A Helping Hand
By: DL
(Copyright 2007 by the Author)
The author retains all rights. No reproductions are
allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...
dl@tickiestories.us
After Juan had finished his brief, but heart-rending, explanation of the events that had led him to where I found him, we were both tearful, even if not exactly crying (though I don't think it would have taken much to start either of us off). I reached out to him again and we finished up cuddled together, both emotionally in need of support.
How Juan had managed to survive his father's – to me – barbaric treatment I have no idea; and thinking about it on and off since, I know his story isn't an isolated example, but I still cannot understand how anyone could do that to a child they'd loved and nurtured for so many years. I know that while my father was alive I'd never revealed my sexuality to him, but I have no doubt in my mind that he would have accepted it – probably sorrowfully for my sake – but, nevertheless, I'm as sure as I can be that he would have just have taken it in his stride.
Anyway, Juan and I just lay sprawled together on the settee, while we both quietly dealt with our own demons. Juan, in fact, seemed more restful, and he drifted off to sleep in my arms; I just left him in slumberland, feeling that the rest would do him no harm. He even slept through the ringing of the phone. In a way, it was a good thing that I had thoughtlessly given Julian my 'work' number, because on that line the answer-phone always cut in after the third ring. (Quite some time previously, irritated by endless ill-timed calls from work, I had installed a second line: I gave the second number to family and friends, and bought an answer-phone to deal with all the calls on the 'work' line, which quite often came from people I didn't want to talk to. The only person at work who had the 'private' number was my boss, and although he had used it himself on a couple of occasions, he respected my wishes and so didn't give that number to anyone else, and only used it himself in cases of genuine need. In fact, once my work colleagues realised that every call got fielded by the machine, the number of incoming calls fell by over ninety percent!)
After the answer-phone had done the business and was sitting there blinking away, I gently disentangled myself from Juan, trying as hard as I could not to wake him [and succeeding]. It turned out that like a moron I had indeed given Julian the 'work' number! Fortunately he'd left his name and number, and I retreated down to my bedroom, where the only phone on the second line was, and called him back.
His phone only rang a couple of times before a somewhat grumpy woman's voice answered, "Hello!" I was momentarily taken aback, but recovered fairly quickly, saying, "Could I speak to Julian, please? It's Dave – he called me a little while ago." I heard her turn away from the phone and bawl out, "Julian! Phone!" and then there was a 'thump', which I eventually worked out was her putting the phone down. I heard footsteps approaching, and a clatter as the phone was lifted, and then Julian said, "Hello?"
"Hi Julian, its Dave. Sorry about the answer-phone – I should have given you my private number. Anyway, are you OK for tonight? I've booked a table for eight o'clock, and Juan and I have finally managed to break through to each other." There was a slight pause, then Julian said, "If you've managed that, are you sure you want to bother going out for a meal?" I was more than sure that Julian was someone who was likely to be beneficial to Juan while he rebuilt his life, and I wanted to find out just how what had happened at MFI had developed, so I had no hesitation in saying, "Julian, I'm sure. The table is booked for three and Juan seemed happy at the prospect when I told him a short while ago. So, where would you like me to pick you up?"
Julian hesitated only momentarily before giving me his address and saying he'd wait down the street and look out for me; I told him the car's make, colour and number and said I'd pick him up at 7:15, as that would leave us enough time to get to the restaurant.
As it had been a fairly eventful afternoon it wasn't long before we needed to be off; I gently woke Juan, and once he was awake and functioning, and had briefly visited the bathroom, we set off. Finding Julian's wasn't hard: he lived in Bury St Edmunds on a local government housing estate that I knew quite well – I regularly used it to avoid the traffic bottleneck at the main Mildenhall Road junction. Julian was leaning against a fence just down from his house and I drew up alongside him, motioning to him that he should get in the back with Juan [I'd cleared the back seat of its normal detritus and parked it on the front seat so that Juan had no choice but to sit in the back!]
He got in and we all said 'Hi' and I pulled away, setting off for the restaurant; but I was keeping an eye on my driver's mirror and watching the '2Js' as I'd mentally started thinking of them. My vigilance was rewarded by a flicker in Juan's eyes, and then by a blush from him as Julian very solicitously checked he was really OK. I was a smug little git as I drove happily to the restaurant, pleased at how clever I thought I was!
I had no difficulty finding the restaurant, as I knew it in the sense that for four years I had passed it daily. We parked under the trees as close to the front door as I could manage. The place was, as its name implied, an old public house that used to hold horses for coaches and travellers before the advent of the petrol engine and the ubiquitous car. The main yard was now covered in gravel with flower beds all round, and the building itself was surrounded by a little grove of trees. The owners had done a beautiful job with this by hanging old coaching lanterns [à la Dickens, but with electric bulbs] in the lower branches of the trees – it was a lovely sight [even for a hardened cynic like me!]
Julian was attentively making sure that Juan was OK and they had their arms round each other as I followed them over the gravel and down the path to the front door. It turned out that there was a [curiously] hidden bell-push that you used to announce your presence, and Julian found it with no difficulty; so I presumed that he'd been here before [I had thought that after his reference to soft lighting back at MFI]. We didn't have to wait long at all before the heavy iron-studded wooden door swung inwards and we were invited inside. The 2Js moved aside to allow me to enter and I quietly said, "Table for three" and gave my surname. Our host smiled and said, "Of course: we've kept you a table in the corner alcove with a view of the car park and grounds, if that's acceptable?"
Looking over in the direction he pointed, I couldn't have been happier: we would have a private little alcove to ourselves and there were no other tables anywhere near. We were escorted to our table and asked if we would like to order drinks before collecting our meal. I ordered a Diet Coke [predictably enough] but was mildly surprised when Julian asked if they could have a Regular Coke each. Our host swiftly returned with three pint-size glasses containing icily-cold Coke and an ice-bucket. I was dumbfounded [remember the service station in chapter 1–2? This 'Coke' was the equivalent of about 3–4 of theirs and didn't have ice in it!]
Julian, meanwhile, had coaxed Juan to his feet and helped him down to the Carvery, stopping to collect two trays and plates. [The meal was set out on a long bench, with tureens of vegetables, serving dishes containing the range of assorted meats, and gravy boats and sauceboats for dressings – horseradish, apple-sauce, etc. – and you simply helped yourself to whatever you wanted.] I wandered down and joined them, collecting a plate of my own and watching amusedly as Julian attentively helped Juan select his meal. I chose roast beef, roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, a small Yorkshire pudding, peas and carrots, covered with as much gravy as I could get on the plate [did I mention I like gravy?]
I couldn't help noticing as Julian steered Juan back to his seat and then made two trips to collect their trays that the 2Js seemed to have similar appetites, as the contents of their plates were identical [to my eyes at least]: slices of turkey, a couple of small sausages wrapped in bacon, roast and mashed potatoes and carrots with gravy and a breadcrumb stuffing ball. Back at the table, Juan was in the corner of the alcove with Julian beside him and me on the other side of the table: it meant that I could see both the boys and the car-park and they could see me and the interior of the restaurant [to be truthful, I would normally have sat where Juan was so that I could see both the car park – and my car – and the coming and goings in the restaurant].
All three of us concentrated on our meals, and I was pleased to note that Juan's split lip was no longer troubling him as much. The meal was very well done and I [and I think the 2Js as well] enjoyed it; pig that I can be, I ate everything on my plate [though, to be fair, as a child I and all of my siblings had been brought up on a strict regime: no-one left the table until everyone had finished; and absent sufficient reason – like not feeling well – you did not leave anything on your plate! We weren't allowed to develop the fads that today's youth seem to have succumbed to; the best we could hope for was that if we told Mum we didn't like something – in my case beetroot, for example – she would usually take pity on us and we would thereafter only have a 'token' helping!]
Juan had managed most of his food, while both Julian and I had eaten all of ours. We sat there for five minutes, relaxing and sipping from our depleted drinks, before our host materialised and enquired if everything had been satisfactory – we all agreed it had, me verbally and the 2Js with a pair of synchronised smiles. He then said that there was a selection of desserts in a cooling cabinet and asked if we would like anything else to drink. Julian leaned forward as he said this and I looked at him inquisitively: he glanced at Juan and said to me, "Would you mind if we had a lager?" Although surprised, I had no objection and said so. Julian then asked our host if they could have a Heineken, and he nodded, and I asked for the predictable Diet Coke. He departed with the plates and cutlery from our meal and swiftly returned with a tray containing the three drinks, reminding us as he left to help ourselves to a dessert.
Julian said, "Would you like me to get something for you, Dave?" and I smiled, and said, "No, it's OK, I'll have a look for myself – you two just get whatever you want," and I left them to it and went to check out the desserts cabinet. I reviewed the selection on display and finished up with a generous-sized slice of apple pie and a couple of scoops of vanilla ice-cream. I passed Julian on my way back to the table, and hadn't been there long before he returned with two dishes of ice-cream – scoops of vanilla and strawberry, as far as I could tell, covered in the chocolate that had been on a warming stand by the side of the dessert cabinet. I was amused once again, but tried hard not to show it.
After we'd finished our desserts we sat back, relaxing while we digested a very good meal, and as we nursed our respective drinks I broke the silence by asking Julian what had happened earlier at the store. He flushed and bowed his head, looking up after a short while once his flush had disappeared. "I can't really say, it happened so quickly," he said. "You came over to the desk and asked if anyone could help this bloody teenager make up his mind about a bed..." (I couldn't help notice that as he was talking about the events he'd moved his left hand over and held Juan's right, and that Juan had made no move to distance himself from him) "...and then I saw his face; and I just felt so sorry for him…." He hesitated briefly here, flushing a bright crimson and once more lowering his head.
I admit that his recitation of the start of events – and my oafish display – had the same effect on me, and I too blushed at the memory. Julian noticed this and smiled at me as he continued, "I thought you were a right bastard and that it was you that had beat the crap out of Juan, so I took him over to the beds and asked him if that bastard had done that to him." At this Julian lowered his head and Juan flushed slightly. "Anyway, Juan soon set me straight about that: he told me that it was nothing to do with me, and, despite what I might think, you hadn't laid a finger on him. So I said, 'Well, if he didn't, who the hell did?' and he started to cry, so I hugged him and just cuddled him for a couple of minutes until he recovered. Then he told me the whole story up till when you came in."
I looked at the 2Js, and something about the look made both boys colour slightly – they were still clasping hands – and I said, "You'll have to forgive me for presuming, but the reason that I asked you to have a meal with us was that I thought I detected something between the two of you and I wanted to find out whether I was right or not." At this they both flushed amazingly almost the same colour!
I continued, "And, to be honest, watching the pair of you in the car, when we arrived and during the meal that feeling hasn't been dissipated. In fact, I'd have to say that I now believe it much more than I did this afternoon." At this the 2Js made a very good imitation of a pair of Belisha Beacons, flushing bright red. "Some of that is little things like you holding Juan's hand when you started to answer my question about what happened. I was watching you and you didn't look over at him, you just reached out and held his hand." As I said this they both looked down at their hands on the table, which separated as if by magic. "Hey, don't worry, has Juan told you that I'm gay?" Julian looked at Juan as I said this, and Juan answered, "No, Dave, we haven't had a chance to really talk yet, and in any event, that's your business, and not something for me to discuss with anyone else."
I looked at them both in turn and said, "I appreciate that, Juan, and I hope you'll continue to respect my privacy in that regard. I only mentioned it just now to allay any doubts that Julian might have; I was pretty sure that even if you hadn't told him, he knew you were gay. That said, it's not my place to discuss your private life." I looked at Julian and said, "I thought earlier there was an attraction between you two, but wasn't sure. After watching you this evening I'm sure that I was right, and also that for whatever reason you both feel something for each other – right?" As I said this they both looked away from me and down at the table and blushed. Then they looked at each other, and the blush disappeared as they both looked at me with a slight smile crossing both their faces. I laughed. They looked at each other, saw a mirror-like image and then both laughed together.
Julian reached over and hooked up with Juan's hand again – he didn't resist – and then looked at me, saying, "Thanks for making it easy on us. I had no idea you were gay. I felt so much for Juan at the store: he looked so vulnerable and at the same time really adorable..." Juan was blushing furiously as Julian said this. "...and I just fell for him; I've dated a couple of boys but this is the first time I felt this way. I couldn't believe my luck when you offered me a meal with you both. And I half-expected never to hear anything from you again after I got the answer-phone: I just went upstairs and threw myself on my bed. That's why my Mum was so grumpy: I'd been a real pain-in-the-ass after I got your answer-phone." He grinned as he finished saying this, and I could see Juan looking at him in a new light, and I noticed that the hand-holding was no longer passive.
To be continued …
Posted: 04/10/07