Christmas At Leo's - Memoirs Of A Houseboy (18 page)

“Only those you don’t perceive as being any kind of threat or competition, such as those old ladies you’re so fond of. They fuss and pet you and tell you how wonderful you are.”

“Maybe I am fond of my old ladies and maybe I do like being petted by them and told how wonderful I am. It makes a change from being slagged off and put down by all the old men I hang out with. I’m sick of it.”

Leo was saved from making a reply by the arrival of Jak, who called a greeting as he entered the house. I was in no mood for meeting and greeting unicycle man. Undoing my apron I pulled it off and dumped it on a counter. “I need some fresh air. I’m going for a walk around the garden.”

“Lunch is almost ready. I’m putting the soup on to heat.”

“Stuff lunch.”

“I’ll be putting it on the table in five minutes. Don’t be late, or uncle Leo will have to report you to Daddy. You don’t want your naughty bottom smacking again.”

I gave him what I hoped was a withering look. “You’re so not funny,
Leonard
.”

“My given name is Leo, not Leonard, as you very well know, you saucy guttersnipe.”

“Whatever you say,
Lenny!”
Wrenching open the back door, I stepped outside, striding away from the house as fast as I could.

Chapter Seven - Vienna Boys

It was cold outside. My bare arms developed a thick rash of goosebumps. I put my hands in my pockets in an effort to keep warm. At least it wasn’t raining, though moisture from the morning downpour hung in the air, threatening to turn to ice crystals as the afternoon temperature dropped. There was no snow forecast for Christmas, but it looked like we’d get a decent frost.

I wandered around without really seeing anything of the handsome grounds. My mood plummeted once again. I wished I hadn’t gone to visit my mother the day before. I’d felt desolate ever since. It was bloody ridiculous. I blinked away another rush of eye juice. It had revived too many memories with all their associated feelings. I couldn’t shake them off. Talk about the spectres of Christmas past.

I sat down on a wrought iron bench, inhaling the fusty smell of the winter garden. Taking my hands out of my pockets I shoved them between my knees, hunching my shoulders.

I was pretty sure my mother had intended the memory box to be a consoling kind of thing. I wasn’t comforted. To me the box represented the penultimate stage in the forever severing of our relationship. It was her pushing me away -
there you go, son, it’s all in there, everything we ever were. Done with.
The things in the box were all likely to be related to the ‘good’ bits of our relationship, the bits she liked and wanted to remember, when I was small. There’d be none of the post ‘coming out’ me.

She’d also given me a grandfather I never knew. How could I relate to him in any way? There wasn’t even a photo to give me visual aid. Her father was her special memory and she wanted me to honour it by singing at her funeral. How could I give such precious remembrance the reverence it deserved?

Jealousy, as inappropriate as ever, dropped in for a visit. Parking his scaly green arse on the bench next to me, he gave me an elbow jab in the ribs:
you have no memories of a proud and loving dad, do you, Gil, not even a fucking photo to look at. All you have to look back on is Frank.

My thoughts turned back to the day I’d left home. It had been a bright, but bitter cold February day with a threat of snow in the air. I walked to the train station, sitting on the freezing platform for hours, uncertain of what to do and where to go. I had ideas of going to London, but was too scared to follow through. In the end, I wiped away my tears, and headed for Lee’s house.

His parents were upset when I told them I’d been thrown out. They hated the idea of me quarrelling with my mother. They begged me to try and make up with Frank, offering to talk to him for me. I’d rather have died than go crawling to Frank. I was a stubborn little bastard even then. Anyway, he wouldn’t allow me back in. He’d wanted rid of me for years. I pictured his face as it had looked when I left the house. Triumphant wasn’t in it. It was as if he’d cleansed his house of vermin. I also couldn’t forgive mum for not standing up for me.

Of course, if we dredge up one of my old mates yet again, Mr Hindsight, he’d say that my refusal to at least try to return home was my way of punishing my mother for her perceived rejection of me. Still, she knew where I was. She could have sought me out and asked me to return. She didn’t. The days passed and there was no word from her. Lee’s mum tried phoning her, and even calling at the house, but all she ever got was Frank, and he made it plain I was unwelcome under his roof.

I couldn’t go on staying with Lee’s family. I felt I was imposing, not that they ever said so. I knew they were uncomfortable with the idea of ‘harbouring’ me and prolonging the rift between mum and me. I also didn’t want to risk my friendship with Lee. I sensed that the dynamics of our relationship would change if I stayed in his house for any great length of time. I didn’t want him viewing me as a rival for his family’s affection.

I had a few friends in college and also at the bi-monthly rainbow youth club I attended. I did a bit of couch surfing amongst them, crashing a night here and there, when their parents permitted. A friend at the youth club mentioned my predicament to another friend who knew someone who lived in a squat. A meet was arranged and approval given for me to doss down in the squat.

At first I was excited. I thought it would be fun, a laugh. It wasn’t. It was roughing it under the roof of a damp dilapidated old house utilised by assorted stoners and junkies. Some smoked weed, some snorted coke and others injected what looked like dirty brown water into their veins day after day. Some did all of it with a side order of cheap alcohol thrown in, and often up. The place was littered with used needles. You’d have to be a fakir with a death wish to risk walking around barefoot in that place. It stank of skunk cannabis and rodent piss, unwashed bodies, vomit, and hopelessness.

People who live in squats tend to have issues of one kind or another and they don’t make for easy company. Baked happy hippy types tend to be a product of film fantasy. In reality, consistent drug users have a harder edge. Some of the squatters could be aggressive when under the influence of their drug of choice. I hated it. I’d had a silly, sentimental hope of finding a surrogate ‘family’ to belong to. We’d all live together in happy harmony like the cast of ‘Friends.’ The reality was a far cry.

I was scared all of the time, weeping myself to sleep at night, huddled on the filthy floor. I was cold and often hungry. There was no real sense of camaraderie among those dwelling in the house. It was all about survival and every man and woman for themselves. People stole your things, your food, your drink, your sleeping bag, in fact anything that could be exchanged or sold for a fix. Nothing was sacred. You had to cart everything around or lose it.

Things went from bad to worse. I woke up one night to find one of the guys going through my pockets in search of cash. Christ knows I had little enough without some crackhead stealing it to finance another hit. He got nasty when I shoved him off, boxing punches at my head and threatening to slit my throat while I slept. Next day, he claimed to have no memory of the incident and tried to laugh it off. I remembered, and not with amusement. I couldn’t sleep after it.

Some of the druggies funded their habits by selling sex. Noises began to be made about using my body for monetary gain. Young virgins of either sex invite a high price. It was hinted that I owed dues for being allowed to stay in the squat. Selling my tight young arse would be a way to obtain the money to settle them, or even just selling a few blowjobs. It would be no big deal. I might even enjoy it. I didn’t want to. Something told me that giving a blowjob for cash was step one in the rent boy’s career guide. Once on the sex for sale ladder there’d be no getting off.

The atmosphere in the squat grew increasingly ugly and threatening. My face didn’t fit and I was resented. Lisa, a wasted twenty-year-old with loose teeth and yellowing skin stretched over a skeletal frame, found a shred of morality and warned me that I was being touted. I was terrified of being drugged and raped to order.

I had to get out, and fast. I needed a place of my own, but I was sixteen with no real income to speak of. Landlords were hardly going to throw luxury penthouses in my direction. I was hanging on to my Saturday job by the skin of my teeth, but I’d lost the paper round. I needed my bike to do it and my bike was at home. Angry pride prevented me from asking for it and besides, Frank had kicked up a stink about the cost when mum had bought me it, imbuing it with guilt and spoiling it for me. He could shove it up his arse and peddle it to hell.

I did get a place, by hook and by crook, but at least not by enforced or desperate prostitution. It was a tiny, less than salubrious bedsit. In fact, in its way it was as nasty as the squat, but I inhabited it alone. I thought procuring a bedsit was a sign of things on the up, and for a very short time it was, until I fucked up again.

“Gilli! Lunch is on the table. Hurry up.”

I felt a surge of annoyance when Shane’s voice hailed me from the back door. I didn’t want food. I wanted to be left alone. Another shout, a more impatient one, made me get up and walk back towards the house.

He gave me a keen look as I approached. “What have you been doing?”

“Getting some air.”

“It doesn’t seem to have done you much good, if that curdled look on your face is anything to go by.”

“I haven’t had enough, that’s why. I need to go for a good walk.”

“You’ve had enough exercise today, and you’ve kept everyone waiting as it is. I told them to start without you.”

“Fine. I don’t mind. It’s not like I’m the Queen. You don’t need a royal command from me to start eating. I told Leo I wasn’t hungry.”

“You’ll manage a bowl of soup.” Taking my arm, he ushered me inside and closed the door. “You’re freezing cold. Go and get your top. It’s in the hall, on the end of the banister.”

“I don’t need it.” I tried to free my arm, only to have it gripped harder.

He leaned towards me, speaking quietly. “Fetch your top, and then straighten that surly face and get in the dining room. I don’t want you slipping out of sight again, not without my permission. Clear?”

I gave a nod and tried to pull away, but he retained his grip and repeated the last word he’d said. “Clear?”

I nodded again. It wasn’t good enough.

“Answer me properly, you’re not a nodding dog.” Whisking me sideways he gave my bottom a firm slap. The sound of the dining room opening set my stomach churning in panic. I tried again to pull away from Shane, but he retained his hold. I didn’t want whoever was coming out to find me in such a compromising position. I quickly spoke the words he wanted to hear. “It’s clear.”

“It’s clear…” he leaned closer towards me, his raised brows signifying a question mark.

“Daddy.” I gave him the title that acknowledged his power over me.

“Thank you.” He let go of my arm.

I exited the kitchen as fast as I could, crossing paths with Jak in the hall.

“All right, Gilli?”

“Fine thanks, Jak.” I grabbed my hoodie off the end of the banister and slipped it on, though I didn’t really need it. The encounter with Shane had heated my blood.

“I’m getting a bottle of lager. Shall I get you one?”

I shook my head.

“Still abstaining?” He slapped a look of false surprise on his face. “You’ve got more willpower than I thought you had. Leo has some Cobra Zero. Want me to grab you one?”

“No thanks.”

“Can’t say I blame you. Horrible stuff. Cobra by name, snake venom by taste.” He patted me on the shoulder in a display of fake sympathy. “Christmas on the wagon eh. Rather you than me, man.”

Shane intervened before I could retaliate, his voice sharp.

“Go and do what you have to do, Jak, or none of us will get any lunch today.”

“About time.” Leo glared at me as I walked into the room. Standing up, he took the lid off the soup tureen. “This won’t be as hot as it should be now. The flavour will be spoiled. Have you any idea how long it took to make this. It deserves some respect. You serve it hot or you serve it cold, lukewarm just won’t do.”

“Sorry.” I sat down next to Dick. Leo ladled out a bowl of the clear beef consommé and set it before me.

Dick gave one of his gentle smiles. “We were wondering where you’d gotten to.”

“I needed some fresh air.” I dropped my voice, glancing at Shane, who had seated himself at the table opposite me. “I’m getting fed up of not being allowed my own space.”

“Sup your soup, hun. It really is delicious.”

I picked up my spoon and tried the soup. It was strong and tasty. I gave Leo a sweet smile. “This is nice, almost as good as Baxters.”

He gave me a haughty look. “It’s far superior to anything out of a can.”

“Of course it is, Leo.” Dick adopted a soothing tone. “Gilli is just joking. You know what he’s like.”

“Yes, a right royal pain in the rump.”