Love and Robotics (66 page)

“Are you alright, Alf?” Ken asked.

“Indigestion,” he grunted.

“I’m not surprised,” Gussy said. “Bottomless pit for a stomach, that’s you -”

Ken guffawed. He was lying on the grass, an arm around Gussy; now he put his wrist against Alfred’s. It only lasted seconds but made him blink.

Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. I won’t do that to Gussy.

Try as he might, he couldn’t get Ken out of his head. He did whatever he could - flirtations, hook-ups in the grounds. It didn’t matter how many pretty boys he propositioned in book shops. As he clutched them, came into them, his thoughts were of somebody tall, dark and diabolical. His only defence was to keep away from him. There couldn’t be a repeat performance.

One night Alfred was in bed reading Lewis Sinclair’s
Globetrottings.
It was the book that made him want to be an explorer. He’d written to the great man when he was twelve, carrying his reply around until it fell to bits.

He’d locked up for the night, fed the animals. He’d handed in his papers for the term. There was nothing he had to do, nowhere he had to be -

Something rattled the window. Don’t say that pesky monkey had broken out again! He’d spent the last few evenings combing the roof for it.

He pulled the window open. Nothing to see. Unless you counted Ken, shinning up pipes in his academic gown.

“Is this how you afford all those cravats?” Alfred called down. “Cat burglary?”

“Don’t be an ass.”

He moved aside, letting Ken fall into the room. The gown flapped open. Alfred whistled. “
Transvestite
cat burglary.”

Jokes aside, he looked rather fetching. A gown beaded with jets, silk stockings, high heels. “It was the department’s fancy dress ball,” he said. “I only lost my bloody keys, didn’t I?”

“Couldn’t someone let you in?”

“Everyone’s gone home. You two are my only hope.”

“Gussy’s away on a protest, but I’ll see what I can do. Have you eaten?”

“Not for hours.”

“Borrow some pyjamas. I’ll fix you up with food.”

Alfred hummed as he rooted in the pantry. Cold beef, potatoes, cheese, cocoa. He brought it all out on a tray. Ken was on the sofa, immersed in a book about robotics.

“Don’t you ever switch off?” Alfred asked.

“Wouldn’t know how.” His eyes lit up. “That looks fantastic. Maybe you should keep house for me.”

As he ate and they talked, Alfred thought how natural this felt. Serving a meal, putting on the network. He imagined what it would be like, having a husband he could chew the day over with.

“What are you thinking about?” Ken asked.

He blushed. “Nothing.”

“
Nothing
suits you, you know. You’ve marvellous eyes.”

It couldn’t happen again. It had been a blind moment of selfishness, stupidity -

“Would you believe me if I said you were the most beautiful man I’d seen?” Ken kissed the part of his wrist where he was most sensitive. “Are you frightened? There’s no need.”

It wasn’t like before, the ravening hunger of wolves. This was slow, civilised, listening to the rhythm of each other’s bodies. They took it to Alfred’s room, wedging the door shut.

The next day he felt abominable. He couldn’t face Ken as he dressed.

“This can’t happen again. Gussy loves you.”

“I feared as much.”

“Why do it? Nobody gives two hoots if you’re queer -”

“I care.”

How could he
say
that? A straight man doesn’t tie you to the bed post and fuck you from behind, growling, “Take it, bitch.” Or jizz over your face and lick it off.

“It’s alright for
you
,” Ken went on. “I’ve got to make a name for myself. Can you think of an openly gay scientist?”

“No, but -”

“People don’t mind queers in show business, but put one in anything serious and they throw up. It’s bad enough being male.” He dragged on the tights. “I hate what I am.”

“I’m not letting you hurt her.”

Gussy returned pale and tight lipped. She shrugged when he asked how it went, marching into the garden with a box of mementoes. She built a bonfire and watched it smoulder.

For the next week or so they lived separate lives. They presented a united front when their parents came up for the day, but drifted back to different rooms and pastimes. By the tenth day he’d had enough. He pushed into her room to find her lying on the bed, eyes fixed to the ceiling.

“Practising for your coffin?”

“I wish.”

“You’ve looked like a ghost for days. It’s scaring the crap out of me.”

“Me and Ken split up.”

“Are you okay?”

“What do you think?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Get knotted, Alfie.”

“If you change your mind -” He ducked to avoid Hildergheist, her toy monster.

“I’m not alright, I won’t be for a long time, and if you don’t go now I’ll hurt you. Got that?”

For twenty two years he had lived without guilt. It was the good thing about being the disappointing younger sibling. If you erred, they tutted, but what else did they expect? He’d indulged in his favourite sins, his only comment being, “How interesting.” Certainly nothing that resembled remorse.

Until now. Gussy and Ken might have broken up anyway, but he didn’t
feel
it. He’d urged Ken to call it off, meaning he was responsible for her pain. When he suggested meeting new people she gave him a look of such scorn he expected to be incinerated on the spot.

One afternoon he was walking through the college grounds, listening to the pop and fizz of the hour glasses, when he felt a vice-like grip on his arm. He didn’t need to look to know it was Ken.

“Alf. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“We can’t talk here.”

“Where, then? You can’t expect me to run into Augusta.”

“Feeling guilty, are you?”

“You’re the one who said to end it. After we’d spent the night fucking -”

“Ssh!” Alfred pulled him behind a wall, conscious of the laughing students and chatting dons. “Couldn’t you have chosen somewhere less public?”

“And risk you getting away?”

“What do you want?”

“You. Don’t ask me why.”

“Is this your way of saying you love me? You’ve a funny way of showing it.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t do emotions easily.”

He’d planned to give Ken a piece of his mind. Instead he stared into those foggy eyes, so confused and unhappy. He took him beneath the ivy and kissed him.

Thus began a period of intense mutual preoccupation. By this time he’d moved in with Michael Derkins. Gussy floated on the periphery, wan and despondent.

When Ken called at some horrible hour to crow about a theory, Alfred was there to listen. Equally if he called in a black mood. He liked to have Alfred in the room while he worked, reaching to check he was still there. And of course, there was sex. Ken claimed it fuelled his ideas. It wasn’t unusual for him to chant formulas during or scribble breakthroughs on Alfred’s back.

He was addicted to risk. Alfred was convinced he got off on it. He was used to sex in the grounds, but Ken liked it in his department, on public transport and - on one memorable occasion - the mummy room at Lux Museum. He was a devotee of bathhouses, viewing them as vistas of erotic opportunity. Alfred balked at the thought of sex in a room full of strangers, but they were too busy screwing to notice.

He never understood how Ken was so self hating yet made no effort to tone down his behaviour. The arm slung around him, the glances beneath his eyelashes, the pet names. Catching raised eyebrows and amused faces, he didn’t know what he felt most, pity or embarrassment. He knew how they must seem. Ken looked forty at least; he looked his age. When he applied for a job at Ken’s college he posed as his nephew. Good thing he didn’t get it - they ran into the Dean in their favourite bathhouse a month later.

“Did you go with Gussy?” he asked once.

Ken scoffed. “Only poofs fuck women.”

It was as good an answer as he was likely to get.

After four months’ moping Gussy returned to life. She’d finished her course a few months early, so had plenty of leisure time. Realising she hadn’t seen Alfred for a month, she decided to visit.

“Looking for your bruv?” the porter asked. “You’ve just missed him.”

“Did he say how long he’d be?”

“Can’t say he did.”

“That’s Alfie all over. I’ll be back later.”

“Hang on.” He clicked his fingers. “His fella might’ve mentioned.”

“He’s got a fella?” she asked, amused. “He never said.”

“Oh, it’s been going on ages. Tall thin bloke. Considerably older. A professor or something.”

She froze. “What’s his name?”

“Ken, I think. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said, voice shaking. “It’s that fucker who won’t be.”

Gussy believed in fight, not flight. After a few hours seething, she walked to Ken’s rooms. He’d drawn the curtains but a rosy glow was visible. She almost relented, remembering evenings they’d spent working on theories. She loved the talk, loved him. Yes, they’d never done
it
, but she assumed he was old fashioned -

One unbidden image, that’s all it took. Ken and Alfie at it like animals on the couch. Mouth a furious stitch, she lifted the knocker.

He answered, tipsy and pleased with himself. “Augusta?”

“You bastard!” She went straight for his nose. “You slimy, brother screwing
bastard
!”

He batted her away. “Now isn’t a good time -”

“Oh? When
would
be a good time? Half way up the aisle?”

“We’re not together any more -”

“I don’t care! This was going on before, wasn’t it?”

He flipped out a handkerchief with a fastidious finger. She’d heard his nose crunch. “Please don’t make a scene.”

It was only once she followed him inside she understood. The department was congregated in the lounge, doing unconvincing impressions of women who hadn’t heard a word.

“This is Lady Augusta Wilding, my prize student.”

With his colleagues Ken was all ease and schmooze. On the tube to Alfred that evening -

“Did you tell her?”

“Hello to you too.”

“Did you tell her?”

“No, I didn’t. It was bound to come out in the end.”

“She lamped me in front of the faculty!”

“Was she very upset?”

“My nose is hanging off. What do you think?”

“I’d better go round.”

Unsurprisingly she took months to thaw. At first she wouldn’t see him, communicating via her porter. Alfred suspected she’d told him - while he didn’t say anything, there was a whiff of contempt whenever he spoke to him. Once they found themselves in the same lift in Murtagh’s, Lila’s biggest bookshop.

“Gussy -”

“I haven’t anything to say to you.”

He wondered if anything was worth this. While he loved Ken, their relationship wasn’t exclusive. He heard whispers of “favourites”, discovered lads loitering around his apartments. He wondered why he wasn’t enough. Whenever he mentioned getting married, Ken let rip his most caustic laugh. Gussy would understand.

She wasn’t just his sister, she was his best friend. He missed her. He left messages, not caring they’d be wiped.

“I know you’re angry. I don’t blame you. Yes, it started out as sex, but we fell in love. You understand, don’t you?”

Did she? It was something he’d never asked: had she been with anyone? It was different for men, everyone said. They could detach themselves from what was going on, come inside a body without it meaning anything. Alfred wondered who these respondents were, because he damn well wanted it to matter.

***

Alfred stared at the message in his hand. Five words. To anyone else they would seem terse but he knew the depth of his parents’ bond.

‘Your mother’s dead. Come home.’

He arrived at Chimera that evening. The angular figure was waiting on the drive. Even at a distance he was shocked by how stooped and grey his father was.

“Dad!”

“Alfie -”

Any control collapsed. These two men, usually so reticent, clung to each other and cried.

In the two days they spent together, Lord Arthur said more than he had in twenty three years. Naturally most of it was about Connie. Alfred heard about their engagement and honeymoon, how she’d fallen pregnant after years of trying. She insisted they went on safari anyway. “That was your mother. Bloody stubborn.” She gave birth in the wild. Once the babies were asleep, she strapped them to her back and carried on.