the red scarf?’
‘Not obsessed, no.’
‘How many times have you been to the coffee shop this last week?’
Jerry looked up sharply. Carol looked expectant.
‘Five,’ he admitted.
‘And has he showed?’
‘No,’ said Jerry, pretending to study the coffee menu.
‘And what are you concluding from that?’ asked Carol.
Jerry cocked his head and thought. ‘I’m thinking that he’s thinking about what he said to me at the candlelit carols and he’s giving himself some space to reconsider and he’ll be back in the coffee shop any day to tell me what a massive mistake he’s made.’
‘Well, you’re more of a moron than I thought you were,’ said Carol.
‘Thanks,’ replied Jerry. ‘Helpful. Supportive. I can always rely on you.’
‘For the truth ,’ replied Carol. ‘I’m a truth friend.’ She smiled as though pleased with herself. ‘Did you get that? A little play on the term “true friend”. I’m a truth friend.’ She grinned even harder.
‘You are the killer of all joy and hope,’ Jerry said miserably.
‘Hope!’ exclaimed Carol. ‘Hope, you say. Hope has you hanging out at that coffee shop every evening, jumping out of your skin every time the door opens, hoping against hope that he’ll walk through the door. And can you say if you are enjoying that experience? Is that fun? Is hope bringing you joy in those moments?’
Jerry hung his head. ‘Not really,’ he said.
‘I’ve had experience with a lot of men,’ announced Carol, a bit too loudly for Jerry’s liking. He glanced around and saw that many of their adjoining tables were staring at them. Carol seemed to be enjoying the attention.
‘I’ve seen it all,’ said Carol. ‘Literally everything.’ She turned to the two ladies staring at her on the next table. ‘Everything,’ she confirmed. ‘No man can shock me any more. Once a man told me he was a heart surgeon and so he really had to look after his hands, which was why he had weekly manicures. I didn’t question this, nor his neatly trimmed pubic hair. Turned out he was a porn star.’
The women’s jaws dropped, as did Jerry’s. Carol did not elaborate but efficiently ordered avocado on toast with smoked salmon from the passing waitress.
‘He’s not a porn star,’ said Jerry. ‘He’s not the type.’
‘Have you checked his nails?’
‘Not really.’
‘Pubic hair?’
‘No! Of course not. We’ve never even touched, never mind seen each other naked.’
Carol stared back at him. ‘It’s all very strange, though, isn’t it? I mean, he’s not given you much to go on, has he? He could be a porn star.’
‘I’m not sure they spend their time in Starbucks, sipping Eggnog Lattes and chatting to strangers.’
‘Who knows?’ said Carol.
‘He said he worked in the arts,’ said Jerry.
‘Acting is in the arts. Porn is acting.’
‘Is it, though?’
‘Of course it is. Apparently acting turned on is the hardest type of acting.’
‘Not helping, Carol.’
‘Are you sure? I’m just saying you may have had a lucky escape from a porn star, that’s all. Look on the bright side of all this.’
Jerry looked at her. ‘Not sure there is a bright side,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t want me. Even when he saw me singing carols by candlelight, he still didn’t want me.’
‘I don’t think I believe that and neither do you. If you really believed that, you wouldn’t be hanging out in that coffee shop waiting for him to come back.’
Jerry shrugged. ‘Perhaps,’ he said.
‘Like I said, I’ve seen everything,’ Carol went on. ‘Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt that says all men are bastards on it. But I’m confused on this one. Coming to a frigging candlelit carol concert to say you’re not interested. No man does that.’
‘He did,’ said Jerry.
‘Mm,’ said Carol, deep in thought. ‘Baffling, absolutely baffling.’
The following evening Jerry sat in the coffee shop with faint hope yet again, despite his conversation with Carol. He’d tried to go straight home, or to a different coffee shop, even, but he just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t quite give up on the hope that tonight would be the night. He did, however, sit with his back to the door with earphones on, deciding that he would have a heart attack if he jumped out of his seat every time he heard the door open.
He was listening to a podcast about the origins of the musical Hamilton when he saw out of his left eye an Eggnog Latte appear on the table in front of him.
He’d recognise that hand anywhere, he thought. And it was neat and clean, but definitely not manicured, he would report back to Carol. He looked up. Coffee-shop man was smiling down on him.
‘Is that for me?’ asked Jerry, trying to be nonchalant – whatever that meant.
Coffee-shop man nodded back.
‘Semi-skimmed and no cream?’ asked Jerry.
He nodded again. ‘Just how you like it,’ he said. ‘May I join you?’
Hope was flooding into Jerry like a tidal wave. He swallowed, trying to stop the narrative going on in his head from overwhelming him. The narrative being that he’d arrived to tell Jerry he’d made a massive mistake and he’d actually like to invite him to ice skate with him at Somerset House, and they would make their way down there and then glide across the ice like Torvill and Dean, giggling and laughing, until Jerry would accidentally on purpose fall over and he would have to haul him up and then he would fall in his arms and they would kiss, right there on the ice in front of everyone. Yes, Jerry needed to stop these romantic Christmas thoughts and concentrate on the fact that coffee-shop man had merely settled himself down in front of him on a chipped chair and was currently unwinding his red scarf before placing it neatly on the table between them.
Jerry weighed up what he should say before he decided that he didn’t need to say anything. Coffee-shop man had asked to sit with him and so he should spark the conversation. Jerry picked up his Eggnog Latte and sipped it. Yes, exactly how he liked it. He just fell in love with coffee-shop man a tiny bit more.
‘So how have you been?’ he asked Jerry.
Jerry wanted to be honest. Miserable, he wanted to say, since a man raised my hopes of some Christmas romance, only to dash them by walking away.
Instead he said, remembering to angle his good side, ‘Peachy. You?’
He didn’t answer. He picked up his Earl Grey tea, no milk, sipped, then set it down again.
‘Pretty miserable, actually,’ he said.
Serves you fucking right, Jerry wanted to reply. But he didn’t. He kept shtum.
Jerry watched as he scratched his head, then leaned forward and put his head in his hands. For a moment Jerry thought he was going to cry. Then what would he do? He had no idea. He found himself starting to feel sympathy for this man. This man who had played with his emotions. Bloody hell. This was not the time or the place to feel sympathy for the man who had broken his heart.
He looked up and rubbed his face before setting his hands on his knees and opening his mouth to speak.
‘I wanted to come and apologise,’ he said.
Brilliant, thought Jerry. He’s come to apologise. What good was that going to do him?
‘Now don’t roll your eyes,’ the man said.
‘I didn’t,’ replied Jerry.
‘You did. I can’t blame you, but you did. You rolled your eyes in the same way as you did when I admitted that Wicked was one of my favourite musicals.’
‘Well, you deserved it then. How can you say Wicked is a favourite when you have Hamilton and Six and The Book of Mormon and Cabaret to pick from? I mean, get real, Wicked is good, but it ain’t that good.’
‘All right,’ he grinned. ‘Calm down. I should have known better than to raise the issue of musicals when I needed to say something important.’
Jerry’s hope went through the roof again. Something important? That had to be good, right? Like, really good. He tried to control his breathing and not look hopeful. He took another sip of Eggnog Latte.
‘I need to apologise for not explaining my situation properly last week.’
Jerry’s hope flopped again. Explaining a ‘situation’ was not what he needed to hear. A situation sounded set, settled, stuck. If he’d said he wanted to explain the situation he was in, then that would have more hope to it. Instead, he was reading that nothing had changed whatever his situation was, and so hope was out of the window again. Jerry became aware that as he was thinking this through, coffee-shop man had started speaking again and he wasn’t listening. He suddenly stopped speaking and Jerry was aware he hadn’t heard a word he’d said.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Jerry. ‘Could you repeat that? The background noise, you know …’
He took a deep breath. ‘I said that I’m married.’
Deep and utter confusion, followed by anger. Jerry was now totally in the moment.
‘What do you mean, you’re married?’
‘You know what I mean by married.’
Jerry rolled his eyes again.
‘Well, actually no, you don’t know what I mean by married. Because … well, there is something else, you see …’
‘How long have you been married?’
‘Twenty-one years.’
‘Fucking hell!’ said Jerry, leaping back as though someone had hit him. ‘Twenty-one years and you’re dangling me on a bit of string. What the hell are you doing?’ Jerry got up to leave. He’d heard enough.
‘No, wait, you don’t understand.’
‘Don’t understand? Oh, I’m not stupid. I totally understand. Getting a bit bored, were you? Thought you’d try a bit of flirtation, did you, to spice things up a bit? Have you been going back to your husband and telling him all about this guy in the coffee shop who’s into you and you’re just having a little play? Messing with his feelings in the interests of spicing up your marriage?’
‘It’s not been like that at all. You really don’t understand.’
‘Oh, I do. It’s a tale as old as time. What happened? Did you bottle it? Were you about to come up with the line – “I’m married but we live separate lives, my husband doesn’t understand me”?’
‘I was going to tell you that I’m married but we live separate lives, but I wasn’t going to tell you that my husband doesn’t understand me because, well, because actually I think my wife really does understand me. Well, sort of … a big part of me, although obviously not this part of me because I barely understand it myself. Which is why I’ve been such a jackass, because I’m still trying to make sense of it.’
Jerry sat down with a thump.
‘You’re married to a woman?’
‘Yes.’
Jerry was floored. It explained so much and yet it explained nothing at all. That was the last thing he had been expecting.
‘How come?’ was all he could say.
Coffee-shop man shrugged. ‘I fell in love. We were young. This was twenty-five years ago. Being gay was still very much … well, you had to be very brave, braver than now, to come out then. And … me and my wife just got on really well and so that’s what you did, didn’t you, back then? You found a girl that you got on well with and married her. I loved her. I still do, but it’s like a platonic thing really. I was always aware that I did have feelings for men as well as women, but it was easier to suppress them. Easier to fall on the side of women. It made for a more straightforward life, I guess.’
‘So what? You think you’re, like, bisexual?’ asked Jerry.
He shrugged. ‘I guess that’s what you’d call it these days. If you had to put a label on it. Not sure that’s helpful, though. Makes everything too defined. I mean, how do you define love? It’s such a broad and varied thing. There are so many different types of love. All I know is that when I was in my twenties I loved and wanted my wife. I know I did. But we’ve grown apart. We don’t make each other happy any more. And … and something about you makes me think that you could make me happy.’
Jerry shook his head. ‘Why are you telling me this now?’ he said. ‘Why come back here tonight?’
Coffee-shop man stared at his fingers before raising his eyes to look at Jerry.
‘Because walking out of that church, without you, is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I cried all the way home on the Piccadilly Line.’
‘That’s a long line.’
‘It sure is.’
‘How many stops?’ asked Jerry. He hoped it was double digits. Double digits crying had to be worth something.
‘Maybe twelve, maybe thirteen.’
‘Good,’ Jerry found himself saying.
‘A hen party also got on at Charing Cross and tried to console me until Leicester Square. They invited me to join them to go and see Magic Mike at the Hippodrome, but I just couldn’t face it.’
‘You would never have got in.’
‘They had a spare ticket. Crystal from Epping couldn’t make it because she’d already passed out at the bottomless afternoon tea.’
‘Wow,’ said Jerry. ‘Poor Crystal.’
‘I guess.’
‘So what did the hen party ladies tell you to do?’
‘They told me to get off the tube and head straight back to the carol concert and sink to my knees in front of you and beg you to go out with me.’
‘Weren’t they on your wife’s side?’
‘You would have thought, wouldn’t you? They said they were always on the side of true love. The only side to be on.’
‘But you didn’t come back,’ said Jerry.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I decided I needed to talk to my wife first. Only I got back and she was all upset about Christmas stuff so I couldn’t do it to her. I couldn’t add this to her Christmas hell.’
‘Christmas is a kind of hell, isn’t it?’ said Jerry.
‘Sometimes,’ he replied.
‘So … where does that leave us this Christmas?’ asked Jerry, agonising over the fact that his dream Christmas seemed to be coming and going out of his future like a yo-yo.
Coffee-shop man scratched his head. ‘I think it leaves us at me sorting my life out over Christmas with the hope that, come the new year, I’m in a very different place. And I know that might sound like I’m fobbing you off, but I have a lot to do. I need to do right by my wife, somehow. To be honest, I don’t think she’ll be devastated about the end of our marriage; I’m sure she’s unhappy too. I have an idea of how I might be able to give her the life I know she really wants, to help her through this mess I’ve made of our lives, but I need to make that happen.’
‘It’s a lot to take in,’ said Jerry.
‘I know. And I thank you for your patience. Sorry, sounds as though I’ve been keeping you on hold for forty-five minutes. But I’m asking you if I can keep you on hold for just a little longer so that when I do come back for you, next time I can do it with a clear conscience.’
Being on hold, especially over Christmas, felt like Jerry’s worst nightmare but he could appreciate his honesty as well as his torment. He knew he was being totally and utterly genuine with him and he had to give him credit for that. As well as the fact that he would hold in his heart, throughout the difficult Christmas period, the words, Because walking out of that church, without you, is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. He literally couldn’t wait to tell Carol. It was by far and away the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to him and he would cherish the memory of those words coming out of someone’s mouth about him, for the rest of his life. He’d waited this long for him, so maybe he could bear to wait until after Christmas.
Jerry nodded his agreement on the plan. He picked up his mug of cold Eggnog Latte and tapped it against his tea.
‘Merry Christmas,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you on the other side.’