Laying a Ghost (33 page)
“Ye
have,
John. It’s not right. Men should be with women, get married and have families ...” His mother’s eyes were less angry and more hurt now as acceptance began to set in. “It’s not too late. You could still find a nice girl and settle down.”
“I could do
what?
” John stared at her, groping for words that wouldn’t hurt or insult her. “You’ve just seen me with Nick and you think -- oh Lord. Mother, I’m gay. I’m not going to ever go looking for a girl, nice or otherwise. If you’re meaning that you want to see me find someone I can love, well, he’s standing right there, but don’t ever --” He let go of her hand. “I know you’re upset, and you’ve every right to be. I’ve deceived you. For years, I’ve deceived you, although it wasn’t all for selfish reasons. But now you know and I’m glad of it. I -- I didn’t like you not knowing.”
He could feel the hot sting of gathering tears at the disillusioned, defeated look on her face, but he blinked them away. They wouldn’t help. Nothing would.
The kettle clicked off, and John turned to see Nick making tea, his back to the both of them, shoulders tense. He wished he could spare the man some comfort, and hoped that Nick would understand why he couldn’t.
“I’m sure everyone on the island knows by now,” his mother said. “You know how rumors spread. Young Moira’s telling anyone who’ll listen, and some of those that won’t, that she saw the two of you ... together ... last night when she went outside to smoke a cigarette. Not leaving what she saw up to folks’ imagination, neither.” Fresh tears glistened in her eyes. “Carson told me this morning, and I went over to let you know the lies she was spreading and to ask what you might have done to her to have her telling such tales, only to find you not at home. So I came over here.” She didn’t as much as look at Nick as he set a cup of tea in front of her.
There was something about all this that wasn’t right, but John couldn’t concentrate when he was finding it hard to get air into his lungs. Oddly, it wasn’t panic as much as anger that he was feeling. “The nosy, interfering, spiteful --” He ran out of ways to describe Moira that wouldn’t have had his mother’s eyes widening in affront more than they were already. “And you’re angry now, because you’re thinking I lied when I told you Nick wasn’t well. Think I left your party just so that I could be with him.” She bowed her head in what might have been assent, and he sighed. “That wasn’t a lie, Mother.” He pushed her cup nearer to her and watched her fingers curl around the handle automatically. “I wanted to be with him, aye, I did, but I’d not have left your party just for that. You know I wouldn’t.”
“Then why did you go?” Anne lifted her head, looking at him and then Nick, who was leaning against the counter with his eyes fixed on the empty doorway. “Did you fall out, the two of you? I saw
him
--” She indicated Nick with a sharp nod of her head. “-- leave in a hurry with a face on him that’d turn the milk, and you go after him, but I thought -- oh, I don’t know
what
I thought!”
“It was true, what he told you.” Nick sounded like he’d rather be doing anything than speaking. He wasn’t looking at either of them. “I wasn’t ... I see things, sometimes. I don’t want to. Saying that I’m ‘not well’ after it happens would be ... kind of an understatement.” His eyes shut. “No, not now. I can’t.” He looked at John. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m sorry, John.” And without pausing long enough to grab a jacket or to let John respond, Nick was gone, out the back door and shutting it loudly behind him.
“Nick!” John got to his feet, shoving his chair back and taking two steps toward the door before he changed his mind. He rounded on his mother, who was wide-eyed and pale, her hand covering her mouth. “Do you know what upset him last night? Do you?” He was shouting now, raising his voice to her as he’d never done in his life “He saw
Moira
--” He couldn’t help the way his mouth twisted as he said her name because it was like biting into something rotten. “If Moira had an ounce of compassion in her, which I doubt, she’d have seen that he was crying and I was doing no more than comforting him.
Christ
.”
He kicked out at his chair and sent it skidding across the floor, needing to do
something
to bleed off the tension rising in him, and then looked at his mother.
“And now you’ll be thinking we’re crazy, as well as abominations, or whatever the fuck you called me.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.
“That will do.” Anne stood up and walked over to him, her chin jutting out the way his own did when he was in a temper. The way it was now. “John, that will do.”
John took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to get hold of himself because, if nothing else, shouting at his mother wasn’t going to solve anything.
“Get yourself a cup of tea and sit down.” His mother gestured at a chair as if she expected him to obey.
Rather numbly, he did, sitting at the table with both hands wrapped around his mug and waiting for her to say whatever she was going to say. He was worried about her, and worried about Nick, but he didn’t feel anything at all for himself.
“Now, I understand that you’re upset, but I’ll not allow you to speak to me in that tone of voice. I raised you better than that.”
“Aye, you did.” John felt the heat of the mug scald his hands and welcomed the discomfort as a distraction. “And I’m sorry.” He swallowed some tea and looked at her, frowning slightly. She seemed calmer than he’d expected, or maybe, like him, she was so stunned with shock that one more wasn’t making any difference. “Do you believe me then? About what he can do? Because I swear it’s true, and
“I believe there’s something touched about the lad, and that’s the truth.” His mother held up a hand. “No, hush now and let me speak, John.” She took a sip of tea as if to give herself a moment to think. “Now, I don’t know him well enough to say he’s a bad sort, this Nick, but it’s clear to me that he’s not right in the head. I’m not saying it’s his fault -- his mother was always a bit touched, and I can’t say it’s a surprise to find out that he inherited that as well. He’s ill, John. I don’t know what it is he’s told you, but he’s managed to convince you of things that aren’t true, and I won’t stand for it. It’s not too late to change where this is headed -- you can still find a young woman to marry, have a few children, put all this behind you. You’re a good man, and you feel sorry for him, I can see that, but that’s no reason to jeopardize your own future.”
“Get out,” John said dully.
“What?”
John reached over and took the cup from her hand before standing up and taking it to the sink and emptying it. The brown liquid swirled around the plug hole, trickling away.
“John!”
“You’ll not sit in his house and talk about him like that.” John was unable to look away from the streaks of tea remaining in the sink. He turned on the tap and watched the spluttering stream of water chase the stains away. “It’s all a pack of lies anyway. His mother couldn’t do what he can; she just wanted to see more than this island, that’s all. She wasn’t touched; she was just restless. Adventurous. You want to blame him for me liking men, too, but you can’t. He didn’t do anything. I knew what I was -- oh God, how old was I? Fourteen? Aye, maybe. Fourteen, and as deep in love with Michael as you can be at that age.”
He turned to where she sat and said harshly, “Will you get out, as I’ve told you to?”
She shook her head, her lips shaping a word that he knew was a name.
“Aye. Michael. And since we’re holding nothing back; yes, he knew. He and Sheila both know what I am and how I felt about him. And they know about Nick, too, and they’re glad for me.”
“They may be saying so, and Michael’s a good enough friend to you that he’d not be rude to your face, I’m sure, but no decent person would be happy for someone who was ... that way.” Anne seemed incapable of being direct as far as the proper word for it went. “When word gets to Reverend Sinclair ... I hate to think. You’ll never be allowed to set foot in the church again if you admit that it’s true, you know that.”
“I don’t, but to be perfectly honest, I don’t care.”
“You will soon enough!” His mother rose to her feet again, her voice shrill. “When young Nick leaves the island, leaves
you
alone here with our good family name dragged through the mud. You won’t have a friend left, John. Please ... I beg you ... it’s not too late to turn this around. Please.”
“Will you just --” John heard his voice rise again and didn’t care. “For the last time of saying it, I can’t change and I’m done with lying about it. I know you’re not stupid but you’re acting as if you are.” He strode to the door and flung it open. “Out. And I don’t see Nick leaving, or why the hell he should, but if he does, I’ll be on the ferry with him, just so you know.”
“You wouldn’t!” His mother looked utterly horrified, as if the idea of him leaving Traighshee was something she’d never considered.
“I would, Mam; I care for him that much, you see.” John hated that this was so difficult for her, but he couldn’t help but feel that she was making it worse by refusing to see reason.
“John ...” Anne reached a hand toward him, and then let it fall back down at her side. “Very well. You need some time to think about things, and I won’t have it said that I wouldna give you that time. I’ve things to do -- your sister to thank properly for that party, for one. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Will you tell her?” John asked curiously as she walked past him through the doorway. She paused and glanced back at him. “Janet, I mean? Or does she already know? Christ, is there a mob waiting back at my house and all my windows broken?” He laughed without humor as her eyes widened. “What? I’m sure Sinclair could find a bit in the Bible to make that the right and proper thing to do.” A thought occurred to him and he said slowly, “They can do and say what the hell they like to me, but anyone goes near Nick or this house and I’ll sort them, you understand? You’ve been very ready to put this on him, Mam, but if I hear that you’ve been telling anyone else it’s his fault, I’ll not find it easy to forgive you.”
“I wouldn’t do that. And I’m not the one who’ll be needing forgiveness, John.” Anne turned and began to walk away.
John didn’t know if he should believe her, but he felt not the slightest desire to say anything else to her at that moment, so he let her go.
He stood there, the back door open, the crash of the sea against the shore nothing but a faint sound from here, the house silent around him, and wondered what the fuck he was going to do.
* * * * *
John ended up on his boat, heading out until Traighshee was a distant shape behind him and before him was nothing but the sea. Then he cut the engine and let the boat ride the gentle swell of the waves.
His mind was as empty as the blue sky above, but gradually as he sat on the wide wooden seat, his hands missing the weight of his fishing rod, it began to fill with scattered thoughts and emotions: dull misery over his mother’s reaction, and worry for Nick’s state of mind taking up the most space.
But really it was just too much to make sense of, and although the slow rock of the boat and the measured slap of the sea against the prow were enough to make his eyelids droop, he resisted the temptation to doze. He needed to, though; not like he’d had much sleep, now was it? Not with Nick and him wearing each other out, fucking until they couldn’t have come again if their lives depended on it and even then not being willing to stop kissing and touching and saying -- God, what hadn’t they said? Teasing each other, laughing, lying together with murmured words taking the places of kisses when they were too drowsy to move their heads the inch it would take to bring their lips together ...
It was thinking of Nick that finally got John headed toward shore again; none of this was Nick’s fault, and it wasn’t fair to leave him on his own to deal with it.
He’d barely beached the boat and started his car toward the center of the island -- not certain where he was going, just knowing that he should find Nick -- when he passed Paul Sutherland on the side of the road, walking with his sheep dog and a fishing pole. Paul raised a hand and John slowed the car automatically, not coming to a complete stop until they were even with each other.
“Fish biting?” Paul asked.
“I wouldn’t know.” John spoke more brusquely than he normally would, waiting for some kind of comment. Was this what life would be like from now on? Always wondering when someone might say something?
Paul nodded. “Hear you’ve been busy with other things.” John pressed his foot to the floor, leaving a cloud of dust behind him.
In the mirror he saw Paul turn to gape after him, looking startled, but what did he expect? John braked sharply and turned onto a side road that led back to town. Nick would have to wait. He wasn’t having this. Let them all take a good look at him, let them all get the chance to point and whisper, and, if they had the guts, let them come and say what they wanted right to his face. His hands gripped the steering wheel hard. God, he wanted to hit someone right now, more than he’d ever wanted to in his life.
And if Moira was one of the people he bumped into, he might forget that he’d been brought up never to lay a hand on a woman.
He went to Geordie’s place and drank his first glass of whiskey standing at the bar before retreating to a dark corner with his second and a beer. There’d been a bit of smirk from Geordie, but nothing more once he’d seen the look on John’s face.
No one approached him. A few people did look in his direction, but with what appeared to be curiosity rather than anything else. John had managed to get several more drinks into him before the door opened and a large gang of men came in, laughing and patting each other on the backs. They went to the bar without so much as a glance at John, continuing to talk loudly as they ordered their first round and then made their way to some tables that had to be pushed together. It became clear from their discussion that they were celebrating some team’s victory -- John had never cared for sports all that much, and was enough out of the loop after the past few days that he had no idea what match they were pleased with the outcome of.
