Gilliflowers (42 page)

Work took over the men folk’s lives. Hearth and home fell by the wayside as they began to pour their energies into business matters. During the last week of September they barely touched base. Dick was covering for Reny who was on holiday as well as doing his own work and Shane was embroiled in some project-funding crisis. They were gone early and home late. I was simply the manservant who provided food and clean linen.

Taking a look on the bright side I had my new classes at the education centre to look forward to. They’d be fun, an opportunity to meet up with old friends, such as my literature ladies, and make new ones.

Things didn’t quite pan out as I hoped. For a start Dot, my best lady friend, had to drop out of Tai Chi because she had a bad fall previous to the first class on the thirtieth of September. She slipped on the bathroom floor and fell flat on her back fracturing her shoulder; making it unlikely she’d manage to get to any of the classes she’d signed up for.

Still, come the Tai Chi day I set off with a light heart and high expectations.

Nothing lived up. The class teacher had an intense attitude to her subject and an abrupt method of teaching it. Other of my lit lady friends attended, Alma and Mary, but neither of them were keen. They didn’t warm to the instructor, and neither did I.

She told me off for wearing jeans, which she said were inappropriate attire and told Mary off for talking instead of listening to her talk. At the end of the class Mary said she felt more stressed than she did at the beginning and didn’t think she’d be returning the following week.

It was a big disappointment. It would have been nice to talk about it, but Dick and Shane didn’t ask. It was plain they’d forgotten I was going to the class. It wasn’t valuable enough to be retained as important information and had been classified as spam and sent to their respective cerebral trashcans and promptly deleted.

Dinner table conversation revolved around their obsession with work and economics. I decided not to mention my class. It seemed trivial. Besides if they couldn’t be bothered to take an interest in my doings then sod them.

Walking into the lounge after washing up that evening I found them sitting on the couch holding hands. They’d been very touchy-feely with each other of late. Shane couldn’t walk past Dick without touching some part of him. It did nothing to sweeten my disposition. Taking a book I retired to the den and left the lovebirds alone.

Life continued on a downward spiral. My first Cooking with Flair class was almost as disappointing as the Tai Chi class and not because it also slipped under the bossy ones radar. We didn’t do any actual cooking. It was a planning class. The teacher was a pleasant but rather timid woman called Amanda. She recommended we plan the first term of classes around her speciality of Asian cookery, suggesting we kick off with a special lamb dish in honour of the Hindu festival of Diwali. I was mad keen. Learning to prepare and cook a range of oriental dishes really appealed to me. It would cock a snook at Leo who fancied himself as High Emperor of the wok. I gave it my vote.

Every class has dominant personalities who soon make known their presence.

Ken, a bombastic retired housing officer with a barrel chest soon took the reins of power in the cookery class. He was aided and abetted by Maureen a middle-aged middleclass matriarch with a bosom big enough to lay claim to being a new mountain range. They were kindred spirits. Ken claimed it was a waste of time concentrating on spicy foreign food. He had no desire to learn to cook it. It didn’t suit his palate or the palates of the people he entertained. Maureen agreed. Foreign food was best left to foreigners. They soon had the rest of the class and the teacher cowed.

Asian cooking was abandoned in favour of a range of more conventional homegrown meat and fish dishes whose only concession to ‘flair’ seemed to be the inclusion of root ginger, an ingredient that made my buttocks fearfully clench at memory of old intimacy.

As with the Tai Chi class I came away not knowing if I ever wanted to go back.

Bombast Ken and mountain range Maureen were bullies in their way. Poor Amanda had already proven she was no match for them. They’d rule the roost and run the class.

Shane’s work crisis deepened plunging him into a twat of a mood. He was tired and stressed and apt to nitpick faster and harder than a colony of monkeys engaged in a nitpicking competition. Nothing I did pleased him. He complained about meals and about me having the radio or CD player on too loud and also about how much money I was spending on needless junk. A box of assorted books I’d bought at a flea market was relegated to the garage because he was sick to death of me cluttering the place up with other folk’s trash. He did an assassination job on my housework standards informing me the kitchen looked as if it hadn’t been decently cleaned in weeks. There were tea stains around the sink and he could see cobwebs on the light fittings. It was a relief when he left the house.

Dick wasn’t much better. He off loaded his stress by being pernickety about clothes again. Autumn was setting in properly with cool misty mornings and damp cold evenings and as such he wanted to wear sweaters over his shirts. On the morning of my second Tai Chi class he gave me a ball-busting lecture when he discovered ‘bobbles’ on the cashmere jumper he’d chosen to wear. He also griped about it being stretched. A stern finger was wagged. It was obvious I hadn’t laundered it with due care and respect. If I didn’t pull my socks up and do my job properly he was going to give me a jolly good spanking. I was more than a little put out. Cashmere is bloody hard to keep looking good no matter how carefully it’s laundered. I don’t know why people buy articles made from the overpriced impractical fucking stuff.

I attended my Tai Chi session wearing appropriate regulation issue black tracki bottoms and a black tee. I looked like a Ninja. I was hoping to be de-stressed, enlightened and calmed. Alma and Mary had already abandoned the class and after half an hour I followed their example. I walked out. The instructor knew her stuff, but she was a humourless shrew without a shred of warmth. Her face never cracked a smile. It was like being under the instruction of a rabid Maoist with the power to make you ‘disappear’ if you didn’t conform exactly to the party line.

As before it would have been nice to talk about my woes, but the opportunity didn’t present. Dick and Shane were both home late, both shattered and both inclined to be irritable. The last thing they needed to hear was whining about a leisure class not working out.

Next evening Shane got home from work and decided to have a glass of milk before going for a shower. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was hungry. The milk would take off the edge, but not fill him up. Opening the fridge door he caught a whiff of something unsavoury. Putting on his bulldog detective hat he investigated, discovering something disgusting in the bottom of the fridge. From his reaction you’d be forgiven for thinking he’d discovered an alien had wanked off in the salad drawer leaving a puddle of green spunk behind, instead of it being slime from a portion of cucumber I’d forgotten about. It had gotten buried under other stuff and slowly decayed. I was hauled over the coals for my sluttish housekeeping and the seat of my jeans got a dusting.

The rest of the evening took on what was becoming a familiar pattern, them talking work while discreetly touching each other up. I don’t think they were aware of doing it. It was something instinctive. I was invisible, the oil on the cog that kept the domestic wheel turning. I was beginning to feel like God’s lonely man.

I served dinner while wishing I’d opted for a Cooking with Cyanide class instead of Cooking with Flair. They’d soon pay me kind care and attention if I were standing there waving a bottle of antidote under their noses. I understood things were worrying. Work is vitally important to them. It was natural for them to give it their all in these troubled times, but it would have been nice to be spared a glance that wasn’t rimed with irritation and criticism.

When dinner was done and coffee served I returned to the kitchen to clean up. As ordered I also tidied out the fridge, getting rid of the manky stuff and giving the shelves and interior a good wash. Shane was right to be cross. I had let hygiene lapse.

The salad drawer was a biohazard zone. I discovered mushrooms with an impressive mould on them. There’s nothing worse than fungus on your fungus. Thank God he hadn’t spotted them. I’d have been packed off to the Houseboy School of Correction and only allowed home for the holidays.

Work done I padded up the hall towards the lounge, stooping to pick up a bruised white rose petal from the hall floor. One of the men folk must have brought it in on the sole of their shoe. There was no television on in the lounge. I clearly heard Dick’s voice. His words brought a chill to my skin.

“Do you think we’ll ever get to go to Portugal again? It seems forever since we’ve been away together.”

“I don’t know, cariad. I really don’t know. Let’s see what happens with his meds.

Hopefully he’ll stabilise properly now he’s on something like a proper dose.”

I stood for a few moments rolling the frail petal between my fingers pressing out the moisture until it was no more than a gossamer thread. First I was
someone
and now
his and he
. It was as if they were distancing themselves from me. Discarding the thread I walked into the room. They were on the couch in a position reeking of emotional intimacy. Dick was curled on his side, his head on Shane’s lap. He looked to be half asleep. Shane was playing with his hair, running silky strands through his fingers. He looked up as I walked in.

“Cleaned the fridge?”

I nodded. “Would either of you like something, a drink?”

“No thank you, hun,” Dick didn’t open his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Shane asked for a coffee, instant would do. I went to make it, chewing at my left thumbnail as I waited for the kettle to boil. Dick’s words echoed around in my head.

He had sounded so wistful. It was past the time of year they used to go away on their own. Portugal was their special place. The place they went as a couple. They always said they needed the time together to reconnect and be a twosome for a while. It helped reaffirm and strengthen their relationship with each other and consequently with me. This would be their second year without a break.

I rubbed my forehead with the heel of my hand. Maybe their immersion in work was a substitute way of reconnecting by virtue of it not involving me, like the pre-anniversary sex that had left me on the other side of the door. I reluctantly acknowledged a truth. They were desperate for space to be Dick and Shane without the Gilli complication. I suppose in some way it was like parents needing a break from their kids.

I carried Shane’s coffee into the lounge mulling over thoughts of telling them it was okay, they could go away. I’d be fine. I made to hand the mug to him only I somehow jerked it and a glob of hot black coffee splashed onto Dick’s shoulder making him yelp with pain and sit bolt upright. His sudden move made me step back.

More coffee slopped over the rim. It burned the back of my hand and I almost dropped the mug in shock, only just managing to steady it with my other hand, but not without losing half the contents.

“You bloody idiot!” Shane bellowed as black coffee sprayed the tabletop, the rug, the couch and his and Dick’s trousers.

Quickly setting the depleted mug on the coffee table I fled the lounge, racing upstairs to the bedroom. My right hand was scalded. I sat down on the bed examining it. There was a small patch of shiny red skin that looked like it might blister. It was hurting, but not as much as Shane’s furious denouncement of me as an idiot. He was right though. I’d been thinking about doing something noble and ended up doing something stupid. I was a fucking idiot all too often. I wiped away tears and stood up as he strode into the bedroom. “It was an accident. I’m sorry. I’ll clean up.”

“Dick is doing it.” He came to me putting his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry for shouting at you, Gilli. I’m tired and short tempered tonight. I got a fright.”

“Is it all right if I go out for a walk?”

“Not if it’s a way of avoiding me because I’ve upset you. Is my apology accepted?”

“Yes.”

He searched my face. “Am I also forgiven?”

“Yes, of course.” I managed a smile. “I want some exercise. It’ll make me feel better.” He gave his permission and then began to change his coffee stained trousers. I slipped wallet and keys into my trouser pockets, put my shoes on and got my coat from the cloakroom cupboard under the stairs.

Dick came out of the lounge carrying a basin of cloudy water. “You okay, Gil?

Shane made up with you?”

I nodded. “Sorry for splashing you. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, honey, and there’s no real harm done. Where are you going?”

“For a walk and then I’ll call in on Eileen. Give you and Shane some space.”

“There’s no need.”

There was every need. I hit the street. It was cold and damp, a typical October evening tinged with an odour of summer death. Plants and flowers were rapidly rotting down to slushy matter. The street lamps were hazy with water vapour. It would thicken overnight shrouding the morning landscape in mist.

I did a brisk turn around the block and then called on Eileen. Her house was in darkness. I knew Reginald had asked her out for dinner once or twice, maybe she’d finally accepted. I stood deliberating for a few minutes deciding I wasn’t ready for home.

My feet carried me to an old comfort zone. The Rose and Crown. Bypassing the huddle of ousted smokers by the entrance I pushed open the door and went inside. It felt welcoming. I was greeted with nods of recognition from a couple of patrons. I nodded in return. The landlady was serving behind the bar. She smiled, saying, “I haven’t seen you in here for a while.” I smiled back, but offered no explanation for my absence. None was required. She was offering a courtesy not inviting intimacy.

It was all too easy to hook up with my old mate Stella. I wanted solace. She was every bit as beautiful as I remembered. I buried my face in her cool golden bosom with a sigh of sheer pleasure. The first delicious mouthful of amber nectar was quickly followed by a second mouthful, and then a third. The metaphorical cock crowed. The houseboy had fallen.