Ghosts in the Morning (21 page)

‘Mum, did you hear me? I said I think I’m gay,’ Simon repeated. And then
suddenly
he started to cry. ‘Dad’s going to kill me,
I know he is, he’ll probably
going to
...probably going to
disown me
-’

‘No, Simon,
don’t be silly,
he would never – ’

‘Yes he will Mum, you know what he’s like,
he’s
old-fashioned and
all
that
. Okay, y
eah, sure he might not be completely homophobic, but he won’t
be able to bring himself to
accept
it. Nor will Ian and Daniel, the
y are not going to wan
t a gay brother.’ Simon’s slender body heaved with racking sobs.

I put my arms around my youngest son. I was tired, so tired, I hadn’t slept well after the previous night’s visit from the police. Daniel had come in from the kitchen, demanding to know what it was all about, and Graham had fobbed him off with some story about the police just checking up on one of his audit clients. Daniel didn’t look convinced, but he could see from Graham’s expression that it was pointless to ask any further questions.

I had gone to bed and stared at the ceiling for hours. Graham had stayed downstairs, I had heard
the
dull plop of the stopper coming out of the decanter. Brandy. Graham didn’t drink
brandy
much,
he
usually stuck to the wine,
and
maybe an occasional beer. He must have fallen asleep on the sofa, he didn’t come upstairs until the early hours of the morning
, waking me from my eventual fitful sleep as he clattered around the bathroom, lifting the toilet seat with a harsh clang. He hadn’t even bothered to brush his teeth, and the rank smell of last night’s fish had mingled unpleasantly with the brandy as he snored across the bed. I hadn’t slept at all after that.

‘It’s okay, Simon, it’s okay. Everything will be okay, I promise.’ Then I started to cry too. All I had ever wanted was a normal family, I had fought hard for that after the care home, after...after what had happened to me, but now it was all falling apart, the police...I couldn’t bear it, I couldn’t bear to lose my family, my freedom, not after everything, I couldn’t let this happen.

The tears dripped on our faces, and I squeezed Simon tighter
.

Chapter 13

Bang!

The sudden explosion of the crackers made me jump, and I clutched the tray. It wouldn’t do to drop the turkey, all fourteen pounds of free-range Kelly
B
ronze
.

‘Happy Christmas, Mum!’
shouted
Simon, and kissed me on the cheek. I could smell lager on his breath
. H
e had been to the pub with his brothers and Graham for a Christmas lunchtime drink
, an annual tradition that extended only to the male members of our household. But
I had welcomed the peace, it had allowed me space and time to get on with the Christmas dinner preparations.

‘Do they still give you a free pint at the pub?
I’m sure t
hey always used to on Christmas Day,’

‘No, Mum, unfortunately not
, tight bastards these days
,’ Daniel said
, and then turned back to his task of trying to throw streamers into Ian’s long hair.

‘Right, come on you two, sit down and stop mucking about,’ Graham said, in a mock firm voice. ‘ Your Mum’s putting the lunch on. Simon, go and help your mother carry the plates in.’

‘Why me
? W
hat about those two, why do I have to be the maid,
I mean,
what are you implying?’

‘No, er, I didn’t mean that, I didn’t mean...’ There was an awkward pause by Graham. He had taken the news of Simon’s sexuality surprisingly well-
‘oh, right,
okay,
so he’s gay
? I
s he sure, right okay, yes, no problem, of course that’s no big deal, not in this day and age, and I for one am certainly not homophobic, no way
, besides we’re not really that surprised are we’
-but unfortunately he was over-compensating his acceptance, as if to show that he
really really
was totally fine with it,
to demonstrate that
he
truly
was a modern man. He had even told Simon that he was more than happy for Simon to bring a ‘special friend’ to Christmas lunch if he wanted to. This just
served to make
Simon even more embarrassed.

‘I’m only messing with you, Dad,’ winked Simon, and Graham joined in the laughter with his sons.

Conversation over lunch was muted. Ian and Daniel gently teased Simon-‘
Simon, you’d better make sure you have the pink paper hat
’ and ‘
oh look, a nail set in this cracker, that can be for Simon then
’, but there was no malice. Simon smiled and looked a little sheepish, still coming to terms with
his
coming out, but beneath that I could detect
his huge relief.
He
had
spoken to his brothers only the day before, had
gone himself into a bit of a state trying to work out how to tell them he was gay, but in the end it had been far easier than he had thought it would be. The
y had responded with simple shrug.
‘Not a big deal, Simon, mate, not a big deal. You’re our brother, for God’s sake, it’s not like we’re going to feel any different about you. Unless you start hitting on our mates, of course. Just joking, Si, just joking.’

‘
Not
really
a great surpri
se, to be honest, was it Mum?
’ Ian had
quietly
said to me afterwards.

I used to love Christmas when the boys were small. Their Christmas sacks, stuffed full with toys, would be waiting for them in the lounge, in front of the fireplace. A
n empty
tumbler, that
had held a shot of brandy and an ice cube the night before
, would be sat on the
mantlepiece
–
just a little one for Santa, kids, remember he has to drive his sleigh
, we don’t w
an
t him crashing into any chimneys -
together with
the remnants of a mince pie. The carrot left for Rudolph would be gone, leaving only its
sprouty green top. I always tried really hard to make Christmas morning as special as I could for the boys, perhaps I was trying to overcompensate for the distinct lack of Christmas spirit in my own childhood.

I had known from a very young age that Father Christmas didn’t exist, my Mum had made sure of that. ‘
It’s no good
you believing in all of that rubbish, Andrea, there is no Father Christmas, there never has been, so don’t go expecting lots of expensive presents for Christmas, ‘cos the only Santa is me and I can’t afford it. But don’t go telling any of your mates, though, ‘cos some people think it’s a good idea to keep up all the bullshit, they get annoyed when someone spoils it, so best leave them in the dark, right?’
I had nodded, strangely sad at finding out that there was no magic at Christmas, this large jolly man with the red coat the fluffy beard was just make-believe. I would have liked to believe, even for a short time.

I was determined that
my boys
would enjoy Christmas.
Graham and I used to make the
m
wait at the top of the stairs
;
they weren’t allowed to set one foot on those stairs until Graham and I
linked hands and then
rang our special Christmas bell. Graham would take his time getting his dressing gown on,
pretending to fiddle with the belt
, as
the anticipation buil
t
to a frenzy until it seemed as if the boys would explode with excitement.

It wasn’t the same now
, of course
. Graham and I never linked hands now, and today, this Christmas Day,
t
he boys-well,
they were
men now, I suppose
-
shuffled down late,
with the
evidence of a previous night’s boozing thick on their breath.

Graham was quiet
during the lunch
. He made sporadic efforts to join in with the boys’ banter, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was
worried. Sulking too. We had spoken little during the last couple of days
. He had spoken to Ollie, the lawyer, the day before, and Ollie had
said he would make a few calls. A few hours later h
e
had
rung Graham back, said he had got in touch with Blud,
delayed him.
Ollie said that he
and Graham could pop in to the police station after the Christmas period and square it all off. Graham had thanked Ollie profusely, kept up a facade of calm as he bade Ollie a happy Christmas and then he had vented the rage that had built inside him. The boys were, thankfully, out.

‘Pop in to the police station, he says, like it’s just some fucking voluntary visit, like I want to spend my time fucking popping into the police station. Like some common criminal. And then he says we’ll “square it all off”-I mean, who the fuck uses language like that, he’s such a fucking posh twat that Ollie, why can’t he speak like a normal human being, and what the fuck does
‘
square it all off
’
mean anyway. I’ve practically been accused of...well...well...murder it seems, and we’re just going to “pop in and square it all off”. I don’t know what the fuck this is all about Andrea, is there some
thing you’re not telling me, there must be, I just-‘

‘Graham, I have told you, I have no idea what this is about.’ There was ice in my tone, but Graham didn’t hear it at first.

‘I mean, you drive that car most of the time, I usually use my convertible
-
’

‘Graham,’ I said, slightly louder. This time he heard the menace, the underlying ferocity in my voice. ‘How dare you accuse me of knowing anything about this. If you think th
at you can try and blame me for any of y
our sordid little c
arryings-on with that tart, you’ve got another think coming.
What’s even worse, is that I get told about it by hideous little copper with a smirk on his face. I’m standing there like some...like some...prat while Laurel and fucking Hardy are laughing behind their hands at the fat stupid wife whose husband has been shagging around with this secretary.’

‘That’s not fair, that’s-’

‘Not fair!
Not fair!
I’ll tell you what’s not fair. Me sitting at home like some mug while you’re getting your rocks off with every bloody dolly bird you fancy. No, no, Graham.’ I held up a warning hand. ‘I don’t want to hear any more. Just p
iss off out of my sight.’ Graham had slunk off like a wounded fox, and had slept in the spare room that night.

I sighed as I
finished washing
up the
larger bowls
from Christmas lunch.
All
of
the other plates were busy getting hosed in the large guaranteed-for-a-lifetime dishwasher, the second one
of those
we had had
in seven years
.
I had refused all offers of help
, I preferred to do it all myself. The boys would only be a hindrance,
they
would get under my feet – they would probably have played that silly game where they curled up the tea towels into what they called “rat’s tails” and then flicked these at each other’s buttocks, until one of them yelped in real pain. At which point, they would call the yelper a ‘complete wuss’. I thought I could live to be two hundred years old and still not
understand
why men
couldn’t just grow up, why they never lost the shackles of their
immaturity.

I topped up
my
wine glass and headed for the lounge.
Graham was sprawled across the sofa like a beached sea
l, half-watching the television
-
it looked like a nature programme
-
and half-reading the Radio Times. We only ever bought the Christmas edition of the Radio Times
. I often wondered how low its circulation must be during the rest of the year, did they even publish it any other month?

‘Where are the boys?’ I asked Graham. I saw him pick his nose, then roll his fingers together.

‘Ian and Daniel have gone out. Round to their friends, I suppose
,
I don’t think any of the pubs are open, so that’s my guess.
Simon’s
upstairs
watching TV in his room.’ Graham flicked his index finger against his thumb. ‘He’s probably watching a makeover show, I guess that’s the sort of thing they watch, isn’t it?’